Search Results

Reflection, politics and confessions Editor’s Note: This issue’s From the Archives piece originally ran in November 2025, when deepening institutional crises in Venezuela became central to global strategic debates. Recent U.S. military action—the capture of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro—and shifting sanctions and investment policies have thrust questions around the country’s stability, regional geopolitics, and America’s role in the world back into public attention. Reflection In War & Peace, we study significant conflicts of the past to better understand the present with the hopes of informing current decision-making at best or having a fascinating discussion while learning history at worst. This is a class where you can quote  Guns of August and Prisoners of Geography  at nauseam and in equal proportions. I love it. We began—appropriately—with definitions of strategy , war , leadership , and peace . My energetic RC Strategy professor will be proud to know that, when the question was posed to the class, I recited its definition not from memory, but from the heart after absorbing it throughout RC year and at the beginning of EC year: “ Strategy  is a set of integrated choices that positions a company in its environment in order to generate and capture value over the long term.” After all, a lot of what we do here at HBS is understand whether the most basic business resources—capital and people—are coherently organized in accordance with an ideally-stated strategy. The subject of war  has been studied extensively. I will save you from some great readings and frameworks to get to the punchline and analysis. A commonly-accepted definition of war is a “large-scale, organized violence between political units.” According to that definition, there is little doubt around what is happening to my beloved country. Venezuela is and has been suffering the consequences of a devastating war, evidenced by the number of casualties (i.e., Caracas was named one of the deadliest cities on earth just a few years ago) and the political, economic, and social crises that have marked the country over the past few decades. As a direct consequence of this war, there is little to no foreign capital investment, a massive exodus of people (roughly eight million displaced in a country with a total population of around 31 million, which is only comparable to those in Syria and Ukraine), and a sharp decline in productivity rates—all of which are key ingredients to the recipe of progress. Unsurprisingly, Venezuela’s GDP has plummeted an astonishing 75% from its 2012 peak, suffering from the devastating power of hyperinflation (reaching 65,000% in 2018 and projected to reach 250% to 500% this year) and economic contraction. The magnitude of the collapse is even more tragic when you consider the fact that Venezuela was historically the richest country in Latin America, has the biggest proven oil reserves in the world, and experienced a historic windfall to state coffers due to historical high oil prices. This leads us to the topic of leadership , which I described as the ability to inspire, mobilize, and effect change. My rationale is that you must be able to execute, as you will be judged by your actions and not your thoughts here. The more robust definition among my classmates defined leadership as “the challenge of mobilizing and motivating the actions and decisions of others; championing the alignment and definition of mission, strategy, and execution; making the call on ‘impossible’ choices and tradeoffs; and exhibiting moral courage.” Politics The Venezuelan regime, once again measured by the most basic, generally accepted metrics of success (i.e., GDP growth, poverty rates, literacy rates, and overall opportunities for your population) reveals utter failure across all domains. A recent study—the Global Innovation Index (GII) 2025 from the World Intellectual Property Organization—places the regime dead last (ranking 139 out of 139) on operational stability for businesses, regulatory quality, and rule of law. In overall government effectiveness, it ranks 138.  A deeper analysis reveals something darker, which is that the tradeoffs benefitted a few corrupt people at the expense of millions. At this point, I feel it is important to remind our friends from around the world that this was all done under the premise of a new socialist revolution—“the 21st century socialist revolution.” It was supposed to benefit those who were “forgotten” by prior democratic governments. This was not a new story, of course, but the agent—a charismatic military figure camouflaging as civilian—through which it was delivered was. The timing and messaging that was used—seeding conflict and separating Venezuelan society across economic classes—were all too persuasive. Some correctly diagnosed the problem in its infancy, while others took advantage of it. And that is how such a rich nation with enormous potential fell into this trap of misery. Even darker is the fact that they have cut by brute force (emphasis on “brute,” with over 800 political prisoners today ) the only mechanism (i.e., voting) available to the people of our country to change this dark reality, one that we have long fought to change. Evidence suggests that more than 70% voted for a different government, not the one in power at the moment. The ability to choose different leadership with different ideas is a fundamental right of democracy—one lost long ago amid rising oil prices and ever-increasing debt. And that brings us to peace , which “exists when the idea of resorting to war to achieve political objectives becomes unimaginable or completely delegitimized.” This is, of course, just the opposite of what is currently happening in Venezuela, where only those in power and against the will of the people will declare war on its own citizens, so long as they can perpetuate themselves in power. Under this dark context, a compelling narrative started to emerge as well, and it was recently crystalized by the will of the people. On July 28, 2024, Venezuelans elected Edmundo Gonzalez to the presidency, technically removing those in power peacefully and democratically—a huge feat considering the ruthless adversary and the 27 years it has taken (TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS!). I think I have finally diagnosed where my sense of urgency in life comes from!   The effort that it took to get to today, and the amount of people that have and are currently suffering to get us closer to the finish line are doing a monumental job and won’t be forgotten. All of us should be asking what else we could be doing. When discussing moral courage, we ought to pause and admire the magnitude of what Maria Corina Machado—an exemplary Venezuelan businesswoman and politician, mother of three, industrial engineer, and leader of the democratically-elected government—has achieved. It is no surprise then that she received the Nobel Peace Prize this year. For once, good news has begotten more good news. On October 19, Pope Leo XIV canonized the first two Venezuelan saints into the Catholic Church. A blessing for the entire country! But where do we go from here? I must admit that my perspective has changed with time and out of desperation. It has changed with the passing of my father. It has changed with only being able to see my mother and brother once or twice a year. It changed when my brother was diagnosed with cancer. It has changed in so many ways, and yet the fundamentals remain the same. We want to be able to choose our own destiny, and we want to test better ideas. 27 years is enough evidence of a failed model. Confessions I was originally convinced that we needed to find all of them, put them in jail, and make them pay for the collective suffering of an entire nation and its lost opportunity. This was young and passionate. Through life, work, wins, and sorrows, I have become more nuanced. I can discuss whether a bad solution—led by the opposition leader—might be better than the prior state of affairs. I understand that everything I want is possible with time, and I understand that this might not be a popular opinion. I understand that there is more ignorance than malice. I understand that it is imperative for the will of the people to be heard. As you can imagine, most of War & Peace revolves around dissecting a few key questions from multiple points of view, with listening as a key component. A benefit of the EC year is that grades matter less and the individuals you frequent in class self-select. Classmates seem more willing to express their raw views—though still in a very professional and respectful manner—with the occasional passionate speech and extra clapping. What about the future? We must arrive at a point where the regime is more incentivized to cede or vacate power than to keep resisting. Call it an offramp, a negotiation, or extreme pressure—all should be methods contemplated at this stage of the game by which we get there. All in great coordination with regional and global powers. All with the will of the Venezuelan people and under constitutional protections as we consider the grave implications and the millions of civilian lives that are at stake and clamoring to get back to a democratic path. Paradoxically and from my limited sample size, I see a young generation in and out of the country that has learned the lesson the hard way and that now cares less about damaging the other side and finding the culprits and more about building an ecosystem in which this never happens again. I think about the lessons learned from this dark chapter and how best to incorporate them in the future. An ecosystem in which the better ideas are tested and rewarded—one where there are mechanisms to provide feedback and disagree constructively, where there is rule of law (including bankruptcy law) and separation of powers, where there can be a free flow and celebration of ideas, where basic needs are protected first for the entire population, where publicly-funded infrastructure and services are better than their private counterparties (yes, in agreement with Bukele’s view that the government should play a role, I believe it should be limited in its steady-state and should excel in the service it provides, which shouldn’t be controversial). I’m convinced most Venezuelans want this and would benefit from it. At last, we end. I don’t know if I decided to write these thoughts because I wanted to share a little bit about a great class, complement the RC BGIE case on Venezuela, or simply memorialize these ideas. At this critical juncture, and while I finish my studies, I pray that I’m prepared to contribute effectively and welcome all the help in doing so. The writer of the article has requested to remain anonymous.

