Three years ago this month, on the night the U.S. launched an air war against Iraq, I scampered through Harvard Square in the rain, reporter's notebook in hand, recording the reactions of random members of the Harvard community, asking stupid questions like, "So, what do you think of the war?"

I was only a first-year at Harvard, but I felt like a seasoned reporter, filing my notes in the rush of producing a war extra. Later that night, as I delivered copies of the extra to the doorstep of Kirkland House rooms, knocking on every door as I went by, one awakened resident opened his door and yelled after me, "We fucking know already!"

Well, true enough. In fact, almost everybody in America knew war had broken out in the Persian Gulf before newspapers hit the stands with the story. It didn't stop people from reading the newspaper. If anything, newspaper sales go way up at such times: Apparently, people actually want to read about something they already fucking know.

Still, that Kirkland House resident's pithy critique of The Crimson's war extra made me think at the time about the role of a newspaper in a community. The beginning of a war seemed a good moment to wonder how a newspaper should serve its readers and to wonder if The Crimson was performing that service well.

Today, three years and more than 500 issues later, at the end of my time here, many of the same thoughts have returned.

Whatever one thinks of its content, the advent of USA Today ten years ago forced the establishment press to re-think the impact of commercialism on the sacrosanct profession of journalism.

In fact, editors of at least one newspaper of good repute, the Orange County Register in Southern California, actually call their newspaper a "product" and their readers "consumers." Such changes are dangerous; they may only further the public's cynicism that all journalists are out to do is sell papers.

Self-evaluation is always health, and many newspapers have managed to re-think their methods without abandoning their mission. The Crimson, too, is a constant exercise in self-revision. I would like to think we haven't lost sight of our own mission along the way either.

Ideally, a newspaper should tell the story of a community. For 120 years now, The Crimson has told the story of the Harvard community--sometimes well, sometimes not so well.

(While The Crimson also serves the Cambridge community, this tradition is unfortunately neither considered sacrosanct nor observed with vigor by all at 14 Plympton St.)

This paper has often got its facts wrong, exploded some controversies out of proportion and not paid enough attention to others. It has at times offended some readers and alienated others. Obviously, The Crimson must be diligent in pursuit of accuracy and be ever watchful of its sensitivity.

To do these things, to accomplish the ideal, The Crimson paper must draw on its community, must obtain and keep its interest and its trust.

Hanging on my office door at The Crimson is a sign stating the paper's very unofficial motto: "I will not philosophize. I will be read."

Unfortunately, a great many members of the Harvard community do not read this paper. The Crimson is Harvard's daily paper in part because there is no other daily, not because Harvard students have chosen it to be so.

Yet the paper must be available to everyone, and must be read, to have a real hope of being a community newspaper. I say give out the Crimson for free; drop it at every Harvard dorm room. We've tried the hard sell for decades; it's time to commit ourselves to serving Harvard students, not charging them.

Of course, that's only a small part of the solution. A paper can better serve a community if it reflects it. If we are to tell the story of Harvard fairly, accurately and vividly, if we are to put out a newspaper that truly binds the community, then the staff must have the benefits and resources of diversity--diversity of race, class, geography and gender.

Diversity at 14 Plympton St. has been a popular watchword for a few years now--and there has indeed been some improvement. I believe the efforts will continue in earnest.

At the same time, The Crimson must be more visible on campus, sponsoring events and benefits, serving the public not just through its pages as a journalistic enterprise but through its actions as a non-profit corporation.

Most of all, The Crimson must be relevant. In recent years, the paper has moved a bit further away from dry, colorless stories about administrative wonks toward more interesting, colorful stories about students. Our focus, which was always centered on the College, has sharpened, not changed.

Look for this trend to continue in the following years: If The Crimson continues to foster relationships with the community, to promote diversity in its own newsroom, and if the paper is widely read, the paper will become relevant to students.

Finally, this paper must continue to investigate the important stories that most students may not read, and it must continue to print stories students don't think belong in their newspaper.

In the past four years we've printed hundreds of stories that we know few students have read: stories about the high-paid financial mavens at Harvard Management Company, racial discrimination in the University security guard unit and a government overbilling scandal at the Medical School.

We've also printed stories about attempted suicides, sexual harassment and other sensitive topics--sometimes invading people's privacy to report them--at times offending the community. And we've written negative staff editorials about popular campus figures (Harvard Foundation Director S. Allen Counter, for example), at times utterly enraging the community.

The most difficult part about telling the story of a community is that all too often, a paper must print the ugly stories, the stories concealed by secretive administrators, or hidden by the shield of privacy.

If The Crimson is to help this community function better together, though, it must do more than be a good citizen. It must do more than be relevant.

It is not the job of a newspaper, even a community newspaper, to be popular. The Crimson must have a conscience, and must always act by it.

Often, that means putting our noses where everybody else feels they don't belong, asking questions everybody feels needn't be asked, and then printing the answers everybody feels shouldn't be printed.

This paper must be more than a paper of record, though it must be always be that first. It must tell the dull but important stories that shed light on Harvard's mundane machinery. It must tell the ugly stories that reveal the community's darker nature.

At times The Crimson must entertain its readers, and it will keep on trying (though this editorial may not convince anyone of that). It is here that this paper may have the most difficulty, for good humor and good writing can be hard to find.

Hopefully, we've managed to elicit a few laughs and smiles amidst the groans over the years. Harvard students, after all, are the toughest of critics.

In my four years here, I have received positive feedback from members of the community, but more often I confront indifference, apathy or criticism.

Take, for example, the Kirkland House resident who I woke up as I delivered war extras three years ago this month. To that philosopher, who made me think then about some of these issues, I have just three parting words: I was read.

Gady A. Epstein '94 is outgoing managing editor of The Harvard Crimson.