Andrew Ward:	I'm delighted to be with you all and now it's time for me to introduce my esteemed co-emcee who will then introduce our first performers of the evening. Please give it up for Patrick Ross.
Patrick Ross:	Thank you. I had no hand in choosing that music by the way. That was fantastic guys, thank you. Thank you, thank you. I'm so glad to be here tonight and I have to say, Andrew, thank you for the generous introduction, but you're pretty well known on this campus yourself. I saw a lot of people raise their hands. Unfortunately, I never had the chance to take one of your psych classes, but I texted a couple of my friends yesterday and I asked them for Andrew Ward fun facts, and every single one of them said that story about the suit, which I have to say, you're really showing me up right now. He's wearing a tux everybody. I'm grossly underdressed compared to you right now, which should probably be no surprise because I have a liberal arts degree in theater, so I can't afford a tux or a razor.
	At any rate, I'm honored to be here tonight hosting the comedy Central roast of Valerie Smith. It's been a pretty lame roast so far I have to admit. Everybody has such nice things to say about her. Everybody's had nothing but nice things to say. The students love you, Val. Give it a few years. See, we Swatties have very high expectations for our administrators. You couldn't possibly do everything that we want you to do. So I read your CV yesterday and tried to find a flaw. I suggest by the way that everyone take a look at her resume, it's on the college website. If you have a couple of hours to kill, give it a read.
	And I found ... I couldn't help but notice that you've published five articles all titled Introduction, and I just think it's not that creative. Try Preface. Give foreword a try. This is Swarthmore, you're not at Princeton anymore. Step it up. Although I have to say, I did read the rest of your CV and it was pretty impressive. You've received a Guggenheim Fellowship, you sat on the Pulitzer Prize Jury for fiction. And, I saw that before you accepted the position of dean of the college at Princeton, you interviewed to be headmistress at Hogwarts, but they said you were overqualified, which is a shame because you would have been the first woman of color in that position as well.
	At any rate, I'm really excited to be here and I thought it was a beautiful ceremony down there in the field house. I wish of course it was in the amphitheater, but what can you do. Presidential inaugurations have a long history of inclement weather it turns out. I did some research because I'm a Swattie and that's what we do, and it turns out that the night before the JFK inauguration, it snowed eight inches. Ronald Reagan, second inauguration was moved inside due to wind chills of minus 20, and William Henry Harrison actually died from the weather during his inauguration. So let's keep this short.
	I'm going to introduce our first act tonight. They are OASiS. They are Swarthmore's very highly esteemed slam poetry team and I mean highly esteemed. They, hold on, I've got some facts here. They won a couple of awards in 2013 and 2015, I believe. Oh, I didn't bring them up. Oh well, take it from me, they're really really good and they're going to be performing not once, not twice, but eight times tonight. So I'm going to introduce the first one, I don't know who it is. It's a surprise to me, but I assure you they're going to be great. Give it up for OASiS. Thank you.
OASiS:	Is this on? Okay, it's on. I can tell. Hey, hi. My name is Tiana Lewis, thank you for listening to what I have to say even though I haven't started yet, but whatever. This poem is for my ancestors.
	I have the ability to bend words like a magician bends silver spoons backwards. Sometimes I wonder in what direction my black ancestors spoke. I wonder if they used present tense as much as I do. Truth is, I don't know what part of Africa I come from, but I know my family makes their potato salads sweet and being African American is a beauty all its own. This culture is a broken picture frame with no corners. I can always put it together. 
	I wonder if my ancestors had a word for searching, speak, home. I wonder where they found home. I've got family shipped to the north, or maybe they escaped there. I wonder what direction they faced when they prayed, praying with their heads hung low. Their word for death must have been less sorrowful than mine because they could bend language like I do. They could split it open and raise hymns until the air escaping their lips burned the sky. I'm sure they had fire in their bellies the whole time and with every word, they caused a chemical change in the air. They exhaled in waves and sometimes I'd breathe with them.
	Literacy is an entity that flows in waves. It is the water we drink and play in, the spoons that get stuck in ice cream and bend backwards, but it doesn't take literacy to know happiness of a cold treat on a summer's day or the sorrow following gloom and rain or pain or unending change. I wonder who was the first of my ancestors to speak poetry like I do.
