One of the ways that the University tries to build freshman class unity is to quarantine the dining halls from swarms of hungry upperclassmen during frosh week. Unfortunately, the internal inconsistencies of the residential college system are reflected in this policy, and it is here that we can also see the law of unintended consequences at work.
The University's decision to delay the start of the "two free meals a week" program until after freshmen week each of the last two years is eminently reasonable; it is important to build a sense of unity and camaraderie from the ground up. Large groups of outsiders invading the happy paradises of the colleges would obviously complicate such efforts. But that a restriction is reasonable does not mean that those being restricted like it, especially due to the confluence of this policy and another.
The eating clubs were officially closed for both meals and extracurricular evening activities until yesterday evening; this is mostly the result of a longstanding implicit agreement with the University. This is also reasonable: Dropping freshmen into an abnormally rowdy week-long party inside the clubs would be a terrible idea. The net effect of this, whatever its origins, is that upperclassmen cannot eat at their eating clubs and cannot eat at the dining halls. In short, we are entirely on our own.
There are worse things in the world than having to find one's own food in Princeton, so please don't take this as another "woe is me!" column. I'm a big boy: I can handle feeding myself for a week. It would, however, feel nice not to be written off as collateral damage. It would be nice to feel like the colleges actually wanted us at the moment when we actually need them and they made an effort on our behalf.
The free meal program was designed in response to "[student] interest in staying connected to the four-year residential college system" without having to be a full-time college member, Executive Vice President Mark Burstein told The Daily Princetonian in February 2007. What better way to achieve that goal than to send a message of inclusion to upperclassmen when it would be most welcome? Hungry students are a captive audience; it's a fact that we'll sign up for anything if there's free food involved. Send the message that "the colleges actually do care about us" to our guts and we'll listen with our guts, which, as Stephen Colbert tells us, is where most of our thinking happens anyway.
Instead, we get the opposite message. While understandable and reasonable, these decisions clearly tell us that the colleges just don't care that much about us right now. Our gut reaction to that is far less temperate than the reasoned one our brains put forth. And as our country is currently teaching us once again, visceral reactions are far more important and powerful than reasoned ones. The consequence of shutting out upperclassmen is continuing to erode the connection between our colleges and us.
Incidentally and ironically, the closure of the eating clubs is also an unalloyed godsend for campus fraternities and sororities. By closing down 10 of its betes noirs, the eating clubs, during this critical week the University has opened the door for Greek life to flourish.
Think about it: During what other week of the school year is the campus social scene so shaped by frat parties? Every frat or sorority on campus is throwing massive room parties to kick off rush. During the regular school year these parties are more of a sideshow; with the Street effectively neutered they are the life of campus. Without this week to themselves, the fraternities would have a much harder time recruiting new members.
All room parties serve hard alcohol, but when room parties are the only game in town, the campus scene as a whole becomes much more dangerous than normal. This fact, an unintended consequence of the University's policies, is part of a pattern in how the University deals with on-campus alcohol abuse: Identify a problem, then enact a well-intentioned solution that addresses a symptom but ends up making the problem worse. The road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions.
Barry Caro is a history major from White Plains, N.Y. He can be reached at bcaro@princeton.edu.
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