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At America’s most prominent university, an ethnic studies department is a necessity — not an option.

Back in my hometown of Tucson, Arizona, I longed for something bigger. I resented the smallness of the city, its oppressive heat, the monotony of its quotidian routines. I needed an escape. My acceptance into Harvard was just that.

My journey represented the hard work and sacrifice of generations, from my grandmother, the first in her family to finish elementary school and attend college, to my great-grandfather, who couldn’t read or write but labored in the fields to support his family. It felt like I was achieving the much-fabled American dream.

That dream began to lose its luster as soon as I set foot on campus. In high school, I rarely felt singled out or alienated because of my identity. But during my first year of college alone, I felt that my abilities as a person from a marginalized background were immediately put into question. I even had a professor question my ability to use Google, including a helpful (condescending) emailed tutorial.

Yes, the high of being at Harvard quickly wore off. I hated my classes. They didn’t represent what I wanted to learn. The portraits of old white men in Annenberg, stories of stolen Indigenous artifacts in the Peabody Museum, the names of upperclassman Houses that memorialize racism — it all became suffocating. My skin didn’t match those of the men in Annenberg, and my identity as a Xicana woman felt invalidated and erased.

Harvard praises itself as a hub of diversity, but the reality is far more complicated. There is no ethnic studies department, limiting the institutional support and visibility of the courses. A number of official affinity spaces, meanwhile, languish in the basements of freshman dorms.

This frustration intensified as I began searching for classes this year. I scoured the course catalogs, talked to friends and upperclassmen, and tried desperately to find something that represented me. Why are there so few courses in Ethnicity, Migration, and Rights or Women and Gender Studies? Why are there more interesting courses in these areas at MIT, of all places?

My disappointment runs deeper than just academic offerings, though. The lack of ethnic studies at Harvard creates a void in the educational experience of students of color. It leaves us grappling with our identities in a space that doesn’t seem to care about the complexities of race, culture, and heritage. We are expected to navigate an institution that too often prioritizes tradition and prestige over the real, lived experiences of its diverse student body.

Harvard is not the end-all-be-all. It is not the only institution that offers amazing experiences, opportunities, and networks. I’ve started to realize that maybe I could receive the education I want at another school, one where I don’t feel invisible. Returning for this semester felt like a concession rather than an opportunity. And while it’s a privilege to attend Harvard, I’ve started to wonder: What is Harvard offering me?

In my short time here, I’ve realized that Harvard, despite its reputation, falls short in ways that deeply affect students like me. The lack of ethnic studies is more than just an academic shortfall — it’s a gap in identity. It’s a reminder that for all the talk of diversity, Harvard is still a predominantly white institution where students of color are expected to adapt to a curriculum that wasn’t made for us.

If Harvard is truly committed to inclusion, it must start by addressing this glaring omission. It must invest in ethnic studies, not as an afterthought, but as a core part of its mission to educate the next generation of leaders. Because until then, students like me will continue to feel like outsiders in a place that claims to be our academic home.

Itzel A. Rosales ’27, a Crimson Editorial editor, is a joint Women, Gender, and Sexuality studies and English concentrator in Cabot House.