A practical guide to reducing fear of missing out FOMO is a well-documented psychological pattern linked to anxiety, lower life satisfaction, and compulsive decision-making in high-choice environments like business school and ambitious careers. Integrating leading psychological research  with an MVP decision making framework offers a path to reduce FOMO and improve satisfaction and outcomes. The Friday night blues It’s been a long week. Inane tasks that appear to generate value for no one — calls, meetings, coffee chats — eat up the waking hours. At last, it’s Friday night. Ugh… one more problem to solve: what to do with your hard-earned freedom? Time is regularly served up omakase style, colorful blocks on glowing screens fending off the blank abyss of optionality. When multiple blocks battle for your attention, a familiar sensation arises: that creeping fear of making the wrong choice. Hello, FOMO, my old friend. Should you go out with your classmates? Grab dinner with that person you’ve been meaning to see for weeks? Or stay in, get ahead on work, and tell yourself it’s “self-care”? What if you pick the wrong path — and miss something extraordinary? Welcome to the psychological plague of our generation. What is FOMO exactly? Psychologist Andrew Przybylski defines fear of missing out as a “pervasive apprehension that others might be having rewarding experiences from which one is absent,” coupled with a strong desire to stay connected to what others are doing.   This research shows that people high in FOMO tend to feel that their basic needs for autonomy, competence, and relatedness are less satisfied, and they report lower mood and life satisfaction. In other words, FOMO is not simply about wanting in on the party; it reflects a deeper worry that your life decisions are inferior to everyone else’s, and that you are somehow failing at using your time “correctly.” This helps explain why FOMO is strongly tied to social media use; FOMO both drives constant checking and is worsened by the endless comparison that checking creates. The outcomes are familiar to many of us: elevated anxiety when choosing between options that all seem “important,” and reduced ability to enjoy the option you did choose — because your attention is stuck on hypothetical alternatives. Why FOMO is getting worse Two forces amplify FOMO for young professionals in particular: First, the menu of options has exploded .   Survey work and later empirical research  suggest that younger adults experience especially high FOMO in environments where there is a constant awareness of what others are doing and an abundance of alternative experiences. Second, the number of external “life advisors” has multiplied . Social media, career newsletters, podcasts, and LinkedIn influencers offer conflicting prescriptions for the optimal life: chase impact, maximize upside, optimize optionality, find balance. When decision criteria keep shifting based on the latest post or podcast episode, your own sense of what matters is easily drowned out . The research on social media addiction  shows that FOMO is positively correlated with anxiety, depression, loneliness, and low self-esteem, suggesting that this is not a harmless quirk but a risk factor for broader mental health strain. In a setting where overachievers are systematically exposed to more opportunities and more comparison, it is unsurprising that FOMO feels like constant background noise. Shiny object syndrome: FOMO’s louder cousin If FOMO is the unease that someone else might be doing something better, shiny object syndrome is the impulse to chase whatever that “something better” currently appears to be, according to a 2024 study by Uncover Counseling . Conceptually, it resembles a novelty-seeking pattern, where the brain’s reward system overvalues new ideas, roles, or projects relative to the boring but important work of follow-through. Descriptions of shiny object syndrome highlight three recurring features: Strong attraction to new opportunities with a corresponding drop in motivation for existing commitments. Impulsive decision-making, where people leap into new ventures without evaluating fit or long-term implications. Chronic overcommitment and unfinished projects, leading to burnout and a sense of never fully succeeding at anything. FOMO and shiny object syndrome feed one another. The fear of missing out supplies the emotional pressure (“What if this is the  opportunity?”), while shiny object syndrome supplies the behavioral response (“I’ll just add this too”). In high-choice, status-conscious environments, this loop can result in calendars so full that no single experience is ever fully inhabited. Beneath it all: A decision-making problem Viewed through the research, FOMO is less about phones and more about decision architecture. People high in FOMO are more likely to engage heavily with social media, but the underlying issue is that they feel less clear about their needs and less satisfied with their choices. Most of us make decisions using one or more flawed approaches: Outsourcing criteria to others’ values and highlight reels. Overweighting short-term novelty (the shiny object) over long-term alignment. Relying on purely analytical metrics (comp, brand, prestige) without checking emotional fit, which almost guarantees regret later. Przybylski’s work links higher FOMO to lower satisfaction of basic psychological needs, suggesting that when we don’t make decisions that support our sense of autonomy, competence, and connection, we become more vulnerable to comparison and second-guessing. If your choices are not genuinely yours, FOMO will find plenty of cracks to slip through . MVP decision-making: A practical antidote One way to counter both FOMO and shiny object syndrome is to borrow a concept from startup life: the minimum viable product, reimagined as a minimum viable priority  set. In product terms, an MVP is the simplest version that successfully fulfills a core purpose; everything beyond that is an enhancement, not a requirement. Applied to your life, an MVP is a short list — usually two to four items — of must-haves  for a particular season or decision domain (business school, next job, relationship). Anything beyond those is a “nice-to-have.” For example, a business school MVP might be: Build a small number of deep friendships. Explore one or two career hypotheses meaningfully (e.g., internship, project, part-time role). Maintain a sustainable baseline of physical and mental health. If those are your must-haves, then attending every trek, every speaker, and every social event is no longer a necessity; it is an optional feature. You can miss out on plenty and still have a wildly successful experience by your own definition. Making the MVP actually work For the MVP framework to reduce FOMO rather than let it devolve into another optimization game, the must-haves need to satisfy both intellectual and emotional criteria. Research on FOMO and need satisfaction suggests that decisions that support autonomy (choosing for your own reasons), competence (feeling effective), and relatedness (feeling connected) are the best protection against FOMO-like doubts. A simple process affirms that framework: Reflect on lived data. List the moments in the past year when you felt most alive versus most drained. Look for patterns in people, activities, and environments rather than titles or brands . Extract needs, not labels. Translate “I loved my internship” into needs like autonomy, learning, impact, or camaraderie. These map closely to the needs associated with lower FOMO in the literature. Define your must-haves. Choose a small set of non-negotiables that express those needs for the next 6–12 months. Everything else is negotiable. Once you have this MVP, each new “shiny object” gets a quick filter: does this serve at least one of my must-haves in a meaningful way ? If not, the default answer is no — not because it’s bad, but because it’s off-thesis. That is how investors avoid chasing every hot deal; the same discipline applies to your time. From FOMO to JOMO Recent work conceptualizes FOMO as having both a “pervasive apprehension” side (the unhealthy worry you’re always behind) and a “desire for connection” side (the healthy wish to belong). The goal of these techniques is not to suppress the desire for connection, but to quiet the chronic apprehension by making your criteria explicit and aligned with your own needs. You will still miss out — on most things, in fact. But if what you are “missing” is incompatible with your MVP, you are not losing; you are editing. And a well-edited life is far more satisfying. So next Friday night, when your phone lights up with options, you can ask a different question. Not “What if I pick the wrong path?” but “What choice is aligned with my MVP?” If the research is any guide, having that answer — and owning it — will do more for your well-being than adding another event on your calendar. Atticus Maloney (MBA ’27)  is from Augusta, Maine. He studied economics and environmental studies at Swarthmore College. Prior to HBS, he worked at Boston Consulting Group, where he advised clients on climate strategy, carbon accounting, M&A, and operating model design. His writing explores strategic career, life, and financial decision-making in a world being rapidly reshaped by artificial intelligence and climate change and can also be found on Substack at atticusmaloney.substack.com .

Finding time for stillness, reflection, and wellness amidst the MBA In the months leading up to the start of my first semester at Harvard Business School, I spoke with several current students, as well as a few alums. I asked them for advice on navigating HBS: balancing academics and professional development, exploring Cambridge and Boston, and making new friends as a grad student eager to avoid navigating once again the hierarchy, cliques, and complications of a high school-like social stratosphere. Almost invariably, they described life at HBS as being divisible into three buckets: academics, social, and career. At any given time, you could prioritize up to two of the three. At the start of the first semester, they explained, HBS’s academic rigor would necessitate a tilt toward that bucket; as you found your personal balance and grew more comfortable with your new life, you could recalibrate. Early on in my time at HBS, chatting with new friends at an apartment dinner gathering, we realized that a fourth category was simply unaccounted for in these three “comprehensive” buckets: wellness. If you could only choose two priorities at a time, what did that mean for categories that weren’t even part of the conversation? So we added a fourth bucket, amending the list to include wellness, academics, social, and career. But when we attempted to assign a percentage to each category (i.e. “Right now, social is taking 35% of my time, career is 35%, etc.”) a paradox was revealed: either our summed percentages exceeded 100, or wellness was omitted entirely. I moved to Massachusetts from Seattle, a fairly sleepy city that nourished the introvert within me. In Seattle, I kicked off my nightly routine with a yoga practice, followed without fail by time for reading and journaling. So even though I was ecstatic to be at HBS, learning from and with people who inspired me, certain that this was the best choice for my professional and personal development, it felt odd to be entering a life that left little room for wellness. But I think that this generalized interpretation of wellness at HBS is ungenerous; to varying degrees and in ways that accommodate the short-term MBA experience, HBS students do allocate effort and time towards wellness and self-care. In the months since the start of my HBS journey, I’ve come to realize and appreciate that wellness just looks a little different here. At many given moments, we could, non-hyperbolically, be choosing between four different calendar invitations. The hustle and bustle of the social and extracurricular scenes mean that finding time for individual wellness, for peace, necessitates more intentionality. But that doesn’t make it any less vital, and it is often still practiced. Perhaps wellness shouldn’t be considered a competitor to academics, social, and career; rather, it is an intentional complement. With that in mind, I decided to pose a simple question to fellow members of the HBS community, my classmates and professors: What makes you feel the most at peace? For me, it’s reading. Ideally, it’s reading on a luxurious Saturday morning, a hot bowl of oatmeal topped with berries and peanut butter in front of me. But I’ll take what I can get: even a few pages of a good book can bring profound calm, especially if I can learn a new word or appreciate beautiful imagery along the way. I wanted to learn how other HBS community members find peace; how they prioritize wellness in their own lives. The responses I received can be split into four broad categories: spending time outside, spending time with others, spending time alone, and practicing mindfulness by focusing on the present. For many of our peers, wellness looks like spending time outside, hiking in the Redwood forests, or even just “seeing the sun peeking through trees.” For others, it looks like stepping away from the HBS bubble, spending time with loved ones and pets, or expressing gratitude for those around them. For still others, it means slowing down to have tea or bake and recharge, and for many, it means focusing on the present. Appreciating a specific sensory experience, like a smell or a sound. Listening to a song. Walking nowhere in particular. So if you're looking for inspiration on finding peace and centering yourself as we enter another busy semester, take this as your reminder that finding peace doesn't always require extended, predictable chunks of time, and that simple, intentional moments can be just as powerful. At a school where time moves at lightspeed, and ambition and busyness are in high demand, wellness practices, no matter how momentary, are grounding, important forces to be reckoned with. Keerthi Medicherla (MBA ’27)  is originally from McLean, Virginia. She graduated from the University of Virginia with a double major in Computer Science and Global Studies in 2022. Prior to HBS, Keerthi worked as a software engineer at JPMorganChase in Seattle, Washington.

