The Politics of Drudgery

The most recent leftist farce on campus concluded last week—as it was bound to—in ignominious failure.

Pressuring the University to intervene in stalled contract negotiations between subcontractor AlliedBarton and the security guards’ union, the Student Labor Action Movement (SLAM) called a “hunger strike,” and organized daily rallies in Harvard Yard. After two participating students had been hospitalized, the leaders abruptly ended this ritualistic nine-day forced-starvation last Friday, citing that the University had consented to “two key student demands.” In a vain attempt to save face, SLAM greeted these so-called concessions—to audit AlliedBarton and subsequently to meet about labor practices—with exultation.

Without discussing the merits of the hunger strikers’ cause, one cannot help but ask: Don’t they have anything better to do? And, given that they launched their progressive crusade during Reading Period, the answer should be a resounding “Yes!”

That Harvard undergraduates would voluntarily forsake food for a week justly appears, to the unaccustomed observer, extreme. That they would do so when they should be completing term papers and studying for finals seems positively absurd.

As erstwhile Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences William C. Kirby reminded freshmen in 2002, “You are here to work, and your business here is to learn.” Harvard students who, by participating in such political fiascoes, neglect their academic responsibilities—which surely entails proper nutrition—do not act selflessly; they act stupidly. All charity begins at home: You cannot solve the world’s problems if you cannot even attend to your own obligations.

Sacrificing study time and much-needed caloric fuel, these strikers send the message that their scholarly well-being should come second to petty labor disputes. It is not a sign of audacity, but of ingratitude—to those, either dutiful parents or generous donors, who furnish their tuition.

Perhaps, though, the excess of activist fervor is merely symptomatic of a campus culture oversaturated by the preening practitioners of practical politics.

As the annual Undergraduate Council (UC) presidential election approaches, well-rehearsed candidates—who, no doubt, have spent their entire college career preparing for this moment—circle campus, delivering platitudinous speeches about arcane bureaucratic details. All the while, the busybody pretend-politicians of the Harvard Republican Club (HRC) and Harvard College Democrats issue tendentiously-phrased press releases on sundry college-related and national issues, hoping to impress future voters with their deft imitation of the duplicitous and evasive officials they aspire one day to replace.

One need only occasionally scan the Crimson editorial pages to see our overwrought campus political culture in action. To follow up on his banal campaign promises, UC President Ryan A. Petersen ’08 wrote a February op-ed proposing an e-mail “hotline” to monitor more close the quality of teaching fellows. To record her unwavering advocacy for greater “gender equality,” Dems President Brigit M. Helgen ’08 authored a pair of ho-hum editorials supporting more women in leadership positions. And, most self-serving of all, HRC President Jeffrey Kwong ’09 forwarded his “moderate” credentials by rebuking a non-existent vast right-wing conspiracy.

What all of these self-proclaimed “campus leaders” have in common is an uncommon sensitivity for their future electoral careers—and a remarkable ability to speak (or write) prolifically without actually saying much.

These exceptional examples of political grandstanding, however, point to an unfortunate trend among some Harvard students: those who exploit their precious few college years preparing for public office or campaigning for delusional progressive causes.

Indeed, perhaps the Harvard of fifty years ago provides a healthier academic and social model for us to follow. A substantive core curriculum ensured undergraduates learned math and read Shakespeare and Plato. Hyper-competitive students moderated themselves through a custom that shunned egoistic ambition. Grade inflation hardly existed, for earning a “Gentleman’s ‘C’” was no mark of shame—indeed, everyone already understood that a Harvard degree meant something.

Extracurricular activities, although much less varied and specialized, remained salutary and substantive pursuits: athletics, newspapers, and literary societies did not focus exclusively on pre-professional training or policy-making simulation.

The four years of leisure provided us by a college education should be spent fruitfully. We ought not fritter away our late adolescence and early adulthood, when our romantic sensibilities are acutest, in the tedium and drudgery of practical politics—whether manning activist brigades or scribbling position papers. We should be enjoying each other’s company without trying to win votes for a future election. We should be playing sports while we still have the time and energy unavailable in the future. We should be reading, writing, and thinking about the good life—and not wasting out time with ultimately futile campaigns.

Aristotle observed that the young man is not a profitable student of politics, due to his lack of experience and his susceptibility to the passions—a fact Harvard students may have known, had they a true liberal education.

Harvard undergraduates nevertheless should take heed of that observation: Long the playground of activists and aspiring officeholders, this campus would benefit distinctly from some old-fashioned political apathy.



Christopher B. Lacaria ’09 is history concentrator in Mather House. His column appears regularly.