I walk across the Yard, ignoring the pleasurable crunch of leaves under my feet. Instead, I keep my eyes on my watch, watching the minutes tick away, feeling time seep into the cracked pavement. To the pace of my footsteps, I run through all of the readings I have to do, all of the articles I have to write, the psets I need to complete, the office hours I need to go to, all of the people I need to meet. An endless list that threatens to implode as the day rushes by.
People walk past me and brush by, an irksome occurrence that deters me from my set path. I nearly trip as I notice a crowd of people completely obstructing my path. They’re babbling excitedly and pointing aimlessly at any building that attracts their eye. Selfie sticks pop up, nearly whacking a passing student in the face. I say my “excuse me’s” and attempt to barrel through, but end up getting stuck in a mob of people. They don’t seem to listen to my imploring “I need to get to class!” and instead take a picture of Widener’s steps. They get frustrated when I accidentally walk into their photos as I nudge my way through the crowd. My blood boils, and I am fed up with their overly impressed antics.
I’m not alone in my plight with the tourists. They obstruct pathways, attempt to enter buildings, and even violate student privacy by taking pictures of them in their rooms. These behaviors have gotten so bad that Harvard created a rule that banned tourists from taking pictures of students through windows. Attending Harvard is opening ourselves up to a modeling career we never wanted, paparazzi we never asked for, privacy that is continually violated. Tourists are the incorrigible annoyances we have to deal with every day. In all aspects, most students can consider tourists the worst part of living in Harvard Yard.
Students here live inside the famed Harvard bubble. We lose track of what goes on in the world around us, the current events that shape our world, and the extremely different lives other people our age live. We walk past Massachusetts Hall, barely giving it a second glance, because we forget that revolutionary troops were housed there. Now freshman students are living in those same rooms. Harvard students are living in history itself, walking the halls of the most impressive and achieving academic institutions, and we barely give it a second look.
When we walk into Annenberg, we fail to look up at the lofty ceilings and stained-glass walls but we notice the tourists trying to get into the building itself. We miss the opportunity to look at the tourists for what they really are—a reminder for us to stay grounded.
We are incredibly lucky to be attending Harvard. I remember when I first stepped on campus as a student, I had to pinch myself several times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I was sure that I’d be pinching myself all of my four years here. Yet, soon enough I was no longer awe-struck at the millions of books Widener housed, the number of Nobel laureates Harvard produced, the incredible scientific discoveries happening on campus. I forgot how lucky I was.
Looking at tourists, I am reminded about where I came from. Not too long ago, I was the visiting college student who rubbed John Harvard’s foot for good luck. I was the tourist who would have tried to get into Widener to get a tour. I might have even used a selfie stick. I came from the same place as these people—and I should stay humble.
It’s incredibly easy to lose that sense of humility while here at Harvard. That is the ultimate challenge of Harvard in my eyes—departing from it with a strong sense of where you came from. Yes, we will go through Harvard and emerge as more complete versions of ourselves, but if we keep our eye on the tourists, part of us will always be reminded of our modest beginnings. We will keep our egos in check and become not only the most successful versions of ourselves, but also the best versions of ourselves.
Tourists represent this challenge, the struggle of moving from being an observer of greatness to being a part of Harvard’s greatness itself. Moreover, they provide a reminder to ourselves that we cannot lose our beginnings and our backstories. As annoying as they may be, we should be thankful for the tourists—they remind us of how lucky we are to be here. We could be anywhere else in the world, in different social, economic, and physical circumstances, but instead we are here.
They might violate our privacy and obstruct our pathways, but they stand for something bigger than just the tourism industry. They give us the ultimate challenge as students here, but also the ultimate reward.
Image credit: Ari Berman
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