FIC: 'What are they going to call you?' 2008 MIT Commencement Address [Iron Man, Tony gen, PG]
Title: 'What are they going to call you?'
Fandom: Iron Man
Characters: Tony Stark
Rating: PG
Summary: Commencement Address, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, June 2008. Speaker: Tony Stark.
Length: ~2,000 words
A/N: So, I am pretty clearly quigonejinn's bitch, because yesterday at like 2 in the morning she said, "Hey, so you know how Tony is supposed to give the MIT commencement address? WHAT DOES HE SAY?" And I said, "Good question. I can write that in, like, 2018." And yet here it is. She wrote one, too, and I haven't read it yet but I am nonetheless confident it's awesome. It's here. (ETA: and here is another one by gabby_silang! /ETA) Anyway, for this one, thanks to quigonejinn and murklins for helping me whip it into something resembling shape. It's in transcript form, and has taught me that I am no Sam Seaborn.
***
Hi there, thanks, good morning. I know the guy there, what is he, the MC? The Master of Ceremonies? I know the Master of Ceremonies just told you I need no introduction, but here's the thing: doesn't everybody need an introduction? Seriously, who am I? Who are you? And who cares? Maybe no one, I don't know. Maybe that's the problem.
Let me back up. Hi. My name is Tony Stark, and I'm... well, I don't know, actually, that's a good question. I've been called a lot of things, like the time-- oh, sorry, is this being filmed? It is, isn't it, it's being filmed? Yeah, okay, so I can't tell you most of the things I've been called. Don't worry, moms, your kids are safe.
But here's one: "The most famous mass murderer in the history of America." Hmm. So maybe they're not so safe.
Because here I am, on this beautiful day, in front of you, a few thousand of the world's greatest up-and-coming minds, on this of all days, and I'm supposed to give you some inspiring speech. Something that's going to set your soul on fire, make you want to leave here and change the world now, today, no partying beforehand. I'm supposed to dig deep, tell you some illustrative stories about myself, maybe hold up some of my better character traits for you to emulate as you tilt at the world's windmills.
Really? Is that what you want? Is that what this is about? Emulating a mass murderer?
Oh, I'm making you uncomfortable. I see you shifting in your seats, looking at each other. Whispering. "What's he talking about? A murderer? I thought he was a genius who slept with a lot of models and took two weeks to single-handedly advance the robotics field by 20 years." Sure, why not. I'm that guy. I'm also the guy responsible for the framed bullet holes in the Du Pont gym because when I was sixteen, I rigged up the weight machines to present a "credible threat" and the campus police came and killed them. I see you guys grinning; you've heard about it? Yeah. So, that's the kind of thing I get called: legend, visionary, genius, inventor, mad scientist.
There. I've even got the mad scientist laugh down pretty well, don't you think? Feeling better? More comfortable? Here are some more: playboy, dilettante, prankster, alcoholic. Arrogant, irresponsible, irreverent.
When I was asked to give this address, that's who I was. Maybe that's what you expected, maybe you thought this speech was going to be full of hilarious anecdotes and inspiring words. Well, that's something else I've been called: a disappointment.
That guy who called me a murderer, though, was he on to something? You tell me. I'd heard it before, of course: war profiteer, merchant of death. You think it made a dent? I've got money, looks, brains. You think I cared what anyone called me? Do you think I ever once asked myself, "Tony, who are you? How do you want to be remembered?" I didn't. And even when this guy said it, I almost shrugged it off. He was a terrorist, pretty high up in an organization called the Ten Rings, maybe you've heard of them? I never had. Why should I? You think Steve Jobs knows the name of everyone who buys a Mac? He doesn't. Why would I know the name of everyone who buys my guns?
Aaaah, there it is. I'm starting to see lightbulbs over your heads. Good. Because this guy, this Ten Rings guy, that's what he was: my loyal customer. Well, maybe "loyal" isn't the best word. Most people who are loyal probably don't ambush their suppliers in the desert, attack convoys full of kids -- kids younger than most of you -- and drag the survivor to a cave. But that's what happened. I woke up with an electromagnet embedded in my chest, run by a car battery, keeping the shrapnel out of my heart. I woke up and they said, "build us a missile," and they took me outside and it was like a Stark Industries warehouse out there. Hundreds of weapons, my name and my fingerprints on every one of them. Missiles, rockets, smartbombs, grenades, rifles, you name it. If it blows up, I've built it, and they had it stockpiled.
They threatened me with guns I'd designed, drew the schematics for myself, over in my cozy California mansion. The shrapnel in my chest -- yeah, it's still there -- is from a Stark Industries rocket, material I signed off on, said, yeah, use that, it'll be very effective.
It's effective, all right.