Michelle Yu (MBA ‘26) on faith, ambition, and power in business school When I was five years old, my mother found me shivering and naked in an empty bathtub, crying so hard that my small body seemed to fold in on itself. I had drained the water myself and sat there long enough for the cold porcelain to leave my skin blotchy and numb. My mother, with my two-year-old sister clinging to her leg and newborn sister squirming in her arms, knelt down and asked me what was wrong. Through tears, I told her I was afraid to die. My fear wasn’t of death in the abstract but of what I imagined might follow. I wanted to know where people went when they disappeared, frightened by the possibility of nowhere at all. My mother told me I would go to Heaven, where I’d see my grandmother and two brothers. When I asked her how she knew this, she said she just did. Before I could ask anything more, the baby began to wail, and the moment slipped away. I had many episodes like this as a child, beset by moments of existential dread that visited without invitation. I grew up nominally Christian in the way that many of my peers did: with Christmas celebrations, casual references to God, and children’s Bibles tucked into random places around the house. Even then, I contended with the idea of a benevolent God. My parents had lost two sons before adopting me, both from a heart condition and both preceding their first birthday. What kind of God, I had wondered, would allow two innocent children to die? The question lingered, unanswered, as I learned early how to live with ambiguity. Instead of religion, I gravitated toward something far more tangible: achievement. By the time I reached high school, my life revolved around external markers of success as I chased validation with a discipline that felt purposeful, even virtuous. For a while, the system held. I won the awards. I collected the leadership titles. I gained admission to the top schools. Each milestone promised a sense of arrival that never quite lasted but was enough to keep me moving forward. Then the pandemic happened, and the scaffolding fell away. College classes, once legible in their demands, flattened into a single imperative — not to fail — after Columbia shifted to a Pass/Fail grading system  in response to the shutdown. Academic life narrowed accordingly. There were no competitions to win, no rooms to impress, no benchmarks to chase. Stripped of those markers, I felt unmoored. Without the steady rhythm of achievement, I struggled to name the purpose my life was meant to serve. So when my brother and mother decided to convert to Catholicism during my junior year, I joined them. Faith offered structure, language, and a sense of direction when everything else felt suspended. I enrolled in the year-long Order of Christian Initiation of Adults (OCIA)  program at my local church, was baptized a month before graduation, and began attending Mass every weekend. Still, I felt like a stranger to my own beliefs. I learned the rituals and read the Scripture, yet the dramatic clarity that others described remained elusive. I didn’t cry during services or feel overtaken by conviction. I watched people lift their hands during worship songs and wondered what it felt like to believe without hesitation. Whatever faith I had felt provisional, like something I was practicing rather than fully inhabiting. When I arrived at HBS, even that fragile routine receded. Sunday mornings quickly filled up with case prep, recruiting events, and recovery from the week. Part of me assumed that religion didn’t belong at business school anyway. The two seemed fundamentally at odds. But as I sat in classes like LCA and debated cases on profit versus principle, I noticed how often my sectionmates drew on their faith to navigate moral complexity. Across Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, and beyond, belief surfaced in how people spoke about obligations that extended beyond shareholders, tradeoffs resistant to optimization, and the discomfort between legality and conscience. These conversations disrupted my sense of where faith belongs. Business school, at least how I had imagined it, teaches a truth of its own: that everything worth doing can be evaluated through rates of return and discounted over time. Religion seemed to traffic in a different dialect altogether, governed by moral codes, self-control, and the pursuit of eternal rewards over temporary pleasures. I had assumed these ways of thinking occupied separate worlds, each coherent only within its own boundaries. And yet, it was precisely within an institution so close to power and influence that my questions about faith pressed most insistently. HBS’s mission is to “educate leaders who make a difference in the world,” in part by granting proximity to capital and, eventually, authority. That proximity has an elucidative effect and forces a confrontation with questions that are easy to defer when influence feels abstract, like “what do I owe others when I have the ability to affect their lives?” and “how much wealth is enough?” and “at what point does ambition begin to justify harm?” For me, these questions feel especially provocative because they emerged in a place where faith appeared least at home. I had long presumed that values are best cultivated in spaces that mirror them: that humility belongs in churches, restraint in private life, and ambition everywhere else. Being at HBS has disconcerted that belief. It has shown me that values are tested most rigorously when they encounter friction and rub against incentives pulling them in another direction. I am still far from settled. I haven’t arrived at certainty or undergone the kind of spiritual clarity I once thought faith required. But what I do know is that moments of influence have a way of hollowing us out, leaving behind only what we bring with us. Long before titles, capital, or authority confer their weight, we are each asked to decide what will guide us when answers are incomplete. Whether we call that reckoning moral, spiritual, or simply human, it begs the same question of us: when those familiar signposts disappear, for what or whom do we reach — and why? 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.

Inside Saudi Arabia’s bid to reinvent itself When we think about the world, we form opinions about governments, policies, institutions, and societies based on personal experience and the information we consume. These perceptions are often shaped by global headlines dominated by today’s major powers and defining events. To those living in the present, such powers can appear permanent. History, however, tells a different story: one of constant change and reinvention. The legacies of ancient empires—from the Romans to the Ottomans—are well documented, and scholars have long sought to understand why some nations prosper while others stagnate, what sustains success, and which risks recur across development cycles. Beyond written accounts, ruins, monuments, infrastructure, offer tangible evidence of how past societies lived and organized themselves. These artifacts compress centuries of history into something immediate and observable. Because our lives are short relative to civilizational change, we often focus on understanding the past. Occasionally, however, the world offers the opportunity to witness structural transformation as it unfolds. In January, I had such an opportunity while visiting the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to assess Vision 2030 - an ambitious national project led by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS). Its goal is to reduce the Kingdom’s dependence on oil and reshape the country around three pillars: a vibrant society, a thriving economy, and an ambitious nation. What can be learned from observing such transformation firsthand? What conclusions can reasonably be drawn, and what risks threaten its success? This essay synthesizes my observations from the in-country immersion, informed by academic experts and journalists, economic reports, conversations with leaders responsible for execution, discussions with business leaders, and exchanges with everyday citizens. These reflections were further refined through conversations with my brilliant classmates who shared the experience. What stood out most about Vision 2030 was not only its scale, but its coherence and depth of topdown support. While much attention is given to headline-grabbing giga-projects—such as NEOM, which has since been scaled back—the more striking feature is the breadth of transformation being pursued simultaneously. This is particularly notable given that five-year development plans are not new, either in Saudi Arabia or elsewhere. Many fail due to weak leadership, institutional misalignment, or an inability to think beyond political cycles. In Saudi Arabia’s case, these failure modes appear to have been deliberately addressed. This is largely attributable to MBS’s consolidation of power. By reducing the political influence of the religious establishment and pushing through socially and economically sensitive reforms—such as expanding women’s participation in public life—he has created the conditions for decisive action. Whatever one’s normative view of this concentration of power, its effectiveness in enabling rapid reform is difficult to deny. The comparison to Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew is apt: a strong leader with a vision, willing to reposition a nation for long-term success with little time for critics. From an execution standpoint, the structure of Vision 2030 is unusually rigorous. The vision is anchored in three pillars, broken down into 27 branch objectives and further into 96 strategic objectives, each aligned with one of the overarching themes. These objectives are publicly available and supported by national programs ranging from housing and fiscal sustainability to privatization and human capital development. It is at the program level that ownership, budgets, timelines, and KPIs are defined. This disciplined linkage between objectives and execution reduces complexity, increases transparency, and limits waste. It also enables adaptation as external conditions change—such as oil price volatility or mounting fiscal pressure, both hot topics during our visit. For a transformation of this magnitude, methodical execution seems essential. Even the most elegant strategy, however, cannot succeed without societal belief and participation. One of Vision 2030’s core pillars—building a vibrant society—depends fundamentally on citizen buy-in. Nowhere is progress more visible in this area than in the redefinition of women’s roles. Walking through Riyadh or Jeddah today, it is difficult to reconcile the present reality with the fact that only a few years ago women were prohibited from driving and subject to religious policing. Nearly everyone we spoke with emphasized how quickly society adapted to these changes, often exceeding official expectations. Saudi Arabia’s demographics help explain this receptiveness: a young population that is globally connected, technologically fluent, and more open to change than