The annual Rocky Leadership Award Ceremony was held on April 16. It is tradition for the USF St. Petersburg Student Government governor to speak.
Photo by Makenna Wozniak | The Crow’s Nest
By Elise Prophete
It is never easy to do the right thing.
Doing the right thing becomes even harder as others tell you their position is on the line when you speak. Their words mean more than yours when you’re told you’re being selfish, difficult, and “mean” for speaking. When you are told that this event was not meant for you. That alone becomes a sort of censorship, even when you are told that it is not.
Even when you tame your original words and distill your message into something that makes others more comfortable — that is still not enough, it never will be. Again, the right thing will never be easy,
This university exists to educate us, to allow free thought and the free exchange of ideas. The Press exists to hold us all accountable — to spread the word, to negate the occurrences of censorship, perhaps.
I am choosing to do what is right for me, and provoke the thoughts that I hope are right for this campus. To shift the self-censoring, student-second attitudes back into a space where the stories we have are told and appreciated.
My name is Elise Prophete, I am your Campus Governor, and despite the context of the Leadership and Student Organizations office holding this event, I was not allowed to give this speech at our Leadership awards ceremony. I am reclaiming my voice through my words, and I thank The Crow’s Nest for empowering me to do so.
Good evening,
What a year it’s been!
It feels like I was just on this stage, spreading gratitude to each department, which I would like to extend again.
So, to start off, can we please get a round of applause for all of the amazing organizations and departments that power this campus?
With this immense gratitude that I’ve felt all year, I have also felt a pit… an absence of what once was. I feel it right here.
It seems like over my years here, it has only been growing and growing.
And it seems like this pit is something bigger than just me. It might have a name. For now I’ll call it what I’ve heard in university statements, and in the news, …“uncertainty.”
This time of “uncertainty” is the biggest obstacle I’ve had to face this year. This pit seems to be absorbing the source of my joy.
Calculated attacks to hope and community are what I know I am experiencing. I can’t help but assume that you all are feeling it too.
I am the daughter of a Haitian immigrant. With a mother from the Bronx who has always learned to work with what she had. Creativity and resilience are in my blood, and I honestly expect nothing less than needing to adapt.
I know this country was not made for me. This state makes it abundantly clear that I do not belong, but the university seems unsure. USF allows me to represent communities that are rejected by our legislature. Our community has enabled my sense of belonging. Physical representations like our flags have told me that I’m welcome. I’ve realized over the years that there are spaces for me. These spaces cannot fall into that pit.
So I’ll ask: How many times can we rename a program or office until it does not function anymore? How much can we minimize, work around, and work with what we have until we become invisible?
These are questions I’ve been grappling with.
The hope that I’ve mentioned must transform into action. We need physical representation of who we are. Our resilience. Our character. Our diversity and differences. The sense of belonging we create through whole, equitable inclusion for ourselves.
Student Government, with its pages of rules, is ironically somewhere where I’ve found my sense of agency. It is somewhere where I’ve lost passion and gained it back tenfold. Where I have been enabled to act by the very people who fear action. Where I’ve reclaimed my power, and where I’ve felt more suppressed than ever. So, forgive me, this is not a traditional speech, but I did not have a traditional term here.
In my years on this campus, I’ve noticed a pattern, and we are impacted annually.
In 2023, anti-DEI enforcements. In 2024, our flags were removed. In 2025, our mural disappeared.
What comes next? When do we stand? Or do we become invisible? Reduced to a pit; a shell of what once was?
You all believed in me as a leader. As my time comes to an end (at least in this role), I want to pose a question to the room.
A question that was posed to me last month by one of my mentors, inspirations, and one of the first people to believe in my leadership.
This is a question every single one of us can answer, but I really want the future governor (if they’re in this room), and our chancellor, budding student leaders, and fellow administrators to think about.
Are we ready?
She asked me: What story do we want this institution to tell? How does our story emerge through the relationships we create and the work that we do? (X2)
This is not a question of metrics, of rigidly defined parameters to measure success. This is a question of action, of real change, real goals, and the bridges we build to keep students returning to this campus.
I know the USF St. Pete I came here for. The USF St. Pete I want to see.
So, in one of my final addresses as Governor, what campus do you want to see by this time next year? How will you make it happen, for yourself, for your community, and, most importantly, for future leaders on this campus?
Please take some time to think about that tonight. We have all gathered to celebrate our community. It is up to us to make sure our communities can visibly thrive, persist, and belong.
My chest feels a little bit better now.
Thank you for hearing me, and for electing me as your governor.
Have a wonderful rest of your night.
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Written by: Elise Prophete on April 28, 2026.
Last revised by: Alisha Durosier