Posted By Natalie Orga on Mar 5, 2020 | 4 comments

(Photo provided)

By Natalie Orga, Guest Columnist

“If you’re a humanities major, you might fail this class, and you’ll be lucky to get a C. Don’t freak out — we don’t hand out A’s on this side of campus the way humanities professors do.”

This is a comment made by a professor within the first session of one of the first STEM classes of my college career. Shocked, I studied the impassive faces of my peers, thinking that perhaps we’d all been inadvertently launched into the 1970s. But, no, there was a Smartboard, a laptop, a cell phone. No time travel had occurred. As the professor continued to impress upon us how incredibly difficult their (introduction level) class would be, my disbelief grew. I had no idea that this would be only one of many encounters I would soon have with this “STEM superiority complex.”

When I chose a liberal arts school, I’d done so because of my belief that the humanities and STEM fields complement each other — that they are, in fact, essential to one another. The amount of mathematics in art is mind-blowing, and scientific discoveries would be nothing without the writing that can communicate them. History, literature, and technology are inextricably linked, intertwining to reframe societies on massive scales. The reason I chose Gettysburg College was because I was under the impression that the faculty, students, and administration shared that belief. However, I now believe that I might have been misled.

Over the course of my three years here, I have been frequently put down and belittled by STEM students claiming that those who study the humanities are “taking the easy way out,” have no work ethic, and don’t earn their grades in the same way their STEM counterparts do. I’ve been bluntly told that creative work is unimportant and practiced only by those without the aptitude to succeed in STEM fields. These flippant remarks are all obviously untrue, but I can hardly blame the students for their superior attitude. The example set by the school is hardly a shining beacon.

A glance over the campus can tell us as much: a massive, glittering, state-of-the-art science center looms beside cramped, outdated humanities buildings with flooding basements and even wasp-infested ceilings (I am referring to Breidenbaugh). This is not to mention the windowless, unventilated West building, used by art students to paint and mix chemicals that can cause migraines and burning eyes — I know this because I had to leave class almost every session to wash mine out. Humanities students are packed into classrooms in the most random locations, such as the Science Center basement, Plank, McKnight, and Masters. Without adequate space to occupy, the message is clear to everyone — humanities students aren’t valued as much as STEM students. In fact, clustered together in discarded places across campus, it’s difficult not to feel like we are just taking up space. So it’s no surprise that some STEM students have picked up on this overall feeling and have taken it to heart.

The remarks of certain STEM professors also aren’t helping this divisive culture of superiority — if their most respected mentors and authority figures blatantly disparage the humanities without consequence, what’s to stop the students from doing the same?

This isn’t to say that all STEM professors and students are engaging in this “humanities-shaming” practice; there are plenty who believe wholeheartedly in the liberal arts philosophy, and the symbiotic nature of the combination of the STEM and humanities fields. 

However, the culture of Gettysburg College needs to change if it intends to continue to be a liberal arts institution. It begins with revising the dialogue established by the professors, and by altering the campus so that it reflects the values it claims to uphold. When these changes take place, the culture among the students will evolve. Gettysburg should be an encouraging, positive space to learn for everyone, and I know it can be, if we all learn to respect and learn from each other, not despite, but because of our differences.