	Literacy comes in so many forms. Speaking proper English is a quality unreached by some, not achievable by most and inaccurate in its evaluation of a person's influence. You don't have to speak a certain tongue to make change. You don't need a big vocabulary to stand up for something bigger than yourself. It isn't the power of a smile or a nod or a laugh. So universally beautiful in and of itself.
	Thank you.
Andrew Ward:	Oh, that was great. Okay, there we are. Moving right along. That was great. Founded in 1991, they are the oldest co-ed acapella group on campus. Here in Swarthmore, they often refer to themselves as Moco, you're gonna call them fabulous. Here's Mixed Company. 
Mixed Company:	(Singing)
	Hi, everyone. We're Mixed Company. That was Benjamin Warren soloing Black Bird by The Beatles. Next, we are going to have some Stevie Wonder, and the soloist will be Cooper Harrington [inaudible 00:10:48]. Thank you to the emcees and to the [inaudible 00:10:52] staff for this dinner, and also to President Valerie Smith. We look forward to having your voice join the chorus of the Swarthmore community. [crosstalk 00:11:02]
	(singing)
OASiS:	Is this on? Oh, okay. It is. So I guess I should provide a little context for this poem, it's a short poem so it won't take me very long. I am biracial. I am Puerto Rican and white, and when I was 15 I was adopted by a black family. So I went through this period of very rapid change in my life, and everything in my life was changing very quickly. So I wrote this poem and I figured I'd perform it tonight in the vein of very intense rapid change.
	The lightning falls and rises frantically, like God shining a broken flashlight into the window. Searching for the souls of those that have died from His belt loops, hanging like they were tree limbs. The thunder crashes like He is shoving His fist through a wall, drunk on the body of the third of Himself that is absent. 
	If we are all God's children, I've spent the first night sleeping on His waist, listening to the grieving process of a father with a drinking problem. Losing is the easy part. His tears hit the fan and blessed the parts of my calves they touched, they feel like silver kisses in the darkness. Forgiveness is the hard part. 
	The earth under the window, two steps from the bed that feels like a waterlogged pine box, and three steps from a God that can't accept fratricide contains the miscegenated hopes and dreams of my adoptive family. My sister lies beside me still and silent, a shadow in the darkness of the stale room. I wonder if perhaps I am the shadow. A fantasm passing through the life of a family that has God, each other, and a working definition of familiar. I am a stranger here. I am misplaced among the spirits of those that have died with the words in their mouths. I am foreign to the concept of comfortable. 
	My translucency serves to remind me that no matter how many times I want to call her mother, I will never be her daughter and our lives are like the opposite shorelines of a continent broken in half. We drift apart slowly, slowly, nearly imperceptibly at first and then all at once, like the heart of God being torn as thunder. The lightning continues to probe the room, and I feel like a fugitive. God is still crying and I join him. 
	Thank you.
Patrick Ross:	Thank you. Alright, I am deeply ashamed to admit that I've never seen this next group perform, but it's a really good reason, it's a really good reason. When I was a student here, I worked at LPAC and we always needed ushers to work their shows because with the singular exception of Tony Morrison, this group draws the biggest crowds that LPAC ever sees. They are a TriCo dance group. They dance to the rhythm of the African diaspora, and they are Rhythm N Motion. Enjoy.
Rhythm N Motion:	(singing)
OASiS:	Hey, everyone. So my name is George Abraham. I'm a junior here. I'm also with Oasis. They're kind of interspersing us in between the acts, so yeah. I'm gonna do a poem for you guys.
	Oh, some context. For those of you who don't know, I am Palestinian. My family immigrated over from Palestine to here, so this is going to be a poem about that.
	A prayer. For the children of mourning whose ancestors were caught in daybreak's undertow. For the sunrise we still praised into being again. For my grandfather and the way he prays in broken english. For the bits of Arabic that wither on my tongue, like God does sometimes. For in Shah Alam, translated if God is willing and the way even our maybes are holy. For the way we pull yes, translated [inaudible 00:25:55] out of the back of our throats like trees that refused uprooting. For the way resistance is embedded into every corner of this language I was taught to forget. For the forgotten martyrs, the negatives of their crucifixes still hanging from my neck. For the holy scriptures, the aftermath of their mistranslation. For their [inaudible 00:26:13] gospel that paints Jesus, a serial killing, murderous, child in Shah Alam. I will not write another poem about how genocide is a small furious child in Shah Alam. I will try to find joy in the midst of this. 
