#why didn't we occupy harvard?

[decaffeinatedbreadsublime]

Rajesh Koothrappali x Female!Reader: The Comic Con Redemption

Author's Note: I love Raj very much and want to rewrite moments from the series including a girlfriend for him to pretend he didn't end up alone.

P.S.: English is not my first language, and this is my first imagine. Sorry for any mistakes.

Warning: none

Summary: You've just been promoted to Girlfriend of the Millennium.

(gif just to illustrate their happiness, lol)

Raj sighed, disheartened. "The tickets sold out… I didn’t get any."

It was another tense day at the opening of Comic Con ticket sales. The friends had gathered at Sheldon’s apartment, all agitated, each with their laptop in hand. They frantically pressed F5 until they managed to get into the virtual queue—if they managed to.

"I didn’t get one either," Howard replied. From the frustrated faces of Leonard and Sheldon, it was evident they hadn’t succeeded either.

"This was supposed to be the best Comic Con in the last 20 years," Leonard lamented. "I can’t believe we’re going to miss it."

"Now I know how Mexican immigrants feel when they’re barred from entering the United States and living the American dream they desire so much," Sheldon commented, his voice monotone in a sad tone.

"…No, Sheldon, you don’t know," Leonard said. Despite the frustration, he didn’t agree with Sheldon’s exaggerated drama.

When you arrived at the apartment from your shift at Caltech’s Computational Mathematics lab, where you worked as a researcher, the atmosphere was similar to a funeral. The last time you saw them this sad was when Tony Stark had died.

"Oh, no," you said, going to your boyfriend Raj’s side and sitting on the arm of the chair he occupied. "Don’t tell me another superhero died… when Tony Stark died, you were in mourning for three days, it was horrible."

"It’s worse," Sheldon said. "We didn’t get tickets to Comic Con."

"I already had my cosplay ready," Leonard sighed.

"Speaking of which," you stood up, took the bag that was still on your shoulder, and pulled out four identical pieces of paper. "Julie’s husband, who was my roommate at Harvard, works in event organization and is organizing this year’s Comic Con. I got four tickets for you guys."

You placed the tickets on the table, and everyone stood still for a few seconds, completely immobile. Sheldon picked up one of the tickets from the coffee table, analyzed it cautiously, and held it up to the light to verify its authenticity. When he finished, he put the ticket back on the table and sat up straight, in complete silence.

"Well?" Howard asked.

"They’re real," Sheldon replied.

"Y/N, YOU GENIUS, WONDERFUL WOMAN!" Raj instantly shouted. He quickly got up from the chair, went to you, gave you a hug that lifted you off the ground, and spun you around. Then he kissed you intensely.

"Why didn’t you tell us you had the tickets?" Leonard asked.

"Julie’s husband could only confirm if he could get them 30 minutes before the official batch opened," you explained. "I didn’t want to say anything before to avoid creating expectations. And when I got them, I called Raj five times, but he didn’t answer. So I called you guys, and no one answered. But I decided to get the tickets anyway, and if you managed to buy some, I could sell them, so it would be a win-win situation."

"We were doing finger stretches to avoid cramps while buying the tickets," Sheldon explained. "That’s why we missed the call."

You laughed. "Well, I guess you owe me one."

Raj hugged you again, kissing your temple. "Consider me your servant for the next weeks."

[bloodpen-to-paper]

Nimona's Subtle Racial Placement in a World of Wealth Gaps

The racial placement of Nimona was not lost on me, and its something I'm seeing more of in media, so lets talk about how Nimona did it and why:

The Queen was black, and as a black woman she was the one who chose Ballister, a commoner, a brown kid, to be the next Knight of the Realm. She chose him above all the elitist kids because she saw his merit, and chose not to let the status of the others affect her decisions. And she was killed for it by a white insurrectionist.

For years Ballister was bullied by Todd, a white man, while the other elitist knights did nothing. Except for Ambrosius, an Asian man (presumably since he's modeled after Eugene Lee Yang), who not only stood up for him, but ended up becoming so close to him that they became lovers.

There's a lot of diversity in this movie, both within the wealth classes (the highest position of power being held by a black woman while Nimona, who's whole story is about being oppressed and ostracized, is white), and among the general populace of multi-racial and ethnic side characters. Yet there's still mostly white knights among the Queen's guard, not to mention the original story of Gloreth revolves around a white girl brought into legacy. You could even argue colorism with how Ambrosius has a lighter complexion (especially considering he was originally white in the comics) and is brought up as the trusted descendent of Gloreth over the commoner Ballister.

Despite being a movie about classism that's set in a diverse world, Nimona still has a subtle racial aspect within its character dynamics. It does this for a very important reason: to bridge the gap between art and reality. In real life, we have white supremacy. In real life, we have capitalism. And Nimona uses its racial aspects to further make its point about the class divide and bigotry within a caste system.

Racial supremacy and the dismantling of it is a complex matter. Diversifying the world is easiest to achieve among the working class; you can show people of different skin tones in movies and TV, hire a more diverse racial pool within work environments, etc. But what gets difficult is changing the diversity within the elite spaces, because their place in the wealth gap has made them near impossible to touch from a working class position. Diversifying the space in a local diner? Easy, as long as the manager is willing. Diversifying the spaces within the Electoral College? Harvard alumni? HBO Executives? Good luck, you'd give an arm and a leg just to change maybe one person's position in those spaces. Because the power is so hoarded and privatized that changing anything, like racial diversity, would include upending the entire system that allowed for them to exist as they do. A local diner involves being able to convince one person in a small position to either change their model, or changing out that person with someone with a different model. The systems of supremacy don't have roots as deep within that scenario, but the elitists? They are the system. And to change them is to change the system entirely. You cannot eliminate the racism from elite spaces without dissolving the wealth gap.

Nimona shows this subtly, in that among the common people its super diverse (black news anchors, people of different skin tones occupying the same spaces, etc), but within the elite institutions, the Knight of the Realm was always someone who was from the elite, and had nepotism to get them through. Ambrosius was expected to be the Knight because of his heritage, and most of the knights in the guard along him and Ballister were white and had Old Money. The movie didn't need to include racism in their message against classism, but the creators wanted to bridge that gap between "movie metaphor for real world issues" and actual real world issues. They created "commoner" and made sure the audience knew that represented not just the "working class", but the racial working class. They made sure the implications of racial bias were there and readable for the people who could relate to the struggle of being a person of color in a supremacist society. They even made queer people feel seen, not just with Ambrosius and Ballister's relationship, but with Nimona's entire allegory for gender-queerness. Its a movie that aims to have its art reflect reality for the sake of making people get invested in their own real world issues within our real world society. Many "progressive" works now utilize talking points from progressive movements without actually giving representation to those affected, causing a case of appropriation painted as representation. Nimona aimed to create genuine representation that would be seen by the people who needed it most, not just with the obvious messages from the story-telling, but from the subtle bridges that connect this piece of fiction to the very real world it took inspiration from. And I think its safe to say Nimona achieved just that.

