To 2026 graduates, heed 6 lessons from Georgia politics to guide your way

Today is one of those rare days when the room holds two things at once: pride and possibility.

Pride in what has been earned. Possibility in what comes next.

And as I thought about what to say to you today, I kept coming back to a speech delivered here at the university that has stayed with me for years.

Former Georgia U.S. Sen. Johnny Isakson stood on this campus and delivered a valedictory speech that offered what he called his six silent secrets:

They were simple, humble words. But they stayed with me. Because Johnny understood something essential about leadership and life.

The most important values are often not the loudest ones. They are the ones that guide you when no one is watching.

So today, I want to begin where the late senator began.

And then I want to offer six lessons of my own after decades of chronicling the people and the personalities who have shaped our state and our country. Not as replacements, but as companions for the world you are stepping into.

Because if Johnny gave a timeless compass, perhaps what I can offer to you this afternoon is a modern map.

1. Learn

Johnny’s first lesson was simple: Never stop learning. After all, if commencement were an end, it would be called that. Not a new beginning.

That line has always stayed with me. Because learning is not ultimately about diplomas or degrees, important as they are. It is about humility.

And the deeper I dig into politics and policy, the more I am reminded that the people who truly grow and shape our state, our country, our world, are not the ones with the most answers.

They are the ones most willing to keep asking better questions.

The moment you think you know everything is the moment you stop seeing clearly.

So here is my amendment:

Don’t pretend to have all the answers.

In today’s world, there is enormous pressure to sound certain.

To be immediate. To be definitive. To react fastest. To have the hottest hot take.

If you listen closely, somewhere right now, someone is posting a 14-part thread explaining exactly what today means for the 2032 presidential election.

But that sort of confidence is often overrated. Curiosity is more valuable. The strongest people in public life are not those who always speak first. They are the ones who listen long enough to learn what they do not yet know.

2. Respect

Credit: Bob Andres

Credit: Bob Andres

Johnny’s second lesson was respect.

Life is relationships, he said. And relationships are about respect.

He was exactly right. Especially here. Because one of the extraordinary things about this place is how the people in these seats wind up shaping the world.

The legendary dean of Georgia politics, Professor Charles Bullock, is here today. And in his classroom 20-something years ago, I sat among people who now help forge state and national politics every single day.

Behind me sat Chuck Efstration, now the House Majority Leader. A few rows down from me was Charlie Bailey, then chair of the College Democrats and now chair of the state party.

I covered student leaders here who are now at the center of Georgia’s civic and political life. And I chronicled politicians on this campus who went on to shape our country’s agenda.

The first campaign I ever covered was a young owner of a construction firm waging an uphill battle for a state Senate seat.

His name was Brian Kemp.

Which is my gentle reminder to be nice to the person sitting next to you.

The lesson is not merely that this room — this magical place — is filled with future power.

It is that today’s classmates become tomorrow’s allies and compatriots, all working to shape Georgia, even if they deeply disagree about how to do it.

So my addition to Johnny’s lesson is this:

Treat the relationships you build here like the foundation they are.

Because they are.

The person beside you today may one day be your seat mate at the state Legislature, your chief of staff — or knowing SPIA, your future governor or president. And you may be theirs.

Treat them with respect. Because reputations travel faster than résumés. And so does kindness.

Credit: Arvin Temkar/AJC

Credit: Arvin Temkar/AJC

3. Ethics

Johnny’s third lesson was ethics. The golden rule.

Do what you would do if everyone were watching. That line may be more relevant today than ever. Because we live in an era that often rewards the opposite: Performance and showmanship over truth and integrity.

So here is my update:

Don’t confuse viral with valuable.

This is one I’ve had to learn the hard way.

In my line of work, there is constant temptation. The headline that gets the most clicks. The post that drives the most outrage.

I’ve definitely felt that pull. Sometimes I’ve given in. But what trends is rarely what endures.

A viral moment disappears in hours. Value lasts.

Ask yourself: Did this add light, or only heat? Did it move the conversation forward?

Because in public life, attention doesn’t mean impact. And noise should not be confused for meaning.

4. Love

Credit: Justin Evans

Credit: Justin Evans

Johnny quoted a friend who said: “Always love people and use things. Don’t ever use people and love things.”

That may be the most timeless line of all. And in an age that can reduce people to opposing teams, it feels even more urgent.

So here is the lesson I would pair with it:

Don’t lose your humanity in the argument.

Too much of modern life rewards tearing things down and not as much about building them up.

One of the hardest things to do in public life is to disagree without dehumanizing. Yet that may be the most important skill of all.

I’ve seen ferocious political rivals at the Statehouse set aside years of combat, cross old battle lines and greet each other as friends. And because this is Georgia politics, I’ve also documented a literal wrestling match break out under the Gold Dome.

The point is not that politics should be tame. It shouldn’t be. Democracy depends on fierce arguments and passionate divides over how we use our resources, power and political capital.

But it also depends on our ability to fight for what we believe without forgetting the humanity of the person across from us.

5. Faith

Johnny spoke beautifully about faith as the thing that carries you through failure. Not just success. Failure. And he’d be the first to tell you he failed a lot before he succeeded.

That distinction matters. Because life will not unfold in a straight line. Some of you will get the job you want. Some of you may watch an AI agent take the one you thought you wanted.

Some of you will win races, shape policy, see ideas you fought for become law. Some of you will lose them.

Some years will feel triumphant. Others will feel impossibly hard.

That is why faith matters. And I mean that in the broadest possible sense. Whatever your religion, your beliefs, your guiding principles, faith is the bedrock beneath your feet.

It is the thing you can rely on when everything else feels uncertain. When the election doesn’t go your way. When the policy proposal falls apart. When the job offer never comes.

When the world seems louder, harsher and less certain than you imagined.

So here is my addition:

Hold fast to what grounds you.

We live in a culture that can mistake volume for conviction. But true strength is quieter. It’s not about who can overwhelm the conversation.

It is who can remain decent and kind through disappointment. Who can stay grounded when the world rewards performance over principle.

Faith — however you define it — is what anchors you. It’s what reminds you that a setback is not an ending. It is what tells you, in the hardest moments, to keep going.

6. Dream

Johnny ended with a dream. Don’t shrink your dreams to fit someone else’s expectations.

So let me add one final lesson.

Don’t chase the last dime. Or the last word.

In politics, journalism and public life, there is always temptation to win the final point. To get the last lick in. To land the final quote, the sharper line, the closing jab.

But maturity often means knowing when enough is enough. Not every argument needs a winner. Sometimes wisdom is restraint. Sometimes leadership is leaving a little on the table.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is nothing at all.

So, graduates, let me leave you with this.

Commencement is not really about goodbyes. It is about beginning. And what begins here is more than a career.

It is a foundation. The foundation of your values. Your voice. Your reputation.

The relationships you build and the way you carry yourself in moments of triumph and in moments of disappointment.

Thank you. Thank you for reminding me, every time I return to this magical place, just how much possibility lives in these seats.

I leave here the same way Johnny did: grateful, humbled and hopeful. Hopeful because I know what rooms like this one produce.

Not just future power. Future character. Future leadership. And as Johnny loved to say, future friends.

So go out there. Learn relentlessly. Lead with respect.

Hold fast to your ethics. Love people.

Find the faith that steadies you. Dream bigger than seems reasonable.

And treat what you are building right now like the foundation it is.

Because it will carry you farther than any title ever can.

Friends and future friends, go make Georgia — and the world beyond it — better.

Thank you, and congratulations.