	Today, I met a girl online who turned out to be Palestinian. We laughed, said it was either this or meet at [inaudible 00:26:37] convention in Shah Alam. We could find our own in the strangest corners of this wasteland. In Shah Alam, one day Palestinian existence doesn't need to be a surprise. 
	Today in church, we sang, "Let the house of Israel say His mercy endures forever." In Shah Alam, I could be holy without losing parts of myself. In Shah Alam, I could unbreak my hallelujahs to someone who deemed me holy. Today I started my vegan Lent diet, and the priest anointed my forehead an ash stained crucifix. In Shah Alam, I could be holy without losing parts of myself. In Shah Alam, not all resurrections need to be celebrated in ash. Today a building's fire alarm woke me up again, and the news told me of another Palestinian child who died in the fire. In Shah Alam, we could wake up without becoming the sunrise itself. And the news told me of another Syrian child washed ashore. In Shah Alam, not all baptisms need to celebrated in salt. And the news told me of another Palestinian child washed ashore. 
	Father, if I fed you another one of my children's corpses, would it finally convince you my oppressor is an ocean. Forgive me, Father, for I have tried to find happiness but found only sin. In your [inaudible 00:27:55], you asked me to surrender every last breath to you. In Shah Alam, I just want to find joy in something other than breathing. In Shah Alam, I want happiness to leave me breathless, and I'm starting to think you can give me breathless.
Andrew Ward:	So powerful, thank you. [crosstalk 00:28:22] Believe it or not, this next performing group began as an all male group at Haverford singing Jewish songs, hence their name, which means friends in Hebrew. From there they've grown to an acapella group that spans all three of the TriCo, and they're co-ed to boot. Please welcome Chaverim.
Chaverim:	Thank you so much for being here. We are extremely pleased to be singing here for Val Smith's inauguration. We have two songs for you, and the first one is a Bulgarian folk song about finding love.
	(singing)
	[crosstalk 00:31:28]
	Okay, so our second song is called Baba Yetu. This is a Swahili rendition of the Lord's prayer.
	(singing)
OASiS:	Hello. My name is Abigail Gomez, and today I'm going to share a piece with you that I wrote because I believed it was necessary because of the constant misrepresentation of my culture in the media. So I wrote this for my mother, it's titled The Mexican Woman.
	Mexican woman who says, "Mami, I have a final exam. I'll call you tomorrow."
	Mexican woman who says, "Almost," when she is asked to rest.
	Mexican woman whose love handles support the little feet of every baby she carries in her arms. 
	Mexican woman who tells about her life's sorrows in hushed tones amongst trustworthy company, as if speaking out loud would bring the anguish back.
	Mexican woman who warms a home by merely existing.
	Mexican woman who with gulps of black coffee finds the energy she gives to others.
	Mexican woman who takes care of her daughters like a man on his deathbed guards his last breath.
	Mexican woman who deserves it all, but rarely receives anything. 
	Mexican woman, may your thoughts not fall in a net of worry and insufficiency, but instead, in your daily strength and incomparable beauty.
Andrew Ward:	Thank you, thank you. Me again. It's now my great pleasure to introduce the newest acapella group on campus. In fact, in fact, guess what year they were formed? Actually, it's 2013, but it's close to 2015. You see what I did there, I took you one way and then I went a different way? 
	Please welcome Offbeat.
Offbeat-spkr1:	(singing)
	[crosstalk 00:42:01]
	Oh, hi, we're Offbeat. Welcome Val. That was a Sail/Feeling Good mash up, and now we're gonna sing Can't Hold Us-
Offbeat-spkr2:	This is Can't Hold Us, featuring Tessa on rap. Give it up.
Offbeat-spkr1:	(singing)
OASiS:	Hello again. Oh, okay. I don't know who said that.
	Hello again, my name is Tiana, and this poem is a letter to my younger self.
	I never thought I would tell you this but, you aren't as ugly as all those kids said you were, and you aren't as big as you think you are. And I'm more equipped to deal with the insults because you did it first. 
