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THE HARVARD CRIMSON
EDITORIAL
JANUARY 27, 2023
COLUMN
COLUMN
THE HARVARD BELOW OUR FEET
RHYME AND REASON
Inside Weeks Bridge
Have Some Fun, Hon
A DEEPER LOOK. Weeks Bridge exists as a reminder to take a deeper look at what we’ve written off as commonplace or mundane.
GUILTY FUN. So what’s this first piece all about? What’s column number one? People at this school, it seems, Feel guilty having fun.
BY ADAM V. ALEKSIC BY MIREYA SÁNCHEZ-MAES
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sepia ectoplasm of leaf imprints is caked onto the concrete blocks of a bridge dedicated to a dead man. As students, we interact with the John Weeks Bridge regularly, but we never stop to consider the history the structure holds. Scuff marks hint at footsteps that once thundered there, as ephemeral as the leaves that once lay on the drying cement. Scattered stories are the only scraps of vestigial proof we have to document the thousands of people who walked across, ritually jumped off, and fell in love on this bridge. The little secrets ensconced on the Weeks footbridge belie a greater one: why it’s there. Rather than being built as a quaint pedestrian thoroughfare, it was constructed in 1926 for the far more utilitarian purpose of funneling steam over to the Business School. An ever-expanding Harvard needed a new method to bring heat from what is now the Blackstone plant on the Cambridge side to their facilities on the Allston side. The bridge was ultimately built as a way to extend their sprawling network of steam tunnels. This means that the landmark’s hollow brick facade conceals a secret passageway. A damp, dimly lit wooden walkway rises and falls with the three swooping arches and compresses into a crawl space at each of their apices. Staircases and sets of steel doors sandwich either end, leading into other recesses of the tunnel system. Scalding hot pipes snake along the sides, carrying vapors that typically exceed 400 degrees Fahrenheit. The space simultaneously seems sweltering from the steam and cold from the grimy liquid on the ground. Graffiti immortalizing past generations adorns the sticky walls, and the stuffy smell of stale air permanently lingers throughout the cramped corridor. The names and illustrations scribbled on the sides of the tunnel reside as relics of an era when this forgotten world was far more accessible. Intrepid undergrads could venture down through trapdoors on the abutments and into the passageway. Homeless Cantabrigians would often
go down there to find a warm, quiet shelter from the rough New England weather. What is a mere memory to us today was once an open secret around campus. The Weeks tunnel began to be forgotten 60 years ago when security was tightened across the steam tunnels following a series of breakins. The College started to see the space as a liability and security risk, and wanted to keep out both nosy students and the unhoused. Any information about the tunnels was carefully withheld from the public, and knowledge of it became diluted with every cohort of graduates. Today, the only indications that the bridge might be more than a pretty structure are the heavy, internally padlocked metal panels interspersed at periodic intervals along its surface. We don’t question their purpose any more than we take time to marvel at the haunting, faded oak leaf impressions nearby. Although this particular portal to the past has passed into obscurity, the John Weeks Bridge continues to be a conduit for our collective memories. As an important social hub on campus, it constantly serves as a catalyst for the creation of new stories, stories that will one day also be forgotten. Inherently a point of transition, the bridge stands as a testament of the transience and impermanence of the college experience. Nevertheless, it is important to appreciate the remnants of history that we can salvage. Weeks Bridge also exists as a reminder to take a deeper look at what we’ve written off as commonplace or mundane. Every building, street, and landmark on campus holds a secret, and it’s up to us to uncover them. In doing this, we stop taking things for granted and learn to better value what we have before our transient college experience too comes to an end.
–Adam V. Aleksic ’23 is a joint concentrator in Government and Linguistics in Kirkland House. His column “The Harvard Beneath Our Feet” appears on alternate Thursdays.
OP-ART A CAMBRIDGE WINTER The weather is finally predictable… predictably cold.
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elcome one, and welcome all It’s great to have you here. This will be my column For the next, like, half a year. “What’s with all the rhymes?” you ask “You sound like you are three.” First of all, rude. And second, wait and see. I’ve noticed something worrisome It’s really quite mysterious that many Harvard undergrads Are simply far too serious! They only read the classics. And work themselves to death They hope for Goldman Sachs and Bain With tense and baited breath. The Ivies are notorious For hyper-toxic vibes They’re so hard to get into Some rich folks resort to bribes! But all that competition means That students can feel trapped Like if they don’t speak Shakespeare Then they’ll never quite adapt! This column is an argument Against all that BS Rhyming is a weapon I will use to self-express! I hope that people read this And realize it’s okay To take themselves less seriously And add fun to their day. I have a great semester planned! From final clubs to school, We’ll touch on all things Harvard. And if you’re like, “That’s not cool.” Just know that rhymes are learning tools. They worked when you were two. And though you have regressed since then, They just might work anew. So what’s this first piece all about? What’s column number one? People at this school, it seems, Feel guilty having fun. They start their econ homework, Then pause to watch a show. But after that they’ll curse their Lazy asses. “No, Chad, No! You fool! You numb nut! You’ve wasted so much time! Goldman Sachs will hate you If you watch more Shonda Rhimes!” Then they drink a Red Bull And as penance, they stay up Till 5:30 in the morning. Is this unproductive? Yup! As students we are busy, And rarely have the time To do things just for fun Like watch a show or write a rhyme! (wink) Harvard’s reputation Of academic clout Enforces this reality By filling us with doubt: “Should I start my essay?
