Be That Kid

As freshmen will soon discover, few types on the Harvard campus arouse such universal ire as “that kid” in your humanities section. He crowds out other discussion with big, overreaching generalizations. He challenges the TF whenever possible. His vocabulary is expansive, but he is given to the occasional malapropism. Everyone despises him, but he is intelligent enough that no one can dismiss him out of hand. (It should be noted that he can also be a she.)

For the first few meetings of a section, a single domineering, pretentious personality can positively ruin discussion. But then something remarkable starts happening. His presence introduces such a dysfunctional level of frustration that others begin to overcome their natural inhibitions against speaking in class to confront him. Oblivious to the insurrection mounting against him, “that kid” stands his ground, and a real debate ensues.

This pattern of events cannot, obviously, be reproduced everywhere, but it demonstrates how good sections do not necessarily stem from good people. Deference and congeniality may be assets elsewhere, but in section they often make for anemic debate. Sometimes it takes a real asshole to rouse people from apathy or self-doubt. And if discussion is really that poor, people should by all means act like assholes, even if that is not their natural calling.

That said, a section overflowing with assholes carries its own liabilities. Arguments flare, egos collide, and substance is forgotten. Such sections ideally need the direction of an assertive TF, but when none is forthcoming, the collective geniality and good humor of everyone else can help to ease tensions. People should step up more often.

Much more common than rancorous, intra-section feuds, however, are uncomfortable silences. Nothing can kill good discussion like a dose of garden-variety, Harvard-style awkwardness. In this case, the best remedy is usually an affable, eccentric type to put everyone else at ease. When one member of a section is goofy or ridiculous, its other members stop fearing that they will make fools out of themselves and start taking intellectual risks.

Of course, the truth is that section dynamics, like any group dynamics, are complicated, and no single formula predictably yields lively discussion. But by the same token, no mix of people, however “naturally” incompatible, is doomed to make a terrible section. A single strong personality has the power to completely alter the chemistry. And if no such personality is already present, students have a responsibility to fill in and act the necessary roles until the blend seems right.

If no one is speaking up, someone needs to act the provocateur. If the atmosphere is poisoned, someone needs to act the peacemaker. If people are stiff, someone needs to act the clown.

There is something dishonest and contrived about this arrangement, to be sure. If students were naturally enthusiastic about the course material (and did the reading), they would have lively interchanges in spite of their personalities. Perhaps so, but if good discussion does not occur organically, the next best option is to induce it artificially.



Charlie E. Riggs ’10, a Crimson editorial editor, is a history concentrator in Quincy House.