After reading two Harvard students' brilliant exposé on our campus two weeks ago (just Google it — Harvard Crimson + Tufts) and a few complaints that my column is not, in fact, journalism, I decided to do some hard-hitting, investigative journalism of my own. Harvard seemed like the perfect place to begin my journey into the fourth estate. I had heard that it boasted several large buildings, each just brimming with students who have the power to speak so highly of themselves in conversation that they, like the Crimson's recent journalistic masterpiece, leave you full of hope and wonder — wondering if they could have possibly been serious, and hoping that you were just unwittingly part of some misguided, self-deprecating and poorly executed joke.
Being a girl of few means (my Valentine and I just couldn't hack a weekend at the Berkshires this year), I decided to hop on the T. On the ride over, I bantered with the drunk homeless guy next to me in English, my native language. I'm pretty sure it was his native language, too, but his slurring made it hard to be sure. I asked him where the best place to party at Harvard was, and he told me Central Square — maybe he was sound of mind after all — but I couldn't be deterred.
Wandering around the Yard, I was confused by the lack of Rihanna and drunkenness there. Being from a university with a frat scene so incredibly robust that I haven't actually entered one since freshman year, I had expected more action. I checked my calendar just to be sure I hadn't accidentally come to scope out the party scene on a Sunday night or a holiday (or both) — because how ridiculous would that be? Very, but alas, it was still Friday night. Bizarre.
Or not that bizarre? Actually, everything seemed pretty normal when I thought about it. The students walking past me looked like, well ... students. Of course I didn't see any funtivities. They were in places I didn't know about, because I don't even go there. Aside from the two dudes stooped in an alcove rabidly stroking the appliqués on each other's Harvard fleeces, I must say that it looked like any other small college campus in the Northeast, plus some famous buildings. "How could that be?" I thought to myself.
Because it is. That's right, folks, Harvard is just another school. Its students vary — some of them are irritatingly pretentious features writers, but some of them are also our friends, our siblings and our siblings' friends (and our siblings' friends with benefits?) and I'm sure that, like on most campuses, the majority of them are totally legit. They, like us, cannot be boiled down to simple (and unflattering) stereotypes like "frat-ish people" and "listless sorority girls" mentioned in the Crimson article. I highly doubt there is a model Harvard-ette — there sure isn't one at Tufts, unless you want to count Jumbo. Also, like anywhere else, it was weird that someone from another school just showed up to make completely unfounded and annoyingly verbose judgments about the entire college based on a single night. So I got out my Charlie Card and went home.
I don't want to start a column war with the Crimson — that would involve me reading it every week. I'd just like to give a couple of shout outs: Lillian Yu and Alexander Ratner, shame on you. You embarrass Harvard, and you embarrass yourselves. Tufts, I think we all know that we can compete with Harvard in more ways than just "logistically," and judging by the inferiority complex that is the so creatively titled "Tufts," I think they know it, too. And, finally, to you, aqua-shirted freshman: you make us proud, whoever you are.
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Jessie Borkan is a senior majoring in psychology. She can be reached at Jessie.Borkan@tufts.edu.
