The word “Harvard” is instantly recognizable with or without the word “University” attached to it. The name is as singular as Beyoncé or Madonna. Harvard is an entity, a cultural bastion worldwide. Every person in my parents’ very small hometown in southern Nigeria is familiar with the name and my exchange family in Madrid knew more about the school in some ways than I did. When you’re “Harvard,” people expect things. They don’t expect the local representative to be invited for Commencement; they expect bigger. On the surface, Bloomberg is an ideal pick—he’s a big name from a big city and toes both sides of the line when it comes to his politics. But when the first thing a senior student of color from New York City says upon learning of his selection is, “Wow. Is he going to stop and frisk me?” it is obvious there isn’t quite “enough” Bloomberg to mask parts of his policy that trouble the very students he’ll be sending off into the world.
In the Bloomberg debate, I’m reminded of another figure Harvard invited to campus very recently. The Harvard Foundation honored Grammy Award-winning rapper and actor LL Cool J as Artist of the Year during this year’s Cultural Rhythms celebration. The Harvard Foundation’s website states that “Cultural Rhythms is a cultural festival that celebrates Harvard’s rich cultural and ethnic diversity by showcasing student performances and ethno-cultural cuisine…each year the students and faculty of the Harvard Foundation select a distinguished artist to be honored at the show as Artist of the Year.”
At first take, LL Cool J seemed to be a fine choice for Artist of the Year—he’s a black man who made his way from recoding demos at his grandfather’s house in Long Island to hosting the Grammys for the past three years running. And while I too initially fell for this fame, I later realized that neither the Harvard Foundation nor I had been conscientious enough to carefully listen to the track “Accidental Racist,” a Brad Paisley song that features him.
In the closing stanza, LL suggests that Americans can improve race relations by letting “bygones be bygones,” pays his respects to Robert E. Lee, and thanks Abraham Lincoln for freeing him. Whether or not one finds this song offensive, the lyrics should have raised a red flag to the Artist of the Year selection committee. How badly did we need to honor LL Cool J? Enough to forgive him for the fact he’s decided to forgive slavery on behalf of African-Americans everywhere? How will students feel? It seems that none of these questions were asked.
Harvard’s fame and pop culture prominence doesn’t mean it has the right to be swept away by trends. Harvard has a responsibility to not only promote its students’ best interests, but also set an example for the wider, global community that both respects and idolizes the institution. We must seriously consider the ramifications of the two men that have been invited to campus during the spring semester, considering all that it means to be “Harvard endorsed.”
I am not saying that we should place an asterisk of shame next to LL Cool J’s name in the Cultural Rhythms honoree records or that seniors should walk out during Mayor Bloomberg’s commencement address. Especially with regards to the latter in particular, many will cite the move as distasteful, drawing media attention without accomplishing any real change.
Instead, let us ask our University to never fail to consider. Among other things, this may mean making the commencement speaker process more transparent, ensuring that a committee of senior year students, at the very least, are aware of who is being considered and can represent the concerns of their classmates if necessary. I encourage Harvard students to flip the script and get in the way of bureaucracy. Making our voices heard should not resort to whining or trying to shame our University into listening. It should result in a dialogue that makes progress toward change: repainting our storied institution instead of making cracks in it.