	If I met my younger self, I would thank her for taking all of the punches so wouldn't have to. I've got a rock solid chest because she built it that way. She layered herself and made herself bigger for the protection. How can I blame her for that? She has survived 18 years and I've been here for seconds. The fact that I am here right now means she did nothing wrong ever. 
	If I met my younger self, I'd tell her to ask for help without expectation and to hold her bones open, vulnerable and fearless. I'd tell her things like this aren't as scary the second time around. I would tell her to dye all of her hair purple like she wanted to and pierce her face where she wanted. I'd promise to clean up her messes if she made a mistake, because that's my job. She has done everything else. I'd tell her to get better at falling in love with people because not everyone is as accepting as she might think.
	My younger self has thrown herself into rivers, and I still haven't learned how to swim. She didn't think it was ever necessary because people were born to save others, like she told herself she was. I'd tell her our life isn't an erasable piece of writing, and no matter how hard she tried to get rid of me, I would keep existing.
	If I met my younger self, I'd tell her how immovable her spirit was and how even though we almost always speak in uncertainty, I never saw her as weak. I would tell her that even though being a black woman is and will be hard, she has the people that came before her that built more than a path. They built a mountain, an ocean, of people more gorgeous than shades of sky who lift every voice.
	I would tell my younger self that her skin was something of an unownable treasure. I would tell her that in a few years, she would be performing on stages across the country to thousands of people. She would come to realize that the kids who made fun of her for years would lose their voices as hers grew stronger, and no one could ever take that away. Thank you.
Patrick Ross:	Alright, our next group is Swarthmore's only open student dance collective. Anyone can join, anyone can dance, and anyone can choreograph, and they do it all. Ballet, Modern, Contemporary, Jazz, and more. Give it up for Terpsichore.
Terpsichore:	(singing)
Patrick Ross:	Alright, our next group calls themselves the most fun, most female, most fruity acapella group on campus. However, I have a few other eff words I would like to use to describe them. Free spirited, fearless, and favorite, they're kind of my favorite, and they will be performing Swarthmore's brand new official college anthem, so listen very closely and give it up for Grapevine.
Grapevine:	(singing)
	[inaudible 01:02:39]
President Smith:	Good evening, everybody. I just want to thank you all so much for being here this evening. I hope you're having a great time enjoying this festival of the arts, the great food, the beautiful decorations, and this wonderful community spirit. I'm just grateful to all of you so much for being here, have a great time. Thank you so much, Grapevine. Really loved it, love it, love it. And just have a wonderful evening, thank you so much again. Okay.
Grapevine:	Alright, thank you President Smith. So, we're Grapevine, obviously, and that was Valerie. Soloist Shauna, who's a freshman. She's up here, she did incredible, yeah. Our next song will be Eet by Regina Spektor, with soloist Laura. 
	[inaudible 01:04:32]
	(singing)
OASiS:	Is it working? Okay, I had to make sure again. So, I don't think I need any preface for this, I'm just gonna break in to the poem.
	Open letter, to poet's lamenting the upsurge in feminist poetry. When you say you're tired of whiny feminist poets. When you say, "She's just another white feminist poet writing about women's issues." When you say you're tired of women not understanding their privilege, you're committing an act of violence. I am not white. I am white, but I am Latina. Do you see how these are not mutually exclusive? I am not a woman. I am female body. Do you see how these are not mutually inclusive? I am privileged but I am also marginalized. Do you see how these are not mutually exclusive? You're an artist, but you're still an asshole. Do you see how these are not mutually exclusive? 
	I am tired of you confusing your discomfort in my challenging your privilege with anger at me for speaking when not spoken to. I am tired of how often you name my mouth an empty swimming pool. Harsh, grating, and useless. I will not use gilded metaphors to make your misogyny taste any better. I will not play spine broken dictionary for you so my poetry means a little more when it's as subtle as you'd like me to be because, hashtag not all men, is an act of violence, because meninism is an act of violence. Because your attempt to reclaim privilege, you don't realize you haven't actually lost is an act of f***ing violence. 