[sunflower-shell]

As a Boricua Indigenous woman, adding some more history, because usamericans never want to talk about us.

Borikén, colonially known as Puerto Rico, is an island archipelago in the Caribbean, and a US colony. It has 3.2 million people on it, and another 2 million+ in diaspora. The Taíno people that you mentioned? I'm one of them. Their land, our land, is Borikén.

Read about the paper genocide; about how they tried to erase our existence simply by rewriting us out of the census.

Read about Agüeybana II. How he performed the Guatiao ritual with Juan Ponce de León, and was betrayed. About the war of 1511.

Read about the Grito de Lares. Our first post-contact fight for independence, and how and why it didn't last.

Read about Pedro Albizu Campos and the independentist struggle. Read about how he was top of his class at Harvard Law, and the professors conspired to purposely hold him back so he wouldn't be able to give a valedictorian speech, because of colonial racism. How he led freedom struggles in Borikén and was imprisoned. How he was subjected to radiation experiments while in prison.

Read about the Carpetas. About how the FBI spied on over 100.000 of us. About the secret police, the monitoring, the families divided, the fear. It was one of the longest continuous targeted surveillance programs conducted on US citizens by their own government. They said it was to fight communism, but it was to stop us from becoming independent. Read about FUPI, and the two students killed, and the other one framed, in a bomb planted by an undercover police officer to discredit the movement.

Read about the Navy--Culebra protests. How your bombs were tested on our islands. How the US navy occupied our land, turned our beaches into shooting ranges, poisoned our soil, murdered civilians for protesting, killed the marine life, our kin, and starved us off our land. About how we fought to get them to leave, and how they agreed to, and two decades later they went back, to the island of vieques, and did it again. And then, 15 years later, they did it again.

Read about Mano Dura Contra El Crimen. About the police raids into overexploited, predominantly Black neighbourhoods, the caseríos. About the obscenity laws under which the reggaeton you covet and consume was born.

Read about the betrayal of the PROMESA bill. How it set up the Junta, the unelected colonial oversight board that closes our schools, slashes our pensions, denies us our healthcare. About the horrific mismanagement of the disasters that were to come. About Austerity.

Read about LUMA, the corporation that privatized our power grid under the auspices of the colonial government. About the blackouts.

Read about Hurricane María. About the houses without power, without water. About the potholes in the roads, the homes without roofs. The 4645 bodies, which the government lied about, and is still lying about. About the rivers choked with mud. The palm trees shredded to shrapnel. About the protests that ousted Ricky Rosselló. About perreo combativo, how our music is more than just entertainment. About the rage.

Guaka Taíno. Guaka Borincano. We are Taíno. We are Boricuan. We are Black, Latino, Indigenous. We are colonial subjects; exploited, murdered, sterilized, spied on, bombed, experimented on. Our land becomes your tax haven, our music becomes your sex fantasy, our beaches become your vacation spots, while the rents go up, and the power goes out, and fucking Jake Paul builds another mansion on our soil and americans privatize our beaches and our water and poison our wildlife and pretend we don't exist.

We are the oldest and most populous colony. We are the people of first contact; the descendants of the other side of the stories you tell about Columbus. We have a long history of resistance, and of oppression.

I could go on, but the rage and grief are getting to me. I'm tired of the ignorance. I'm tired of the microaggressions I'm tired of talking to americans and finding they know nothing of us, even though Bad Bunny is the most-streamed artist of the year on Spotify and reggaeton fills your sex playlists, even though rich americans are quietly taking over Ponce, even though there are over 2 million of us in your country because you drove us out of ours. The way that no one ever says the word "Taíno" when talking about Columbus. The way that conversations about U.S colonialism only make it as far as Hawai'i even though we're half the distance from the U.S and twice the size. How USAmericans don't know that we can't vote, even though we're citizens. How they don't know Puerto Rico from Portugal.

Remember us. Talk about us. Learn about us. Read about us. We're still here, and we're still fighting for no more yanquis on our fucking islands. Still fighting to not be called extinct.

Borikén libre.

i am reading this paper about all the bombs and missiles and other weapons the USA govt gives to Israel, because I am trying to understand why we are doing this, and it makes me sick at heart—all this money and advanced technology, all poured into blowing human beings up. "When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail"—how could billions and billions of dollars worth of the tools of violence NOT result in violence?

I don't feel any closer to understanding what is happening in terms of how it connects to concrete reasons in people's heads. The connection between giving a government billions of dollars in weapons and that government solving all of its problems with extreme violence seems very clear though.

USA policies toward the rest of the world keep being like "Yeah, we want to promote peace, but, like, this group of people is SO uniquely threatening and unreceptive to normal propositions of peace that we HAVE to wage endless war against them and commit atrocities." First it was "Japan will never surrender so we HAVE to nuke civilians," then it was Communists, then it was Terrorists, but it's the same thing.

I don't remember the world before 9/11, but I can look at and listen to art and music from before 9/11, and it seems like something terrible happened in USA culture, where once there was a strong "anti-war" sentiment and understanding of what war does to people, but within my lifetime, it's like no one has the audacity to imagine a world where endless war isn't "necessary." In high school my class mates were talking about seeing videos online of ISIS sawing peoples heads off and that was basically all I knew about "what was happening in the Middle East."

Does anybody even think about why peace signs are part of the 60's "aesthetic?"

I don't have any conclusion here. Have we lost the power to imagine anything different?

[aisha-galaxia]

The mystery of Gakushu's mother

I have seen a few people bragging the topic of Gakushu's mother but I never saw them go deeper in their headcanons, so let me present to you my headcanons about her !

When the chapter 119 came out a lot people start to think that the woman on the left is Gakushu's mother, but I don't think so.

The reason why I'm saying that is she's obviously a servant because she has a plate and wear an apron (plus there are only two chairs next to the table). But it would be weird if Matsui drew her leaving the room without a second tough.

Is the woman on the left Gakushu's mother ?

We can't really respond to this question sooo ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Canon thing

It is said in Gakushu's graduation profile that his mother is a housewife and yeah this is the only canon information about her (damn Matsui)

But there is a thing that doesn't make sense : If she is housewife why is there only two chairs next to the table ?

Headcanons

Her name is "Hideko" (秀子) and she is American and Japanese, her parents live in the U.S since her birth.

During her childhood, her parents were always saying that she should do well at school and be the first in her class, she really wanted to have a boyfriend during her earlier teenage and wanted to be married at 25 years old.

Because she was smart and hardworking she finally enrolled in the Harvard University and this is where she met Gakuho.

