All manner of people take all manner of issue with elite universities. Chief among the usual qualms is the observation that places like Harvard pump out more financial analysts and consultants than appropriate for a university that purports to educate the transformative citizen-leaders of tomorrow. Is this really what all these kids came here to do, and why does the mission seem to fall so short? As I reach the tail end of my time here, I’m thinking about the distinct ways I’ve seen this environment – with all its trappings, narratives, and institutions – shape student paths. Sometimes I joke that Harvard is gaslighting all of us.
You get into Harvard by wanting to change the world, by having pie-in-the-sky ambitions. You don’t get in by limiting your goals simply to college admission - or, at least, you render that ulterior aim of yours undetectable. On the whole, it has been my experience that Harvard does manage to admit a lot of amazing, well-intentioned, bright people. But it changes them.
People get there, and realise that they’re not the best, the smartest, or the most hard-working anymore. So they say, okay, my role is not to change the world. That’s the role of him, or her, or them, because they’re all smarter and more hard-working than I am. The kid who just patented an invention, the other one who wrote two books, and the countless NGO founders who have collectively raised millions of dollars as teenagers. The real innovators, with destiny. Although these are largely illusory narratives and impressions, psychologically, their place in the world shifts. People become much less ambitious.
They start to think smaller, safer. I’m not good enough for magnificent dreams. Hell, I can’t even get into any clubs. (Exclusivity is a bit of an issue on this campus.) Anyway, how do I even ‘change the world’ as I’d promised everyone upon entry to this place? I’m here now and I need to start fulfilling that mission, but man, people don’t talk about the logistics. The scope of their dreams tighten, from can-do-anything to yikes-I’m-not-THAT-exceptional-let’s-just-climb-the-ladder-that’s-meant-for-me. There is that guaranteed, successful thing that still impresses people and satisfies parents, but doesn’t change anything of substance. As luck would have it, that’s exactly the sort of path that career offices tend to be talented at finding and providing – the stable and prestigious opportunities at firms willing to pay up to $18,000 to recruit at career fairs.
In the first two years, when people asked me what I wanted to do with my education, I’d think back to the massive fantasies I’d concocted in my bedroom as a 17-year-old in Auckland, and feel a bit silly remembering the vague and grandiose notion of changing the world that had underpinned my aims. I mean, I’d had more specific ideas than that, but to tell the truth, the only thing I had real confidence in was that I wanted to really contribute something. I still did, and do. But having control of your life isn’t something that just happens to you; you have to be pro-active about it. And at times when I felt swamped with homework* I’d grumble to myself that it felt like Harvard was actively preventing me from figuring out what I really should be doing.
It would be hugely helpful if students had more breathing room and headspace, or ways to talk about and normalise these thoughts, and collaborate to make their dreams slightly less vague. Likewise, it would go a long way if career services had more resources on strategic decision-making and calculated risk-taking, or access to mentorship from people in “non-traditional” pathways. There is a lot of underexplored room for improvement in how we guide our young people, and significant mismatches in the labour market as a result.
There seems to be a lot of low-hanging fruit and potential for high ROI for solutions in this area. Career choices are some of the most important decisions people make, yet convention expects them to start narrowing down their path early on with very little information or experience trying things out, to prepare years in advance without knowing what the demand for various jobs or skills might be by the time they graduate, to listen to out-of-date advice, to conduct their first job-search almost exclusively within the narrow scope of the companies that choose to recruit at their school, and to place no emphasis on seriously sitting down to forecast how the future might look in 20-30 years when you’re mid-career.
By going to college for four years, you become uprooted from your home and community, and lose significant agency and power to serve a community that you know and are committed to. I personally got very disconnected from New Zealand while away – I felt like I didn’t have my finger on the pulse of the place anymore, didn’t know what was happening – and it’s hard to replace that with a new town in a new country.
Who should you be making a change for, what do you invest in, when you’re in an inherently transitory position? It’s obviously not impossible to do so, but it’s a difficulty that many don’t anticipate, especially if you’re someone that’s interested in sustainable, direct and local impact. It’s hard to imagine taking up responsibilities in Cambridge community development or the local council, if you know you’re only there 26 weeks a year for four years. Although there are plenty of people who volunteer as tutors, mentors and so on, I think the transience pushes many people to focus on self-development instead (including myself). This is completely fine, as personal growth is obviously important, but constant absorption in the self might be teaching students not to prioritise other-regarding goals.
Elite colleges also actually close doors – at least, psychologically. You don’t see Harvard alumni becoming plumbers, or farmers, or opening a corner store, or doing things that aren’t “worthy” of their degree, even if that’s what makes them happy. The pressure to prove that the price tag and hard work was “worth it”, and that you “lived up to your potential”, is an insidious side effect of attendance that no one talks about. It’s another barrier to risk-taking – even though they have an elite degree, which is ironically one of the best career backup plans one could possibly have. (And yes, I acknowledge that this is a privileged problem; it is still a problem.)
I find that people back home are often much more ambitious about changing their part of the world than people at Harvard. At the end of sophomore year I felt blown away at how many Auckland University kids I knew that were starting companies and social enterprises, creating maker spaces, doing art, running for council – and nonchalantly inventing their own rules, which is something Harvard kids don’t seem to do. It might be that they don’t harbour so much mental pressure. It might be that they don’t take everything so seriously. It might be that they’re not so paralysed by and unaccustomed to the idea of failure.
The obligatory disclaimer is that I am grateful beyond words for my college education, which has permitted me the most eye-opening and irreplaceable experiences. Nevertheless, I like to think of myself as a realist about the kind of place Harvard is, and the spectrum of effects it has on people. There is much impact to be had in solving some of these problems, and in creating environments for college students in which they are empowered to take the risks they want to (especially if they are very well-placed to take risks), have agency, and can more easily find networks of others wanting to be creative and inspired, to create a mutually-reinforcing spiral of creativeness and inspiration until everyone explodes in a burst of glitter.
Obviously, elite schools open doors, but it’s about what you do with your education regardless of where or if you attend college. And (my main point) it’s about whether your mind is free from all the new narratives and pressures, finding ways past potential disillusionment and isolation to create connections, to do scary things and to breathe life into the dreams that you seek. I’ve found it to be a fulfilling experience, and I’m thankful that I currently feel no less ambitious than I did before. It hasn’t been an easy or wholly happy ride – but one that has forced me to figure out what I actually care about (which is continuously a work in progress). If you make sure that you don’t lose yourself in the madness, you really can find yourself.