previous generations. While decades of gender segregation cannot be undone overnight, the shift from aspiration to lived reality is meaningful. One conversation was particularly illustrative. Speaking with a young Saudi woman on the outskirts of Riyadh—at a weekly bonfire gathering that serves as a local analogue to Friday beers—I asked where the desire for change originated. She described traveling within the Gulf and observing reforms already implemented elsewhere. Her response was a reminder that ideas move faster than institutions, and that exposure to other societies can quietly reshape expectations long before formal reform arrives. Despite this progress, the risks to Vision 2030 are substantial. Some are specific to Saudi Arabia; others are common to any nation attempting transformation at this scale and speed. First, regional stability. The projects envisioned depend on sustained capital flows, tourism, and foreign engagement—all requiring geopolitical stability. Saudi Arabia has positioned itself as a regional leader with global ambitions, evident in its investments in AI, defense partnerships with the US, and careful management of its economic relationship with China. The unresolved questions are how long this balancing act can be sustained, and whether Iranian influence can be curtailed. Second, economic sustainability remains a central concern. The Public Investment Fund (PIF)  plays a dual role as sovereign wealth manager and active nation-builder. This creates risks of  crowding out private capital, particularly in sectors such as real estate and infrastructure. There is  also the risk of economic leakage, where investment dollars flow abroad through imported goods  and services rather than building domestic supply chains. Balancing state-led acceleration with  genuine private-sector development will be critical. Third, cultural transformation presents longer-term uncertainty. As Saudi Arabia opens itself to greater diversity of thought and experience, questions arise about how these changes will coexist with religious tradition. Official narratives suggest no inherent contradiction, but outcomes remain to be seen. Indicators such as language retention, evolving family norms, and global engagement through events like EXPO and the World Cup will reveal how deeply reforms are being internalized. Finally, there is key-man risk. Can Saudi Arabia build institutions strong enough to sustain this trajectory beyond MBS’s tenure? Early signals are mixed but encouraging. Anecdotally, public sector roles now demand longer hours and higher standards than private-sector positions—the reverse of historical norms. Whether these shifts endure will determine the vision’s longevity. While risks remain—securing top talent and sustaining foreign direct investment among them—the pace and scale of change are unmistakable. Even during our brief visit, the capital markets authority announced plans to open the stock market to foreign investors - yet another change in the right direction. The transformation is visible on the streets and reinforced by an unusual degree of institutional alignment. Skeptics may attribute this unity to coercion; believers to bold leadership, hard-earned lessons, and a willingness to challenge the status quo in pursuit of long-term national benefit. The underlying ambition, however, is not a new concept. In 1936, the Venezuelan visionary author and politician Arturo Uslar Pietri urged his country to “sembrar el petróleo”—to sow oil by converting resource wealth into lasting, diversified prosperity. Not by false claims of redistribution but by long term investments in education, institutions and the broader economy. Nearly a century later, Venezuela’s struggle has not been a lack of vision, but a failure to realize it. My hope is that we learn from these attempts—both the brief successes and the lost decades—and finally articulate, and execute, a vision of our own capable of transforming society. Alejandro Moreno (MBA ‘26)  is from Caracas, Venezuela. He studied Industrial Engineering and Engineering Management at Northeastern University where the co-op program (6-month internships) took him from Boston to Singapore to NyC. Prior to HBS he advised PE & corporate clients on M&A integrations and separations at PwC. Alejandro is a leader of the HBS Soccer Club and dreams of bringing change to a democratic Venezuela.

Interviews of Four MBArtists unveil the synergy between creative expression and business innovation According to official HBS data for the MBA class of 2027, only 5% of the student body majored in arts or humanities-related subjects at undergrad. This figure may bear little surprise to those who perceive business school as a petri dish for quarter zip-wearing cogs in the shareholder value machine. Yet, through the power of investigative journalism, I discovered four intriguing artists who moonlight as MBA candidates. I decided to ask them what we’re all secretly thinking: “What are you doing here?” Read on for their insights. Julie Averbach (MBA ‘27): Author, Visual Arts Nonprofit Founder & Appreciator of Trader Joe’s Aesthetics Undergraduate majors:  Art History & Psychology Before HBS: Author of The Art of Trader Joe’s: Discovering the Hidden Art Gems of America’s Favorite Grocery Store, a book exploring the hidden art history behind Trader Joe’s beloved brand (check out her feature in The New York Times  titled ‘She Goes to Trader Joe’s for the Art’). Julie is also Founder & CEO of smARTee, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit that provides immersive live virtual art museum tours for older adults to promote arts access, wellness, and lifelong learning. She dabbles in painting and drawing in her spare time. Q.) You’re an artist. What are you doing here? A.)  I came to HBS to discover how business can infuse more art and beauty into our everyday lives. While we tend to think of “art” as isolated to museums and galleries, art is everywhere. Art has a strong presence in business—from social media advertising to product packaging design—whether we acknowledge its power consciously or not.  Before coming to HBS, I wrote The Art of Trader Joe’s  based on my college Art History thesis. While visiting 150+ Trader Joe’s stores across the country, I explored how visual storytelling is woven throughout Trader Joe’s brand, elevating the grocery store into a pop culture phenomenon. Trader Joe’s opened my eyes to how art and business can enrich and deepen one another, and so I came to HBS to pursue this intersection. Q.) How are you keeping your creativity alive at HBS? A.) HBS is itself an art gallery!  In the 20-minute break between classes, I sometimes like to admire artworks displayed around Aldrich. Carrie Mae Weems’s black-and-white photographs are among my favorites. Over the winter break, I also reconnected with painting; I’m currently working on a pair of painted jeans inspired by Section F (the best section)!  Q.) Where can we connect with you and your work? A.) I’m eager to explore all the surprising ways art history and business can talk to each other. To see more of my art adventures, check out @theartoftraderjoes on Instagram or my websites: theartofraderjoes.com and smartee.biz . Taylor Jean-Jacques (MBA ‘26): Artist, Technologist & Investor Undergraduate majors:  Psychology, Statistics & Machine Learning Before HBS: Taylor worked as a Technology Investor at General Atlantic. She has also sold dozens of paintings as a commissioned artist, and her pieces have been featured in art shows across the northeast.  Q.) You’re an artist. What are you doing here? A.) Art is one of my many pursuits and passions. I’ve been producing art (primarily oil painting) since I was 8 years old. At the same time, I’ve had an interest in coding since high school where I taught myself to code, built apps and websites and spent a couple years as a software engineer at Meta during college. I also have had a long time interest in investing—from buying and selling stocks since I was 13 to working in tech investment prior to HBS. Ironically, I find all of these fundamentally similar—different ways of promoting your view of the world (and where it is going). Q.) How are you keeping your creativity alive at HBS? A.) I’m Co-President of the Art Society, where I engage with students on all things art—be it creating art via our studio hours, visiting local museums and galleries, hosting guest speakers and more. We have found that much of the student body appreciates and wants to participate in the arts. We are humbled to have grown the club into one of the largest on campus. Shout out to my Co-Presidents Cameryn Boyd, Filippo Colonna and Youssef Halim! As for myself, I try to complete 1-2 pieces per semester amidst other commitments. I almost always have at least 1 unfinished painting that I am working through sitting at my apartment. Q.) Where can we connect with you and your work? A.) I continue to work on pieces as part of commissions or for personal interest. One day, I hope to open up a gallery/studio of my own. Most of my work and contact information is on my instagram account @ tjeanjacques.art . Stanley Tong (MBA ‘26): Ceramic Artist, Sculptor & Mechanical Engineer Undergraduate major: Mechanical Engineering Before HBS: By day, Stanley worked in advanced manufacturing and industrial 3D printing in the automotive industry. By night, he became a self-taught ceramic artist of four years, focusing on forms that explore structure, motion, and contrast. During HBS: Stanley led the creation of HBS’ first ever Student Art Show. He shared reflections on this experience in an earlier Harbus article  titled ‘Left Brain, Meet Right Brain.’ Q.) You’re an artist. What are you doing here? A.) In my opinion, art is the unique combination of materials and concepts to create something new. Most of the time, that creation is meant to convey a story or message, or to give us a new way to view the world. It’s not so different from many other fields of work, where we take existing things and recombine them into something new. While I am an artist, at my core I am an engineer, and I’ve spent most of my career focusing on industrial 3D printing technologies. What excites me most is when seemingly unrelated fields come together to create cutting-edge breakthroughs. For me, coming to HBS was a way to expand my worldview, meet new people, and learn the skills required to build a career discovering, leading, and scaling breakthrough innovations. Q.) How are you keeping your creativity alive at HBS? A.) As a sculptor and ceramic artist who primarily produces larger, more complex pieces, it normally takes several weeks and dozens of hours to complete a single work. Because of that, I’ve had to take a bit of a sabbatical from ceramics while at HBS. Since creative time is an essential form of respite and an outlet to calm my mind, I’ve picked up some alternatives to keep my creativity alive and continue learning new things. For example, I’ve been teaching myself piano and cooking more! These activities are less time-intensive but still satisfy my drive to create with my hands and my love of learning something new. Q.) Where can we connect with you and your work? A.) I have a long list of ideas I want to explore once I have the space and time to do so! Once things settle down a bit, I’m excited to get back into creating more. You can connect with me and my art on Instagram and TikTok @stanleytongceramics, or check out my website at stanleytongceramics.com . Krissy Wang (MBA ‘27): Self-Taught Painter, Ex-Tax Accountant & Budding Entrepreneur Undergraduate major: Accounting Before HBS: A painter since childhood, Krissy primarily works with acrylic to create artwork that celebrates everyday life such as food and her beloved dog. She cites Wayne Thiebaud as a source of artistic inspiration. Professionally, she started her career as a tax accountant before working as a product manager. Q.) You’re an artist. What are you doing here? A.) I came to HBS because I want to start my own company one day. As an artist, I love creative freedom and building from zero to one; entrepreneurship feels like the same instinct to me. HBS is my place to learn, experiment, and iterate. I’m actively pursuing my business idea right now, and it’s both exciting and a little surreal to see it getting more concrete with every user interview and brainstorm session. Q.) How are you keeping your creativity alive at HBS? A.) In the first semester, I didn’t. I was busy exploring, saying yes to everything, and my art slipped to the side. After finals, I finally sat down to paint again and was reminded how life-giving it is to create art. Going forward, I want to show up differently. I’m planning to carve out protected weekend “studio hours” as non-negotiable self-care. I also want to host small arts-and-crafts hangouts so people who miss their creative side have a place to play. It’s my way of building a tiny creative bubble inside the HBS grind. Q.) Where can we connect with you and your work? A.) The most productive stretch of my art life was summer 2024, when I had gallery representation in San Francisco. I’d love to recreate that momentum in Boston by finding a physical home for my work—a gift shop, coffee shop, or gallery that carries my pieces and keeps me motivated to keep creating. Stay tuned! In the meantime, you can find my past work on Instagram at @krissy_1202. Closing thoughts from the Editor From launching art shows to cultivating creative communities, these MBArtists are charting many paths for the business leaders of tomorrow to keep artistic expression and appreciation in their hearts. If you spot any of them around campus, be sure to thank them for their service! Folu Ogunyeye (MBA ‘27)  grew up in Milton Keynes in the UK. She graduated from the University of Cambridge with a degree in Human, Social and Political Sciences. Prior to HBS, Folu worked in HR at BlackRock in Atlanta and in social impact consulting in New York and London. Beyond work, Folu loves to write, explore art galleries or catch a live jazz gig.

Combining the joys of education and the wonders of travel to get a secret-third thing Our final semester of Harvard Business School started in a spirit of irreverent disruption which belies the severely regimented nature of this MBA—with a snow day and cancelled classes leading into the chaotic add/drop period which comes with course selection. This is the only time you can (i) show up in class having brazenly not read the case (sloth) (ii) not show up at all (sloth pt. 2) (iii) show up and commit the worse, eighth deadly sin—using a laptop in class. This laissez-faire  period explains how the first brain cell I am exerting this week is midway through it, on writing this article. HBS’s mandatory courses go on for the entire first year, unlike most other MBAs—which allows us to coin truly unique lingo with ‘RC’ and ‘EC’, unlike the unfortunate and widespread ‘LEAD’ which graces every school’s promotional material. The fact, then, that we are actually expected to make academic decisions comes as something of a shock in second year. You confront the difficult question of what truly counts as a business education—a soft-skills leadership course or a hardcore finance class with a balance sheet tagged on every case ( trick question! You will get your personality diagnosis regardless of which one you pick ). Is learning really on the cards, or is it one of those things you say when asked why you’re not gainfully employed at twenty-eight?  The Indian immigration officer gave me a judgemental look suggesting he didn’t buy it. Why are you asking me what I do anyway, officer of my own country? What’s with all the questioning? Where else can you send me?  As you navigate the maze of the philosophical, the mundane contrives to drag you down. What is this cross-registration petition that one needs to submit to take classes in other schools? How emotional does it need to be? Is the begging-my-ex-to-get-back vibe too much? Is it too little? Do we think the Taylor Swift lyric increases or decreases my chances? Then you confront the strange beast: the IFC. I nternational F rathouse C ircuit. I nterlude F rom home- C oming. I yearn F or three holiday C redits. As a winter-term course, why am I forced to sacrifice my fall-term seat in MITI for it? When I asked my EC-advisor-on-retainer about it—a disgruntled graduate ( please request for time slots two weeks in advance ), a visionary and a heretic who doesn’t believe in taking Negotiations—he promptly shot down my suggestion of taking IFC Japan. Yet there I was, armed with visa, passport and one empty suitcase for shopping. You might wonder—how did I get there? Surely the illustrious newsletter of the business school, which is definitely not going to get replaced by a TikTok account in the near future, should have advice on such matters pertaining to the school experience? Disclaimer: Although I have been operating on the comfortable assumption that no one reads my articles, least of all professors, I have been proven wrong in the past. This article is SATIRE, and does not represent my actual views on the course. I actually have no strongly held views. None. Complete sellout. Disclaimer 2: My opinions on learning in this article should also be held in 0 regard; I am writing this article instead of the final paper on the day of submission. Disclaimer 3: Again, for professors who’ve made it this far. SATIRE.  Moving on. IFCs are HBS’s attempt to not allow TourHero to corner the “trek” market; owing to the high demand from students who enjoy foreign travel in a 20+ people-sized MBA bubble but cannot rally up their closest friends to a single destination. It’s what you do when you want to run back FIELD for any reason. Maybe despite the extensive  personality testing, you did not vibe with your project team. Maybe you ended up as the eighth Dunkin’ Donuts team in Boston instead of in Egypt.  However, a mere three months after this debacle, you are offered the opportunity to once again gamble with US immigration in the not-so distant future (there goes the one line of current affairs commentary I am allowed per article) . Did I mention to you that it would be free, if you’re on any amount of financial aid?  I could end the article here, with my main takeaway - I love a good deal, and have terrible risk calibration ( as one can see from the discount Doordash orders I make from unknown restaurants ). However, so that I don’t have to title my article “A series of miscellaneous time-bound grouses” , I shall use a derivative of the framework helpfully provided by HBS to write my paper, to offer some actual insight into the course.  However I have made most of the jokes I wanted to make, so I had to run my feebler attempts from here on through ChatGPT to tighten them up. Nothing to make you question your sense of humour more than AI saying blandly, like a bored first date, “Haha, great line already.”  This is the real reason I am against usage of AI in the arts. In-class Learning (and the nebulous pre-work one is supposed to complete over the semester and break) : ……. Project Work: About one week before we were due to land up in Japan, I opened the itinerary to promise our client a time we would end up at their office; only to see that we have a total of four designated working days. I spent more than four days planning my first trip to the US; yet here I was, delivering a US go-to-market strategy. I see why there is a first section now. Not every IFC has a project; many of them don’t, including only the perks of HBS’s vast network ( network!!! That would’ve won over the immigration officer! ) in the form of visits with companies and local luminaries. So if you don’t have any latent passion for a one-week McKinsey-style sprint culminating in disappointed eye contact with the CEO of an eminent company, you have options ! Cultural Experience: Versus FIELD (why do we always write it in all capitals? F ree I nternational E xperience L eading-to D isaster??) , IFCs focus more on cultural immersion—so HBS plans certain activities for you. Is it really cultural immersion if you’re not navigating new traditions in a foreign country with your peers—such as potentially meeting your classmates nude in an Onsen?  The advantage of cosplaying as working professionals also allows a chance to dabble in the ordinary—the daily commute, the working lunch, the team dinner with sake, and the judicious leveraging of 7/11 hangover cures the day after. Memo: Post-IFC Travel: A study of Instagram over winter break offers a compelling, multi-faceted analysis on just how long a trip it should be possible to take, and with how many different people. For a group of people who are told that the MBA is a two-year long holiday, it is unsurprising that travel should feature so prominently and frequently in it.  Naturally then, if you are already positioned in a foreign country, why not make the most of it? Make that two-week trip a week longer, make that day-trip through at least two other countries on the way home.  My mom always used to say that travelling with someone was a good way to test your compatibility with them. She didn’t provide the corollary that travelling with a group of people is actually an evaluation of your personability ( anything is a personality test in HBS if you’re willing to look at the results! ). Never fear though! You have a 20+ hour journey to get home, with nothing to do but reflect on whether your middle-school ‘friends’ ditching you for a birthday party has led to you being a control freak who has to take the final call on which izakaya  to go to post dinner. At long last, then, you reach Boston. Ready to start a new semester with three fewer credits to lob around in add/drop - when you’re done submitting your paper and the reality-TV-vote-coded peer review. Which you can write in those sweet, sweet pre-dawn hours when your persisting jetlag wakes you up in a Conjuring -esque fashion at 3 a.m. Ramya Vijayram (MBA ‘26)   is originally from Chennai, India. She graduated from the Indian Institute of Technology, Madras, with a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Biotechnology. Prior to the Harvard MBA, Ramya worked at Warburg Pincus in Mumbai, India, and McKinsey and Co. in India.