At first, their relationship was just that of two classmates. But after some time, Hideko started to have feelings for Gakuho because of his personality and the fact that he worked very hard and was ready to devote his whole life to education. After a few months, they finally got together.

I also like to think that she and Gakuho got in a argue because he wanted to come back to Japan, after that argue she decided to follow Gakuho to Japan because she thinked that he may be the only one for her (much to the disappointment of her parents).

When she and Gakuho settled into their now home, she was already thinking about their marriage and was waiting for Gakuho to put the ring on. She was waiting, waiting and waiting again and again but he didn't do this.

At first she was thinking that he might be really occupied with his work in his cram school and that he doesn't have enough money to buy a ring, but when he started to earn a lot of money everyday she decided to distance herself from him which saddened Gakuho. He tried every way possible to make her happy again, he bought shoes, dress and a lot more of expensive stuff for her but no ring.

One day, Gakuho asked her what is bothering her and she just respond that everything was fine and that it was just a stupid things. When she got pregnant of Gakushu, she was a little sad because she wanted to be married before having a child.

And after Gakushu was born, she was the happiest woman on the earth but not for too long. After Ikeda's death, Gakuho snapped and their relationship got worse. It was his turn to distance himself from her and when Gakushu grew up, she thought that this family was definitely screwed up.

And this is it, if you guys have headcanons about her let me know !

[salparadiselost]

The demons being big dangerous cats make me wonder: if you woke one up would they go "mrrrp?" (If they didn't immediately take you down because you never startle a bat lmao)

I’m going to let Dick answer this question. -----

“Hello, loyal viewers. Thank you for tuning into another pulse-pounding episode of ‘Dr. Dickinson’s Demon Discovery Programme’. I am your illustrious host, Dr. Grayson MD PhD of Harvard. Today, we continue our ongoing investigation into today’s most important question: are demons just large cats? Let us go and see if we can gather additional research into this question,” said Dick as he smiled brightly into the camera. He had stolen it from Tim about a month ago and the incubus had yet to find out it was him. Mostly because he suspected Damian and was pursuing that line of allegations. Dick panned the camera around the Manor. It was late afternoon on a Saturday and the windows were letting in soft light. Everything was calm and caught within the overwhelming atmosphere of “naptime”. All the other occupants of the house were sleeping (except Alfred who took the afternoon to shop in the city and get some time for himself) and recovering from late-night patrols. Dick had been sleeping earlier himself, but he usually was the first one awake from the typical mid-day siestas. Which meant he had to find some way to entertain himself until the rest of the house stirred. “Now as my loyal viewers know, I have spent most of my life integrating myself into this specific demon pack. They see me as one of their own and accept me as if I am a demon myself.”

Dick climbed up the stairs and directed himself to the Manor’s family wing. All the doors to everyone’s rooms were closed. He looked at the three rooms he knew were occupied and mentally ‘eeny-meeny-miny-moed’ to choose a door. He went to his randomly chosen door and placed a hand on the doorknob. He returned to talking to the camera in his best David Attenborough impression.

“This is the private den of the second eldest demon packmember. He is of the incubus variety and there are some who call him… Tim.” Dick paused for dramatics and good filmmaking. “Now, Tim is young by demon standards and commonly referred to as an impling by the Heart of his pack. When I show him to you viewer, I’m sure you will also come to the conclusion that he is, in fact, baby. And, perhaps, a cat if our research goes well. Before I enter the den, I must warn you not to approach unfamiliar wild demons in your own research. I am a trained professional. I have spent a majority of my life studying demon behaviourisms and getting to know the individuals within this particular pack. With safety measures out of the way, we can further our research. Let us commerce.” Dick opened the door silently and crept into Tim’s messy room. The space was dim, cool and Dick could instantly feel the relaxing swirl of sleepy incubus emotions. The only part of Tim that was visible was a puff of Tim’s hair sticking out of a blanket burrito. He mumbled as Dick walked in, curling further into the blankets. “Watch as I approach the demon.” Dick focused his video camera on to Tim, zooming in on the tiny sliver of Tim’s face before zooming out again. He crept forward trying to remain silent, but it was hard to sneak up on a Bat. Tim sleepily blinked his eyes open, trilling when he saw Dick. The little ‘mrrp’ made Dick’s heart warm and he didn’t hesitate to slip into Tim’s bed. With gentle hands, he unraveled the demon from his blanket burrito and gathered him in a one armed hug while the other one balanced the camera. The demon began purring instantly and trilled happily again when Dick pulled him close. “Hey Dick,” Tim said, voice rough and still half-asleep. “Why you got a camera?” Dick laughed and pet Tim’s hair gently. He felt the incubus tug at their bond and instinctually begin to amplify the warm and comfortable emotions around them. Tim didn’t usually act so much like an incubus. He had a bad habit of getting in his own head about these things and overthinking what he naturally wanted to do. Tim was so sleepy now; he probably didn’t even realise what he was doing. “I’m conducting research,” Dick whispered, even though he wasn’t even sure whether Tim was listening. The demon was still mostly asleep and seemed keener on cuddling and purring than thinking about cameras. “Wha’ kinda research?” Tim’s voice was slurring together with slumber. “If you’re actually a cat.” Dick was having a hard time keeping the camera straight as Tim nuzzled along the bottom of his jaw. His hair tickled against Dick’s face, but there was no way in Hell Dick was going to pull back. Tim squinted his eyes and frowned. Dick had to hold back a coo at the adorableness of Tim pouting into nothing. “I’m not a cat. Imma Tim,” the demon declared as seriously as his sleepy state would let him. He sighed, seemed to finish his bout of nuzzling and settled his head on Dick’s chest like it was a pillow. Tim’s purrs didn’t stop though, and Dick felt the vibrations shaking in his own chest. “That’s right, smartypants. You’re a Tim.” The demon smiled in satisfaction like he had won an intense argument. He looked like he might say something else, but then he fell asleep while still being half on top of Dick. With the demon curled on top of him, Dick knew that he was effectively trapped until Tim woke up again. Dick chuckled softly petting over Tim’s silky hair soothing him further into sleep. Once he was sure Tim was sleeping, Dick smiled and held the camera up over his head pointing at him and the slumbering demon. “Well, it seems that our research will have to come to an end because, as you can see, a demon has fallen asleep on top of me and I am legally not allowed to move. This, of course, only adds to our theory that demons are actually just large cats. Thank you for joining me on this episode of Dr. Dickinson’s Demon Discovery Programme. Give me a like and hit that subscribe button for more content like this. You can get visit my merch store at the link below and I hope to see you next time. Goodbye!”

