I’m a Belgian LL.M. student at Harvard Law School. Because of the coronavirus outbreak in the United States, I was told to vacate my on-campus housing three days before the beginning of spring break. As an international student, the waiting and anguish were particularly acute: What to do and where to go, in a country that is not mine, thousands of miles away from my family? I hardly ate or slept for five days; I was too lost, shocked, sad, and panicked.

And I was not the only one. Looking back, it is clear that many people are experiencing far worse things than I did. But I’m still angry at the measures taken, or rather at the way these measures were taken, by the Law School to deal with this health crisis. I am strongly disappointed by the lack of humanity and the brutality materialized in a policy that appears to aim at the easiest solutions.

On Tuesday, March 10 at 11:24 p.m., the Law School announced by email that any student residing in an on-campus residence who had another place to stay, including outside the U.S., was to move out by Sunday, March 22 at 4:00 p.m. I didn’t see it coming. One week before, on March 2, I had contacted the administration to know whether it was better to cancel my trip to New Orleans. They replied, “Harvard does not currently recommend cancelling planned trips within the US during Spring Break.”

The Law School gave students the opportunity to fill out a survey and explain why some were unable to leave their current dorm. I responded the next day that I did not want to go back to my home country because the situation in Europe seemed worse than in the U.S. and the risks of contamination in the airports or on the planes were substantial. This was also the advice of the Belgian Consulate. And I was not mentally ready to accept the idea that my LL.M. was over and that I had to leave the group of people with whom I had been living during the last months.

Furthermore, while the Law School was deciding who could continue living in on-campus residences, President Donald Trump adopted successive restrictions on flights from continental Europe and the United Kingdom, for many of which the Center for Disease Control and Prevention had issued Level 3 travel alerts. Some European countries decided to start closing their borders as well. Many of us could not dither any longer.

On Friday morning, when I saw that I still hadn't received a response to my request to stay on campus, I decided to go back to Belgium. If the Law School was not able to respond diligently on such an important issue, how many days would they need to deal with the rest? And in the following weeks, would they act in the best interest of their students or in the best interest of the institution? I left because I no longer had any trust in their leadership. I packed my bags in two days. I didn't have time to say goodbye to most of the people I’ve been living and working with for seven months. That was the hardest part for me.

On Saturday, March 14, at 11:04 am — after three long days — the Law School decided that I could stay in my dorm. Permission to remain in my on-campus residence came with an important caveat: I had to be able to move rooms quickly during the upcoming weeks, if this was made necessary by evolving circumstances and guidance from the University or state and federal governments. But you can’t live like this. When you’re drowning in uncertainties, you need certainty about housing. The email only reinforced my decision to go back to Belgium.

After I went back, students previously living in dorms with shared bathrooms were relocated to my residence, the only facility on campus with private bathrooms. It seems clear to me that I was told to leave not because students in my residence were more likely to spread the virus, but because Harvard was rushing to get people out. I fully understand the imperative to “reduce the population density” on campus “to slow the spread of the virus.” However, there is a difference between “de-densifying” and “emptying.” The Law School did what was best for itself. If there is hardly anyone left on campus, it is very unlikely that someone will catch the coronavirus and put the Law School in a difficult situation that they may be held responsible for. Drastic. Easy.

Above all, I do not accept that the Law School did not inform us earlier of the measures it was thinking of taking so that we could prepare ourselves psychologically for the changes to come. I do not accept that the Law School did not include us in the decision-making process, although it concerned an important aspect of our life. I do not accept the coldness of some emails. I do not accept that a well-resourced institution shifted the negative consequences of this crisis mostly onto us, its students.

I'll never forget the sadness or the anger I felt during the week Harvard sent its students away, but also the solidarity that sprung up around us. I don't know how many people spontaneously offered me housing, food, storage space, help with paperwork, or a car ride to the Boston airport. They have done much more for me than the Harvard administration, and I am infinitely grateful to them.

Carine M.S. Seron is an LL.M. student at Harvard Law School.