Finally, Power to Change the College

So I'm taking a final exam in one of my Economics classes and I suddenly realize I can't answer any of the questions. I start to panic, wishing I had attended lecture or at least read the book I had bought at the Coop for $79. I'm biting my pen and randomly filling in blanks with formulas I learned in EC-10 when I suddenly realize that the entire class is starring at me because I am wearing nothing but underwear.

Then the phone rings and wakes me up.

It's someone calling from University Hall about random Crimson administrational stuff. In my daze I manage to answer the woman's question and sound somewhat coherent. I think.

I hang up the phone and grab my portable alarm clock off the adjacent shelf. It's 9:13 a.m. I drop the clock to the floor, roll over and go back to sleep.

Whatever. It was reading period, so I was planning on sleeping until at least noon without interruption; I got up, spoke and despite the call, went back to sleep. No big deal.

But for some reason the event stuck in my mind. What was this administrator thinking, calling a student during reading period at 9:13 in the morning?

Granted, not everyone lives on student-standard time. And the truth is, if she called me at 3:15 in the afternoon she might have woken me as well. In fact, it would probably have been a better bet to call me during Hong Kong business hours (the country or the restaurant) than during Eastern-Standard working hours.

But what irks me about the incident isn't the phone call itself; it was my response to it. I remember thinking to myself, in my half-conscious state, "Oh well--just another unsurprising example of a college administration completely clueless about the lives of students." Although I'm sure many undergraduates are awake at 9:13 a.m., as a student, I would never dream of calling one of my peers that early, just as I would never dream of calling a teaching fellow after 11 p.m. The University Hall phone call alone was harmless; as an indication of the disconnectedness of the administration, it was worrisome.

Sometimes I try to convince myself the administration is not out of touch. Maybe they know students often sleep past 10 a.m., but nevertheless find it necessary to wake them anyway. I like to think College officials know how important things like universal key-card access are to us, but have some logical and secret reasons for denying us our requests. I like to think they are concerned about reading period being nothing more than an extension of the semester, but don't know how to avoid the recurrent problem. I like to think they care about students having a healthy mix of academics and leisure, but don't have a way of insuring this balance.

However, if administrators actually are in touch with students, then the only logical way to explain their seeming unconcern with our voiced desires is that they just don't care.

Do they care? Individually it seems they do. When I visit University Hall and talk with administrators, they listen, they nod, they at least humor me. They seem to be very nice people.

But as an institution, I don't feel Harvard cares. I don't feel wanted or listened to. When the College sets policies, such as the recent one that delays the opening of houses in the fall, I feel stepped on. The reduction in the number of days before the semester begins is not just a hassle for leaders of student organizations. It also makes College life that much less enjoyable by eliminating the few days of leisure we all once enjoyed. Yes, it was just a regression to an old policy, but it was still a regression, an inconsiderate regression.

Regardless, debating whether the College is out of touch or just doesn't care about students is useless and irrelevant. The fact of the matter is that as a student, there is little way for me to be heard. As far as the administration is concerned, I'm just some guy passing through for four years.

The sad part is, I'm beginning not to care.

I'm beginning to just accept the fact that any fighting I do will be in vein. In The Crimson, we lambaste the administration for its policies time and time again, and on only the rarest of occasions do they respond with something that vaguely resembles an accommodation. The result is as obvious as it is depressing: the lack of true student-administration dialogue makes me apathetic.

Still, tomorrow I'll be a senior and will only have to deal with the administration's inconsiderate policies for one more year. Only one more year of calling my friends from the centrex phone when I need to get into their dorm. Only one year of dealing with the housing policy for this upcoming registration.

Somehow, I'll manage. After years of repeatedly complaining the administration is deaf to undergraduate concern, I've accepted the fact that, as a student, I can't do much to alter the College.

But tomorrow, many of you will no longer be students. Tomorrow as many of you receive your diploma you will become alumni of Harvard College.

Chances are, you will also become more apathetic about College policy. You will care less about randomization or the denial of universal key-card access because these policies will no longer affect you. As you get older you will begin to lose touch with students of the College, their needs and their cares.

You will go on to careers in business, academia, journalism, public service and the arts. You will care about your families and the health of relatives. You will forget the gripes you had as students. One day someone from Harvard will call asking for a donation and you will oblige blindly.

As students, we are here for just four years. Yet we are alumni for life. In many ways, this is the reason that response to student concern is so poor. Just when we begin to have some power, just when we begin to become life-long members of the institution and not four-year visitors, we no longer care.

But the College must serve its students. It is critical that alumni who have a say in College affairs not forget the issues that made them passionate as undergraduates. They must work for student-oriented changes after they've graduated.

Granted, not all alumni will have this power. But many that pursue careers in academia will end up teaching at Harvard. Other alumni will become leading donors. A handful might even become Harvard administrators (heaven forbid).

Regardless of your Harvard connection after graduation, it is essential that you keep in touch with current students; understand their concerns, listen, care and help them achieve their goals. You have the power to make change happen. As you enter the world in which it is normal to get a call at 9:13 in the morning, don't forget your years of being an undergraduate. Look fondly upon your four years of college, but please, please, please don't forget your gripes. Keep in touch with the issues faced by current undergraduates and aid students in their quest to make the College a better place. We need the help.

Joshua J. Schanker '98 is president of The Crimson.