Nothing of me is original…

“... I am the combined effort of everyone I've ever known." 
- Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

That quote is tattooed down my spine. I got it just as I was graduating from Northeastern, as a testament to the people I met there and how important I felt they had been in shaping not only who I’d become but also who I still hoped to be. I first read the book it comes from, Invisible Monsters, by Chuck Palahniuk (of Fight Club fame), in high school. It’s a novel about a woman who, with the help of a good friend, reinvents herself after losing everything.  

Though I didn’t share her circumstances, her disjointed search for self felt oddly familiar. As an adoptee, my identity has always been a patchwork of cultures, communities, and histories that never neatly aligned. As a result, I’ve spent most of my life quietly (sometimes not so quietly) grappling with the same questions: Who am I? And where do I belong? 

When I got the tattoo, it was my personal reminder that identity is something built from the people, places, and communities that shape us. It felt especially meaningful because, in more than 20 years of searching for who I am, I’d never felt closer to an answer than in the moments I spent with my college friends — the people who, without even trying, made me feel whole for the first time.

What I didn’t see then, but understand now, is that my quest for identity and belonging is inextricably linked to my professional story too. Across roles in defense, diplomacy, tech, and research, my work has always circled the same questions: How is true belonging created? And how do the systems we build — whether digital, political, or educational — both empower and inhibit the identities with which we feel most at home?

Though I’m nowhere close to answers (and intend to spend an entire career searching for them), I’ve come to focus on one insight that feels especially important: Belonging isn’t a one‑way gift. When new people enter our lives, we change too. Our identities expand when we let others in, just as theirs do when they find space in our communities. This idea has shaped how I approach work on platform governance, digital ecosystems, and transnational information‑sharing communities — spaces where the systems we design to connect people also actively shape how identities are formed, how culture is shared, and how we come to see one another as part of a shared “we.”

Working on talent policy in my latest role at the Hoover Institution has made both my tattoo and this realization feel especially poignant. U.S. visa policies are becoming increasingly restrictive. Federal support for higher education is eroding. Universities and policymakers alike are treating international students less like future neighbors and colleagues and more like transactional visitors, at best, and, at worst, as risks to be monitored rather than community members to be welcomed. These choices aren’t only about who gets in or who gets funded; they shape the communities where identities are formed. Closing these doors means denying opportunity and, just as critically, narrowing the range of people and ideas that future leaders will come to see as part of their own story of belonging. 

For me, this isn’t an abstract policy failure; it’s personal. Every opportunity I’ve had was because someone invested in me, opened a door for me, or helped me see what was possible. Just as importantly, those opportunities and the people behind them shaped my identity. Who I am today is inseparable from the communities that welcomed me in and made space for me to belong.

Much of what I’ve come to understand about my own heritage (and about identity more broadly) came through the friends I met in college. Owing to Northeastern’s international student population, which for undergraduates is roughly 15 percent, I’m lucky to have people from around the world whom I now call family. When we first met, they approached my background with curiosity and generosity while sharing their own, inviting me into their traditions as they embraced mine. In those exchanges, I found language for feelings I’d carried my whole life. Among them were other mixed‑race students and adoptees who understood, without explanation, what it means to always feel a little bit in‑between. 

I’ve had even more of these exchanges here at Stanford and in Knight-Hennessy. Unlike at Northeastern, where the international community was something you found only if you sought it out (as with most colleges), Knight-Hennessy is intentionally and completely global. Every part of the program brings together the type of community I’ve come to see as essential to belonging, growth, and creativity — where people with entirely different backgrounds, skills, and perspectives push one another to think in new ways and imagine possibilities none of us could reach alone. 

The deeper I get into my work, the more I realize that growth (whether as individuals or as societies) rarely comes from rugged individualism or narrow nationalism. It comes from communities that bring together different backgrounds, skills, and perspectives, shaping not only what we can achieve but who we become in the process. Diverse, international ecosystems don’t just generate better ideas; they create more complete people. They are the spaces where we learn, belong, and ultimately discover ourselves.

In an era where American politics is doubling down on a narrow, zero‑sum vision of success and progress, it feels almost radical to insist that we are “the combined effort of everyone we’ve ever known” — that our identities, our talents, and our innovations are collective achievements. Forgetting this limits opportunity and erodes the ecosystems that have made our progress and our sense of belonging flourish. As we continue to debate the future of education, immigration, and opportunity, I’m reminded of another Palahniuk line that feels less like a warning and more like a call to responsibility: 

“We'll be remembered more for what we destroy than what we create.”

Emerson Victoria Johnston, from Los Angeles, California, is pursuing dual master’s degrees in international policy and history at Stanford School of Humanities and Sciences. She aspires to bridge research and policy to build more inclusive and globally connected digital ecosystems that foster innovation, belonging, and equitable access to opportunity.

Knight-Hennessy scholars represent a vast array of cultures, perspectives, and experiences. While we as an organization are committed to elevating their voices, the views expressed are those of the scholars, and not necessarily those of KHS.