Harvard isn't ever going to be a beach resort, but that doesn't mean we have to act like it's Siberia.
Coming back from Spring Break — those seven or eight precious days of relaxation that Harvard students seem to regard as more a brief pause in studying than a vacation — I told my friends of my several nights’ stay at a friend’s college in Florida.
Eckerd College, a small liberal arts college in St. Petersburg, Florida, was a far cry from the ivy-clad, wood-paneled halls of Fair Harvard. The college could best be summed up in the words of a shirtless tour guide: “a tropical high school.” The school was beautiful: breathtaking vistas, spacious (upperclassmen) dorms, a beach.
This article isn’t intending to point out the deficiencies of Harvard with regard to “sun and fun.” Nor will this be a critique of our (exceptionally deficient) “social” scene. The school offered something that I had not experienced in months. During my brief time there, I experienced a degree of openness in interaction that I did not expect. From the very moment I arrived, rather than being treated as an object of curiosity (granted, there were a few kids pointing me out as “the HAHVAHD kid”), I was welcomed with open arms. There was never anyone standing at the door determining who was qualified to attend a party; everything seemed to be open to all comers.
That is not to say I could have spent all my time there. Rather, the old saying “a nice place to visit,” etc. etc. rings true. The whole campus was, as I told my friend in the cab coming back from Logan, the “antithesis” of Harvard. The kids walked around shirtless half the time, seemingly everyone smoked hookah (or other things) at every hour of the day, and never went to class (horrors!).
But the students at the school had one precious commodity rarely present save for a few all-too-brief moments at Harvard: openness. Harvard lacks openness, even though we have diversity in spades. Granted, there is the “spirit of the opening days,” where students will meet with random people, and Housing Day euphoria. In general, though, and based on my limited freshman experience, Harvard students exhibit a certain coldness. We all walk through the Yard with our heads down. Perhaps a few hellos will be exchanged with acquaintances, but the general feeling is somewhat similar to being on a long, long elevator ride from one activity to the next.
My reaction isn’t something uncommon. Harvard isn’t supposed to be the student-friendly small, liberal arts college. Harvard is supposed to be a vast, dark edifice, a machine that takes kids in, gives them an education, and a degree with the word “Harvard” on it, then spits them out. Granted, it’s perhaps the best-oiled such machine on Earth, and perhaps that rubs off on the students. But do we really need to roll past each other like so many ball bearings?
Perhaps part of the problem is that we were selected for our ability to just that. Harvard students are some of the best and brightest in the world, and also some of the most ambitious. From the get-go, freshmen have the idea that they will do everything as they did in high school. They’ll run for the UC, join the IOP, join an a cappella group, try out for crew, and so on.
Even if students are wisely admonished by upperclassmen not to try out for everything, freshmen almost create a self-fulfilling prophecy; they expect themselves to do too much in competition with their peers. Thus, once the initial joy of your FOP trip and your awesome time during Camp Harvard wears off, you slowly drift away from the list of names you once knew. Your entryway, clubs, sports team, and perhaps Lamont Café or Annenberg contacts become your typical social group. Even in some dorms, the entryways drift away, and once the blocking season ends, the drama has both codified groups of friends and perhaps split others. Housing Day and the time in Houses does create more bonds, but ultimately, how many bonds have been lost?
Ultimately, in this rather dour diatribe, the thrust of my argument centers around the fact that Harvard students are all the things we say we are: tired, overstressed, anxious, hyper-competitive. My friend in the car summed up Harvard with the remarks of a student host: “Harvard is a place of extremes.” That incisive comment cuts to the heart of who we are; we indulge in those extremes. Even as the virtues of openness, diversity, and a well-balanced individual exist, we reject “balance” in favor of 5 or 6 classes, ungodly amounts of extracurriculars, then a Power Hour on Friday and Saturday. Harvard students live for that 3 or 4 a.m. threshold, if not competing with one another for who can stay up the longest.
Harvard is a place of extremes, and that perhaps is one of the worst things coming from the best and the brightest. But the prescription for change is pretty simple: just try to chill out. Perhaps don’t become the shirtless kids of Eckerd College. But try to at least go beyond the typical purview of your social group. Be that much more open to others. Try … and perhaps it could change Harvard for you completely.
Peter Bacon ’11 (pbacon@fas) thinks HUDS should start serving tropical drinks.