Misinterpreting Bradstreet

My first day at Harvard: Pre-frosh weekend, Spring 2000. Walking from Annenberg on my own, not sure what to do next in this unfamiliar and heady environment, I happened upon a gate with a plaque bearing familiar words: “I came into this Country, where I found a new World and new manners, at which my heart rose.” I stood there for a moment, smiling, feeling a kinship with the author, Anne Dudley Bradstreet, America’s first English-speaking poet.

Although I have always appreciated Bradstreet’s presence on the Harvard campus, I’ve long thought this selection an odd one. When I discovered that this gate and plaque were erected in honor of the 25th anniversary of women’s living in Harvard Yard, I was especially perplexed. It is possible, nowadays, to interpret Bradstreet’s words as a sign of her exhilaration—her heart rising in joy at the discovery of her new country—but in fact, her words signify the exact opposite response. Bradstreet wrote these words a few years prior to her death in an autobiographical letter to her “dear children” that described her resistance to the hostile 1630s New England environment. Indeed, her words make her intentions very clear. “I came into this Country, where I found a new World and new manners, at which my heart rose. But after I was convinced it was the way of God, I submitted to it and joined the church at Boston.” Clearly, Bradstreet was so instinctively opposed to her new home that her heart rose—not in joy, but in resistance—and she had to be “convinced” of its divine value before she “submitted.”

Knowing the true meaning of Bradstreet’s remarks, I often wonder whether passing through this commemorative gate is a sign of submission. I imagine independent Radcliffe women, their hearts rising in resistance, passing through to be convinced of the divine value of co-education (or patriarchy), being prepared to submit to the dominance of Harvard’s masculinity.

And so I was perplexed, disheartened and angered by the August 2002 “Spotlight on Women” that arrived at my parents’ home along with their copy of the Harvard Gazette. There on the back cover, prominently displayed, were Bradstreet’s words, which were described as being “a reminder to today’s students that the future holds promise for all who enter its gates.” Such a gross misinterpretation of this woman’s words! As a poetry lover, I was appalled. As a feminist, I was hardly surprised. After all, this eight-page “Spotlight on Women” seemed dedicated to misconstruing the words and experiences of Harvard women. This was not a spotlight in any real sense: light was not shed equally on all parts of women’s Harvard experiences; rather, a rosy, obfuscating glow emanated from the entire publication.

On page three, Assistant Dean of the College Karen E. Avery ’87, the woman whom I remember frankly informing my first-year class that “rapes happen at final clubs,” tells us that a “woman’s Harvard experience is fundamentally no different from a man’s Harvard experience.” Harvard’s controversial new policy for investigating sexual assault—a policy that will undoubtedly shape the undergraduate experience of more than a few women each year—is not mentioned. On page four, when Winthrop House Allston Burr Senior Tutor Courtney B. Lamberth reminds us that women face sexual assault, depression and eating disorders at rates disproportionate to those of their male classmates, the “Spotlight” writers are quick to note that this is so “not just at Harvard, but at many universities.” On page five, a note on women’s athletics tells me: “The men’s sailing team is co-ed.” Whether or not the team competes in a male league, I would have hoped the University could have resolved the semantic challenges first posed 30 years ago by Title IX.

On pages six and seven, I read profiles of four of my classmates. All of these women have laudable accomplishments; all of them deserve the attention and praise they have received. But interestingly, the “Spotlight” reports that all have remained blissfully ignorant of the challenges facing Harvard women. Notably, none of these women is a member of a women’s group, none is a women’s studies concentrator. While I would never argue that membership in a club or concentration gives a woman unique claim to representing her gender, I think that when a publication seeks commentary on physics, it interviews someone who studies physics. Yet the people who have studied women were ignored: where was the Radcliffe Union of Students? Women in Science at Harvard and Radcliffe? The Coalition Against Sexual Violence? Regardless of how one feels about the political biases of these groups, these are the people on campus who have continuously put a spotlight on the experiences of Harvard women. And there are enough women—and men—who support these groups for me to say with confidence that four women who “haven’t experienced any issues” is not a representative sample.

And so I arrived at page eight, containing the gross misinterpretation of Bradstreet, and was appalled but not surprised. After all, it seems to me that Harvard has long been more concerned with getting a (token) female voice at the table (or on the gate) and less concerned about hearing it all the way out. I’m not sure whether Anne Bradstreet’s misconstrued words exemplify sheer ignorance or willful revisionism, but in either case, her words remain. They are there to greet 1,600 new Harvard students, and they are there to remind us that Harvard has yet to truly put a spotlight on women.

Elizabeth J. Quinn ’04 is an English concentrator in Winthrop House.