Deconstructing Harvard

I was awakened early one morning by an incredible pounding. Unable to immediately identify the source, I pondered the possibilities—was someone dragging a desk around? Was the room above me playing Dance Dance Revolution? Had the boiler exploded? I threw open my curtains to reveal the source of my discomfort—a 25-foot-long metal piston that was being dropped again and again to the ground, smashing and stirring up dirt as part of the ongoing Grant/Cowperthwaite construction project. What the Harvard construction website euphemistically describes as “ongoing digging and concrete operations” was creating a noise loud enough to wake the dead. The relentless pounding was giving me a headache, and could apparently be heard as far away as Dunster and Mather; one student described it as reminiscent of the scene in Jurassic Park where the T-Rex slams his feet and water in the glass shakes. For anyone who had heard the noise it was unforgettable; for anyone who hadn’t, it was unimaginable.

When I agreed to move into Leverett G tower last spring, I knew there would be construction. For months I dealt silently with trucks backing up at six in the morning, with endless jack hammering and drilling. But when the metal monstrosity of the ground-pounder made its appearance, I finally couldn’t take it anymore.

While Harvard’s goal of adding more housing for its students is certainly admirable, it has embraced this task in an offensive and foolhardy manner. Harvard asked for nowhere near enough input from any of those who would be most directly affected by the construction projects, and as far as I can tell, the only tangible benefit of the “construction mitigation” fund seems to be a few dollars tossed to some students who work in nearby House library so that it can stay open longer (and presumably, allow students to get out of their uninhabitable rooms). Instead of doing its utmost to alleviate the pains and problems of the construction, Harvard has simply told students to “deal with it” and ignored or crushed any opposition. For a school deeply concerned with its image and possessing almost unimaginable financial resources, it seems almost inconceivable that such a brutal and unilateral approach could have been taken to what should have been a relatively simple problem.

Harvard has made many mistakes in this debacle, but luckily, time still exists to correct or compensate for them. Here are three proposals for Harvard to consider:

First, and most immediately, it can reschedule or postpone this particularly onerous construction work until after reading period. If ever there is a time when students are usually in their rooms and concentration is most needed, this is it. Some other aspect of construction could be worked on, or, at worst, the crews could simply take a month off and continue later in the year (perhaps at a time not so many students are around). For Harvard to have missed the fact that the most obnoxious part of construction would be happening at the most critical time is a telling oversight.

Second, Harvard might consider alternatives (even if they are more costly) to their current method of slamming the ground with a metal piston. I can’t claim to know too much about construction, but I’m confident there exists a less “brute-force” solution than this prehistoric-seeming one. Harvard has been more than content to do the minimum when it relates to this construction, however, as evidenced by the fact that the machinery on site uses high-sulfur fuel, which has been linked to a host of serious health problems. Harvard refused to replace the high-sulfur fuel with low-sulfur fuel—why shell out an additional $200/day when high-sulfur fuel already “meets” regulations? It’s time for Harvard to do a little more than meet the minimum standards, since being so miserly means possible health hazards and barriers to studying for its students and employees.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Harvard should lower housing costs for those affected by the construction. I highly doubt that any student’s family agreed to pay thousands of dollars knowing their child would have a hard time studying or even living in his or her own room because of a giant piston located outside their window. Harvard should use some of the magical “mitigation fund” to, at least symbolically, chop off some of the housing fees of those affected by the construction.

For those not intimately affected by this particular construction project, it is easy to dismiss my concerns as representative of only a tiny portion of Harvard’s population. The larger issue, though, is the continual blunders on Harvard’s part when it comes to conducting construction. General failure to adequately consult the student body (and even, in many cases, the faculty) and poor and misguided choices for building locations and uses (case in point, the library administration building on Mt. Auburn street) are demonstrative of Harvard’s approach. Not only do these choices show a lack of concern for the well-being of the student body, but they are sadly indicative of Harvard’s belief that it can simply steamroll over anyone who gets in its way.

It must have been extremely difficult for the administrators who signed off on this project to do so, knowing that their houses and work areas were located far, far away from ground zero. But they should all know that I have a couch waiting for them in Leverett if they ever are wandering around the River looking for a place to sleep or study. I just hope they remember to bring their earplugs.



Andrew Kreicher ’06 is a biology concentrator in Leverett House. His column appears regularly.