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes: Chapter 3 Expectations and Exceptions

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

One week later

Claire’s heart was racing, her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. She had no idea why she was so nervous; Faith was in a perfectly good mood, breakfast had gone off without a hitch, and she’d kept herself occupied while Claire unpacked a few more boxes. Things had been going well with Mrs. Lickett so far; she came by two days ago to meet Faith, and she hadn’t objected at all. So Claire had every reason to believe that she would respond just as well to her assigned therapist: Jamie.

When the receptionist, Toni, had said the name, Claire’s heart immediately warmed for some reason. She pictured a bubbly, blonde haired young woman that would say all the right things to her little Faith. Claire had seen her fair share of over-ambitious, boisterous young women working with special needs children, and they were quite hit or miss. They were either absolutely perfect, or they were just…too much.

The glowing reviews of this place had Claire believing that this Jamie would be the former. For maybe the millionth time, Claire threw a glance back at Faith through the rear view mirror, quietly humming and bouncing, shaking around the little plush horse Claire had gotten her. In order to prepare her, Claire had bought the toy and a ten pack of postcards with horses on them to put on the wall next to her bed. Usually, Sorcerer Mickey was the one she insisted on taking everywhere, but today, she seemed to connect the dots between the horse-related purchases her mother had bestowed upon her and Claire’s constant jabbering about the horses they were seeing today.

So, all in all, Claire had no reason to believe that anything would be amiss. Faith was well-prepared, and seemingly quite excited. But rationality could never erase the knots in her stomach when it came to introducing Faith to something and someone new. The receptionist had assured her that if Jamie didn’t work out for whatever reason, there were dozens of other qualified therapists eager and ready to step in.

God, she wanted this to work so badly.

Claire glanced through the rear view mirror again, smiling. “I have faith in you, darling.”

The fact that her daughter’s name had proven to be so fitting and applicable was something that frequently stunned Claire into silence. The very second the word autism had fallen on her ears at the specialist’s office, the panic had set in, but she’d never stopped believing in her. Frank obviously had. So many brainless people in the world had no faith in disabled children. But Claire had seen her daughter in her quiet moments, and in her more animated moments. There was something there, underneath the anxiety, underneath the ticks. Something she hoped the equine therapy could coax out of her. Hell, moving to the states in and of itself was an enormous leap of faith. But Claire’s faith did not seem to be misplaced, in either her daughter or her own decisions.

Faith uttered a rather loud hum and made a silly face at her reflection in the mirror, twisting her hands.

“You have faith in yourself, too.”

An eighteen minute drive under their belts, Claire pulled into the dirt and gravel parking lot, her heart already feeling lighter as she caught sight of horses grazing in fields past the cluster of buildings.

“Faithie, look,” Claire crooned as she unbuckled the car seat. She pulled her out and settled her on her hip. “See the horses?”

Faith hummed loudly in excitement, and Claire beamed.

“Are you excited to ride a horse, darling?” Claire let her slide off her hip and onto the ground, taking her hand. “Let’s go meet Miss Toni and Miss Jamie.”

One thing was for certain: Faith most definitely understood what was happening, and she was excited.

Her humming had reached its peak in pitch and volume; she was jumping practically a foot into the air, skipping through the parking lot. Claire had to hold tighter for fear she’d slip loose and bolt right up to the horses. Claire checked the time on her phone: 1:45 on the dot, fifteen minutes early for their scheduled time, as Toni had requested. They walked through the doors into the reception building, and Faith immediately started pulling back, reaching outside toward the horses.

“We’ll see the horses soon, lovie. We need to meet Miss Toni first. Come on.” She tugged firmly on Faith’s arm and walked toward the desk, passing two other mothers and their sons, one who was chattering endlessly, and the other, a boy with Down Syndrome who was quite docile, smiling contentedly. Claire made a point to smile and wave at both mothers and the kids.

“Well, hello! You must be Miss Beauchamp,” the woman Claire assumed to be Toni greeted warmly. She had a sweet, mousy face, and eyes the same shade of brown as her bobbed hair. Claire had informed the woman that legally, their names were still Randall, but she’d prefer if off-paper she be addressed by her maiden name.

“Oh, and this must be little Faith.” Toni stood up from her chair and peered over the desk. “Hello, Faith. I’m Miss Toni. I’ve heard so much about you.” Faith’s humming and bouncing momentarily stopped, anxious, no doubt, at the sight of a new face. “I love your little horse, Faith! Your big horse will love it, too. Does he have a name?” Her eyes briefly flicked up to Claire, knowing that Faith wouldn’t answer.

“No, I’ve just been calling it ‘horsie’,” Claire chuckled softly.

“Awesome, Horsie it is then.” Toni smiled warmly, retrieving a clipboard with a pen attached. “This is Faith’s file based on what we discussed over the phone, there’s just a few things you need to elaborate on, and then I’ll call Jamie in. Alright?”

“Right, thank you.” Claire deposited Faith into the chair next to her, silently praying she’d stay put and not run off the second she let go of her.

“Are you from England?”

Claire glanced up from the paperwork to see one of the mothers she’d sat near was looking at her. “Oh, um, yes, actually. Just moved here.”

“That’s great,” she said, smiling. Claire hadn’t realized before she started speaking how very young this woman must have been. She was so tiny and her voice was almost a squeak. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-three. “My parents are English. You can tell I have the accent if you listen closely.”

Claire chuckled. “Where in England?”

“Cambridge. My father taught at the university and we moved to the states so he could teach at Harvard. My husband and I moved to the Island because of the program. This is my Thomas.” The girl gestured to the babbling little boy, seemingly repeating the same couple of phrases over and over.

“Nice to meet you both. I’m Claire, and this is my little Faith.”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Mary. Should have said that, I suppose.” She smiled sheepishly. “Your daughter looks just like you.”

Claire smiled fondly. “Thank you.”

“Did you come all the way here from England for the program?”

“Sort of. It was definitely one of the reasons.” Claire flipped to the final page of paperwork. “I wanted--needed, really--to get out of England, and I’d just finished medical school and was looking for a hospital to start my residence. I’d heard great things about Stony Brook and this program, and Long Island seemed like a quiet enough place for us.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Not entirely yet, but that’s the goal.”

“Wow,” Mary breathed. “How do you manage? I can’t imagine pursuing a career with Thomas. I admire you so much.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Does your husband work, too?”

Claire felt her throat tighten slightly, and the pen froze on the page for just a moment. “We’re divorced, actually. He’s still in England.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. Really, Claire, I’m — ”

“It’s alright, Mary,” Claire assured her. The poor thing was stammering almost as incoherently as her son.

“I didn't mean to imply that mothers can’t have careers, or that single mothers couldn’t raise children, especially children like ours — ”

“Really, Mary. Relax. It’s okay.” Claire finished up the paperwork. “I’m not offended, I promise. It’s something I’m going to have to get used to discussing, I suppose.”

“Right.”