	Because I walk down the street with a knife in my pocket. Because I bus full of people watched, laughed silently as a man pinned me against a window. Bit my tongue like bad discourse, because my no wasn't valuable, because his was. Because every woman in my family has been hyperbole, has been drama, liar, crazy, too loud, silenced, a temple burned down because the doors were locked, has been demon, believed herself to be demon. And when a man broke me open, spilled me onto the bed like pocket change, saw I wasn't enough, spit at me and told me I was too young after all. 
	I became a poet to tell the victim's story, so someone would listen. To have three minutes to tell the story no one believes anyway. To scream, "It's not my fault. I didn't want it, but what could I do?" What can you do when you are a blood stain on a dirty mattress? When was the last time your body was Pandora's box? When were you last opened anyway? Breaking and entering isn't the fault of the house, so why is it mine? This is my home. This is where I live, but this is not my home. I don't want to live here. I am an echo in a blood soaked corridor. A screeching in the basement, a howling in the attic, a whispered mantra of reparation and atonement and you dare silence this.
	Look god in her face and tell her she got it wrong. Watch her fist shake the stars from the earth's hips and call it a temper tantrum. Call religion a phase, evolution a birth in reverse, an active survival unladylike. I am not going to entitle this absolution. I am not going to end this with an apology. I'm not gonna sit here, kiss your ass, call Meghan Trainor a real feminist icon. 
	I'm going to read this on every corner of every broken bar stool to anyone that's ever told me I just haven't been f***ed the right way, by the right man. That all I need is the right man. I am going to tattoo this on every part of this body that I was taught to hate, so maybe living in this pyramid of prescriptive worship and backhanded compliments becomes a little less like living on a razor's edge and a little more like paying too much attention to artist's that have not earned this tongue of rebellious [inaudible 01:12:25]. Sincerely, another whiny feminist poet.
OASiS:	Hey guys, it's me again. Alright, so everyone's kind of having their dinner and shit, and so that's cool. So, **** it, I'll just do this poem. It's an old one.
	The law of poetic attraction states, if I write you a poem, no big deal. You've got my attention. Two poems means there's about a 19% chance that I like you. Three means there's a 19% chance I love you. Four means you've got your fingers wrapped around my heart. Five, probably means you squeezed too tightly. Naturally, in the case of a sixth poem, I've resorted to science to attempt to justify why things didn't work out between us. See, maybe you and I just moved too fast. That doesn't sound implausible. Special relativity tells us that hearts traveling at high velocity tend to shrink, our speed directly proportional to the density of our conversations. 
	But see, I forgot that M over V forms a heart cut in half, who would have thought that a broken heart could be so formulaic. I once thought you were the biggest thing in my life. But according to Hubble's law, the universe is constantly expanding. That means with every second you get smaller, but no matter how small you are, when an object gets close enough to a black hole, there's no coming back. General advice to two closeted queers attempting to start a relationship, the first step towards resolving convolution within a linear system is relocation, then multiplication, then integration. But what's the point of integration if you're so set on differentiating yourself from your own sexuality? This is not linear. You and I aren't exactly straight enough for that. You're a mathematician. I guess I'll call you homo-genius. 
	The laws of magnetic attraction say the like poles are supposed to repel but, see, Newton says attraction between any two objects with mass is natural. You thought forgetting about me could reverse your sexuality, so I wrote this little thing to jog your memory. For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction. I've tried. The night you played my heart like an accordion of aneurism, I texted you about how beautiful you so were to me, and it was the longest text I've ever sent. I went on about how coming out to the world is far more difficult than rocket science. I offered you empathy, friendship, despite heartbreak. 
	Two days later, your response was a resounding never and, see, Heisenberg states we can never simultaneously know the position and momentum of an electron, but isn't it funny how you are consistently the most uncertain thing in my life. So with 99% confidence, I write this eulogy, dig your grave, I'm grounding you like a live wire. As far as human circuitry goes, you were the most beautiful semiconductor I've ever known, but semiconductors are far too convoluted for my liking. There are laws in the space around us, and those laws say that the first step towards resolving my convolution is relocation. 
	Thank you.
Andrew Ward:	How do you memorize all that? In much of the world, this next group would be known as 4.88 meters. But of course, here at Swarthmore, they're 15 plus one. Please welcome Sixteen Feet. 
