I used to think Harvard was an unromantic place. It was a place where some nebulous evil called “hookup culture” prevailed. It was a place where people didn’t pursue serious relationships for fear of weighing down their future careers. It was a place where romance was eschewed in favor of pragmatism. I have been shown wrong.
After taking the last final of every semester, I fall into a routine. Its start marks the end of a marathon of papers and exams that only seems to get harder each year. And each time it culminates in one of the most rewarding realizations. It’s 12:01 P.M. on the last Saturday of the fall […]
Both comedians and politicians rely on the audience’s trust. But when people become skeptical of the nine-second sound bite, the rapport and trust between the person on the national stage and the audience on the voter rolls breaks down.
The desire to censor derives from an inherent disrespect— for an idea, but also for the person promoting that idea.
“Social activism at its finest constantly asks questions, seeks new perspectives, and changes course when the facts so require. We Harvard liberals, myself included, must be more willing to join this debate on the ground rather than merely pontificate from the sidelines.”
This school can be a scary, oppressive place. It can be lonely and sad and deflating, and especially so if it’s the first time that you’re feeling those things in any significant way.