Outside These Ivied Walls

For many of the students graduating today, it is most fitting that the Commencement ceremonies take place inside Harvard Yard. Returning to the Yard represents coming full-circle for most members of the Class of 1996. Like generations of Harvard students before them, they began their collage careers inside its walls. They woke up to the tolling of the Memorial Church bells, read novels under the majestic oaks and played football on the grass. Now they return to the Yard, the place where it all began, so that they might celebrate its end.

Harvard Yard does not possess the same significance for all of us, however. Renovations to Yard dormitories our first year forced 160 of us to be exiled to 29 Garden St., a 10-minute hike away from the Yard in the direction of the Radcliffe Quad. (You could say that we were "Quadded" even before we got here.) Garden Street is a lovely name that hints deliciously at pastoral delights. But back in 1673, when it was nothing more than a humble cowpath, it was known by a decidedly less appealing name: Great Swamp Way.

While many of us were disappointed to learn of our banishment to the bog, the shared experience of living away from our classmates made us into a tight-knit group and forged many close friendships. Preparing our dogsleds for the morning trek over the Cambridge tundra was a great bonding experience. Furthermore, Garden Street did not lack the wonderful diversity of the Yard community. A conservative Filipino-American from the lovely garden state of "New Joisie," I found myself living with a wacky West Coast liberal from that mythical state of California--a place whose name can be loosely translated as "land of earthquakes and elective cosmetic surgery." Across the hall from us lived a brilliant mathematician from Ohio and a talented tenor from West Virginia. (Our friend from West Virginia was one of four Asian-American residents of his county--the other three being his father, his mother and his older sister.)

The fourth floor of Garden Street was a veritable cornucopia of diversity. A word with powerful positive associations, "diversity" has become the buzzword of the educational establishment in the 1990s. College viewbooks use it on every page. Crimson profiles of the undergraduate houses proclaim each house "unified yet diverse, diverse yet unified." The term is invoked so frequently that it seems to have lost any real meaning. Instead, it simply functions as attractive packaging for controversial liberal programs. When President Neil L. Rudenstine wanted to defend Harvard's affirmative action policies in the wake of a heated national debate over racial preferences, he conveniently built his case around the much-touted value of diversity. As Kenan Professor of Government Harvey C. Mansfield Jr. '53 has pointed out in these pages, Rudenstine engaged in a certain amount of equivocation in his apology for affirmative action, drawing support for his argument from thinkers who defined "diversity" in very different terms.

Even if the word "diversity" has been reduced to nothing more than a shell for liberal initiatives, the educational benefits of having people from different intellectual backgrounds in the same classroom cannot be denied. Having experienced first-hand the benefits of diversity, I understand the emphasis that educators place on it. But in our celebration of diversity--the sum total of those things that make us different from each other--we must not lose sight of the value of community. All of us came to this great University as individuals with unique backgrounds and talents. Four years of shared experiences have forged a new communal identity for us. Today we depart not only as individuals but also as members of a remarkable group, the Class of 1996, which itself belongs to a larger Harvard community. This Harvard community, embracing graduates scattered around the globe, transcends the bounds of space and time.

What exactly do we mean when we speak of "the Harvard community"? What unites a group of such strikingly different individuals? The answer, I believe, can be found in Harvard's motto of "Veritas." Of course we disagree in countless areas over what constitutes "the truth"; learning is all about exploring these rich divergences of opinion. But all of us share a commitment to the search for truth. This dedication to the pursuit of knowledge brought all of us here in the first place, and it unites us as we depart.

The ivy-covered walls surrounding Harvard Yard give physical expression to our belief that we are a unique community. But we must not let these walls separate us from the world outside. We must not forget that we are part of many other communities as well. Our families, our hometowns and our religious associations have given us so much over the years; we owe them more than we can possibly say. While many of us pride ourselves on our identity as individuals, we cannot deny the crucial role that communities have played in making us into the people we are today.

As members of these communities, we have a responsibility to participate actively in the work of defining them. The challenge of our society is to avoid defining "community" too narrowly, in ways that keep out people who are different from us. (I speak here not only of immigrants and racial minorities but also of the unborn, whose right to life is denied simply because they differ in physical appearance from us and because they happen to be located within another human being, a person with whom they enjoy a special relationship that deserves the recognition and protection of the state.)

Throughout history, overly narrow definitions of community have led us to commit unspeakable crimes against people we should have regarded as fellow human beings. Today, these narrow definitions continue to result in the exclusion of those who represent our nation's future. Instead, we must broaden and deepen our conceptions of community. This work is not easy (it is certainly much easier to write about than to actually do), but it is well worth the effort. It holds out the promise of a new and stronger sense of social identity that we can bring with us into the next century.

David B. Lat '96 was associate editorial chair of The Crimson in 1995.

A four-year quest to define community broadly.