Finally a Stamp of Approval

Good for the leaders of the federal Fulbright scholarship program and UC Berkeley. They worked out an elegant solution to a missed deadline that had tossed Berkeley’s applicants from this year’s competition. But the episode leaves a nagging question: Why didn’t someone at Berkeley -- an assistant, the assistant’s boss, the boss’ boss -- pick up the envelope of applications and walk it to the nearest post office instead of sitting around waiting in vain for the FedEx guy to arrive?

The entire mini-debacle pokes our culture’s utter faith in high-speed efficiency. The 30 Berkeley doctoral students who applied for the prestigious overseas grants had trouble with the online application system, and you can imagine the delays it caused when everyone had to switch to actual paper -- you know, the stuff you hold in your hands. The paperwork was ready Oct. 20, the day it needed to be postmarked, but despite promises, Federal Express never showed up. Last-minute e-mails appealing to the U.S. Education Department failed to impress. How can anyone be expected to accomplish anything when the entire 21st century infrastructure isn’t working?

For months, the Education Department, which manages the Fulbright, wouldn’t budge, even when FedEx took full responsibility. Now the Fulbright board is considering naming Berkeley students to the Fulbright program, but UC Berkeley would have to come up with the scholarship money. FedEx should show how responsible it feels with a big donation for those scholarships.

Now, back to Oct. 20 and an imaginary new ending. We already know that the applications don’t have to get to Washington overnight. They just have to be postmarked that day. As the clock ticks on toward the close of the business day, a clear-thinking clerk or top-level administrator snatches up the package and says: “Oh, forget FedEx’s promises. I’ll just head over to the post office.” The main Berkeley post office, open till 5 p.m. on weekdays, is a couple of blocks -- downhill, no less -- from campus.

When all else fails, sometimes all we need are our feet -- and our brains.