It’s a strange thing, this housing system of ours. For several years now, we as Harvard College students have had no voice in the decision of where we will live for the last three years of our college experience. In 1995, the administration—in its infinite wisdom—figured that, rather than allowing students to decide on their own what sort of community they’d like to live in, flinging blocking groups aimlessly across campus without any sort of input from them at all would somehow produce a happier, more integrated student body. Now, just about ten years later, it seems that—surprise, surprise—it hasn’t.

The grand experiment that was randomization seems largely intended to promote (read: force) interaction between students of different backgrounds and interests and to help alleviate issues of self-segregation. While these were indeed honorable aims, the evidence we’re surrounded with on a daily basis suggests that perhaps randomization was not the wisest method of achieving these goals. In fact, it may have even been counterproductive.

In many cases, once students enter the Houses—rather than happily intermingling with everyone in the house, sharing insights on cultural and extracurricular experiences—they are likely to be content with socializing within the tiny insular unit of their blocking group. And if anyone does bother to venture outside that special group of eight or less, it’s probably to another House to visit the other people they wanted to live with had they been given any type of choice. As a result, while the Houses appear to be lovely melting pots of diverse cultures, ideologies, and activities, the “patchwork quilt” metaphor—this time in reference to blocking groups—may actually be more accurate; while a myriad of different types of people are represented and are placed close to one another in the Houses, people remain largely self-contained entities that escape each other’s influence. And though randomization may have produced some superficial interactions between students with divergent backgrounds and interests, the reality is that meaningful interaction cannot be forced on autonomous adults—if people aren’t interested, it isn’t going to happen.

In effect, it seems that randomization actually took away from students the very thing that it was trying to create—a sense of community. The essence of the housing system as it stands now is by nature divisive. Before housing assignments are even made, students are forced to choose only seven people to share a house with while the rest of our friends (as most people have more than seven friends) are scattered to the four winds. Obviously, this does not produce any warm, fuzzy feelings of love and solidarity within the student body.

And once that day finally comes, when the little white envelope is delivered to your door, there’s an overwhelming sense that the results it contains don’t really amount to anything. Sure you’ve been placed into Adams or Currier or Mather, but what does that even mean? Thanks to randomization, the Houses have been stripped of any sort of personality, and with that, any true sense of community or House pride. After all, there isn’t much substance to a “community” of people who have nothing in common except that they were all randomly placed in the same building. Imagine how much more fun and vibrant the House communities could be if they actually stood for something, as they did in the past—with the artsy kids in Adams, the jocks in Mather, and so on.

A common problem that often arises at Harvard—one that led to randomization in the first place—is the confusion of the ideas of community and of segregation. The connotation of the word “segregated,” which has been cleverly appropriated by proponents of randomization to describe the Houses before its implementation, wrongly implies that people were somehow forced into intellectually, racially, or extracurricularly homogenous environments against their will. However, the truth of the matter is that there is nothing inherently bad with allowing people who want to be around each other live together. As long as no one is actively barred from any particular community, the choice should be left to individuals.

It may seem strange that I’m so attached to a system that I was never a part of, but I have a sneaking suspicion that, like me, most others would appreciate the opportunity to have a more meaningful experience in the Houses beyond the tiny blocking groups that represent the only remnants of autonomy we’ve been left with. After all, in addition to damaging the sense of community that many of us long for, the removal of the element of choice from such a hugely significant part of all our lives is an affront to our adulthood. Once we arrive here, we’re expected to make all sorts of decisions that will affect us for years to come. From courses to concentration choice to extracurriculars, jobs and internships, we are more or less left to our own devices—and we like it that way. We don’t need the administration holding our hand through those decisions, and the issue of who we live with is no different.

If anything, randomization should be optional in some way. If people want to be thrown together at will then that certainly should be their choice, but for the rest of us—who desire community and solidarity with people who share our interests, ideologies or backgrounds—the decision should be left in our hands. Because until we can choose where and with whom we want to live, a House will never be a home.



Ashton R. Lattimore ’08 is an English concentrator in Dunster House. Her column appears on alternate Wednesdays.