“I came to Harvard for the people.”

I think the past four years of this column has mostly been a reaction to this goddamn sentence.

As one especially prudent Harvard scholar mocked, it seems like every year, the welcoming speech at VISITAS features a portion like “Among your class of 2,024 students, there are 2,400 valedictorians, 50 debate champions, 12 former clowns, five of the original cast of High School Musical 2, Batman (which one of you he is, we still don’t know), and a rubber ducky with a surprisingly high GPA.” And then every pre-frosh hears the same sentiment from students and administrators alike: If there’s any reason to come to Harvard, it’s “for the people.” This idea carries weight throughout our four years here, and it seems to be widely-accepted among a plurality of students I’ve met.

I think this sentiment is one of the most destructive parts of our Harvard experience.

Don’t get me wrong: I love “The People.” This whole column has mainly been written for the viewing pleasure of the amazingly talented, passionate, and driven “People” in my class year—the Class of 2016. Apologies to the Classes of 2013, 2014, 2015, 2017, and 2018 for not making the cut. No apologies to the Class of 2019, because I don’t apologize to freshmen.

But there’s this strange reverence with which many say “I came for The People.” It’s as if The People of each Harvard class are a miraculous set of students who, having already tremendously changed the world through their high school accomplishments, are suddenly thrust into a place where they can take classes and prepare to solve the world’s problems with some of the best minds in the world.

Most people uncritically accept that notion. But, in my view, it’s not entirely true. And much of my writing has been about how and why that mentality can hurt us all.

I think that for almost every student, there is a measure of arbitrary luck that stains her/his admissions profile and acceptance, preferencing them above others who may have “deserved” their spot just as much. I think that glorifying ourselves distorts that perspective. And by glorifying, we lose sight of broader social inequalities that got us here. We feel compelled to pad our resumes with extracurriculars to reinforce the idea of our “specialness,” even if our classes are the most valuable thing Harvard has to offer. We spend our time trying to be productive with our peers, rather than taking the time to just enjoy their presence and perspectives. Rather than a cohesive community that shares deep, common experiences and supports one another, our class becomes more of a museum-like collection of supposedly impressive people who circle and buzz around one another in the activities we do. We feel guilty to be here, rather than grateful, since we feel like we are less-impressive versions of all the impressive people that seem to surround us. And we feel inadequate if we’re not part of social groups that let us fraternize and network with the best The People have to offer.

Eventually, as we all settle into our friend groups in the Houses, I think many of us begin to see through the glorifying facade. Some of our peers have awe-inspiring stories of getting here. Many do not. Some have done impressive enough things at Harvard to get a Business Insider article written about them. Most have not.

We come to realize that The People here, at the end of the day, really are just people—they laugh at dumb things, they enjoy Netflix n’ Chilling, and they have little clue about what exactly they’ll end up doing with the rest of their lives. I’ve found my peers here to be generally smart and impressive. But, like me, their insights and accomplishments are not constantly breathtaking. And that makes all the difference: When you realize this, Harvard stops being a money/prestige/social climbing mosh-pit of talent, and it becomes a place where hard work can exist alongside friendship and life as usual.

So, Class of 2016, this is what I want to finally say to you. And it’s probably antithetical to what you’ll hear in the coming weeks: You haven’t impressed me as much as I thought you would. Most of your hard work so far hasn’t had a broad impact outside of these gates. And, much like the many graduating classes before you, you won’t even come close to saving the world from each of its many issues after graduation.

But, and this is a big but…thank you for your friendship. Thank you for your support. And thank you for making Harvard a home. As with any friendship, you gave love, encouragement, and compassion. You showed your humanity. That was all I could ask for. That was more than enough. And it’s been a tremendous pleasure to write for you.

So, I begin the first of many cheers to you in the weeks before graduation. Here’s to you. Here’s to 2016. And, most importantly, here’s to its people—its real, not-so-special, flawed, but nonetheless awesome people.

Dashiell F. Young-Saver ’16, a Crimson editorial writer, is an English concentrator in Winthrop House. His column appears on alternate Thursdays.