“Well, I’m off to hand this in. It was really nice meeting you, Mary. Bye, Thomas.” Claire waved at him.

“Thomas,” Mary chided. “Say goodbye.”

“BYE!”

Faith dropped her horse and clamped her hands over her ears, and Mary began stammering apologies again, and Claire waved her off.

“Inside voice, Thomas!” Mary scolded, but he simply cackled and returned to his contented babbling.

After coaxing Faith’s hands off her ears, they returned to the desk and handed Toni the clipboard.

“Perfect timing,” Toni said. “Jamie just came back in from his one o’clock.”

“Wonderful,” Claire beamed. Wait…his?

“Don’t be alarmed when you see him. He’s a gentle giant, I promise.” Toni winked.

“He…?”

And then there he was, a veritable giant indeed, entering from the door behind the reception desk. He had to be well over six feet tall, and his shoulders were the broadest she’d ever seen. Almost immediately after taking in the size of him, the first thing she noticed was the wild mop of red hair that he sported. It had to be the brightest red hair she’d ever seen in her life.

Jamie. Nickname for James. Not the feminine name.

“Hallo there, Miss. James Fraser. Great to meet ye.”

Claire had to blink back her shock at the sound of his voice, the roll of his “r”s, the peculiar lilt. Was that a Scottish accent?

He stretched out his hand and Claire took it. “Claire Beauchamp.”

He gave her hand a quick, firm shake before looking down and taking in the sight of Claire’s daughter. “Ah, this bonny wee lass must be Faith, then?”

“Uh…yes, here she is,” Claire stammered.

The apparently Scottish Giant walked around the counter and immediately stooped to his knees about four feet away from Faith.

“Hello there, Faith. I’m Jamie. I’m gonna teach ye to ride a horse.” Faith blinked at him silently, the hand that was not holding the horse jiggling. “And what’s this, then? Got yer own wee horsie, is it?” Faith clutched the horse a bit tighter, pressing it into her chest. “He’s braw. I think Pippi will quite like him. That’s yer horse’s name, Pippi.”

Something strange was happening to Claire’s heart as she watched him talk to her daughter. She surmised it was because no man had ever been so good with Faith in her entire life, the girl’s own father having miserably failed in that category. The good Samaritans at the airport had been kind and helpful, but none of them dared address Faith directly. Seeing this man, a total stranger, know exactly how to address her, exactly how far away to be, exactly how softly to speak; it was almost overwhelming.

“Would ye like to meet Pippi, Faith?” Jamie said gently.

Faith didn’t hum or move at all, just kept on jiggling her hand. Claire stooped down as well, kneeling next to Faith, whispering in her ear. “Hey, it’s alright, lovie. It’s time to see the horses now. Isn’t that exciting?” She hummed a little, eliciting a smile from Claire. “Ah see, I knew it. Let’s go then, hm?”

Claire stood up again, holding her hand, and nodded at Jamie. “I suppose we’re ready.”

Jamie stood to full height, once again catching her off guard at the sheer size of him. “Alright lasses, follow me.”

“Jamie!” came an excited voice from behind them.

They paused and turned around to see that the formerly quiet boy with Down Syndrome had called out to him.

“Connor! My man!” Jamie immediately approached him in long strides, crouching down and putting a hand up for a high-five, which the boy gave, prompting Jamie to recoil in contrived pain, shaking his hand.

“Ye get stronger every day, laddie! Ye’re gonna break my hand clean off someday!”

Connor giggled uncontrollably. If it was at all possible, Claire’s fondness for the man grew exponentially. Seeing how expertly he transitioned from gentle and cautious with Faith to playful and boisterous with Connor was amazing. It seemed he truly took the time to learn the intricacies of each of these kids’ needs.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a new friend to ride wi’ today.”

“We will ride horses next Tuesday,” Connor said, nodding his head curtly. “I ride with Miss Jessica today.”

“Aye, that’s right.” Jamie winked. “See ye next Tuesday, then. Good to see ye, Pam.”

The mother addressed him fondly as Jamie stood up and returned to Claire and Faith.

“Sorry ’bout that. Connor never lets me live it down if I dinna say hello when he sees me.” He flashed an endearing, crooked grin, deep blue eyes twinkling.

“No, it’s quite alright. I hope you’d pay the same mind to my child. And every child for that matter.”

“Aye. I do,” he assured her. Jamie took Faith’s file from Toni without even needing to look at her, walking backwards to lead them out the back door. “Now, Connor over there is quite the social butterfly. He likes to rotate therapists, ye ken. His mam thinks it’s good fer him, and we all agree. But wee Faith over here is a bit more shy, aye?”

“Yes,” Claire said, rubbing a soothing thumb over Faith’s knuckles. “Strangers are a bit of a struggle.”

Jamie pushed open the door with his shoulder. “Aye, well that’s alright. We have plenty of time to get to know each other. She won’t be rotating therapists, unless fer some reason we dinna get along. Which, of course, I willna take personally,” he assured Claire, seeing as she’d already opened her mouth to apologize for something that hadn’t even happened yet.

Claire smiled as she felt Faith’s buzzing excitement returning at being back outside. She must know the horses were not far off.

“I read through her file last night. Disney fan, is she?”

“Oh yes, enormously so.”

As usual, Faith’s head cocked upward at the sound of the word ‘Disney.’ 

“Well, then ye’ll quite like Pippi, I should think,” Jamie said to Faith, still walking backwards. “She’s a royal horse, ye ken. Only princes and princesses get to ride her.”

“Hear that, lovie?” Claire swung Faith’s hand. “A special princess-horse for Princess Faith.”

Faith hummed loudly and gave a little skip, her wrist twisting inward, still holding tightly to the stuffed horse. Claire chuckled softly, her soul alight to see her daughter’s excitement bursting at the seams. Claire lifted her gaze from Faith to smile at Jamie, grateful for his cleverness. She was taken aback, however, to see that Jamie was, to put it bluntly, staring at her. She blanched, heat creeping up her neck. It was only a split second before his senses returned and he shook his head, returning his attention to Faith.

She’d certainly caught it…but she pointedly chose to ignore it.

“Alright, lass. This is the stables.” Jamie gestured grandly to the closed barn doors behind him. “Now,” he said, crouching down, once more at eye-level with Faith. “Ye must be very, very calm inside, Faith. The stable is where the horses live, eat and sleep; it’s their home. Like your home with yer mam. Dinna let go of her hand, and be patient. Pippi is waiting fer ye.” Jamie smiled. “Will ye be calm, Faith? Thumbs up if ye’ll be calm and patient.” Jamie held a thumb up and waited patiently before Faith responded with her own thumbs up.

Bloody hell…why didn’t I think of that one?

