When the alumni returned to Duke this past weekend, there was a common thread of conversation among the five- and ten-year-outs: "Man, when I went to school here, it was so much cooler."
Kegs lined the quad, and the drainpipes flowed with jungle juice, apparently. Okay, maybe not. But at least there were parties-parties where people could get drunk and where no one got in trouble.
Now, as campus socialites can frequently be heard complaining, the Duke party scene is a shell of its former self. Vigilante RCs like Lesley Hill and restrictions on everything from tailgating to LDOC have effectively squashed the campus social scene, we're told. And students are NOT happy.
But let's stop to think for a moment about what people are so unhappy about: by enacting alcohol policies that restrict the distribution of alcohol to minors, Duke has stopped fully supporting routine law-breaking on campus.
The thing is, I don't think anyone really thinks of underage drinking as breaking the law, because all of the adults-turned-University-policymakers did exactly the same thing when they were in college. But does that make it okay?
As a third-year freshman Resident Advisor, I've had to grapple with this issue more than most. Personally, I don't agree with the 21 drinking age. I think it's much more dangerous for freshmen to sneak around with bottles of everclear-laced Snapple than to learn to drink responsibly by sharing a beer with classmates, professors and yes, even RAs.
I'd rather not have to write up my residents for alcohol infractions and consequently preclude them from being open with me about their drinking habits. I'd rather know that they would come to me if someone were really sick without fear of repercussions. I'd rather be able to find out if one of them had a serious alcohol problem. I'd rather be told if someone threw up, got hurt or was sexually assaulted while intoxicated. I'd rather just tell them how I really feel: "Drinking under age is fine. I did it; everyone did it. But please just be safe, and for the love of god don't drive."
But I don't. I follow the rules. I try to tell them that I put their safety first, that they should worry about consequences much more grave than black marks on their Duke disciplinary record, that they should think of me as a resource before an enforcer. But at the end of the day, if I see them with alcohol, I file an incident report. After all, it's in my contract.
In some ways, my situation is analogous to that of every school administrator when they try to decide how far to take alcohol enforcement. The choice, it seems, is between looking the other way while underage kids drink and hence disregarding the law, or going enforcement-heavy and pushing the party scene off campus where it can't be monitored and won't fall under University jurisdiction. Like the "cool" parents in high school who let their kids have parties because they'd rather have them drunk and home than on the streets, modern universities find themselves in a Catch-22. Flout the law or disregard the safety of their students? Regulated on-campus disobedience or off-campus mayhem? Duke, like many schools, has chosen to let the tap keep flowing.
Better to have students on campus under University supervision than passed out in the back of fraternity houses, the rationale goes, and I'm hard pressed to disagree. Yet something about the whole thing feels fishy to me. Administrators don't just have a contract with the University that mandates enforcement, as RAs do; they're bound by state law.
Eager to appear like it's at least attempting to comply, the University has adopted a policy whereby events with alcohol must either be registered as BYOB, or feature University-approved bartenders dispensing beverages. This is the so-called draconian policy limiting alcohol consumption on campus. But those of us charged with enforcement of this vague proclamation know it's really just a wink and a nudge saying that as long as you're not on East Campus, everyone is assumed to be 21.
But what is lost in such a policy goes far beyond legality, though that's part of it. At universities where the task at hand is theoretically preparing students for life in society, one of the biggest struggles is to teach honesty and accountability. Lackluster half-enforced alcohol policies teach just the opposite. They instruct students that there are indeed times when the law just doesn't apply to you, especially if you attend a private school.
Was lacrosse-gate bred out of a "culture of crassness?" How about a culture of illegality?
Some of you might argue that there is a difference between morality and law, and when the two come into conflict, morality should prevail. Indeed, that's the whole idea behind civil disobedience. But civil disobedience entails publicly and steadfastly breaking laws that are deeply out of step with one's values in order to urge their reconsideration. It doesn't mean quietly sidestepping inconvenient state statutes.
So while many on campus have taken to tossing barbs in the direction of Moneta and Co., I have a different bone to pick. If Duke genuinely feels, as I do, that the 21 drinking age causes more harm than it saves, it should be taking its cause to congress-or at least going public.
Otherwise, administrators don't really have a choice but to keep squeezing campus culture, and to keep hearing from students and alums alike about what losers we've all become.
For those of you who expect more from your university-you should. You should expect it to play by the rules, or accept the consequences of breaking them.
Corrine Low is a Trinity senior and editor of Recess.
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