Commencement Commotion

At last year's Commencement exercises, President Neil L. Rudenstine slowly intoned the traditional, age-old sentences that granted degrees to Kennedy School of Government graduates. It was a big moment--an official confirmation of the students' work, a recognition of their achievement.

In response, the K-School's fledgling alumni tossed scarlet streamers into the air. "Red tape!" they shouted gleefully.

They were seated near the Medical School students, who threw tongue depressors. School of Public Health graduates pitched condoms into the clouds.

Needless to say, it wasn't particularly austere.

Iattended last year's Commencement, covering the ceremonies for the Crimson. I'll be there again this June. I'm not a senior; I won't be graduating. My parents and grandparents won't be travelling hundreds of miles to witness the event. I won't be celebrating the culmination of my undergraduate education.

But I will be attending Gen. L. Colin Powell's speech. And I will likely be carrying a sign, expressing my anger with the military's misguided, discriminatory policy toward gays. I might even chant a little.

My plan to protest--and the similar plans that many share--upsets many students, regardless of their opinions on General Colin Powell as Commencement speaker choice. In meetings, editorial columns, letters to The Crimson and dining hall conversations, countless students on either side of the Powell debate have urged us to keep our opinions to ourselves during the Commencement cermonies.

Commencement, they argue, is a special occasion. It's a solemn commemoration of an important passage. It's a proper ceremony that shouldn't be disrupted by disrespectful demonstrations.

If they say that, they've probably never been to a Commencement ceremony.

At last year's Commencement, for example, students decorated their robes with flowers and ivy. Every TV camera crew got a shot of the student who wore silver tinsel on her mortarboard. Someone from Adams House had a guitar; his classmates sang as they filed into Memorial Church for Reverend Peter J. Gomes' benediction.

Prasad V. Jallepalli '92 delivered the traditional Latin oration; his theme was "The Ship of Harvard." In Latin, Jallepalli said that "The Ship of Harvard admits only the strangest sort of animals--or how else would we have Adams House?" Audience members followed the speech with printed English translations. They chuckled frequently. The 350-year-old Latin oration tradition is traditionally irreverent. William S. Parsons '92 wrote his undergraduate address, "Fair Harvard, Farewell," in iambic pentameter. He touched on some serious issues near the end of his speech, but most of it was humorous; a lot of Orientation week jokes.

Commencement is a particularly Harvardian spectacle, with its share of colorful customs. The Sheriff of Middlesex County always attends--a practice that dates back to the 1600s, when University graduates and their guests sought protection from the threat of Algonquin attacks. The procession of faculty is a showcase of pomp and circumstance; professors march from University Hall to the Memorial Church steps, dressed in academic regalia and wearing the colors of their alma maters.

Protest itself is nothing new to Commencement. For Law School graduates, it's practically a tradition. Last year, Law School students booed loudly when Dean Robert C. Clark stepped to the podium. They carried placards that read, "HLS Discriminates," "Resign Dean Clark" and "Dean--let me tell you about self-esteem." They held up a giant banner that blared, "Down with--Discrimination!!! Down with--The Dean!!!" Clark seemed unfazed; he tipped his hat politely to the crowd.

As Clark seemed to understand, there is nothing wrong with demonstrations at Commencement; in fact, they should be welcomed. The ceremony gives disgrunted students an opportunity to express their opinions and grivances before a wide and often influential audience. Harvard takes its alumni seriously--and alumni who find an issue compelling often have the power to effect change, or at least to put pressure on a stagnant administration.

Of course, students shouldn't shout Powell down, or yell so loudly that his speech is inaudible. He has the right to speak, and his audience has the right to hear him. But the expression of dissent at Commencement is neither unprecedented nor undesirable. It's part of the University experience--an experience that, for most of us, has much more to do with opinion and debate than with protocol and decorum.

Commencement is so named for a reason. It's meant, not as an ending, but as a beginning to life in the real world. It's supposed to be a cause for celebration. The colorful, comical scene that erupts each year captures the joy of the occasion. It also gives students a pretty good chance to demonstrate what they've learned in the past four years. If they've learned to make their opinions heard--and if they've learned that discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation is unacceptable--then Harvard has done at least part of its job.

In short, Commencement isn't a dignified occasion. It's more like a three-ring circus. Sometimes it's serious; often it's less than serious. But most people get into the spirit of the day--and if that spirit is a little absurd, a little raucous, a little loud, then so be it. At a school whose students and faculty members take themselves far too seriously far too often, the annual June melee is a welcome escape--and a tradition worth preserving.