Endpaper: Action Woman

I was walking through the Yard, listening to some Jammin' 94.5 absorbed in my own thoughts of summer research, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a girl sobbing. Admittedly, I have witnessed scenes like this before: Someone either wailing or sniffling in the middle of the Yard begging for someone to respond. Usually I ignore these plaintive calls for help. I am either running late for class, involved with a conversation or perhaps just unwilling to deal with someone else's troubles, preferring to dwell in my own self-imposed misery.

For some reason I stopped. And I still regret it.

I turned around, and asked the girl if she needed any help. She looked vaguely familiar like someone that I had stood with in the fly-by line or had sat next to in the dining hall. She looked up at me with red eyes, and a slightly pathetic grin and began to pour forth her sob story.

"My boyfriend. Gulp. Just. Gulp. Broke up with me. Gulp. And none of my roommates wanttolivewithmeandImsosad. I really hate this school."

I began to tune out about halfway during her whine, nodding sympathetically but thinking instead about how much I wanted some McDonald's for dinner. Yet I stopped short in my meditation when I heard the words "I really hate this school." It was at that point that I realized why I don't stop when I see people crying in the yard, why I avoid people who are stomping to class and why I don't stick around when a friend's computer breaks or they lose a reserve book or their boyfriend dumps them for a Boston University woman.

I hate to hear people complain. Students at this school have a tendency to whine, moan and bitch when things just aren't going their way. "Why don't I have a love life" or "Why does my TF hate me?" seem to be two of the most popular questions at this school. Too many students seem to either be writing columns about their love life, yelling to the entire dining hall about their chemistry lab or grumbling about the stain on their T-shirt. It is not that I would mind the complaining so much if people here chose to do anything constructive about their situation.

For those of you who know me, this piece probably comes of something of a surprise. I was previously the self-proclaimed queen of kvetching. I loved sharing my despair with my classes and the multitude of whiny e-mails which come over uc-general. Even to those of you who don't know me, this piece sounds like a complaint about complaining. Perhaps it is, or perhaps it is an honest, heartfelt, though perhaps futile attempt to put some fire under a couple of large butts out there. It is time that both past and present complainers realize that they are accomplishing nothing with their litany of worries. It is time that the friends forced to listen push action over catharsis. It is time that we stop staring at our navels and get our act together.

In the immortal words of Melrose Place hunk and brother of Elisabeth Shue `85, Andrew Shue: "Do Something."

My main point is to convince you to recognize your own abilities and start taking responsibility for your actions. We are aware of the risks when we chose to embark on certain missions or take on certain challenges. It is your own fault if you choose not to go out to a party on a weekend--just don't decry your lack of a social life. Don't be surprised when your grades begin to suffer because of leadership in a student publication; you chose extra-curriculars over academics. My advice is to stop assigning blame to individuals or situations that do not deserve it. If you are unhappy at this school it is certainly not the fault of the Harvard administration. Instead, see yourself as directly accountable.

Perhaps I feel strongly about this issue because I am heavily involved in an organization whose entire focus seems to be addressing internal and external complaints. The Undergraduate Council has often degenerated into bitching sessions in which members complain about the structure of the council, its lack of legitimacy and the partisanship of its leaders. While I too have engaged in such sessions, often with relish, I must admit that it is time for a change. Truly constructive criticism spurs progress. So, to all those people out there who want to complain about love on this campus, you can take your slot machine and stuff it. I don't want to hear it, and I know that you don't want to keep complaining about it. Anything is possible, which means that anyone can find love (perhaps off-campus). If you hear your roommate and her significant other doing something naughty in your bedroom, knock on the door, call HUPD or do something naughty with someone else.

But please do something.

Kamil E. Redmond is a junior in Pforzheimer House. She is a joint concentrator in women's studies and history and literature, and she is currently vice president of the Undergraduate Council.