Beyond the Harvard Bubble

Yesterday, I overheard a female student telling her friend that coming to Harvard has made her realize that she loves the East Coast. I can’t help but think that, although Harvard may indeed have “the cutest houses ever,” it is impossible for most students to make any judgment on New England at all, let alone the entire East Coast.

Although we will technically live in Massachusetts for four years, the majority of us will never experience the area in its own right. Bracing ourselves against the icy February winds and trudging through the snow to class somehow cajoles us into thinking we know New England life. Sure, we can complain about the weather along with the rest of the locals—but that is where the similarity ends.

When a Harvard student gazes at the quaint red brick buildings in the Yard as sparkling snowflakes land on their roofs, it’s easy to think of all of Massachusetts in the same picturesque way. But while this image certainly can be scenic, what we see on campus everyday represents a very select part of New England. The overused term “Harvard bubble” comes to mind—although we know the quickest way from CVS to Felipe’s, the rarity with which we engage with the rest of the region makes it presumptuous to claim knowledge of anything past Brattle Street.

Fast-forward 20 years. You are now living in California, when a colleague reveals he is from Boston. “Oh, I know Boston!” you reply. “I went to school in the area.” His face lights up as he begins to fire off batting averages for every Red Sox player, praise the outcome of the Big Dig, and lament the loss of Brigham’s best ice-cream flavor. Somehow, replying with “Yup, it sure was cold during Primal Scream” does not seem like the appropriate response, but you realize it is the closest you can come to speaking his language.

Our false sense of familiarity with New England culture is only perpetuated, however, by most of the attempts we make to get closer to the real Massachusetts. PBHA vans shuttle eager students into poor areas of Boston on a daily basis. But the Harvard bubble is not geographical in nature; it is not something you can merely drive past. Such programs are staffed by familiar Harvard students who return thinking they have transcended the borders of the school, when in reality, they have only temporarily stretched them.

While tutoring children or helping the elderly is certainly admirable, doing it as part of a Harvard group means that there will undoubtedly be a president or coordinator of the group overseeing your actions. Your fellow tutors are in your gov class and you see them out on Saturday nights. The conversations you have to and from your destination are with those same people. Instead of venturing into the outside world, you are merely dragging Harvard with you to Dorchester and back.

Even students from the Boston area are not immune. While most students are very cognizant of the fact that their daily interactions occur with a fixed group of people in self-contained environments, they fail to see that their perception of Massachusetts lies within the bubble as well.

So the next time you find yourself with a little time to spare, trade your Starbucks grande macchiato for a Dunkin Donuts iced coffee, hop on the T and walk the Freedom Trail, or catch a free concert at the Hatch Shell. Go alone or with one friend, not as a part of an organization or program. Although it is not something shiny to put on your resume, leaving Harvard to explore New England is a conscious decision that we should all make at least once during our four years here.

Once you do, you will quickly discover that although America might not run on Dunkin, Boston certainly does. And hopefully, someday you’ll even be able to discuss town politics and the Sox with your future colleagues, just like a Boston local.


Lea J. Hachigian ’12, a Crimson editorial comper, lives in Wigglesworth Hall.