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Harvard students have gotten too comfortable.

Last week, Harvard released its report on grade inflation. Among several concerning metrics was the statistic that 60.2 percent of all grades in all courses are now solid A’s. Administrators have pledged to confront this trend, and the report offers several explanations — from students prioritizing extracurriculars over coursework, to faculty fears of unfavorable evaluations, to the pressure to earn positive course evaluations.

But one line stood out to me above all: The College noted that one faculty member described the shift as instructors offering “emotional support” instead of “critical feedback.” This sentiment captures the cultural zeitgeist driving academic complacency: Harvard’s post-pandemic culture of well-intentioned leniency. It has diluted intellectual discomfort in the classroom — from grading, disagreement, and academic originality — infantilizing students instead of challenging us to grow. The College’s commitment to addressing this issue represents progress toward its resolution.

During the pandemic, a culture of kindness emerged out of necessity in my high school. Teachers spoke in therapeutic tones, eased assignments, and lowered expectations. Pass-fail policies and malleable deadlines made sense amidst the uncertainty of the pandemic. But those temporary habits calcified into enduring norms.

Many of my peers at Harvard have noticed the same. It sometimes feels like our education never fully returned to pre-2020 standards. The result? Insulated from friction in high school, we arrived on a campus plagued by the same problem. And this coddling has only worsened.

Extensions are seemingly granted with barely the raise of an eyebrow. The Economics 1010A: “Intermediate Microeconomics” syllabus reassured students last year that the top half of the class tends to get an A or an A-. After the presidential election, several classes made attendance optional or extended assignment deadlines. At the beginning of this semester, I remember one of my professors explicitly permitted students to use ChatGPT to write an essay as a substitute for a missed section. And this treatment isn’t reserved for anxious freshmen adjusting to college — I have found that it extends to upperclassmen in degree-defining tutorials and seminars, too.

This generosity is almost always well-intentioned. But intentional kindness has quietly morphed into institutional avoidance. The University became uncomfortable with being critical to students and disguised that reluctance as care. When critique becomes cruelty and standards seem inconsiderate, intellectual rigor collapses.

The same impulse that inflates grades deflates debate. Politeness has become a virtue. But in classrooms, that courtesy carries a cost. When disagreement feels risky and criticism must be softened, we learn to self-censor. The unfortunate fact that only a third of graduating seniors in 2024 reported feeling comfortable sharing opinions on controversial topics at Harvard reflects the decline in both intellectual and career-oriented risk-taking.

But that self-censorship is not solely political — it is also academic. Such censorship can lead to a series of adverse effects: Students avoid taking original stances in papers, challenge professors less frequently, and hedge ideas under layers of qualifications. Even in seminar courses, where debate is meant to thrive, students more often engage in gentle agreement rather than interrogating one another. Everyone appears to be afraid — not of being wrong, but of appearing harsh or judgmental.

Of course empathy matters. Students arrive at Harvard from vastly different educational backgrounds. And it is important to remember the mental and physical toll and cutthroat environment of the harsh academic pressures of past decades and at our peer institutions.

Compassion is important, to be sure. But compassion is not the opposite of rigor. Supporting students and challenging them are not mutually exclusive; in fact, they are inseparable if education is to mean anything.

A common defense of leniency is mental health awareness and the desire to maintain the collaborative nature of Harvard study habits. These are fair concerns. But the world beyond Harvard does not grade on therapeutic generosity — it grades on deadlines and set expectations. College must prepare us to meet this reality.

Some proposed fixes — like introducing A+ grades or listing median grades on transcripts — at least aim to challenge rather than cushion, and are a promising solution to restoring intellectual rigor.

Professors should also be encouraged to critique boldly, constructively, and honestly. Harvard attracts students not because we fear difficulty, but because we seek it. If this University believes in our potential, it must trust us enough to demand more than comfort. Let discomfort return to the classroom.

Catherine E.F. Previn ’27, an Associate Editorial editor, is a Government concentrator in Cabot House.