In those first weeks of freshman fall, Harvard’s name felt exhilarating coming out of my mouth. With every new friend made over a meal in Annenberg and each discovery of a secret corner on campus, I felt like an enthusiastic visitor to a place I now got to call my new home. Yet with each passing day, my life here got a little less memorable and a little more routinary. The sights that once stopped me in my tracks now blended in a red haze as I made my way to class. The people I had spent late nights with talking about everything—and nothing—now only awkwardly waved, as the freshness of orientation week could not bind us together anymore. Slowly, that feeling of wonder got replaced by a nothingness created by assignments, classes, and deadlines.
It is now more than seven months since I came here, and I cannot help but wonder why the reactions of strangers saying, “You go to Harvard?” do not generate the same kind of pride; why the posters and pennants on my wall remind me more of the responsibility I feel towards friends and family than to a genuine belonging at this school. Why did the place that once brought me so much joy become uninspiring so quickly? For me and many other students, this loss of excitement is not necessarily attributed to the mere passage of time, but instead to the underlying issues that govern Harvard as an institution.
“Harvard felt like a magical place the first time I came here,” said Sean Gallagher ’26. “However, as time progressed, it became a space that I felt I needed to survive in. With all the pressure that exists to partake in events and extracurriculars, compounded with having to work to pay my tuition and my day-to-day necessities, I sometimes feel the need to escape campus, at least for a little bit.”
Throughout my time here, I have heard peers openly admit they chose Harvard solely based on prestige, which is seen as a possible advantage when accessing career opportunities later on. It is no coincidence then that Harvard’s pre-professional culture permeates a large portion of student life, as the preoccupation with achievement and success is everywhere. There is an overwhelming pressure, for example, to partake in student organizations which are often seen as networking opportunities. We are told that if we do not take advantage of them then we are missing out. This phenomenon creates a climate in which students feel constant pressure to overcommit themselves or join clubs with a post-college motive, even when their circumstances prevent them from following through with their plans.
Even though students feel this way, seeking counseling when faced with anxiety or depression is intimidating due to the apathetic policies at Harvard-provided services, such as Counseling and Mental Health Services (CAMHS). For instance, students who are deemed unfit by Harvard University Health Services may be put on an involuntary leave of absence, from which the process of appealing is an additional burden to the student’s well-being.
“If I am struggling mentally, I do not want to compound that with the fear that I am gonna be kicked out of this campus,” exclaimed Ben Langman ’26. “It seems at times as if this school cares more about its reputation—the outside superficial features—rather than the students themselves.”
Langman’s beliefs remain especially relevant today, considering the controversy surrounding the allegations of sexual misconduct by members of the Anthropology department, most notably professor John Comaroff. Comaroff was placed on an unpaid leave of absence in the spring of 2022 due to the accusations but has since returned to teaching. Campus groups such as Our Harvard Can Do Better continue to openly criticize the passive stance that Harvard has taken in terms of administrative action and call for Comaroff’s resignation.
Throughout my time as a student here, I am both grateful and frustrated, overjoyed and underwhelmed both by Harvard’s resources and lack of using them. I directly oppose the cold attitude that Harvard has taken towards many of its critical issues, but still remember the warmth in which it has welcomed me.
To be a student here means being disappointed by many of the flaws that exist within these iron gates while hoping that one day, things will be better. Because the beauty of brick walls and towering trees represent a choice—to see them as inspiring reminders of the prestige, the luxury, the power that the Harvard name holds, or to be the motivation to uncover a cruel history that follows Harvard like a shadow. For many, the former is enough. But to do so is to ignore all of the suffering that comes along for this privilege to exist.
I am not sure I will ever get back the feeling of wonder that I experienced in those first few weeks. Even if things change—if Harvard fills up its cracks by expanding its estate or making a new building—the remnants of what was there will always be a part of its foundation. When the name Harvard comes out of my mouth, I do not think of magic; rather, I think of a place that only has the potential for it.
Santiago Salazar ’26 (santiagosalazar@college.harvard.edu) writes Forum for the Independent.