What would you do? If you were me, honestly, what would you have done? Are you saying to yourself, well, I never would've gotten into that situation in the first place? Really? Because this is not a black-and-white thing. I'm not some hippie standing up here telling you that guns are evil. My father, maybe you've heard of him, Howard Stark? I think there's a building or two on campus named after him. He worked with Oppenheimer, helped give the world the atomic bomb. Don't think I'm unaware. He went on to found this company I run, the one that inspires such loyalty and devotion from its customers. A lot of people consider him a hero.
Sometimes that's what they call me, too: hero, patriot, great American.
My father died in 1991, when I was younger than you guys are now. I never asked him any questions. It never occurred to me. I just liked building things, you know? Oppenheimer said it best, actually, said, "When you see something that is technically sweet, you go ahead and do it and you argue about what to do with it only after you have had your technical success. That is the way it was with the atomic bomb."
You all know how that feels. You know what it's like to get lost in the wires and the code and the design, and you're just building something cool. And then, when it works, when you're looking at an actual physical model of a thing you've been dreaming about for months, maybe longer, maybe your entire life, it's like your whole chest opens up and you can breathe and you can't wipe the smile off your face for a week.
And then you watch as the cool thing you built kills three kids in five seconds. As the cool thing you built lands in the dirt a few yards away, as it explodes in such a well-designed way that the only hope you have to keep the shrapnel from killing you is to embed a magnet in your chest and cross your fingers. That's a pretty cool thing, huh?
Anyway, I don't know what you would have done, but I told them I wasn't going to build them a missile. They held me underwater until I changed my mind. Then, and not to disparage the intelligence of my hosts in any way, they gave me access to tools and that Stark Industries weapons warehouse I was talking about, and left me to it. Me.
You could see the explosion from space. That was pretty cool.
Well, except for the part where I wasn't the only one in that cave, and the other guy didn't make it out. He was supposed to. I had a plan. He had a plan, too, though, and his was a little different. His involved running headlong into machine-gun fire so I'd have the chance to make it out. His plan worked, and here I am. Lucky you. I don't know... I don't know what to call him, actually. That all along, all that time, he was planning to die, and it was worth it to him, worth giving his life for me and all my labels to make it back here, to make a difference, to stand in front of you today and give this speech and hope you're paying attention.
I usually don't have much trouble getting people to pay attention. When I got home, the first thing I did was hold a press conference, and I said that I wasn't going to make weapons anymore. That was the difference I was choosing to make with the chance I'd been given. I had my reasons. The system wasn't working. Somehow, my customers weren't the people I thought they were. The weapons I'd built with the very honest and earnest intention of keeping Americans safe, those weapons were killing children. American children, Afghani children, other children. There is no accountability, no responsibility, nothing. There is a body count, and it's growing right now, as we sit here in the sun and admire the sky.
Well, people were definitely paying attention to that, and they started saying I had post-traumatic stress. They called me crazy, unstable, unhinged, depressed, suicidal, insane.
Yeah, maybe.
I've said a lot of things here today. I've said I didn't care what people called me, said I never asked my father any questions. That's just the tip of the iceberg, though. The bigger issue is that I never asked myself any questions, never cared what I called me. Who am I? Dilettante, genius, hero, murderer, playboy, lunatic. Do I want any of those labels? I'll take "murderer," actually, because it was the wake-up call I needed. It made me stop, look around, ask myself the hard questions. So, what about you? Do you want any of those labels? How do you see yourself? Who are you? How are you going to be remembered? What is your legacy going to be? Pick something, do it now, build it in the sky up there with the space elevator, and then take your run. See if you can get the world to agree.
And I can stand up here and sell you some bullshit about how to do that, if you want. How all it takes is some platitudes, that the future is what you make of it, it's yours for the taking, yours for the changing, do what you love. Go forth, and build cool things, and everything else will follow.
Except, don't. Don't do that. Don't get so lost in designing a propulsion system that you forget to ask what you're propelling. Don't build bombs before you know what they're going to blow up. Don't build bridges or engines or computer chips or circuit boards or furniture before you think about how it's going to be used. Don't mix up a new medicine, a new genetic hybrid, a new cocktail without asking who's going to drink it. Don't publish an article, an academic paper, a book, don't give a speech to a bunch of impressionable kids, don't do anything without asking some questions.
It's not going to be easy. There aren't always going to be answers to the questions you ask. I sure as hell don't have any. They call me a lot of things, but wise isn't one of them. Answer Guy, also not on the list. Maybe you ask about the propulsion system and you decide it's a worthy cause. Fine. I'll trust your judgment. At least you asked.
And even if you lose sight of that, even if you wake up tomorrow and never ask yourself another question, do something for me today. Ask yourself one question, and think very hard about the answer.
