Growing Up, All At Once

The cool air of a September morning rushed through the trees surrounding University Hall. The sun began to fill the Yard with the glimmer of a new semester. This morning was the quiet beginning to the day of upper class registration, a day that became filled with worry and pain, reflection and prayer. The morning of Tuesday September the eleventh will no doubt be the formative experience of our college lives—before the year had officially begun, we had already learned more about our country and ourselves than we could have learned from the year’s coursework. The events of September 11th and the following weeks changed the way Harvard students, like all college students, see the world. The way we view America and its actions abroad will be forever altered. We all shed our naivete, and we began to recognize our own vulnerability.

Whispers and worried looks haunted Sever Hall. Its heavy doors opened and closed for thousands of students finding their way to registration packets containing information that would have seemed important a few hours earlier. The effects of September 11th forced Harvard students to become more aware of the world outside Johnston Gate and beyond our own two sandy coasts. As students craved a better understanding of the mentality of our enemies and continued in the search for veritas, enrollment for courses about international conflict and about the Middle East swelled from previous years. The Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations department received a $1.5 million donation to hire a new preceptor to meet rising demand. Foreign Cultures 17: “Thought and Change in the Contemporary Middle East” almost tripled its enrollment to 261—up from 91 when it was last offered two years ago. Students feeling insecure about America’s place in the world recognized the importance of increased knowledge, and they strived to understand.

American flags quickly appeared across campus. Large flags filled storefronts, hung from windowsills and lined dorm room walls. The Stars and Stripes was proudly displayed at universities across the nation as a symbol of solidarity and hope. The last time American flags were so prominent on college campuses—during the Vietnam era—they were burning. Harvard, a liberal school that could only be described as pacifist for the last 30 years, was ready for America to go to war. Sixty-nine percent of Harvard students surveyed by The Crimson in late September wanted to take military action against those responsible for the attacks, and 50 percent wanted to change U.S. law to allow for the assassination of known terrorists. College students across America also reacted strongly in favor of force. The Institute of Politics (IOP) found in its annual Campus Attitudes toward Politics and Public Service survey that 79 percent of students favored military action. While college students have traditionally been more trusting in diplomacy than the nation as a whole, in the wake of September 11th, the gap had shrunk. According to the IOP and an ABC news poll, 76 percent of college students supported military action against nations that assist or sponsor terrorism—close to the 87 percent of the general population that felt the same.

“Are all your people okay?” rang through the Yard like the bells of Memorial Church, which rang later that afternoon as 3,000 members of the Harvard community gathered for a vigil and silent prayer in honor of our lost American brothers and sisters. Over a thousand Harvard students flocked to give blood—many were asked to postpone their donations. Some Harvard students drove down to New York City—multiple times—to help the victims of the attacks in person. An outpouring of support for relief efforts by college students came from across the nation. An IOP survey reported that “71% of college students have given blood, volunteered time, or donated money to September 11th relief efforts.” This number dwarfed the 59.5 percent who reported in the IOP’s April 2001 survey that they had been “involved in a community service activity during the past twelve months.” The events of September 11th forced college students to recognize our connection to all American citizens and the importance of solidarity in times of need. But more importantly, we learned that even America—the world’s foremost superpower—will be in need too. Our generation, which had never felt threatened by severe economic or military turmoil, soon felt both. We realized that we were not invincible, and that we were scared.

Today, the Class of 2002 graduates from Harvard College as the warm air of a June afternoon glides gently through Tercentenary Theatre. The senior year of these proud graduates may have been scarred—but was not ruined—by post-September 11th concerns. Day-to-day life changed little from years past; Harvard students were not called to serve their country as they were during Vietnam. The year, thankfully, saw no attacks on Boston or Harvard—16 percent of the Crimson survey respondents feared that Harvard might be the target of a large-scale terrorist attack. But while everyday life at Harvard and at campuses across the country was not severely altered, our minds have been forever changed. We carry with us the pain of the tragedy, but also the strength and solidarity we have felt since then. Our discourse has changed—vehement debate over today’s Commencement oration by Zayed M. Yasin ’02 is only one example. As we shed off our college selves and join the ranks of American society, we will no doubt be more politically involved, more concerned about international affairs and the perception of America abroad. During our years at college, we are meant to grow up—and in just a few hours of a September morning, we did.