What do we say about our pop-culture stereotype as heartless mercenaries, and also to the mirror? While prowling through Spangler after hours late one evening a few weeks ago, I saw a poster for an SAS-organized talk that made me pause: “Building and Maintaining Relationships at HBS,” a panel by EC students sharing insights on how to make “authentic and meaningful friendships” at HBS. The dystopic idea that a group of late twenty-somethings needed to be taught how to make friends unsettled me. I went home that day to have a Hinge match accuse me of being busy networking when I mentioned it was a hectic week; an attempt at humor and a poor one at that, which I feel comfortable saying on my weak credential of writing humor but only under my granted moniker of Community Editor (hello, Michelle).   The stereotype of the business school student is one so universally acknowledged that in my first draft of this article, I didn’t even include the image I ultimately hope to subvert: the corporate-coded, wealthy and superfluous, traveling party animal. After a semester of attempting to write humor about business school students, every punchline felt trite and every joke a poor documentary of reality. This Halloween, in our PE Finance class, several people showed up to class wearing the “PE bro” costume: the formal shirt and Patagonia vest our professor had joked about on the day prior. When the time came to take a photo, a few hapless unawares were called on for the camera, whose daily wardrobe just happened to be a vest and formal shirt.   Can I construct a defense for this image? If not blatant contradiction, I think as a member of this infamous club, I owe it to myself to at least examine the nuances behind it. Clichés are boring, and I refuse to build my life around one.   Dissection of Capitalism in its First Temple “Harvard Business School offers so many courses on capitalism,” a friend observed, with the faint note of surprise; similar to the quick disbelieving blink I get when I mention to non-HBSers that I have a Capitalism class —  an amusement at the thought that the heart of this machinery would be self-aware enough to study it. True, as a prospective student, I had not anticipated the sincerity of the attempt HBS would make to dissect the murky ethical underpinnings of business.   In the span of a week, we discussed Machiavelli in class twice. What would Machiavelli, pioneer of a cold cunning warranting its own adjective, think of being in an Aldrich classroom? The earnestness of the question, asked so gently of Professor Badaracco, didn’t leave us the space to laugh away the indictment. My immediate thought was that the man who comfortably advocated for indulging in what he clearly labeled as vices would be surprised by the grey zone language we use for right and wrong. Later that same week, Professor Reinert humorously called a comment Machiavellian as we discussed the role of slavery and “sacrifice zones” (areas permanently impaired by environmental damage or economic disinvestment) played in the evolution of modern-day capitalism.   Half a decade or less into our careers, we have rarely sat in a seat consequential enough to grapple with the morality of a decision. Our engagement with the image of the ruthless capitalist propagated in all media — be it a Christmas romance to Wall Street porn — is either strict othering, a line drawn separating us from “them” — the evil suits — or tacit acceptance, a party joke we don’t quite believe in.   In the soft winter sunlight in Hawes, students again, briefly free to be idealists again, we have the opportunity to engage with this debate more meaningfully. “I just want you to think about what it means,” Professor Reinert said, ending that class, like many others in business school, with a question we have to answer for ourselves.   Amidst all our RC classes where inserting “prioritizing shareholder returns” into a comment was always correct if not insightful, with no shortage of willing participants to do it, we also discuss workers’ rights, layoffs, discrimination, and other such topics. There is an unfortunate irony of discussing DEI in a school that no longer talks about it. There is a tension between an education about leadership, specifically to lead institutions so large that they are inherently tied with the political and socioeconomic climate, a lens of pragmatism the business school and its students both cannot escape. It is well reflected in the difference between The Harbus  and The Crimson .   The Pillars Holding Up HBS Incorporated Recently, when a close friend suggested we get a coffee, I found myself reflexively alarmed by the immediate insinuation that I had been downgraded to a “coffee-chat” friend. My meal hierarchy for HBS, based on how much you like the person from most to least, is dinner, breakfast, lunch, and then coffee. Coffee-chats as the butt of pop-culture jokes arise from its legacy in the corporate world, a staple of recruiting events on campus. Like the ruthless calendaring of business school students, who mark their dates, dentist visits, and divination as blocks, it is easy to laugh it off as a corporate hangover. However, I think it speaks to something deeper: a high-performance life of commitments, where every human experience needs to be time-boxed for success.   One rhetoric I can’t recall ever hearing about with HBS is that of making the experience “yours,” or the idea of charting uniquely different paths in an environment catering to different individuals and dreams. While that is the ultimate outcome, there is the underlying sense that the school is prescribing you something. What is it?   If nothing else, it is high-performance multi-tasking, the first semester packed full of frenetic activity; a hectic course load with parties, section retreat, and social engagements front loaded, propelled into a social network before you find comfort. Later, as we try to find balance between the two, recruitment is introduced. While this stressful cocktail is a feature of all MBAs, HBS sets the tone in the expected rigor and its adherence to the strict attendance in classes; in acknowledging that one cannot “do it all,” the advice given is not that this schedule is opt-in, but that one has to prioritize, which suggests that the list of to-dos is to remain just as long with no paring down.   Perhaps the most insidious way in which HBS leaves us with the idea of a relentlessly productive life is its Portrait Project, where students answer the question posed at the end of a Mary Oliver poem — “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” — with personal epithets that fundamentally speak of ambition and making a change in the world. Ironic, to repurpose a poem meant to question the idea of what a fulfilling life is — suggesting that enjoyment of a moment is the highest purpose of a life — and make it about achievement, the very idea it is interrogating.   This is inherently a set-up for a lack of time, which brings us full circle to what we started with: the adoption of corporate efficiency measures for what could conceivably be called a personal endeavor. This is a narrative the school leans into. Recently, a professor referred to another student in the class as a colleague, turning on its head the idea that colleagues become friends, becoming closer and taking down walls, and creating distance between me and the seatmate who, five minutes ago, was unflatteringly caricaturing my ID card. “I feel like wearing a Patagonia vest is the more acceptable fashion choice,” a friend commented under the broader ambit of questioning whether people largely try to conform to a standard with clothing. Here again, it begs the question: can this dressing sense be considered an expression of self in a way that draws judgement or humor? Or is it simply the consequence of feeling the need to be presentable in this semi-corporate environment, defaulting to the standard you know will be accepted in a manner that requires little time?   Perhaps, then, we don’t notice when the other elements of an office life creep in. If my whole life is a high-octane ballad, and the calendar blocks don’t end at 7 p.m., when do I stop counting the seconds I spend? While consoling a friend through a breakup, talking to my mom after a long day, or even just sitting with a friend at the end of the day, with no agenda. We rush through a work day to get to an idea of a “home,” the personal fulfilment we wish to maximize. When the lines of personal and professional are blurred, even this fulfillment is bookended and rushed through, undermining an essential characteristic of the activity — the respect for it to ascribe it as much time as possible. Business school friendships lack that one aspect — bundled between a variety of activities, you cannot afford to judge affection by where you rank in someone’s stack of commitments. “She’d see me spending time with other people, and question why I hadn’t met her recently,” a classmate said of one of her close friends, who was questioning the depth of their bond, judged to be unreasonable.   