16 feet -spkr 1:	(singing)
	So we have probably a lot of birthdays in the crowd today, but I know of at least one, Michelle Ray. I think she's sitting somewhere over here and I wanted to lead happy birthday for anyone ... Over there, alright. Do you want to come up on stage? We want everyone to sing happy birthday. And happy birthday to anyone else. 
	[inaudible 01:18:49] 
	Please join in.
	(singing) 
16 feet -spkr 2:	Alright, now this one goes out to another special lady in the audience, the most loveliest here.
	(singing)
	Like in an academic way. 
Andrew Ward:	Thank you Sixteen Feet. I applaud your very bold footwear choice, especially on a night like tonight. We've been entertained all night by OASiS and their wonderful spoken word performances. Here's the last of them. I give you, one more time, OASiS.
OASiS:	This is eleven things I learned from mi papa. 
	Number one, never step in sticky puddles. 
	Two, laughter is the best remedy for despair. 
	Three, always clean your hair out of the hair catcher or so help me God. 
	Four, after a storm nature and life always balance themselves out again. The body belongs amidst trees. There is nothing more beautiful than that which is green and growing.
	Five, never trust anyone more than your mother.
	Six, never trust anyone but your sisters and parents.
	Seven, dogs have strange diseases. Stop kissing their faces. Noted, but disregarded.
	Eight, give thanks to God even if you aren't religious. 
	Nine, his daughters are the only riches he owns.
	Ten, how to fish. Not really. Not at all, but I tried.
	Eleven, a human is made of three things. One, hard work for loved ones. Two, humility. You are only human. You are not superior or inferior to anyone. And three, generosity, always give more than you own.
Andrew Ward:	Thank you, OASiS. Well, were almost coming to the end of tonight's festivities. But before we do, I want to thank so many people who helped put these day and a half together. 
	First of all, let's thank the wonderful facilities, people. I mean, look at this place. This isn't a tent, it's a palace. Thank you, as well, to our fantastic technical crew. They've been working seamlessly all night, even as we throw them curve balls right and left. 
	We'd love to thank dining services for the wonderful meal. And college catering as well. Did you eat well tonight? Did you gain 15 pounds? You thought I was done with that 15, didn't you?
	I'd like to thank the president staff, the [inaudible 01:24:53] staff. All the staff members that worked so tirelessly to pull this incredible event off. And, of course, I want to thank the inaugural planning committee, who other than picking me as one of the hosts, worked flawlessly for months to plan this event.
	And finally, let me thank all of you for coming. On behalf of my wonderful co-host Patrick and myself, we've had a blast. Haven't we, Patrick?
Patrick Ross:	We have. Oh we have.
	Can I just throw out another thank you to facilities. You guys, this tent is incredible, and I would like to see it stay here year round.
Andrew Ward:	Yeah. Sounds good to me. 
	Okay, you are in for an incredible treat right now. We're going to enter the audience participation part of the evening. One table's already been participating all night, so they get the prize.
	Associate in performance, Isaac Akrong, is going to lead us in some incredible drum and dance performances. So let me give you Isaac Akrong.
Isaac Akrong:	Thank you, thank you. 
	Yeah. How are you doing? Is it on? Test the mic. [inaudible 01:26:55] How are you doing tonight? Is it on? Can you hear me? Can you feel me? If you're happy, say yeah. I love you. Africa loves you. Put your hands together for yourself. Yeah, that's what we're talking about.
	We are going to bring you unlimited joy tonight. Tell the one next to you, Africa loves you. Say Swarthmore loves you. Tell Valerie, Swarthmore loves you. 
	When I say [inaudible 01:27:38] say hey! [inaudible 01:27:40]. Okay, go quiet. Okay, all the boys. Say [inaudible 01:27:47]. All the ladies, [inaudible 01:27:52]. Okay opposite. The ladies, [inaudible 01:27:57]. The guys, [inaudible 01:28:00]. Both. [inaudible 01:28:02] Put your hands together for yourselves. We are trying to make sure everything is in place, and then we share the unlimited joy. Unconditional love from Africa. We learned something in 32 days, and we're going to share that with you. But before we begin, when we say [inaudible 01:28:25], you clap clap. Are you ready? [inaudible 01:28:31]
	Very good, now, when you clap and you don't move, that means you are taking it for you only. You gonna share it, it's just like email. Your wireless system. You understand? So go like this. This the Twitter, this the Instagram. You understand? Connect to the [inaudible 01:29:21]. Alright, [inaudible 01:29:22]. Come on. [inaudible 01:29:25]. Go, go, go, go, go. [inaudible 01:29:29]. Now we're gonna sing some songs, and what you hear, you hear it twice, you can sing.