“Very good. Alright then, here we go.” Jamie stood to full height again and unlatched the barn doors. They creaked open, and the already potent smell of hay and manure thickened around them. Still walking backwards (Bloody impressive), Jamie led them inside and, after only a few steps, Faith was simply beside herself with excitement. Her humming reached peak pitch, and she was bouncing, jumping and tugging.

“Calm, Faith,” Claire reminded gently. “Patient. Calm.”

It was not very effective.

The horses didn’t seem to mind, however, and neither did Jamie. Claire was almost certain he’d seen his fair share of hyperactive kids in this stable that did cause quite a ruckus, and Faith’s reaction paled in comparison. They stopped about halfway down the line of horses, right in front of a bright sorrel mare with a white strip down her nose and a beautiful white mane.

“This is Pippi,” Jamie said, putting a gentle hand on her muzzle.

Faith grunted, dropped her stuffed horse, and eagerly reached up with her now free hand, desperately trying to wrench her other hand free of Claire’s grip.

“Faith. Be patient,” Claire said again.

“Faith,” Jamie said gently, crouching down to her again. “Pippi willna say hello unless ye’re calm and patient, like we said.”

His words fell on deaf ears as Faith continued to reach up and tug. The little whines came next, and dread settled into Claire’s stomach. She was on the verge of a meltdown, here of all places, the place that was supposed to help. Claire’s mind began spiraling: she’d made the wrong decision again, she’d made everything worse…

“Faith, please — ”

“It’s alright,” Jamie cut her off and reached into one of the pockets of the vest that was draped lazily over his flannel, retrieving what appeared to be a yellow ball. He gingerly pressed it into Faith’s outstretched palm and closed her fingers around it, immediately retreating his hand after she was holding it. She carried on for a few more seconds before becoming engrossed in the ball, squishing it in her little hand until her knuckles went white.

A stress ball.

“There’s a good lass, now,” Jamie said softly. “Get all yer troubles out of that wee head and put them into the ball.”

Claire watched in awe as the groaning ceased and the humming returned. Faith pressed the ball into her cheek, her forehead, her chest, her stomach.

“See? All calm now,” Jamie said.

“Good girl, Faithie.” Claire gave her hand a light squeeze, her voice breathy with disbelief.

He is so good with her.

Jamie reached a hand up to take hold of Pippi’s bridle then clicked his tongue. Pippi’s head lowered.

“She’s ready to say hello now, Faith, because ye calmed down.”

The stress ball immediately fell out of her hand and she reached for Pippi again.

“Gentle. Watch me, Faith.” Jamie firmly grasped the bridle with one hand, but his other hand was stroking the white strip on Pippi’s head with the greatest tenderness Claire had ever seen a man muster. “Try it, Faith. Gentle.”

To Claire’s utter bewilderment, Faith did not slap her clumsy hand onto the horses head as she’d expected. She, in fact, did exactly as Jamie had shown her: stroking the horse’s forehead and muzzle with all the careful reverence of a mother with her newborn. Claire didn’t know that she was even capable of such restraint.

“That’s beautiful, Faith. Wonderful job, lass.” Jamie gradually drew his own hand away, allowing Faith to pet her by herself. “I think she likes ye, Faith. I think ye’ll be very good friends.”

Tears misted in Claire’s eyes. She didn’t know what she’d expected for today, but it hadn’t been this.

“Ye alright, Ma?”

It took Claire a moment to realize that Jamie was addressing her, and she quickly nodded, brushing away tears in embarrassment. “Yes, of course. I’m just…”

“Aye.” He nodded knowingly. “I ken. Ye wouldna be the first.”

She sniffed and offered a tiny smile.

Jamie spent the rest of their time together pointing to the parts of the horse, the bridle, and the saddle and telling Faith the different names. She was not expected to remember, of course, but with enough repetition some of it would stick eventually. He also went on to talk about all the things Pippi liked and didn’t like, certain rubs or touches, apples and sugar cubes. He also managed to, quite convincingly, reveal that Pippi’s favorite movie was Frozen, which, upon hearing, Claire had had to bite her tongue to stop a fit of giggles. Jamie expertly wove Faith’s own interests into his information about the horse, and it left her speechless. By the time he finished, Faith was hanging on his every word, her hand still absently trailing up and down Pippi’s snout.

Today was not a riding day; today was a “get to know the horse and the therapist” day. Which, as far as Claire could tell, had gone off quite swimmingly. Claire had been dreading having to leave the horse, fearing a meltdown following removing Faith from her horse. But Jamie took his time with it, made sure she felt like she had properly said goodbye.

“I’ll teach ye how Pippi likes to say goodbye.” He reached into his other vest pocket and retrieved a sugar cube. He held it under her mouth and her  floppy lips snatched it up, eliciting a squeal from Faith. She immediately attempted to plunge her hand into Jamie’s pocket to get a sugar cube to feed her herself. Jamie was faster, though, dipping his hand in and retrieving a cube on his own. While her wee attempt at pick-pocketing was no serious offense, he still had to maintain that it was his pocket to retrieve things from.

Faith held the cube under Pippi’s mouth like Jamie had, and she shrieked as the lips protruded again, snatching it from her little palm. Claire laughed; she knew the difference between a good shriek and a bad shriek.

“Alright. After she’s had her sugar cube, ye pat her on the muzzle, like so.” Jamie demonstrated, and Faith immediately repeated. “Then,” Jamie released his grip on the bridle and clicked his tongue again, causing Pippi to return her head to its upright position. “We say ‘bye-bye, Pippi’.”

Jamie waved his hand up at Pippi, and Claire once again had to bite her tongue. There was something so endearing about seeing this giant, painfully masculine man say something as silly as “bye-bye, Pippi.”

Faith gave her own little wave, and Claire did as well, saying, “Bye-bye, Pippi,” on both of their behalf.

Jamie reached for the ground to retrieve the stuffed horse, which Claire made a mental note to vacuum and spray with Lysol when they got home.

“Dinna want to forget yer own wee horsie,” he said, holding it out to Faith, who took it in her hand and pressed it to her chest. Jamie picked up something else and then stood up and stretched his hand out to Claire. “Put this in yer pocket. Might come in handy.”

The stress ball.

“Oh, are you sure? Don’t you need it?”

“We each give out a dozen a week.” He shrugged. “They’re meant to be kept. Go ahead.”

Claire gratefully took the little ball into her hand, their fingertips brushing for the briefest of moments.

“Thank you.”

Jamie nodded curtly and then started to walk past them. As Claire tugged on Faith’s hand, she braced herself for a protest, for her to dig her heels in and reach back toward Pippi, but no such things happened. Faith simply followed, humming and skipping. She wasn’t upset to be leaving, wasn’t insisting on staying. She was simply…happy. Happy that she’d gotten to be there at all in the first place.

Claire almost started crying again.