What elements of a connection might be lost in this model? We’ve all been both the victim and perpetrator of a conversation half-finished, an apology unuttered or a plea for help ignored — all while looking over the shoulder of your peer, towards the next target, an endless ticking in your ear. A life where no one asks you for assurances of your presence, and no one assures you. Is it Funny in the Rich Man’s World? I would like to start this section with the caveat that this model of socializing is not, of course, limited to business school. Being a socialite and having a “full calendar” are age-old ideas. I come from a smaller life; the closest thing to a dinner party growing up was my mom accommodating as many of my friends as she could around our small dining table for a home-cooked meal, after which my friends would famously end up taking a nap all over the house, replete with good food. Hosting at my own house involved having said friends come home, regale the lone onion in the fridge with disappointment, and order a pizza. Much like the famed etiquette sessions in consulting, where they teach you how to handle cutlery, chopsticks, and wine glasses, HBS has felt, in some ways, like an unofficial finishing school.   Not to say that the idea of community exists only in certain strata of society, but the values upholding it differ significantly. Further, community is not inherently a monied proposition but is often defined by the constraint of a price tag. In HBS, where network is practically a prescribed part of the curriculum, social dynamics cut deeper, come under greater scrutiny, and are more exaggerated, leading to rumor and diatribe, with the well-off “Section X” being practically a dictionary term and enough push to define a “Section Y,” an adjacent category of wealthy, in conversation.   When ideating this point around the disparity money brings with a fellow writer, he brought up the valid point that this is just a microcosm for the world at large. So why does it lead to more discussion here? Proximity, a selection bias of people from high-earning jobs against the backdrop of the impossible promise that HBS seems to make of you when you enter: of 90 new best friends and 900 equal peers. A promise; and an expectation, which it is on you to fulfill. No wonder this discourse, whatever its outward tone, contains the undercurrent of the aspirational nature of money. In the last year, my idea of what looks like a good life financially has also shifted, almost without me realizing it.   At this point, I apologize, reader, because I have insufficiently researched the role the school plays to alleviate it. What I will mention is the lack of community events on the weekend, with HKS and GSD, among the other graduate schools, hosting a version of “Friday beers,” conspicuously absent in a school so focused on connection. Professor Mugford, an HBS graduate herself, commented on the shift in community life on the weekends from her time to now, as graduates become older and come to business school with more personal wealth: “People travel most weekends now. In my time, we used to spend much more time on campus on the weekend.” HBS’s lack of Student & Academic Support (SAS)-sponsored events on weekends, with even the Weekend Sprints becoming a lecture series versus a social event, feels like a tacit acceptance of this “travel culture,” inherently linked to finances by offering no alternative.   Is This How We Choose to Talk About Ourselves? In interrogating people about dating for my last article, more than once I heard the sentiment, “I don’t think there is a partner for me here.” Surprising, to expect to not find someone like one in a community one chose to be selected into, with great difficulty.   Structurally, HBS reflects the business world it seeks to send its students out to. As students, we find ourselves caught in the same trap I opened my article with: of navigating a system that doesn’t seem to accommodate for personal values, seemingly by design.    And yet, what HBS promises is much more, and is fundamentally simple: the idea of making change as leaders in the world. Back to discussing Machiavellians in the Moral Leader, we interrogated the roles of pragmatism and idealism in making big change in the world: Lincoln and the abolition of slavery, Obama and legalizing gay marriage — simplistically, the important role of an idealist in moving the Overton window, and of pragmatism in working existing systems to make change.  The smaller bubble of HBS, with its myriad pressures and seemingly rigid structures, offers us a trial run of what it will be like to navigate the complex corporate ecosystem, while simultaneously, and sometimes oxymoronically, insisting on idealism, allowing you to envision what this balance will be in the roles you play both in your personal and professional lives. The institution of MyTakes, the satire and parody of the HBS Show and Cabaret, the sincerity and frankness of courses like Crafting Your Life, and the Moral Leader offer an honest opportunity to interrogate what you believe in, the life you lead, and share it with your peers and friends. There is an undeniable thread of sincerity in how we want to be seen and known. “I hope being vulnerable has not gone out of fashion,” a friend quipped at the beginning of her MyTake in EC year. I would argue the opposite. Over time, we embrace our identities as students first, the dichotomy between the two sides of the coin becoming more clear, enhancing our ability to comment on it and, most importantly, laugh about it. There is a gap in our personal reflection and our cross-examination of the community, where we ascribe characteristics to the group we do not believe we see in ourselves.  So, what do I offer in defense of the MBA student? That we defend ourselves as a community first, not at the cost of our self-awareness but in understanding its pressures and the roots of good at the heart of it. Disengaging from the narrative enables you to be blind to the ways in which you fall prey to it and denies the opportunity to challenge the community around you to rise to the occasion to do good. 8:30 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, I sit through a dry, highly technical class on managing investments. As the protagonist gets up to speak, I keep my pen poised to take away his five lessons on how to invest. Instead, he speaks about his time at HBS, how his sectionmates supported him through hardships, and how much he valued his community. There is a part of us, I suspect, that believes that earnestness of belief is antithetical to our role in the world as financiers and CEOs. I believe we should extend this earnestness to as many of our peers as possible. What will be our defense, as MBA students? I just want us to think about it. Ramya Vijayram (MBA ‘26)   is originally from Chennai, India. She graduated from the Indian Institute of Technology, Madras, with a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Biotechnology. Prior to the Harvard MBA, Ramya worked at Warburg Pincus in Mumbai, India, and McKinsey and Co. in India.

It’s not you. It’s all of us. Member 1 : Hey. Member 2 : Hi. Member 3 : Hello. Member 4 : I’m sorry for being late. I overslept. Should we start with FIN 1 today? Member 5 : Sorry I was also late. I was pitching my AI startup to a VC in London, and the call went over because we were riffing on API infrastructure. Member 6 : Me, too. Not the call part, but the remorse part. I was thinking hard about the best way to put this. Here goes. I can’t come to these anymore. Member 3 : Oh! Member 4 : Oh. Member 2 : Thank goodness. You’ve freed us all. I also can’t make it anymore. Member 5 : Me three. Member 1 : Make that four. Member 3 : Yeah, I’m just so busy. Member 4 : Wait, everyone’s dropping? What if we rescheduled to later in the day? Member 6 : Umm, no. Member 3 : Maybe if I wasn’t on four club boards. Member 5 : Maybe if I wasn’t focused on founding. Member 1 : I just think we’ve gotten the hang of case prep by now. Member 3 : Actually, I take it back. Even if I was on no club boards. Member 4 : You don’t understand! Here is where I shine. Every morning at 8 a.m., my bottom bucket placement at Goldman Sachs takes on a new meaning. With you, I turn into an expert of finance. You trust my numbers. You smile politely through my monologues on “industry practice.” And so I forget the cold stares of my Managing Director. My long nights in the office melt away. Member 2 : You’re the one who doesn’t understand. For the past few weeks, the rest of us have been playing an elaborate game of chicken. No one wants to be the first to quit and get labeled an underachieving loner whom no one at HBS should ever refer or fund or invite to any party. Only shame and infamy await them. The second to quit is a proper team player worthy of becoming a leader who makes a difference in the world. Member 6 : Wait, are you saying my social life is over? Member 2 : Never mind that. Member 4 : I can’t believe we’re breaking up. Member 3 : There, there. At least we lasted through midterms. My roommate’s discussion group fell apart after one day. Member 5 : It’s been great getting to know you all. Member 1 : Well, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. I look forward to saying hello in the hallways. Sometimes. Member 3 : Only if we’re walking right past each other and eye contact is inevitable. Member 2 : Naturally. Vicky Liu (MBA ’26) grew up in Surrey, Canada. She graduated from Yale University with a double major in Political Science and French. Prior to HBS, Vicky worked in technology M&A at Evercore and technology growth equity at Summit Partners.