What are they going to call you?
Fandom: Iron Man
Characters: Tony Stark
Rating: PG
Summary: Commencement Address, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, June 2008. Speaker: Tony Stark.
Length: ~2,000 words
A/N: So, I am pretty clearly quigonejinn's bitch, because yesterday at like 2 in the morning she said, "Hey, so you know how Tony is supposed to give the MIT commencement address? WHAT DOES HE SAY?" And I said, "Good question. I can write that in, like, 2018." And yet here it is. She wrote one, too, and I haven't read it yet but I am nonetheless confident it's awesome. It's here. (ETA: and here is another one by gabby_silang! /ETA) Anyway, for this one, thanks to quigonejinn and murklins for helping me whip it into something resembling shape. It's in transcript form, and has taught me that I am no Sam Seaborn.
***
Hi there, thanks, good morning. I know the guy there, what is he, the MC? The Master of Ceremonies? I know the Master of Ceremonies just told you I need no introduction, but here's the thing: doesn't everybody need an introduction? Seriously, who am I? Who are you? And who cares? Maybe no one, I don't know. Maybe that's the problem.
Let me back up. Hi. My name is Tony Stark, and I'm... well, I don't know, actually, that's a good question. I've been called a lot of things, like the time-- oh, sorry, is this being filmed? It is, isn't it, it's being filmed? Yeah, okay, so I can't tell you most of the things I've been called. Don't worry, moms, your kids are safe.
But here's one: "The most famous mass murderer in the history of America." Hmm. So maybe they're not so safe.
Because here I am, on this beautiful day, in front of you, a few thousand of the world's greatest up-and-coming minds, on this of all days, and I'm supposed to give you some inspiring speech. Something that's going to set your soul on fire, make you want to leave here and change the world now, today, no partying beforehand. I'm supposed to dig deep, tell you some illustrative stories about myself, maybe hold up some of my better character traits for you to emulate as you tilt at the world's windmills.
Really? Is that what you want? Is that what this is about? Emulating a mass murderer?
Oh, I'm making you uncomfortable. I see you shifting in your seats, looking at each other. Whispering. "What's he talking about? A murderer? I thought he was a genius who slept with a lot of models and took two weeks to single-handedly advance the robotics field by 20 years." Sure, why not. I'm that guy. I'm also the guy responsible for the framed bullet holes in the Du Pont gym because when I was sixteen, I rigged up the weight machines to present a "credible threat" and the campus police came and killed them. I see you guys grinning; you've heard about it? Yeah. So, that's the kind of thing I get called: legend, visionary, genius, inventor, mad scientist.
There. I've even got the mad scientist laugh down pretty well, don't you think? Feeling better? More comfortable? Here are some more: playboy, dilettante, prankster, alcoholic. Arrogant, irresponsible, irreverent.
When I was asked to give this address, that's who I was. Maybe that's what you expected, maybe you thought this speech was going to be full of hilarious anecdotes and inspiring words. Well, that's something else I've been called: a disappointment.
That guy who called me a murderer, though, was he on to something? You tell me. I'd heard it before, of course: war profiteer, merchant of death. You think it made a dent? I've got money, looks, brains. You think I cared what anyone called me? Do you think I ever once asked myself, "Tony, who are you? How do you want to be remembered?" I didn't. And even when this guy said it, I almost shrugged it off. He was a terrorist, pretty high up in an organization called the Ten Rings, maybe you've heard of them? I never had. Why should I? You think Steve Jobs knows the name of everyone who buys a Mac? He doesn't. Why would I know the name of everyone who buys my guns?
Aaaah, there it is. I'm starting to see lightbulbs over your heads. Good. Because this guy, this Ten Rings guy, that's what he was: my loyal customer. Well, maybe "loyal" isn't the best word. Most people who are loyal probably don't ambush their suppliers in the desert, attack convoys full of kids -- kids younger than most of you -- and drag the survivor to a cave. But that's what happened. I woke up with an electromagnet embedded in my chest, run by a car battery, keeping the shrapnel out of my heart. I woke up and they said, "build us a missile," and they took me outside and it was like a Stark Industries warehouse out there. Hundreds of weapons, my name and my fingerprints on every one of them. Missiles, rockets, smartbombs, grenades, rifles, you name it. If it blows up, I've built it, and they had it stockpiled.
They threatened me with guns I'd designed, drew the schematics for myself, over in my cozy California mansion. The shrapnel in my chest -- yeah, it's still there -- is from a Stark Industries rocket, material I signed off on, said, yeah, use that, it'll be very effective.
It's effective, all right.
