Harvard often presents itself as a champion of free expression in the classroom, with its official handbook stating that the University is “committed to reason and rational discourse.” And while no institution is perfect, I’ve found that in the right environment, with students and educators who genuinely value intellectual vitality, spaces at Harvard can foster unfiltered discussion.
This semester, I had the privilege of being part of one such space: Expos Studio 20, “The Successful Life.” As an Expository Writing course, it focused on analytical writing, specifically prompting students to discover and examine their ideas of success.
At the beginning of the semester, each of us wrote down our definition of success on a blank piece of paper. I wrote about wanting to enjoy whatever career I ended up having, living in the mountains so that I can go skiing every day, and being close enough to see my sister often. Everyone in the class had their unique takes—some people wanted money or fame, while others wanted equality or peace.
A few days ago, at the end of the semester, we revisited the same activity. We compared how our definitions had evolved. For me, my idea of success remained largely unchanged, still centered around happiness and a peaceful life. However, several of my peers shared how their views had transformed entirely. Through readings, discussions, and self-reflection, we all arrived at our own conclusions about what success means to us. The environment we created in class played a key role in this growth, fostering the kind of open dialogue and reflection that allowed our perspectives to shift.
Like many required courses, it brought together a wide spectrum of students from different backgrounds and interests. That diversity became the course’s greatest strength, fueling conversations that felt genuinely meaningful.
I could walk into class with a half-baked opinion and some scattered annotations and walk out ready to passionately defend a stance I hadn’t realized I held. Other days, I entered with a firm perspective only to leave with a completely different understanding because a classmate’s argument challenged me to reconsider.
An example of when my stance was challenged was when we read an excerpt from “Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry Into the Value of Work” by Matthew B. Crawford. The book is about the differing values of white- and blue-collar work. Honestly, when I first read it, I was bored and not excited. I’m pre-med, and I just kept thinking, “Well, I already know what I want to do. Why do I need to read about all these kinds of work?”
But once we started discussing it in class, I realized there was more to it than I thought. Our class talked about the roots of these different kinds of work and where the stigmas surrounding them stem from. We got into systemic issues within industries—racism, sexism, and the ethics of working for large corporations like Amazon. People disagreed, and our conversations lasted the entire class.
Unlike other required classes where readings felt like a chore and discussion was forced or awkward, this course encouraged immediate engagement. If I disagreed with something, I said so. If someone disagreed with me, they let me know. We had discussions that filled entire class periods, and no one shied away from difficult topics. I heard perspectives from across the political and ideological spectrum, and not once did I feel silenced or dismissed.
It reminded me of another space where I felt free to speak my mind: the First-Year Outdoor Program. After a week in the woods—no phones, no distractions—something remarkable happened: people started saying what they truly thought. Trail conversations veered into topics I’d normally avoid, especially politics, yet every viewpoint was heard. One topic that came up on several occasions was religion, and despite the diversity of backgrounds present, I never felt like the discussion got disrespectful. People were open to listen and learn, fueled by curiosity.
Spaces like these stand in contrast to the current atmosphere both within and beyond academia. Across the country, students and faculty members are growing increasingly wary of speaking too freely, worried their words might be misunderstood, misrepresented, or condemned. On college campuses, debates over what constitutes “appropriate” speech have become political flashpoints. Even here at Harvard, tensions are evident.
Recently, Harvard sued the Trump administration over threats to research funding and alleged violations of Title VI of the Civil Rights Act. This action has made some students afraid to speak their minds with honesty in the classroom. I support Harvard’s decision to defend its students’ rights and its ability to shape its educational mission. I believe that by standing up for the right to research and the ability of universities to make their own decisions, Harvard is standing for a core value of democracy: freedom.
But not everyone feels that way—when Harvard sued, to some students, it felt as if the entire University had taken a side against them. Not to mention, international students’ visas are now under threat, causing many to fear speaking up and drawing attention to themselves.
In such a charged environment, open dialogue often feels risky. The resulting silence is often self-imposed, creeping in as students begin to second-guess whether their ideas will be received in good faith. That’s why it’s essential to approach these conversations with respect—so that everyone feels safe enough to speak their mind in the classroom.
To be honest, I once regretted taking the path from Expos Studio 10 to Expos Studio 20 to fulfill my writing requirement. The studio courses have smaller class sizes—my class had 10 students—and allow you to get more feedback on your work before it is turned in compared to regular Expos classes.
Coming from a high school with limited academic resources, I lacked formal writing experience and felt behind. I envied classmates who went straight into regular Expos 20, which fulfills Harvard’s writing requirement in one class instead of two. But now, I’m glad I took this route. This course didn’t just reshape how I write—it changed how I think about what conversations are still possible in higher education.
What made the course special was that no one—neither students nor our preceptor—approached disagreement as a threat. We questioned the readings. We questioned each other. We even questioned Harvard itself. But it never felt risky—it felt productive. That kind of dynamic doesn’t happen by accident. It takes trust, intentionality, and a shared understanding that being right is less important than being willing to engage.
As academia grows more cautious—and, in some places, more closed off—I’m reminded what a privilege it is to be part of spaces where students can speak freely, challenge one another, and grow through that process. That freedom isn’t guaranteed, and it’s not permanent. It must be protected—by students who speak up, by faculty who foster it, by classmates who choose to listen with an open mind, and by institutions that choose dialogue over defensiveness.
Olivia Lunseth ’28 (olivialunseth@college.harvard.edu) loves feeling free to pitch anything without judgment during Storyboard.