Speaking at the UCL Institute of Education Graduation

by Lila Raouf

Speaking at the UCL Institute of Education Graduation

I was recently selected to deliver the graduation speech for the graduating cohort at the UCL Institute of Education.

Lila Raouf addressing the Institute of Education graduates on May 18, 2026.

It was an honor that felt both personal and collective — not only because of what graduation represents, but because of the responsibility of speaking into a space shaped by so many different journeys, histories, and absences.

When I found out I had been chosen, I kept thinking about who I would be speaking to. Not just the graduates in the room, but also the friends, families, and communities watching from afar. And just as importantly, those who could not be present at all — because of visa restrictions, financial barriers, or distance. And those whose absence carries a different weight entirely: classmates and loved ones whose paths have been shaped, disrupted, or cut across by crisis, conflict, and war.

Those absences were not peripheral to the moment. They were part of it.

At the same time, I found myself thinking about what education has meant for us over this year — and what it should continue to mean beyond it. In a world that often pushes people toward certainty and single narratives, I found UCL encouraged something else entirely: pluralism.

We came from different countries, disciplines, and professional worlds. We disagreed, we listened, we questioned, and we learned how to sit with perspectives that did not always align with our own. That, to me, is the point of education: not agreement, but expansion. Not closure, but critical openness.

It is also why I felt so strongly that this speech should acknowledge something simple but often overlooked — that our histories matter. The lived experiences we bring into academic spaces are not noise to be filtered out in pursuit of neutrality. They are the substance of learning itself.

I am proud not only of what we have achieved, but of the ways we have shown up in this space as whole people — carrying our questions, our uncertainties, and our contexts with us.

Please find the speech given on the day below. Congratulations graduates — we made it!

Good afternoon everyone,

My name is Lila Raouf, and I am graduating with a Master’s in Education and International Development, specializing in conflict, emergencies, and peace.

It is a real privilege to speak today on behalf of a cohort that is as diverse as it is determined. We come from different countries, careers, and paths into this room. Some of us are here after years in the field, others straight from our undergraduate degrees. Some of us had strong support systems—and some of us carried this journey more quietly, often on our own.

I would also like to acknowledge those who are not in this room with us.

Those who couldn’t attend because of visa barriers, distance, or financial constraints. Those celebrating from afar, across time zones, through phone screens and messages.

And also those whose journeys have been shaped—and in some cases interrupted—by conflict, crisis, and war. There are classmates who should be here today, whose presence is felt even in their absence.

Together, what we’ve shared is more than a degree. We’ve shared questions, uncertainties, and perspectives that have challenged how we see the world—and each other.

We’ve learned that education is not just something we study. It is something we build together.

If there’s one thing I wish I had known when starting this journey, it’s this:

Many of us came in wondering if we were “enough”—enough experience, enough knowledge, enough certainty.

But over time, we’ve seen that what we each bring—our perspectives, our questions, our histories, our lived realities—is exactly what shapes this space.

Your lived experience is not something you need to hide or diminish to be enough here.

In fact, it’s what makes education meaningful. It’s what makes it powerful.

As we complete this journey, many of us step into uncertainty. Some of us have clear next steps, and others, like me, are still searching. Some will return home, others will begin somewhere new.

There is no doubt that we are stepping back into a complicated world. But we do so carrying lessons learned from one another.

We carry the ability to listen more carefully, think more critically, and approach the world with a deeper sense of responsibility—not just to systems, but to people.

For me, this experience has reinforced a simple but important belief: that education is ultimately about people—about connection, dignity, and the opportunity to learn from one another.

I hope we support one another, even beyond this room.

I hope we stay open to perspectives different from our own.

And I hope we remember that the relationships we’ve built here are just as important as the knowledge we’ve gained.

Congratulations to my fellow graduates.

Wherever you are today—here in this room, or celebrating from afar—we made it.

Why this matters for The Imposters

This moment, and this speech, are part of a broader set of questions that continue to shape our work at The Imposters.

Spaces like the UCL Institute of Education matter because they are not just sites of learning in the abstract. They are spaces where lived realities enter the room — sometimes explicitly, sometimes quietly — carried by people whose lives have been shaped by inequality, displacement, crisis, and conflict.

What I have come to believe is that these realities cannot sit at the margins of education. They are central to it.

Too often, institutional spaces flatten difference in the name of neutrality. But the reality is that knowledge is always situated. It is always shaped by where we come from, what we have lived through, and what we are still navigating.

The Imposters emerged from this tension — from the need to create a space where those lived realities are not only acknowledged, but centered. A space where experience is not treated as anecdotal, but as a form of knowledge in its own right.

It is, in many ways, an extension of the same belief that shaped this speech: that education is most powerful when it makes room for plurality, discomfort, and truth as it is lived — not just as it is written.