They arrived back into the small welcome center, Jamie leading the way, of course, walking backwards, so he could freely converse with both Claire and Faith as he led them back.

“Princess Faith is back!” Toni said warmly as the three of them came through the back door. “Did you like Pippi, Faith?” Faith gave a little bounce, humming increasing in volume. “I take that as a yes.” Toni looked up at Claire.

“Yes, she was quite taken with her,” Claire confirmed.

“That’s great.” Toni wrote something down. “So Pippi is a good fit. How about Jamie? Did they seem to be a good fit?”

Claire glanced down at Faith, the sight of her smile taking her breath away. Then her eyes trailed back up to Jamie, and she was puzzled by what she saw. He looked almost…nervous. Was he really so worried after how well things had gone?

“What do you think, Faith?” Claire said, crouching down to her eye-level. “I know you like Pippi, right? Thumbs-up for Pippi?” Claire put a thumb up, and Faith smiled and repeated after her. “What about Mister Jamie? Does he get a thumbs up too? Mister Jamie?” Claire deliberately did not demonstrate this time, wanting to see if Faith would organically give the gesture herself. After a moment, Faith raised her right thumb again, and Claire’s grin became impossibly wide.

“Well, there ya have it!” Toni beamed. “You’re all gonna make a great team, that’s for sure.”

Claire stood up again and flashed her smile at Jamie, unable to contain herself. He had Faith’s approval now, something that was not given lightly, and this fact made her feel impossibly more connected to him than she should have felt. He, too, was beaming. His eyes seemed even brighter than they had before.

“Okay, so we’ll see you next week then? Same day and time?”

“Yes, that’s perfect. Though the week after it’ll have to be later since I start working.”

“That’s fine, we’ll talk about it next week.” Toni scribbled down the information and then smiled up at her. “Alright! You’re all set!”

“Oh, wait,” Jamie said quickly. “Almost forgot. Wait here.” 

Claire watched, bewildered, as Jamie scrambled out the back door again. It didn’t take long for him to return, however, holding a little black riding helmet.

“Sorry to hold ye up. Just figured ye should take this wi’ ye, to get her used to it.” Jamie held out the helmet to Claire.

She took it, her brows furrowed in confused wonderment.

“Chin strap, ye ken. Gonna bother her. And she canna ride wi’out it. Stable rules.”

Claire looked back up at him, something unnamable bubbling in her chest. “I didn’t even think…How did you know…?”

“Saw the wee bracelet on her belt loop,” Jamie said bashfully, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his vest.

Claire looked down and chuckled softly. It was a rubbery-plastic princess bracelet with snaps that she’d given Faith with the intention of getting her used to having things on her wrist, which had, of course, not gone over well. Immediately upon trying to get it on her, Faith had ripped it out of her hands and threaded it around a belt loop, then waited expectantly for her mother to snap it shut. Evidently, Claire had left it fastened and washed the pants that way without noticing.

“Well…thank you,” Claire said warmly. “I really appreciate this. You very well may have just saved us from the meltdown of the century next week.”

He chuckled and shrugged his enormous shoulders. “Think nothin’ of it, Sassenach.”

Claire blinked back her shock. “What?”

“Sassenach. It’s...ah, well, just means that ye’re English,” he said sheepishly.

“I know what it means,” Claire said. “Just a rather archaic term, isn’t it?”

He shrugged again. “No’ fer a Scot.”

Slightly frazzled for reasons she could not explain, Claire took hold of Faith’s hand and smiled warmly. “Well, we should be off, then. Good day, Mister Fraser, Toni. We’ll see you next week.”

“See ya, Miss Beauchamp! Bye-bye, Faith!” Toni waved.

“Wave goodbye, darling,” Claire said gently, and Faith waved her stuffed-horse-holding-hand.

“So long, wee Faith,” Jamie said, waving.

“Say goodbye to Mister Jamie.”

Faith waved the horse again as Claire pulled her toward the door. Pausing before opening it, Claire instead turned and offered her own little wave to Jamie before tugging on the door and leading a skipping Faith through the parking lot.

——

Holy Mother of God.

“What was that all about?” Toni said abruptly, yanking him from his thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“The helmet! We’re not supposed to give out equipment to take home like that. It’s not my place to undermine you in front of clients, but still.”

“Oh, I dinna think anyone will miss one wee helmet fer one week, Toni.” Jamie leaned his elbow on the counter, keeping his hands in his pockets. The waiting area was empty now. All the kids were riding, and Jamie’s three o’clock had yet to arrive.

“What’s next? We give trial equipment out to every kid with sensory issues? There’d be no helmets left if we did that! What makes her the exception?” Toni cocked an eyebrow at him.

“She’s special, is all.”

“They’re all special, Jamie. That’s why we do this.” Toni wasn’t buying it. “Is the kid special…? Or…her mom?”

Jamie’s every muscle tightened up. “What? The bairn, Faith, o’ course.”

“Oh. My. God!” Tony exclaimed, swatting his arm. “You have a thing for a kid’s mom!”

“Would ye keep yer voice down? D’ye want me fired?”

“So I’m wrong, then?”

“Aye. Very wrong.”

“So you don’t think she’s hot?”

“Christ, Toni, would ye shut yer gab?” He slammed a hand on the counter in panic. “Evan and his mam could walk in here any damn minute — ”

“Well do you?”

“What?”

“Think she’s hot?”

“Oh, fer — ” He sighed, exasperated, and ran a hand down his face. “She’s bonny, alright? She’s just fine.”

“Bonny…fine he says…” Toni rolled her eyes and began shuffling through papers on the desk.

“Sounds to me like ye’re the one that should be after her.”

“I have a girlfriend, James,” Toni quipped, pointedly using his full name. “You’re the one that hasn’t touched a woman in a million years.”

It was Jamie’s turn to roll his eyes, though he couldn’t suppress his smile at the woman’s cheekiness. “That’s verra kind, diggin’ at a man like that.”

“You’re just too romantic for your own good, Scotty.” She stapled a few papers together. “‘Waiting for the right one’ you always say…what exactly are you waiting for?”

For her.

Jamie shook his head. “I dinna ken, Toni. And I certainly dinna need to discuss it wi’ you.”

She threw up her hands in surrender. “Fine. Just trying to warn you. First helmet-leasing, then chasing after moms?” Toni clicked her tongue. “Best be careful, James.”

He rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on the counter before standing up straight again. “Come get me when Evan arrives, would ye? I’ll be in the stable.”

“Sounds good.”

Hands back in his pockets, Jamie shouldered the door open and was grateful to inhale the fresh air, to clear his head.

Jesus…I’m in trouble.

