This week commemorates one year since my family tragically lost my oldest brother David. It was this week one year ago when my parents called me during my first weeks at Harvard to tell me that my brother, who we called by the nickname "Bubba," had passed away.

This week, it is with love and respect that I remember my brother's life. Bubba was brilliant, capable and handsome, and he had a family who adored him. But Bubba could never figure out who he was and whose he was, and so he struggled at every turn, without a sense of purpose or peace in his life.

My parents saw signs early on that he seemed to be fighting an internal battle, but no matter how hard they affirmed and encouraged my brother, he seemed to be drifting away from his responsibilities and his dreams.

In the fall of 1985, my brother left our home in Winter Park, Fla., for Yale. We were all very proud, but the experience that was about to begin would only worsen my brother's esteem. In his two years at Yale, he encountered a harshness that took him in and spit him out in so many ways. My brother never graduated, and for the next 10 years he wandered from job to job and city to city without finding the security he was so desperately looking for.

I now wonder what I can learn from having lost someone so precious in my life. By choosing to come to Harvard, I have followed in my brother's footsteps, in a way, and I believe I am seeing and experiencing what he saw 13 years ago. I see a place that is too often built on cynicism, criticism and sarcasm, and a place that pretends to have more and more information, yet that is increasingly void of meaning.

I love Harvard, and am grateful to have the opportunity to be educated at the nation's premier institution. But I have also come to understand that in many ways, this University has very little sense of community.

One of the definitions of community is "a group linked by a common policy." In my time here, I have failed to see a shared vision and set of shared commitments that we as students can embrace. Words like compassion, collaboration, servant leadership and listening are rarely mentioned.

After the death of my brother, my mother revealed something I think about every day. She told me that my brother had been greatly concerned when I left for Harvard, fearing that I would encounter and be disillusioned by the same cynicism that he had felt at Yale years earlier.

Well, Bubba, I would say I have walked where you walked, and seen the cynicism that you experienced. But I am trying not to succumb to the biting, spiteful attitude that so often accompanies that cynicism. I truly believe that we at Harvard can address the issues of our heart and spirit.

We are whole people with a deep need for the care of others, and I believe it is possible for this school to have a new movement of thought that centers around our responsibility to others--a responsibility that goes much deeper than "community involvement." This responsibility must encompass our ability to embrace and deepen our relationships with others, and to build an environment in which individuals are valued and encouraged to use their unique talents and gifts to create an outstanding community.

If I had another chance with my brother, I would have been more compassionate, would have prayed harder, would have listened better. I don't have that chance. But we have a chance on this campus to live in such a way that our lives reflect our passion and interest in others. I am grateful for those people who have exemplified this spirit of community in my life here.

This week I will remember my brother. I will remember that I have a responsibility to uphold, appreciate and recognize others. And I am grateful to have the opportunity to join others in raising awareness about the very deep need to find a sense of community at Harvard. Gandhi said, "You must be the change you want to see." I believe a movement of community at Harvard can start with just a few people who live what they believe.

Chris King '01 is a history concentrator in Leverett House.