Walking into Hayden Hall, the person in front of me opened the door, walked through, then let it slam. Right in my face. This frustrating, though not uncommon, experience is part of a larger campus ideology of oneself and only oneself.
But at a school founded on being People for Others, why are we acting only for ourselves?
We have not always been this way. Once upon a time, when the only relevant information about each other was our name and favorite color, we were different. We talked to complete strangers, looking for any similarities to build a friendship on. We shared our resources and were always eager to lend a helping hand. As kindergarteners, we seemed to have it figured out more than we do now as young adults.
Kindergarten prepares you for life, teaching you no real academics but rather how to be a good person for others. We learn to take turns on the swings, share with our desk neighbors, and communicate our feelings, making sure to hold each other accountable—we learn to be people for others. But as we grow up, whether in pursuit of greater scholastic knowledge or professional achievement, we neglect those simple, core values. The focus shifts from communal to individual success. We are so quick to turn on those around us, even in the simplest ways, to get ahead.
Georgetown, of course, only exacerbates this flaw. Pooling together a bunch of overachievers desperate for success causes students to withhold lecture notes from each other, gatekeep study tools and locations, or hesitate to recommend others for jobs and clubs. If the issue was only about holding doors, our problem would be much smaller, but our selfishness has bled into most aspects of our lives.
In our day-to-day lives, we don’t even make eye contact with each other as we walk around campus, failing at the most basic level of humanity: acknowledgment. Elevator rides are silent because everyone is in such a rush to get somewhere that we can’t spare the breath to ask the other passengers a courteous “how are you?” Even in the Healey Family Student Center, we spread our laptops and notebooks across entire four-person tables as if we are the only people needing to work. We isolate and withdraw, cutting out any opportunity for community.
While this problem is most notably seen between students, it proliferates into our interactions with our broader Georgetown community as well. What’s the name of the staff member who cleans your floor? When was the last time you thanked the Leo’s employee for serving you food? Or better yet, do you take out your
headphones when ordering food? We make a commitment to uphold the Jesuit values by attending this school. We agree to be people for others, but looking around campus, that is hard to find.
The Spirit of Georgetown is defined by ten values that are grounded in an over 500-year-old Jesuit education tradition. People for Others, though, stands out to me.
Originally coined by Pedro Arrupe, S.J., this value emerged from the realization that graduates of Jesuit institutions had learned justice in theory, but not in practice. Arrupe called for all Jesuits to live a life committed to others.
“The man who lives only for his own interests not only provides nothing for others,” Arrupe wrote. “He does worse. He tends to accumulate in exclusive fashion more and more knowledge, more and more power, more and more wealth; thus denying, inevitably to those weaker than himself their proper share of the God- given means for human development.”
Although Arrupe’s rationale is questionable for nonbelievers, the core principle still holds. In living for only yourself, you withhold the possibility of collective success and community. This is exactly what we learn in kindergarten: sharing is caring. Progress depends on collaboration, and that goes far beyond improving Georgetown’s atmosphere; it has shaped how people have changed the world.
Prior to 1921, a pediatric Type 1 diabetes diagnosis was a death sentence; then three scientists—Frederick Banting, Charles Best, and James Collip—discovered insulin and assigned their patent rights to the University of Toronto for one dollar. They had the chance for wealth and power but instead chose to prioritize the flourishing of their community. Millions of people have had a full life because of that humility. We will leave Georgetown and become doctors, lawyers, and leaders who will face the same choices as them: hold onto what we know or put it to work for others. Just like them, we need to follow the bright example of kindergarteners.
Imagine Georgetown is instead filled with kindergarteners. Not in age but in mindset: curious about the world around us, generous with what we have, and more interested in the person next to us than getting ahead. Leo’s, the once-dreaded dining hall, would become an opportunity to meet others and eat together plus the ice cream machine would finally get the love it deserves. Dorm floors would have real community, acting more like neighborhoods and not just rows of rooms. Classes would be more collaborative, with a collective understanding that success takes more than just one perspective. Our day-to-day life could be taken less seriously, and we would be more creative, making room to “play” together rather than study alone. When everyone supports each other, the looming deadlines and ridiculously high standards begin to shrink.
It sounds basic, but sometimes you actually have to be the change you wish to see. Hold the door, start conversations with strangers, share notes, and be nice even if they aren’t your best friend. We, if nothing else, are all students at this school and can create a community around that. You can be a Hoya, but can we be the Hoyas?