Jess Williams’ (MBA ‘26) journey from South Dakota to HBS. As all of us learned during START week, students at HBS come from an almost unbelievable variety of backgrounds. My own section included classmates from 25 countries who collectively spoke 33 languages, and hallmark events like Flag Day reinforce the truly global nature of this place. This isn’t by accident. The admissions process intentionally solves for this, prioritizing unique experiences, geographic diversity, and, above all else, the demonstrated ability to transcend one’s home environment and leverage their time on campus to succeed in the world.  And though most think of diversity along more global dimensions, Jess Williams (MBA ‘26) is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Midwesterner unique in ways that many overlook. For starters, he’s the only South Dakotan currently enrolled here. A cursory investigation of MBA Classcards takes you directly to his page — no dropdown list required — and features a kid who grew up on a cattle ranch miles from the nearest town. He’s a former college football player who worked in politics back home before becoming a Marine officer, and he’s a father of two who hopes to one day run a professional football team. His journey has taken him just about everywhere, but his story began where the prairie becomes the Badlands, in a world very different from the one he now inhabits.  Wall is a town of roughly 700 people in western South Dakota, about an hour east of Rapid City, serving as the gateway to Badlands National Park. It’s known for its iconic drugstore — a popular pit stop on the drive to Mount Rushmore — and not much else. It’s a small town like so many others in America: staid, quiet, and, in many ways, ordinary. 22 miles outside of Wall is the Williams Family ranch, which has been in their family since 1890 and is where Jess grew up. Their business is cattle, which keeps them busy year-round, though he jokingly describes it as just “11 busy days a year” (in reality, maintaining a herd is a full-time gig). His father is fond of saying that “the cows don’t know it’s Christmas,” meaning rain, snow, or shine, the cattle must be checked at least three times a day, with constant movement and environmental adjustments needed to keep them healthy during the harsh South Dakota winters. This reality prevented family vacations and kept them tied to the ranch, teaching Jess the meaning of responsibility early in life. The third of four children, he was expected to contribute from the time he was young, instilling in him a selflessness and passion for service that informed every choice he had made since.  At Wall High School, where graduating classes typically hover around 15 students, everyone has to do everything. Jess was one of 16 in the Class of 2012, which meant he had to play on both sides of the ball for the nine-man football team while also moonlighting on the saxophone in the marching band at halftime. This practical reality made him good at many things but, unable to specialize, prevented him from becoming great at any one of them. Still, he and a few of his closest friends dreamed of playing football in college, so they took it upon themselves to develop their skills on their own time. Their unorthodox methods worked: through mail-order training videos and individual sessions in the park, Jess turned himself into a player worthy of two-time all-conference and all-state honors during his high school career.  However, it wasn’t easy getting college coaches to Wall to recruit kids who had never played the 11-man game. Undeterred, Jess put together his own highlight tape and sent it to an estimated 40 schools across Minnesota and the Dakotas. He didn’t get many responses, but the University of Sioux Falls — fresh off three NAIA National Championships under head coach Kalen DeBoer (now at Alabama) and in the process of moving up to the NCAA Division II — had room for him on their roster. Scholarship money wasn’t a part of the deal, but he didn’t care. He had a spot, which was all that mattered. After his high school graduation, he made the four-hour trip east on I-90 to start his life away from the ranch for the first time.  Upon arriving in the “big city,” he immediately faced a difficult on-field transition. Undersized and inexperienced compared to his teammates, his first season as a Cougar was spent bulking up and re-learning the sport he thought he already understood. It was a challenging process, but he eventually earned his way onto the field, becoming a valued contributor and an all-conference academic honoree as an upperclassman. In Jess’ senior season, the team won its first conference championship as an NCAA member, earning a playoff berth before losing in overtime in the second round.  With his playing career complete, Williams was left with lessons of persistence, selflessness, and adversity, along with a sense of uncertainty about what came next. Two of his teammates went on to play in the NFL — a rarity in Division II — but the pros were never in the cards for him. With a psychology degree in hand, he returned to the ranch to figure out his next steps. It was there that he received a call from a former coach asking if he’d be interested in serving as the full-time driver for Senator John Thune as he traveled around the state. With an interest in politics and a desire to get started with something , Jess jumped at the opportunity.  For the next couple of years, he lived in Sioux Falls but traveled the entire state with Senator Thune. In small-town diners and convenience stores, he saw firsthand how positivity and genuine interest in others translated into loyalty and respect. He excelled in the role, and hours on the road with the Senator and his staff pushed him to think more seriously about a future in politics. Though he had gained responsibility in the office, it became clear that, in order to keep advancing, a move to Washington, D.C. would eventually be necessary. Not excited about that prospect, he began looking for his next step — ideally one that combined the passions and lessons he’d accumulated so far. As a former athlete in good shape, the military was an obvious fit. After conversations with recruiters from several branches, he chose the Marines. Drawn to the Corps’ camaraderie, he graduated Officer Candidate School and The Basic School at the top of his class and was commissioned as a Tank Officer in 2020. He was quickly thrust into leadership, receiving his first platoon. He instantly found the responsibility to be extremely rewarding and threw himself into the role. However, the Corps’ decision to eliminate its tank division forced him to transition to Combat Engineering. It was in this role that he deployed to Kuwait and Kurdistan and earned the Joint Commendation Medal for “exceptional leadership in the ongoing defeat of ISIS.”  At the same time, he found a reason to look beyond the Marine Corps. Around Christmas 2020, while stationed at Camp Pendleton, he met a girl named Summer who was visiting from Michigan. They connected immediately, but the logistics were difficult. Undeterred, Jess began booking weekend flights, and their relationship grew from there, eventually surviving deployments before their wedding in early 2022. Jess was on an obvious upward trajectory in the Corps but, just as in Senator Thune’s office, he realized that advancement would require frequent moves and constant transitions from one assignment to the next. As he and Summer thought about building a life and family together, that prospect became less appealing. They hoped to plant roots somewhere, so Jess began again to think about what might come next. Ultimately, that was what led him to HBS. Encouraged by Marine friends who had successfully applied, the same kid who once avoided studying kinesiology as an undergraduate because he didn’t want to go to graduate school suddenly found himself applying to and interviewing at the most competitive business schools in the country. It was another learning experience for Jess, as he had to decide where to move his family for two years while simultaneously educating himself on the career options he might pursue after graduation. He ultimately chose HBS for its family-friendly environment. His now-two-year-old son, Roman, was joined by his baby brother, Alden, this past summer, making the Williams’ SFP apartment a very full house. Unsurprisingly, they’re eager for more space, and Jess has accepted a role with Bain in the Dallas office — a city chosen for its central location between their families. Long-term, he hopes to pursue a career in professional sports and “make his way north” to return to the ranch where it all began. If the past is any indication, there will be plenty of interesting stops along the way. John Mahoney (MBA ’26)  is a native of West Des Moines, Iowa. He graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2021 with a degree in Finance. While in college, he was a walk-on defensive back for the Fighting Irish and wrote a book about his experience, titled History Through The Headsets . Prior to coming to HBS, John worked in consulting and strategy in Minneapolis and Chicago.

How CPG brands launch, test, and learn in real time. In a pivotal case that could reshape the nation’s electoral landscape, the Supreme Court is set to decide whether Louisiana’s newly drawn congressional map — crafted to amplify voting power — crosses a constitutional line by prioritizing race over neutral redistricting principles. The paradox at the heart of this legal showdown — ensuring fair representation while avoiding racial gerrymandering — has the nation holding its breath as the justices grapple with the tension between equality and equity. Just one month ago, in Louisiana v. Callais , the Court heard oral arguments on this constitutional dilemma. The case revives a long-standing question: how to balance voting equality with concerns about racial gerrymandering. At its core lies a familiar economic debate: equity versus equilibrium. Simply put, should the American pie be distributed equally or equitably? When Congress passed the Fourteenth Amendment in 1868, its Equal Protection Clause and Due Process Clause established the rights to life, liberty and property as constitutional guarantees. Yet nearly a century before President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act (VRA), which sought to ensure equal access to the ballot for Black Americans. The VRA, rooted in the Fourteenth Amendment, is the same precedent challenged in the 2022 version of Louisiana v. Callais , in which lower courts found that Louisiana’s congressional map — with only one Black-majority district — was racially gerrymandered. In a 2-1 decision, Federal Judges David Joseph and Robert Summerhays blocked the map’s use and required the state to draw a new one. The resulting map added a second Black-majority district for the 1.4 million Black residents who make up 31% of the state’s population. Louisiana has six congressional districts and a population of 4.6 million. A purely proportional map would suggest roughly two districts with Black-majority populations. But congressional districts — like cities — are not geometric abstractions or slices of a pie. Redistricting is both double-edged and imperfect: too blunt to slice evenly and too constrained to capture the full spectrum of America’s racial and demographic complexity. The Supreme Court must now review the newly redrawn map. A fresh group of voters has asked the Court to strike it down, arguing that creating two Black-majority districts violates the Fourteenth Amendment’s Equal Protection Clause by making race the predominant factor. With prudence and a delicate scale, the nine justices must weigh democratic principles, original and textual interpretations of the Constitution, and the practical realities of representation. Their decision will set precedent not only for Louisiana but for every state where congressional maps must withstand scrutiny under both equality and, implicitly, equity. If the Court overturns the district court’s ruling, Louisiana’s 1.4 million Black voters may lose the additional district created in 2022. The VRA has survived similar challenges before. In the landmark 1964 case Reynolds v. Sims , the Court struck down Alabama’s legislative districts for giving disproportionate representation to rural areas. Chief Justice Earl Warren wrote, “Equal protection requires that state legislative districts should be of roughly equal populations.” In short: one person, one vote. If Chief Justice John Roberts and his colleagues determine that race cannot be considered in redistricting, Louisiana will likely revert to its previous map — an outcome unlikely to stay confined to Louisiana. As the Court revisits Louisiana v. Callais , it will once again confront the debate between voting equality and racial gerrymandering and, inadvertently, the broader American question of equity. The implications will likely extend beyond voting rights to other civil liberties grounded in the Fourteenth Amendment. Yet as long as the Constitution stands, states, lawmakers, and voters — Black and non-Black alike — must continue to meet the amendment’s core mandate: “No state shall… deny any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” Ibe  Imo (MLA, Journalism ‘25) is a technology leader and founder of  Merie Studios, a digital storytelling platform that leverages investigative journalism to provide expert insights on artificial intelligence, venture capital, and energy. Merie Studios empowers ventures and firms to unlock imagined value. With a team of attorneys and software engineers, Ibe leads research and investigative journalism to spark crucial discussions and uncover insights to transform new ventures and SMEs.