What would you do? If you were me, honestly, what would you have done? Are you saying to yourself, well, I never would've gotten into that situation in the first place? Really? Because this is not a black-and-white thing. I'm not some hippie standing up here telling you that guns are evil. My father, maybe you've heard of him, Howard Stark? I think there's a building or two on campus named after him. He worked with Oppenheimer, helped give the world the atomic bomb. Don't think I'm unaware. He went on to found this company I run, the one that inspires such loyalty and devotion from its customers. A lot of people consider him a hero.
Sometimes that's what they call me, too: hero, patriot, great American.
My father died in 1991, when I was younger than you guys are now. I never asked him any questions. It never occurred to me. I just liked building things, you know? Oppenheimer said it best, actually, said, "When you see something that is technically sweet, you go ahead and do it and you argue about what to do with it only after you have had your technical success. That is the way it was with the atomic bomb."
You all know how that feels. You know what it's like to get lost in the wires and the code and the design, and you're just building something cool. And then, when it works, when you're looking at an actual physical model of a thing you've been dreaming about for months, maybe longer, maybe your entire life, it's like your whole chest opens up and you can breathe and you can't wipe the smile off your face for a week.
And then you watch as the cool thing you built kills three kids in five seconds. As the cool thing you built lands in the dirt a few yards away, as it explodes in such a well-designed way that the only hope you have to keep the shrapnel from killing you is to embed a magnet in your chest and cross your fingers. That's a pretty cool thing, huh?
Anyway, I don't know what you would have done, but I told them I wasn't going to build them a missile. They held me underwater until I changed my mind. Then, and not to disparage the intelligence of my hosts in any way, they gave me access to tools and that Stark Industries weapons warehouse I was talking about, and left me to it. Me.
You could see the explosion from space. That was pretty cool.
Well, except for the part where I wasn't the only one in that cave, and the other guy didn't make it out. He was supposed to. I had a plan. He had a plan, too, though, and his was a little different. His involved running headlong into machine-gun fire so I'd have the chance to make it out. His plan worked, and here I am. Lucky you. I don't know... I don't know what to call him, actually. That all along, all that time, he was planning to die, and it was worth it to him, worth giving his life for me and all my labels to make it back here, to make a difference, to stand in front of you today and give this speech and hope you're paying attention.
I usually don't have much trouble getting people to pay attention. When I got home, the first thing I did was hold a press conference, and I said that I wasn't going to make weapons anymore. That was the difference I was choosing to make with the chance I'd been given. I had my reasons. The system wasn't working. Somehow, my customers weren't the people I thought they were. The weapons I'd built with the very honest and earnest intention of keeping Americans safe, those weapons were killing children. American children, Afghani children, other children. There is no accountability, no responsibility, nothing. There is a body count, and it's growing right now, as we sit here in the sun and admire the sky.
Well, people were definitely paying attention to that, and they started saying I had post-traumatic stress. They called me crazy, unstable, unhinged, depressed, suicidal, insane.
Yeah, maybe.
I've said a lot of things here today. I've said I didn't care what people called me, said I never asked my father any questions. That's just the tip of the iceberg, though. The bigger issue is that I never asked myself any questions, never cared what I called me. Who am I? Dilettante, genius, hero, murderer, playboy, lunatic. Do I want any of those labels? I'll take "murderer," actually, because it was the wake-up call I needed. It made me stop, look around, ask myself the hard questions. So, what about you? Do you want any of those labels? How do you see yourself? Who are you? How are you going to be remembered? What is your legacy going to be? Pick something, do it now, build it in the sky up there with the space elevator, and then take your run. See if you can get the world to agree.
And I can stand up here and sell you some bullshit about how to do that, if you want. How all it takes is some platitudes, that the future is what you make of it, it's yours for the taking, yours for the changing, do what you love. Go forth, and build cool things, and everything else will follow.
Except, don't. Don't do that. Don't get so lost in designing a propulsion system that you forget to ask what you're propelling. Don't build bombs before you know what they're going to blow up. Don't build bridges or engines or computer chips or circuit boards or furniture before you think about how it's going to be used. Don't mix up a new medicine, a new genetic hybrid, a new cocktail without asking who's going to drink it. Don't publish an article, an academic paper, a book, don't give a speech to a bunch of impressionable kids, don't do anything without asking some questions.
It's not going to be easy. There aren't always going to be answers to the questions you ask. I sure as hell don't have any. They call me a lot of things, but wise isn't one of them. Answer Guy, also not on the list. Maybe you ask about the propulsion system and you decide it's a worthy cause. Fine. I'll trust your judgment. At least you asked.
And even if you lose sight of that, even if you wake up tomorrow and never ask yourself another question, do something for me today. Ask yourself one question, and think very hard about the answer.
What are they going to call you?