I haven’t had lunch yet…. I really need some sleep But I should start the next pset!” Because there’s always work to do, And we all want success, We often forgo pleasure Which results in undue stress. But here’s a little secret That psychology supports: Too long without a break, creates problems – Times reports. Taking breaks is healthy. It helps prevent fatigue! So don’t feel guilty taking time To check that football league. Studies show that taking breaks And time away from work Creates healthy long term habits That we otherwise might shirk. Like sleep! And exercise! And human interaction! Science says that rested folks Have “higher satisfaction.” Psychologically, The human brain is built to wander We can focus ≈40 minutes Then our brain will quit its ponder! So pushing through is by no means The “best” thing we should do Guilt’s not necessary— take some time that’s just for you! But for you workaholics, Know there’s grade benefits, too Work tends to be better when Your brain is fresh and new Taking time to hang with friends Or doing things you like Is not anti-productive, It makes ideas spike! And of course, for mental health, Some fun breaks are required! They help us to escape The stressful patterns we’ve got wired. Knowing it’s important To do things that we enjoy Will help us live our lives here With more happiness and joy. Does that mean we should never work? Or party every night? Nah bro, make smart choices And I swear you’ll be alright. My point here is, a show or two? A day that’s just for fun? It certainly won’t kill you And will help in the long run. So if, to save your mental health, You need to take a break. Then girl, you should do it! At least, do it for my sake.
–Mireya Sánchez-Maes ’24 is a joint concentrator in English and Theater, Dance, and Media in Currier House. Her column “Rhyme and Reason” appears on alternate Mondays.
–Emily N. Dial ’25, a Crimson Editorial and Associate Design Editor, is a Philosophy concentrator in Adams House.
OP-ED
Let the Tourists be Tourists BY NOAH B. KASSIS
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ampus tourists are annoying. At Harvard, this stance is a basic tenet of undergraduate life. Most of us adopt it quickly and uncritically, expressing disdain from the first instance of uninvited photography or blocked walkways. Our annoyance seems reasonable — this campus is our place, so goes the common refrain, and we shouldn’t have to deal with the constant, near-voyeuristic intrusion of outsiders in our place of living and learning. Our unspoken logic is simple: We belong here, and they do not. Naturally salient but not explicit are claims of entitlement (we deserve to be here; they don’t), superiority (we’re good enough to be here; they’re not), and ownership (Harvard is ours, not theirs). This line of reasoning is awfully precarious. Our sense of entitlement, superiority, and ownership all rely on status gained from a single decision made by the Admissions Office. Is it truly reasonable to claim that acceptance to Harvard — a mark of “merit” steeped heavily in chance, privilege, and legacy status — effects such immediate and certain distinction? Undoubtedly, Harvard students have a claim to ownership at Harvard — we’re the ones who power its research and pay its tuition. But we’re not the
only ones who can rightfully claim ownership. Whether we like it or not, Harvard — the school, the symbol, the mythology, the history — is a project of joint ownership. As a practical matter, the university benefits from massive indirect public investment via hidden taxpayer subsidies disguised in the form of its tax-free endowment. As of 2015, this benefit was equivalent to $48,000 per student, almost five times the taxpayer investment per student at Massachusetts’s flagship public university. From a historical perspective, too, Harvard is a monument, a national symbol. Our university has educated eight U.S. presidents and is older than the nation itself. It is inextricably linked to American history. From any perspective, it’s only reasonable that Harvard be, at the very least, available for public viewing. Most importantly, Harvard’s immense cultural clout marks it as an object of public interest and ownership. Consistent media coverage, recurrent public debates, outsize importance in politics and business, and regular Hollywood attention all contribute to a near-obsessive level of public attention — a veritable “cult of Harvard” in American popular culture. We’ve all encountered it in impressively uncreative nicknames from high school friends, copy-and-paste Linkedin entreaties from Harvard hopefuls, and the oddly exhilarating dread that arises when asked “Where do you go to college?” It’s the same cultish attraction driving the tourist swarms.
And we hate it. Or so we say. But we don’t actually hate the cult of Harvard; in fact, for many, if not most, of us, it’s part of the reason we’re here. It figured in our decision to commit to Harvard, and it undergirds our self-image and self-worth — whether we admit it or not. This makes sense: In our putatively meritocratic society, going to Harvard is the ultimate mark of success. The clout, attention, and brand power of the Harvard pin on our lapels provide real goods — both material and psychological. So why do the tourists irritate us? If their presence is just a particularly immediate manifestation of the cultural fixation we seem to enjoy, our exasperation makes no sense. Shouldn’t we enjoy all the attention they provide? Rather, our excessive annoyance with campus tourists reveals something else: an ambivalence about the cult of Harvard — a preoccupation with several unresolved questions over our university’s peculiar cultural role. For example: Is the cult of Harvard just? I assume many would join me in arguing that the immense prestige afforded to Harvard alumni in the professional world produces and exacerbates systemic inequities. Is the cult of Harvard democratic? The predominant bias toward Harvard graduates in American politics, almost by definition, is not conducive to
representative government. Does the cult of Harvard reflect reality? Is this university really the best, permanently and axiomatically? Forbes, U.S. News, QS, Times Higher Education, and Niche don’t seem to think so. And perhaps most importantly, is the cult of Harvard really good for us, Harvard’s students? Does it set realistic and healthy expectations? Does it prepare us to participate in our communities with humility and integrity? Each semester I spend here, I become increasingly concerned that the answer is no. These are reasonable and important ethical questions. They should be pondered by every critical and compassionate thinker in this community of enormous privilege and cultural power. We should shout them at administrators, job recruiters, admissions officers, and each other. They should become topics of debate, reason for self-interrogation, and fodder for genuine unease. No matter where it takes us, the targets of this unease should not be campus tourists, who are merely partaking in a cult of Harvard they had no part in creating. So long as the cult of Harvard continues to benefit us, we need to let go of the antipathy. Let the tourists be tourists.
–Noah B. Kassis ’25, a Crimson Editorial Editor, is a History concentrator in Mather House.
