“You are here to work, and your business here is learning.” It was with these words that outgoing Dean of the Faculty William C. Kirby welcomed us, as freshmen, into Harvard’s folds. This ethic of productive and studious endeavor has been translated and conveyed to us as a mission: we are here to be educated as “citizens of the world,” to use a phrase often used by our (also outgoing) University president. Ostensibly, this goal of fostering global responsibility informs the structure of Harvard’s curriculum, the breadth of its extracurricular spheres, and even the makeup of its undergraduate classes.

While Kirby surely meant to imply that learning is a duty, it strikes me as somewhat telling that he chose to articulate it so sternly as a “business.” Is it a good thing that Harvard is mixing business with pleasure, leisure, and lecture? And can this new corporate model of a university actually teach us to be “citizens of the world?” The tension between the University’s aim of producing global citizens and the prevalent trends of commercialization and professionalism has been a defining aspect of my education here.

Readers of my column (or anybody who can stand to listen to my rants during recruiting season, for that matter) will know of my wariness about investment banking careers and the like, as well as my hyperbolic readiness to blame all society’s ills on corporate America. In reality, I am not actually disdainful of my peers, many creative and curious souls, who opt for careers in finance. Here’s what’s really bothering me: I find myself increasingly frustrated, disappointed, and enraged by the extent to which corporate culture and associated sensibilities seem to have permeated Harvard, from the highest University offices to the quietest freshman dorms.

Four years here has brought a lot of positive change for me, but there have been some unwelcome introductions. Before Harvard, I had never received a letter grade in a class. I had no idea what a hedge fund was, what consultants did, or that people actually aspired to be investment bankers. (I only knew that being a banker earned you the most cash in “Oregon Trail” but that you got docked serious character points.) Before Harvard, my world was blissfully free of grade grubbing—there were no grades to be grubbed. Before Harvard, interest trumped image, and there was no question that I would forsake studying for an exam to help a friend through a tough time. I wonder, sometimes, if there are many people at Harvard who would do the same.

The phrase, and idea, of being a “citizen of the world,” has some pretty deep historical roots, but among the more renowned references is from the fourth inaugural address of Franklin D. Roosevelt, Class of 1904. “We have learned to be citizens of the world, members of the global community,” the weary president said in the waning days of the Second World War. “We have learned the simple truth, as Emerson said, that ‘the only way to have a friend is to be one.’”

The values of human equality and dignity that bind us to the rest of the world cannot be taught or presented in neat packages but must be learned individually from experience, curiosity, and struggle. Sure, that neo-hippie experiment of a high school I attended has gotten to my head, but I like this idea of global citizenship more than the stiff formulations of corporate globalization (even if I do have something of a love-hate relationship with The Man).

As the Class of 2006 departs, we leave in our wake a university rattled by a small revolution, having gained an education in leadership and citizenship that none of us could have predicted. The imminent departures of both University President Lawrence H. Summers and Kirby, and the events that led up to these ousters, show us that effective leadership depends as much on personality, respect, and fairness as it does on the force of intellect and economic reasoning. Universities cannot impart the lessons of global citizenship in the form of civics lessons, as if learning to be part of a world community could be articulated in a lecture, or summarized in a review sheet. Sure, classes can teach us a lot about rights and responsibilities, but in the bigger picture, learning how to be an adult or a global citizen in your Moral Reasoning class is about as likely as discovering true enjoyment solely through college-sponsored fun.

I continue to believe that the best friends will make the best writers, the best doctors, the best leaders, and the best local and global citizens. I will offer one critical economic example to convey my point, the oft-cited Mayo Clinic study that shows that the likelihood of a doctor being sued for malpractice is correlated less with his actual medical talent than his bedside manner. Again, this does of course not mean intensive study is fruitless but rather that it is incomplete and insufficient.



As I sift through eight semesters of study guides, preparing to head home this week, I realize that the greatest thing I hope I’ve learned from Harvard is that becoming a global citizen is not an academic endeavor. A life, no more than an education, should not be a “business” or a series of cost-benefit analyses. At Harvard, we should try to understand these prevailing currents of pre-professionalism and money-oriented careerism, not submit to them, let alone allow our university to be shaped by them. Here, we should learn how to be, not what to do.



Rebecca D. O’Brien ’06, who was a Crimson associate managing editor in 2005, is a history and literature concentrator in Kirkland House.