Ethel Kennedy died one year ago on Oct. 10, 2024, at the age of 96. Unfortunately, her passing was eclipsed by headlines about her son Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s decision to leave the Democratic Party and throw his weight behind Donald Trump’s candidacy. Now serving as the secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services, R.F.K. Jr. has generated so much noise with his controversial positions that it is worth pausing to remember Ethel—and the enduring legacy she left behind.

Ethel’s approach to human rights was rooted not in rhetoric but in relationships. She believed in the dignity of every person, and she lived that belief in ways that transcended politics. At a time when public discourse is increasingly defined by anger and dehumanization, her example offers a much-needed reminder of how sustainable change happens.

After the assassination of her husband, the Democratic presidential frontrunner in 1968, Ethel helped launch the Robert F. Kennedy Memorial to carry forward his vision. R.F.K. articulated his vision this way: “The gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education or the joy of their play … the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials.” Ethel understood how far we still are from that vision—and that progress requires more than righteous anger. It demands energy, empathy and connection.

From 2001 to 2006, I served as director of the Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Center for Human Rights (now known as simply Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights). Ethel wasn’t just a board member; she was the organization’s soul. She cheered us on, challenged us and reminded us that human rights work isn’t only about policy. It is about people.

There is no formal “Ethel Kennedy School of Human Rights,” but there should be. I learned from her in ways no classroom could replicate. Whether protesting outside a fast-food chain in Washington, D.C., meeting with landless communities in Brazil or rallying with farmworkers in Florida, Ethel showed up. She listened. She asked how she could help. And she never stopped pushing for change—even when she could have chosen a quiet retirement.

I admired that wherever work took us, she would talk with the staff, including in the kitchens, and personally thank them for their work. She took time to take pictures with everyone who asked. She understood how many people were not always seen, and it was important to her to demonstrate their dignity by spending time with them.

She preferred picket lines to press conferences, and activism to Capitol Hill testimony. She had a gift for recognizing those often overlooked, and she treated everyone with dignity. That generosity—of time, attention and respect—was itself a form of advocacy. Too often, human rights work becomes so focused on policy that we forget the basics: kindness, humility and human connection.

Ethel understood that knowing what’s right and moving society toward what’s right are two very different tasks. She believed change requires relationships, joy and trust. She excelled in informal spaces where those ingredients could flourish.

The annual R.F.K. golf tournament on Cape Cod was a fundraiser, but more importantly, it was a gathering of artists, athletes, business leaders and activists. Ethel knew that building a network of allies was essential to sustaining the work. The memorial wasn’t just about honoring R.F.K.’s legacy; it was about realizing his values.

Over the years, R.F.K. Human Rights has worked to release political prisoners, end child labor and support peace and democracy around the world. Here in the United States, the center has successfully advocated on behalf of better wages for migrant workers.

Years after my tenure at the center, while working for the United Nations in conflict zones like the Democratic Republic of Congo and Colombia, I came to appreciate the power of those informal networks. The relationships I built—modeled after Ethel’s approach—often helped us navigate political minefields and make real progress.

Ethel knew that respect builds trust. And trust builds connection, and connections can change the world. As R.F.K. said:

Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.

We have much to fix—in the United States and globally. To do that, we must take a page from Ethel’s unwritten playbook. It starts with treating every person with dignity. It means working to ensure everyone has access to housing, clean air and water, education and opportunity and a voice in decisions that affect them. Long before the term existed, Ethel gave substance to the idea of a “human rights economy.”

Understanding how our daily choices—in business, policy or personal life—impact the rights of others is the beginning of real change. Especially in this moment of widespread malaise, we must apply Ethel’s lesson: avoid harm, build trust and treat others with respect.

True change begins with how we treat one another. It is time to send out a ripple of hope.

Todd Howland has written on issues of human rights for the Human Rights Quarterly, the Denver Journal of International Law and Policy and the Virginia Journal of International Law. His work has also appeared in the Washington Post, the L.A. Times and the Boston Globe and other publications.