Learn Harvard’s Past To Know Its Present

Have you ever wondered why anyone chose to design the paths crisscrossing Harvard Yard so patternlessly?

They were never designed — or at least not by architects. They were made by Harvard students.

The paths in Harvard Yard are “desire paths” — paths shaped by whatever routes people chose to walk on, and later paved into walkways. When each new class pours into the yard, they unknowingly walk the same paths that have been traced by students for almost 400 years.

Unknowingly, I say, because beyond the occasional overheard snippets when passing by tour guides in the yard, few Harvard students are meaningfully informed on the University’s history. A cry for mandatory Harvard history lessons may seem an appeal of a sentimental romantic, but a walk down memory lane might be exactly what we need for a dialogue-driven campus.

Last May, the Editorial Board described how protest and dissent have gone quiet on Harvard’s campus in the past year. As a freshman at the time, the past year was all that I had seen of Harvard. To me — and perhaps to most of my classmates — this apparent quietness is the norm.

To us, it can feel almost impossible to visualize the University in any other way. Yet the context that we didn’t personally experience still matters for our role in the Harvard community. In the past few years, Harvard has undergone tumultuous shifts — civil discourse concerns, budget cuts, several lawsuits from the Trump administration, administrative restructuring, and so on. None of these episodes exist in isolation, but rather in a convoluted web of interconnected cause-and-effects.

Of course, the argument for understanding recent context may seem more convincing than the case for learning about all 400 years of Harvard history. And yet when questions about grade caps or the meaningfulness of General Education classes come up, we inevitably have to reflect on how Harvard’s mission has evolved over generational time scales, and rediscover what it means to be the pioneer of American higher education.

After all, Harvard’s history runs deep. Efforts to reduce inequality, like the incorporation of Radcliffe College or the introduction of the House system, feel to us like a constant part of the University’s identity — and yet in comparison to Harvard’s age, they are mere recent developments.

More solemnly, Stoughton Hall, the dorm I lived in during my freshman year, was named after William Stoughton, who presided as the chief justice in the Salem witch trials. This is not to say that we should destroy the darker parts of Harvard’s history — that’s a topic for another day — but rather that we should know and understand them.

While it is important to contend with present-day issues, recognition of the past helps us build a collective knowledge of the context of these issues. Understanding context conjoining the past and present is the meaning of being informed, which, anyone will agree, we need to do better. As students, we have the responsibility to informedly engage in critical conversations about the institution we call home.

And this history should be accessible. I was quite fortunate in this regard — this past summer, I had on-campus responsibilities that had me take a tour of the Yard, and I have learned about much of my own House’s history courtesy of being a part of the Lowell House Society of Russian Bell Ringers. But on a day to day basis, there really is no way to stumble upon Harvard’s deep past.

Even simply in a pedagogical spirit, showcasing the art, architecture, and history adds to the vibrance and intellectual beauty of Harvard’s campus. Whether through public exhibitions or permanent signage, opportunities for engaging with heritage should be readily available. For instance, I have heard much speculation about the alleged lack of beauty of Zimmer Hall, formerly the Science Center. Have we ever considered placing an architectural exhibition at its entrance?

And then there’s our responsibility to keep the heritage circulating. Especially to any freshmen reading this, do not be simply complacent with what you see in front of you. Ask questions, talk to upperclassmen, and try to get a sense of what this place was like, at least in the three years before you. It can’t hurt to bring back the age-old notion of oral history.

And then, the next time you walk (or run) through the Yard to get to your 9 a.m., know you’re also doing your part in tracing out the paths shaping Harvard.

Adnan Bin Alamgir ’29, a Crimson Editorial editor, lives in Lowell House.