It hadn’t hit him right away; it wasn’t like in the fairy tales, like some bolt of lightning that struck him from the heavens. She was bonny; anyone with eyes could see that, including himself upon first noticing her, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t even that first touch, the standard, introductory handshake he gave every parent that came through. There were no sparks of electricity upon first contact--a thoroughly ridiculous notion.

No…it was seeing the way she swung that little girl’s hand, the way she smiled at her like she was the earth, the moon, and the stars. He could tell in one glance how much Faith meant to Claire, and even how much Claire meant to Faith.

That was when something had tightened in his chest, when he’d watched mother and daughter exchange that look. And, like a damned fool, he’d been caught staring at her.

But, he could easily brush that off. Sometimes there were just kids that were extra special for some reason, or a parent-child connection that was particularly touching. It was not at all uncommon in this chosen profession to get attached to kids.

But then…Christ…the sight of those tears in her eyes tore his guts out.

He hadn’t lied to her when he’d told her she was not the first parent to cry upon seeing their child with their horse. What he’d failed to mention was that most parents didn’t get that overcome until the child was actually on the horse.

There was something so deep and visceral about those tears. It was like watching relief spilling out after years of pent up fear and doubt. But there was something else, something darker. Something that made him feel the impulse to drop the reins and gather her in his arms and comfort her. Her, this complete stranger whose pain touched him so deeply.

But why…?

He’d seen Faith’s file, of course, the surname “Randall” all over it. Then Toni had told him in a hushed tone that they were to refer to the mom, this Claire, as Beauchamp, and not Randall. It had puzzled him, but it didn’t take long for him to surmise that perhaps there was a messy divorce. Toni had also mentioned that she was new to the area, but she hadn’t mentioned how new and from England, of all places. How messy had the assumed divorce been that she’d crossed an entire ocean with an autistic child, starting over in a completely new world?

Christ, she’s a brave wee thing.

And then his pity, his painfully-felt sympathy for her at the sight of those tears, melted into something akin to deep admiration. Indeed, she hurt, but she was strong for Faith despite that hurt. She sought out therapies, she smiled, called her “princess.” He knew all too well the level of strength that was needed to keep a child like Faith afloat, and he knew how difficult it could be to muster that strength in the face of other hardship.

Yes…he admired her. Claire.

And it didn’t at all help matters that she was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. Those wisps of hair curled around her face and those eyes, like whisky and honey and amber all at once, both features mirrored in the little carbon-copy that was her daughter…and Christ, that smile, her bonny laugh, and then that wee wave she gave him right before she left…

Lord ha’ mercy…I am in deep, deep shite.

[occupyharvard-blog]

Why Didn't We Occupy Harvard?

Today's Ivy League student thrives in the embrace of an institution

(from The Harvard Crimson, 02/13/12)

As social movements go, Occupy Harvard could hardly have been more successful. It made headway toward all its main goals: making endowment investments more ethical, raising staff wages, and diminishing the power of on-campus interviewing for financial firms. Its leaders are now national figures. “When reading period is over, GS will still have Sandra Korn [’14, associate editorial chair] to contend with,” wrote the business blog Dealbreaker of Goldman Sachs’s decision to cancel an information session.

The amazing thing is that Occupy Harvard accomplished all of this without the support of the student body. In a Statistics 104 research project that yielded responses from one sixth of the College, students gave Occupy Harvard an average rating of 2.85 out of 10. Perhaps only the angriest students responded to this poll, but wider sentiment, expressed on sites like isawyouharvard.com and harvardfml.com was just as negative. “Who actually sleeps in those tents?” was a common question.

Nothing draws Harvard students like the smell of success, yet no one wanted to touch this national media darling. This school has entire courses devoted to social movements and even a strong social justice organization in the First-Year Urban Program. Yet the most relevant and important cause in a generation was met with widespread scorn.

Why is this? In Slate Dylan R. Matthews ’12, who is also a Crimson editorial columnist, suggested that it is because Harvard is made up of the one percent. In the Harvard Political Review, Josh B. Lipson ’14 suggested it is because “Harvard is not the bastion of radical leftism that second-rate social commentators describe.” I disagree with these views. The Harvard College Office of Admissions and Financial Aid says that around sixty percent of the student body receives financial aid, while that figure is around fifty percent at UC Berkeley, a school that embraced the Occupy movement in a much greater way. Moreover, although I wouldn’t call Harvard a bastion of radical leftism, it is a still a very liberal place. This is a college wherepro-life posters get ripped off of bulletin boards with minimal reaction. Declaring that the poor deserve to be poor and the rich, rich would be a very controversial and unpopular sentiment to share at dinner.

Instead, the answer may lie in a decade-old article by New York Times columnist David Brooks. In 2001, Brooks set out to identify the distinguishing characteristics of the most accomplished of Princeton’s accomplished students. He returned dismayed; the students had breakneck schedules, could count the hours they slept on one hand, and had to schedule catch-up sessions with their best friends at dawn or dusk. In The Atlantic��he wrote, “The young men and women of America's future elite work their laptops to the bone, rarely question authority, and happily accept their positions at the top of the heap as part of the natural order of life.”

I think this, in a nutshell, explains why the majority of Harvard undergraduates turned up their noses at the tents in the Yard. Harvard is a school made up of kids who sat in the first row of the class in grade school and probably ratted out those passing notes in the back. We got into Harvard by showing respect—nay, devotion—to social rules, and rebellion just isn’t in our blood. This is demonstrated by the careers students pursue post-Harvard. We jump from the arms of one established institution into those of another. We leave not just for Goldman and Bain but also for Teach for America, Stanford, The New York Times, and now the military. These organizations are places where we believe we can find mentors, networking opportunities, secure exit options, and all the other perks associated with joining a ship someone else has launched. Sure, there are exceptions—like Mark E. Zuckerberg—but these people are exceptions. Even those who say they are going to join a start-up after graduation are more likely to be joining a million-dollar investment featured in Wired magazine than a garage operation.

Obeying authority has brought us tremendous success in life, so it’s difficult to consider why this wouldn’t work for anyone in any situation.  Thus, students weren’t threatened by the ideas of Occupy Harvard—a Facebook status I saw read, “I support Occupy Wall Street unless Wall Street wants to give me a job”—as much as by its methods. Occupy Harvard sought change not through elaborate networks of emails, shared documents, year-long plans, and official sponsorships, but by screaming outside of Massachusetts Hall. It was so vulgar.

Although Harvard’s student body has gained tremendous diversity since our founding, we cling to a sense of social propriety that is downright antiquated. I am reminded of British soldiers reflecting on the American army during the revolutionary war. They didn’t march in lines! They crossed the Delaware on Christmas! Their general didn’t graduate from Sandhurst! They probably looked like a rag-tag bunch of tents, too.

Anita J. Joseph, an editorial chair emeritus, is a social studies concentrator in Leverett House. Her column appears on alternate Mondays.