Artificial Scarcity Isn’t Excellence
Only at Harvard could a low ranking in a LinkedIn game spark a panic that the University is becoming too accessible.
In a recent Sidechat thread, a student joked that Harvard was lagging behind in LinkedIn’s game leaderboards — which rank schools by the average scores of their affiliates on various games — because Harvard Extension School certificate holders were bringing down the score.
Beneath the humor is a fear that Harvard is at risk of losing its scarcity factor — that thing that makes Harvard so special. But Harvard’s ability to serve the common good is only limited by this elitist attitude that begets a culture of guarding resources instead of sharing them.
Granted, Harvard appears to be a highly selective space. The acceptance rate for the Class of 2029 was 4.2 percent, a stark drop from the Class of 1994, which had an 18 percent acceptance rate. When tens of thousands apply each year, but only a fraction are admitted, it’s easy to see why students feel defensive over the value of the credential they worked so hard to earn.
But an image of scarcity does not justify gatekeeping. When students and professors disparage those who pursue certificates, online courses, or other Extension School programs, they narrow Harvard’s public purpose by undermining the institution’s attempt to share resources.
On moral grounds alone, Harvard students should celebrate access to our education. In an ideal world, wouldn’t everyone have the opportunity to learn from some of the most distinguished professors, with a plethora of resources sitting at our fingertips? Instead, we have a school culture that views Extension School students as less than, perpetuating the idea that the University’s education exists for insiders rather than the good of broader society.
Unfortunately, the University itself has promoted this exclusion. Peer schools such as Yale have made many of their course materials publicly available online, but (alongside MIT) Harvard sold its only major free-course platform for $800 million. This sale of public knowledge reinforces inequality and weakens the University’s ability to serve the public.
And as for its admissions process, Harvard disproportionately takes applicants who are recruited athletes, legacies, relatives of donors, and children of faculty or staff — despite making up less than 5 percent of applicants, these students account for around 30 percent of the admitted class.
Worse still, by closing off the University with exclusionary rhetoric, we enable the public to see Harvard as a fortress for the privileged. Exclusivity — forgoing the common good — might actually hurt, not help, Harvard’s brand.
When Harvard treats openness as a threat, it signals that the University is for the elite, by the elite. As a consequence, Americans can’t see themselves in Harvard, a perception that political forces can exploit to attack the institution. To man a defense against a belligerent federal government, Harvard requires real public engagement and a willingness to embrace the many over the few.
If Harvard wants to serve the common good, change has to start with how we define belonging. Students need to stop treating alternative education as a punchline and start recognizing it as part of the University’s mission.
On the administration’s end, programs that expand access should be more closely integrated into Harvard’s identity. Online learning, certificate programs, and public-facing education should be openly affirmed as legitimate expressions of a Harvard education.
Harvard cannot claim to exist for the world while acting like its educational resources are something to be rationed. Serving the common good requires choosing openness, even when exclusivity feels safer.
Taylor P. Beljon-Regen ’29, a Crimson Editorial editor, lives in Thayer Hall.
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