Everyday Empathy at Harvard

Last year, I read an opinion piece that criticized the Harvard student body for a lack of everyday empathy. In the well-received “Surviving in Oz,” my HPR colleague Zak Lutz called out Harvard students for demanding institutional compassion while forgetting personal kindness. Lutz wrote, “We rally to complain about University Health Services, but ignore our depressed friends; we push ourselves to do our very best in every class, but disregard struggling students; we put every ounce of effort we have into extracurriculars, but rarely attend others’ games and events.” No, I thought at the time. This is not the Harvard I know. I saw countless individuals and groups that directly contradicted his assertion. Our student body has its significant faults—and we are fortunate to have a community that is reflective about its own shortcomings—but this criticism bordered on hasty generalization at best, gratuitous pessimism at worst.
But I decided against any public rebuttal. The article had earned 111 Facebook “likes” and drawn praise from fellow writers; a past HPR editor commented, “This is one of the best HPR pieces I have ever read.” Jenny Choi, another HPR editor, even wrote an article this past fall buttressing Lutz’s thesis. Choi argued that Harvard students focus on broad “change-making” at the expense of deeply investing in ordinary human interactions. Maybe a majority of Harvard students shared Lutz’s sad sentiment. It’s certainly difficult to disagree with Lutz and Choi that our highbrow, institutional pursuits often distract us from the personal.
A year later, though, I have chosen to respond to “Surviving in Oz” the best I can. You might ask: Why did I change my mind? Why do I still remember this article in the first place? The answer is last month. In the space of a few weeks, several personal narratives collided, crystallizing my feelings about Harvard students’ ability to balance the dual roles of driven change-maker and compassionate human being. Last month, I discovered that Harvard students have more than enough everyday empathy.
April 14 began like all spring Mondays for me—with a 6:20 a.m. alarm for morning crew practice. Anticipation, however, came with this practice. Our line-up would undergo selection on Monday and Tuesday to decide which rowers would race the upcoming weekend. Monday’s practice went fine, but on Tuesday, I had lost my “seat race,” a form of selection. The loss knocked me out of the boat.
The defeat crushed me. I had experienced rowing setbacks before, but the thought of not competing alongside my teammates in my junior season severely disappointed me. Painful thoughts ran through my head. Would that loss define my rowing experience, my college experience? Had my time on the water come to a close after so many hours devoted to the sport?
But I didn’t dwell on these feelings in isolation. My friends and teammates would not let me. They did not ignore the incident. They did not rush off to the next p-set or club meeting. Instead, they sat down and listened. They shared their own stories of disappointment. They offered their advice. They were kind, and they were empathetic.
The same day of my seat race, my blockmate grew anxious over the looming onslaught of research paper deadlines and final exams. The very same friends who had just counseled and consoled me began the task of helping my friend. They took time to commiserate with him, help formulate a manageable work plan, and lower the stakes of the situation—everything would turn out all right. My friends and I support efforts to strengthen Harvard’s institutional capacity to confront anxiety, but we take personal responsibility for compassion on campus too.
As much as I love my blocking group, it is certainly not the lone bastion of everyday empathy at Harvard. My blockmates are not the only students who defy the Harvard stereotype of being institutional change agents with no personal follow-through. Even our student institutions contradict that stereotype. The First-Year Outdoor Program (FOP), for instance, promotes a more socially supportive and individually reflective campus. FOP leaders do not merely preach this message on their trips—I was reminded of this fact as I taught a FOP workshop only two days after my “seat race” loss. FOP leaders foster the kinds of relationships with their FOPpers and fellow leaders necessary to create the warmhearted campus they desire. They check in with freshmen during exam periods, make space and time for reflective conversation, and attend the performances and games of their freshmen and fellow leaders. These leaders are by no means perfect, but no group here at Harvard, or anywhere else for that matter, is.
As a FOP leader myself, I am witness to this specific organization’s fusion of Harvard-esque idealism with individual action. Meanwhile, many other groups and their members take upon themselves a similar sense of responsibility to build towards a more supportive and compassionate campus. Think of the students who are part of organizations such as Room 13, Contact, ECHO, SMHL, and other like-minded organizations.
The purpose of this rebuttal is not to dismiss Harvard’s problems or paint a picture of a perfect community. Sometimes, people do get caught up in their own lives and fail to engage in the personal touches of life. Yes, individuals pushing for institutional change sometimes do fail to live up to their values. We can, indeed, always do better. But to argue Harvard’s culture is defined by an empathy deficiency is to ignore the remarkable display of empathy here every day. The claim glances over the birthday party your new roommates threw you during freshman year, the time your friends attended your a cappella concert or game, the consoling conversation with a friend when you confessed being homesick. As the end of the year approaches, I am also reminded of the countless seniors who have demonstrated compassion over the course of their four years here. Harvard does not lack everyday empathy. The trick, rather, is to make the effort to see it. That recognition in itself will thread together the supportive and considerate campus we want.