Home Is Where the Heart Is

It has been three weeks since the bomb of randomization dropped. Yet its aftershocks have not ceased. In every publication, in every dining hall, we are still assailed with tirades against the powers-that-be who imposed the terror of randomization on the student body.

These protests are nothing new. On the newsgroup harvard.general last year, after former Dean of the College L. Fred Jewett '57 made his decision to randomize the housing lottery for first-years, there were more than 100 posted messages about randomization--most of them on the pro-choice (in housing) side. A poll by the Undergraduate Council showed more than 80 percent of students against randomization. And ever since, in every indictment of the College administration, the issue of randomization is invariably included.

I've been listening to these diatribes for nearly a year now. I've kept quiet on the subject, because I was writing news stories on randomization and it would have been a conflict of interest for me to write editorials on it. But in the face of pathetic arguments about Harvard students' doleful "loss of choice," I can't stay silent any longer.

I was randomized into Currier House two years ago, in an era when "randomization" was a word filled with fear and being "Quadded" was a fate worse than death. That year, one-eighth of my classmates were plunked into houses they did not mention on their rooming forms. My blocking group of eight did not put down a "Quad-buster" as one of our four choices; we chose the standard Lowell, Eliot, Kirkland and Winthrop. But given that we were lottery number 383 out of 393, I don't think it mattered much.

The moment we received the name of our home for the next three years on a slip of paper at 8 a.m., we all screamed. It was not a scream of joy. We were in Grays; you could have heard us in the Science Center. That day, I walked around campus avoiding the glances of friends, not wanting to hear the inevitable "Eliot" and "Lowell" and the accompanying smiles. But I couldn't evade them all, and so I unswervingly received so-called "humorous" responses of "Oh, I'm sorry" and "See you in three years" from supposedly well-meaning peers. Two years later, with the housing lottery as far away as my Expos class, I still receive such apologetic responses from people when they learn I live in Currier.

It was as if being Quadded meant I was no longer part of the living. It was as if it reflected on my personality and my blockmates' personalities, implying that we were forever after fated to be social pariahs. It seemed like a death sentence, not because Currier was a terrible place (it's actually very pleasant), but because of people's reactions. And what made it most awful was that, while 87 percent of my peers had received a house of their choice, my blocking group and the rest of the other 13 percent had not. It convinced me that if we had lost all right to choose, everyone else should lose that right. And now everyone has.

This is why it infuriates me when people in the River houses--students who received one of their four choices--complain about the administration "taking away free choice" and "not treating us like adults." Those of us who were randomized under the old system never got any choice to begin with. We were all given the facade of choice, but when the slip came in, all semblance of determining our own fate-went out the window.

Leveling the playing field in this way was not the primary motivation for randomization; "diversity" was. I'm not sure if the new system will promote more interaction between races or members of different extracurricular activities; I certainly hope it does, but statistics show that many blocking groups this year were composed entirely of members of one race. The new system may break up enclaves of gay and lesbian or black students, which is a shame; but there is little point in the admissions office assembling such a diverse group of students if they never have contact with each other while at Harvard.

Diversity aside, however, I hope that the new system, after enough years, will take away the stigma attached to the Quad. It's actually a beautiful place, for all you first-years who were placed there. Hilles Library and the QRAC are steps away from all the Quad houses; the facilities are excellent; and you can laugh at all your River friends who have walk-throughs while you luxuriate in spacious singles. Sure, it's far away, but it's nice to actually go home at the end of the day and feel like you're home; the neighborhood north of the Quad is gorgeous, with many old houses and tree-lined streets. Porter Square is 10 minutes away, with 24-hour Dunkin' Donuts, CVS and Star Market; the grassy Quad itself is great for picnics and frisbee.

And Currier, the house notorious for being randomized, has a distinct character. It's not pre-med or athletic or gay; it's friendly. It's a place where the best ideals of the College come into play, because there are students of all different sizes, thoughts and backgrounds.

In 10 years, I hope I can return to Harvard and find that one's house does not reflect on one's personality, either negatively or positively, and that randomization has strengthened the sense of community both within and among the houses. As for now, I'm glad that the minority of the population that used to be randomized and had all choice taken away from them has now joined the rest of the Harvard community--in fact if not yet in spirit.

Sarah J. Schaffer is the editorial chair of The Crimson.