We are a university tapped out on tragedy. After furious fundraising for the tsunami and hurried help for hurricane victims, there was little to no student response to an earthquake in Pakistan that claimed the lives of nearly 75,000 and left between 2 and 4 million homeless. As the region succumbs to winter storms, the resulting deep freeze will kill thousands. With the exception of a few scattered fundraising efforts, no sustained, coordinated campaign has surfaced for one of the year's most horrifying tragedies.
In its own way, it seems that the University is experiencing donor fatigue. We have given, collected, mobilized and donated enough and now it's time to refuel. After all, why does it matter how we respond to tragedy, especially one that is so far removed from the daily lives of the average Duke student?
It's because managing tragedy-both national and international-will become the standard by which our generation will be judged. We are "Generation 9/11," and our capacity for crisis response will determine our place in the history books. And if we are unable to mobilize the political will to act at college-when we have the necessary time, available resources and ready human capital to do so-then how can we possibly expect to respond to the next great challenge?
If all this talk of generational challenge seems a bit distant, then just remember how we judge the various generations of 20th-century America. Our grandparents, the "greatest generation," earned their moniker by fighting down fascism and standing up to Hitler. The generation after was called upon to pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend and oppose any foe to ensure that Communism did not spread beyond its proscribed confines. Get to the moon, beat the Soviets back and assure the success of liberty-the message was clear.
But gone are the days of draft boards and duck-and-cover, Rosie the Riveter and the Red Scare- so now what? What burdens have we left to bear?
Throughout the '90s, it seemed that we had none. Then Sept. 11 brought out the first contender: terrorism. Our generation's political and social psyche was so profoundly shaped by 9/11 that it seemed natural to dub "terrorism" as the next monolithic national challenge. The dream was that it would reignite our willingness to give of our time and money to a cause larger than ourselves, that we would unite under the stars and stripes, and that we would finally stop bowling alone.
The magnitude of the tragedy sparked just such a response in the first few weeks, and the feelings of charity and goodwill extended both to our local communities and to the rest of the world. Mere months after 9/11, the Muslim Students Association at Duke was able to raise more than $17,000 for Afghani refugees-in one day. It seemed as though our return to national greatness was assured.
With the war starting in Afghanistan, our patriotic revival appeared complete. But something had changed. War was no longer an easy vehicle to civic rebirth and our hopes for such a renaissance were quickly dashed. Entry-level military enlistment shrank between 2001 and 2002; volunteer hours stayed stuck at pre-Sept. 11 levels; and charitable donations went up briefly before coming back down.
In his Weekly Standard cover story "A Return to National Greatness," writer David Brooks reminds us that larger challenges are a needed part of the American democratic experiment. "Democracy has a tendency to slide into nihilistic mediocrity if its citizens are not inspired by some larger national goal," he argues.
Sept. 11 could have been our larger national goal, were it not for a volunteer army and a lack of concrete demands made of us after the tragedy. Instead of being asked to mobilize or prepare to "pay any price," we were asked to return to our normal lives as quickly as possible.
When cast in terms of the last five years, the lackluster earthquake response makes sense. Not only are we burned out on natural disasters, but our will to act was blunted by the very disaster that was meant to inspire it.
So is possible to have sustained action towards common good at Duke? After all, if these examples demonstrate anything, they show us that we're able to act as a unified campus in spurts and only in response to major tragedies-right?
As is true with so much else at the University, we can look to basketball to find the answer to the question. During basketball season, we marshal enormous energy in order to support our team-and we do it week in and week out. The will to act exists in this case because it is based on tradition and organization, but these are hardly exclusive to cheering fans and could easily be applied to national challenges.
Are we doomed to nihilistic mediocrity? Are we too soft to face the foe? Probably not, and one look at the Cameron Crazies proves it.
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