Amid the gothic walls of Harvard, Emma, a diligent art history student specializing in Western medieval art, spent her nights in the dimly lit reading room of the Widener Library. As the medieval manuscripts captured her imagination, her world outside the books seemed increasingly unstable. While many assumed she lived on campus, few knew that Emma was, in fact, homeless. She slept in hidden corners of buildings or found temporary shelter with friends, yet somehow, she managed to maintain her rigorous academic schedule.
Her life took a sharp turn when she met Li, a Chinese student majoring in electrical engineering. Li was precise and methodical, often seen balancing complex calculations with ease, yet her social world was much narrower than Emma’s. The two met by chance during a late-night study session, where they discovered their common struggle — Harvard’s elite environment could feel as isolating as it was prestigious.
After a brief conversation, Li offered Emma a temporary solution. She had a small apartment off-campus and agreed to let Emma stay with her, but only for six months. It wasn’t an easy decision for either of them — Li liked her space, and Emma was used to handling things alone. Still, they entered into an uneasy alliance.
As they settled into their temporary cohabitation, larger forces were at play on campus. Harvard was facing a significant decline in donations, a problem that hit the university’s administration hard. Many speculated that it wasn’t just the anti-Semitism controversies or the political unrest; students from abroad, especially China, were often seen as transient figures. Unlike American graduates, they didn’t typically contribute to alumni networks or donate back to the university once they returned home to build careers. This raised serious concerns about the university’s long-term financial stability.
Emma noticed this shift during her discussions with faculty and alumni, many of whom were worried about the future of the arts and humanities programs. Donations, which often kept these niche departments afloat, were dwindling. Yet, the recent uproar over the university’s handling of anti-Israel protests seemed to overshadow the deeper, more systemic issues — Harvard’s declining appeal to both domestic and international donors.
The atmosphere on campus grew tense. Jewish students voiced their fears openly, and Emma, observing these events closely, was struck by how disconnected Harvard’s leadership seemed from its diverse student body. Alan Garber, the newly appointed president, was now tasked with restoring trust, but it was clear that the university’s challenges went far beyond its political controversies.
For Emma and Li, the six-month living arrangement came and went in a blur of academic deadlines and personal struggles. By the end of it, both had grown in ways they hadn’t anticipated. Emma found stability, at least temporarily, while Li learned the value of sharing her space, even as she remained focused on her future back in China.
Their paths diverged as graduation neared, but their time together reflected a broader truth about Harvard’s current state — a university grappling with its identity in a world where borders and affiliations were more fluid than ever. Just as Emma and Li’s lives briefly intersected, so too did Harvard find itself at a crossroads, unsure of which direction to take as it navigated both internal challenges and external pressures.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
Donations to Harvard Hit a Wall Amid Criticism Over Antisemitism on Campus
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