From the Editor’s Desk

Someone joked last week that going home could mean not coming back.

No one laughed.

At a time when most people are counting down to graduation parties, final trips, and what comes next, some of my classmates are checking visa statuses and news headlines, wondering if the place in which they’re building a life will still welcome them after break.

The shift has been quiet but unmistakable. Group chats once filled with travel hacks and Airbnb links have gone still. Plans have been pulled. Bags unpacked. The risk feels too high.

For many international students, HBS has become a reluctant sanctuary. Not just a school, but also a home. Not just by choice, but also by necessity. And now, as the graduating class prepares to leave — the roommates, mentors, best friends who made this place feel like it belonged to all of us — that sanctuary feels more fragile than ever.

This fragility isn’t just emotional. It’s structural. It’s everywhere.

Much of the unease on campus echoes what's happening beyond it. Tariffs are rattling global trade. Immigration policies are tightening with each executive order. The Trump administration has launched an unprecedented campaign against elite universities, threatening to revoke Harvard’s ability to enroll international students, demanding oversight of its hiring and admissions practices, and freezing billions in federal funding. The message is clear: independence has a price.

Markets are reacting. Stocks are falling. Businesses are scrambling to adjust strategies mid-quarter. Academic institutions are weighing compliance against conscience. And in the midst of it all are students trying to plan their summers, futures, and identities.

In times like these, it’s easy to feel unmoored. To wonder whether any place is truly safe, whether any institution can stand firm in the face of such political volatility. And yet, amid the noise, I’ve found a strange kind of steadiness in the pages of this issue.

So many of the pieces in this edition of The Harbus are written by graduating editors and contributors — voices with which we’ve grown familiar, now offering their final reflections. They’re looking back on their time at HBS with the clarity that only comes at the end of something as they grapple with the world they’re about to re-enter — one far less stable and far more combustible than the one from which they arrived two years ago.

These articles don’t offer easy answers. They ask questions about leadership and responsibility, inclusion and power, and the kind of impact that outlasts titles and resumés. They wrestle with what it means to build something that matters in a world that feels increasingly uncertain, and they do it with honesty, humility, and urgency.

In doing so, they remind us of the role that storytelling plays in holding space for fear, complexity, and courage. And perhaps more importantly, they show us that, even as the faces around us change and some doors begin to close, the act of reflection is itself a form of resistance. It says, “I was here. I saw what happened. And I still believe there’s something worth building.”

Still, not every piece in this issue is heavy. In fact, part of what makes this edition feel so alive is the contrast. The way joy and worry can coexist, often in the same breath.

You’ll find stories that remind us why HBS continues to be a place of possibility. There’s a feature on the first-ever HBS Art Show, which transformed campus into a space of vulnerability, creativity, and color. Another piece chronicles the triumphs (and conspiracy theories) of this year’s intramural sports champions. We’ve got profiles of student-founded startups that are already making their mark, and essays that capture the weird, wonderful energy that pulses through this place.

These moments matter. They’re not just distractions from the chaos; they’re evidence that, even when the world feels shaky, we’re still building, still connecting, still creating. And for those of us returning to campus next year, these glimpses of community are more than comforting. They’re necessary. Because if this year has taught us anything, it’s that we can’t predict what comes next, but we can choose to keep showing up for each other, our work, and the kind of place we want HBS to be.

To the Class of 2025: you’re leaving at a time when the world is asking harder questions than ever. You’ve weathered uncertainty not as a footnote to your experience, but as the backdrop to your entire journey. And through it all, you showed us what it looks like to lead with clarity and care.

You reminded us that courage doesn’t always look like protest or proclamation. Sometimes it’s the decision to speak up when it would be easier to stay silent, to stay rooted when it would be easier to retreat. Sometimes it’s staying in the room. Sometimes it’s choosing to leave on your own terms. You’ve left more than memories in your wake. You’ve left a standard that we will carry forward.

And to the graduating Harbus team: thank you for shaping this paper with your ideas, edits, and unwavering belief in what good journalism can do. Chuck, Abhiram, Alex, Regina, Danielle, Jay, Sam, Maya, and Delaney: your voices are woven into every part of this publication, and your fingerprints will remain long after you’ve turned in your last piece. Tim and Edouard, your leadership gave us the foundation to keep building. We are grateful for your vision and the trust you handed down to us.

Congratulations, all of you. You’ve left this place better than you found it. And please, don’t be strangers.

Michelle Yu (MBA ‘26) is passionate about all things media, with experience in business news, documentary film, broadcast journalism, and television. She graduated from Columbia University with a degree in Film and Media Studies and worked for CNBC, NBC News, and CNN prior to HBS, along with projects for HBO, Showtime, Oxygen, and Spectrum.