After reading and writing religiously for The Crimson for the past two years, I’ve struggled sometimes to remember why I wear this habit like a second skin when it often feels ill-fitted. Why do we—I—continue writing? Why do we insist on preaching the Harvard experience knowing that once the words and passion trickle from our fingertips, they are held by only a handful of eyes, are given perhaps a fleeting consideration before quickly turning to the next hot take? Why write and invite change, only to be swiftly forgotten?
This isn’t only a trend along the Charles—it’s a national phenomenon. Higher education has been shown to increase liberal leanings overall. Harvard is one of many schools that champions this liberal arts education that provide the soundscape for these thoughts to reverberate, enclosing left rhetoric in the bubble as the only intellectual air to breath. Yet, the accumulation of “snowflake” ideas gives way to an avalanche effect: The more prominent and heavily liberal ideals that are expressed on campus, the more likely for more conservative views to be swallowed, suffocated in the deluge, and rendered invisible under the snow.
Isn’t this what we always wanted, to come from our respective backgrounds and become successful—to make our families proud? To be worthy of the chances that have been taken on us through the admissions process and prove to the collective rest that this opportunity of a lifetime was not lost on us?
There is a you buried under this oil sheen, but there is also you that is you lost in the patina, dripping crimson, capitalizing everything you touch. Which one, however, is the real distortion?
Did this make you cringe—did it evoke an uncomfortable squirm, a loosening of the tie—how about a swallowing of a gulp of air, in appreciation of the privilege of its clarity? Even worse: Does it sound commonplace, ordinary—like it could have happened here at Harvard?