From the Editor’s Desk

Silence has many disguises. Sometimes it arrives as a pause, a breath before words take shape. Sometimes it is chosen, a deliberate withholding in the name of diplomacy or care. And sometimes it is forced upon us, a reticence that feels less like calm and more like suffocation. 

Last month, Jimmy Kimmel’s late-night show disappeared from television screens for one week after the federal government hinted at licensing consequences for ABC over Kimmel’s controversial monologue about the killing of conservative activist Charlie Kirk. Depending on one’s politics, Kimmel was either reckless or brave, crude or incisive. But whether one agreed with his framing mattered less than the swiftness with which his words became grounds for erasure. The episode was remarkable not because of what he said, but because of what it revealed: how easily power can constrict the space in which people dare to speak.

Critics have called Kimmel’s suspension everything from censorship to “consequence culture,” each phrase carrying its own implication. Most unnerving, however, is not the semantic debate, but the temperature shift beneath it. History shows that restrictions on speech rarely begin with outright bans. Instead, they creep in as a subtle calculation to soften a sentence, to excise a phrase, to leave a thought unspoken because the cost of voicing it feels too high. The real danger, therefore, is not one comedian being punished, but the warning sent to every one of his peers watching. Maybe don’t make that joke. Maybe don’t write that line. Maybe don’t say anything at all.

I think of that dynamic in the context of The Harbus. Our paper, tucked into the rhythms of this campus, has nothing like the reach of a network television show, yet the principle is the same. If our writers begin to hold back because they worry about offense, then these pages lose their vitality. If our editors strip away anything that feels too sharp, then we too participate in the narrowing of discourse. And if readers begin to think of The Harbus as a venue for consensus rather than candor, then our community will have squandered something far greater than a student publication.

The irony is that HBS is built on the premise of contested speech. Every morning, we file into classrooms to test arguments in real time. The case method thrives not because everyone is polite, but because disagreement forces us to refine or elucidate our reasoning. The pedagogy assumes that truth emerges from dialogue, not silence. A campus newspaper ought to reflect that same spirit by providing a haven where voices collide, unpopular opinions are examined, and students learn that expression itself carries value.

This month’s issue exemplifies that commitment. Several pieces ask questions that could easily have been tempered for the sake of harmony. One writer argues that HBS risks becoming too insulated from the wider Harvard and Boston communities that surround it. Another describes the dissonance of seeing campus anew as she trades in rigidity for optionality during the EC year. Others stretch the frame further and explore the tension between our principles and the compromises demanded by practice; how constraints, control, and culture are contributing to an increasingly muddled political landscape; and what the longevity movement means for women’s health.

Not all of the stories in this issue are critiques. Some are celebrations. We profile tech startups born out of the Rock Center and alumni building companies that aim to transform M&A. We meet a student who once walked onto his college basketball team and another who is carving out time for the arts regardless of how unconventional it may seem to MBAs. These, too, are acts of voice. To say, “this matters,” when the crowd suggests otherwise is its own quiet defiance.

The common thread in all of these pieces is a willingness to put words to the page when silence would be easier. That is why Kimmel’s suspension, albeit short-lived and worlds away from HBS, resonates here. While the tactics used to inhibit him are specific to television, the lesson still translates. Free expression rarely collapses with a bang. Instead, it erodes by degrees. Each time a group decides a subject is too delicate to discuss, the circle of what can be said shrinks a little more.

Let this issue of The Harbus stand as a counterpoint to the din of a world where conversation too often curdles into combat. Let it be evidence that our community is willing to grapple with, question, and move toward complexity rather than retreat from it. Because ultimately, disagreement is not danger. Critique is not disloyalty. And silence, seductive though it may be, is never the only safe path.

If there is one message worth carrying forward, it is this: our challenge is not to agree with every voice, but to ensure that every voice has a chance to be heard. We may not control the noise beyond these walls, but we can choose to let voices multiply rather than vanish.

Michelle Yu (MBA '26) is originally from Cresskill, New Jersey. 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. Outside of work, she is a 2x marathon runner, American Songwriting Awards winner, and filmmaker whose work has screened at the Tribeca Film Festival and AMC's Empire Theaters in Times Square.