I recently testified at the California State Capitol in support of AB 1375, a bill creating a presumption against granting child custody to a trafficker. My testimony was the culmination of years of advocacy with the nonprofit 3Strands Global Foundation, where I’ve worked to advance policy in the fight against human trafficking. Moments like this one are not about personal gain — they are about using whatever knowledge, platform or position I have to make life better for someone else.

And yet, as a graduating senior reflecting on my time at Stanford, I’m troubled by a persistent question: Why do so many students, especially men, choose not to engage in public service, even when the opportunities and resources are right in front of them?

My involvement with 3Strands began through a Stanford community-engaged learning course on human trafficking, which I now co-teach. On the first day of class, a man with no prior anti-trafficking experience asked the professor, “When do I get to sit on the board of directors?” Bold, yes — but more revealing was the mindset that public service only matters if it advances your career.

Choosing not to engage in service is, at its core, an expression of entitlement. And as universities rush to expand STEM offerings while cutting funding to humanities and civic engagement programs, their message is clear: service is optional, not essential. But that is a false dichotomy. We don’t need fewer engineers. What we need are engineers who build inclusive solutions, scientists who weigh ethical considerations and business leaders who believe in human dignity. 

Men are particularly socialized to dismiss these values, having been raised in a culture that teaches them to chase status, prestige and power. Research shows that men are disproportionately represented in high-status, high-income industries like engineering and finance, while women remain overrepresented in caregiving and social impact roles. These trends reflect more than just labor market forces: they stem from longstanding cultural scripts that equate masculinity with dominance and femininity with sacrifice. For men, this framework might suggest that joining a nonprofit is a sign of weakness rather than ambition.

But while gender norms may explain the pattern, they are no excuse. Because who shows up for justice — and who doesn’t — directly shapes the kind of world we live in.

Showing up for human rights classes at Stanford felt like watching a carousel of familiar faces. I’ve come to the sobering realization that when the same people show up, no matter how passionate or well-intentioned, it’s hard to know if our conversations will ever move beyond the walls of the classroom. Too often they become echo chambers, spaces where we find comfort in shared frustration but rarely encounter the perspectives of those who disagree or think differently. The reality is, many of the people who will hold power, make policy and shape the future aren’t in these classrooms — but they are at Stanford. When a majority of students are absent from conversations about justice, equity and human rights, it diminishes the impact of our dialogue and limits the creativity of our solutions. I’m here to say that we need you. Not just to listen, but to examine your assumptions, engage critically with us, resist our ideas and take real and meaningful risks. 

If you’ve never considered enrolling in a justice course, stepping into advocacy work or volunteering for programs you think matter, ask yourself: what’s holding you back? Doubt that you’ll belong? Fear of being judged by your friends and family? Concern that it doesn’t “fit” your professional brand? 

Whatever it is, do it anyway.

Don’t wait for the perfect resume, when you “have the time” or for a cause to become trendy or safe. If you care about anything — housing, education, climate, trafficking or voting rights — then show up for it. Not for the LinkedIn post. Not to sit on a board. Justice demands people who are willing to take it seriously.

And to the faculty and staff at Stanford and other higher education institutions: at a time when civic education is increasingly under threat, you must take stronger action. This means promoting pathways into nonprofit and public interest careers, offering more courses that foster direct involvement with NGOs and activist groups, actively encouraging students to step into spaces they’ve been socialized to overlook and reframing civic education as not just relevant but essential to professional development. 

If we want a more just world, we cannot rely on the usual voices doing all the work. We need more people and institutions, especially those with privilege and power, to stop standing on the sidelines and start standing for something.

Noel Seo ’25 is a senior at Stanford studying sociology, human rights and ethics in society.