	(singing)
	Come on, I want to hear you. 
	(singing)
	Come on. [inaudible 01:29:59]
	(singing)
	This is a blessing from us to everybody. Keep clapping, don't stop. It's very important. There is no tree without a root. That tree is [inaudible 01:30:16] through the roots. And the roots testify to the sea that rocked the tree. In this world, we are only petals and part of the tree, so we give [inaudible 01:30:31] all the time. [inaudible 01:30:32] 
	Enjoy life. Power the world with better wisdom. Better leadership, compassion for the world, and let everybody be happy. There shouldn't be anger. There shouldn't be war. There should be peace on the planet. All the world leaders should laugh and dance. That is what the world needs. [inaudible 01:31:01]
	(singing)
	Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready to dance? Okay, okay. Hold on one second. Before we get to that, we give you second chapter.
	(singing)
	Hey! Hey!
	(singing)
	Come on! Come on! (singing)
	I want to see you clap. Now is your time to dance. Are you ready? [inaudible 01:39:53] Clap, clap. [inaudible 01:39:55]. Now, I need four people from each table. I need [inaudible 01:40:00], alright? Twelve people from each table. Four or more, minimum four. Alright? Okay, go and get them. Go and get them. Go and get them. Bring them alive. Okay, a few people here, a few people here. Right there. Okay. [crosstalk 01:40:44] 
	(singing)
	Okay, now. That stage is full. Now we're gonna dance here. Okay. Okay. So let's move. Move it. Yeah, show them the moves. Hey guys! That stage is full. Come on, boogie. Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, everybody. Okay, let's go this way. And that, and this, and that, and this, and that, and this. You want to play? (singing) Come and play with me. Come on, boogie. Don't stop. And this, and that. And this, and that. Come on. Let's shake, and shake, come on shake. You gotta shake it, move it. Come on. 
	(singing) 
	Yeah, that's right. Come on, don't stop. Boogie, boogie, boogie, boogie. Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on. Shake it. Come on, come on. Come on, come on. Okay, and [inaudible 01:43:37] and [inaudible 01:43:38] and [inaudible 01:43:40]. Okay, let's shuffle. [inaudible 01:43:42] Come on, come on, come on, come on. Yeah, that's a brother from [inaudible 01:43:51]. Put your hands together for [inaudible 01:43:53]. Yeah, we're gonna do it. Come on, boogie. Come on. Come on. That's right. Come on, come on. Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on. That's right. Now you gonna catch a fish, okay? And [inaudible 01:44:31]. Behind, we need you. Now we need [inaudible 01:44:40]. Put your hands together for [inaudible 01:44:46]. That's right, come on.
	(singing)
	[inaudible 01:45:03]
	(singing)
	Come on, boogie. [inaudible 01:45:24]. Come on, I wanna see you move. This way. This and that, and this, and that, and this, and that, and this, and that. And you have to smile because when you smile, the inner joy will come alive. Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on. Boogie. Clap, clap. That's right, boogie. Come on, come on, come on, come on. Now we're gonna go down. Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on. Okay, we're gonna go right. We're gonna go right. Are you ready? Come on. Hey! 
	[inaudible 01:47:00] Come on! 
	(singing)
	Thank you very much, God bless you. God bless. Everybody, put your hands together for everybody. We offer the blesses and long life of Valerie in Swarthmore, in US, in the world, and everywhere. The goodness must shine day and night, rain or shine, to every corner of the world.
	Thank you very much, God bless you.
Andrew Ward:	Isaac Akrong, everyone. One last hand for him. What a party! Two last thank yous. We've got to thank the Communications office for these gorgeous brochures and programs we've seen. Just beautiful. And thanks to our intrepid grounds crew for whom weather is not an issue. The party continues with a DJ, thank you so much everyone. Good night, Swarthmore.