At some point during this year's keg jump, probably soon after the severe trauma to my mouth and legs had rendered me delirious, it occurred to me that here was a piece of Dartmouth I truly loved. Granted, it wasn't a big piece; but it was fun, student directed, and symbolically reflective (for better or worse) of a weekend I adore.
The following Monday, with my legs elevated and iced, I decided to take a break from my readings on New England Puritans to check out The Dartmouth. There I found a fairly eye-catching editorial proclaiming "V-Day," whose author hoped to de-stigmatize female anatomy by reciting "vagina poems" at the Top of the Hop. At first, I laughed; the juxtaposition of the devout Pilgrims with a liberating vagina monologue was just too much. But the author's tone clearly reflected passion, and while I found her mission a bit unusual, I also recognized someone who had found a niche at Dartmouth. It was a world away from mine, but no less important.
Which brings me back to the Puritans, who probably would have either sacrificed a nearby witch or fled in horror if confronted with either of the above. The first men and women to settle this northern clime envisioned a utopian world that would be as "a city upon a hill," a model for humanity's redemption. Unfortunately, as soon as the growing Puritan community became dispersed, this idealistic goal became more difficult to define. More cities sprung up on nearby hills, and each of them developed unique notions about the nature of their religious mission. Slowly, Puritan leaders grudgingly accepted this plurality of opinion and abandoned the idea of a "pure" community in favor of one that boasted a number of micro-communities, each unique in its own way.
Like the Puritans, Dartmouth's community has grown to include a large group of people from different backgrounds with a variety of strong opinions. This diversity has also forced Dartmouth to confront similar challenges: how can we maintain a sense of common purpose amid growing diversity? how can a diverse group of people best learn from each other? These kinds of questions lie at the heart of today's fractious struggle over Dartmouth's social and residential future.
In response to these challenges, the faculty voted unanimously last Tuesday to de-recognize all CFS houses because of their "exclusive" nature. Tom Luxon criticized the system for its "privilege of discrimination," while Susan Ackerman called it "antithetical to our message of openness." They believe that by eradicating every exclusive residential option on campus and placing everyone in large dorms, students will share their diverse backgrounds for the betterment of all.
In my opinion, this rarified idealism belies a kind of unwillingness to deal with the complexities of diversity. Sure, large residential dorms will accommodate the living needs of people as diverse as keg jumpers and vagina poets, but aside from a common physical plant and an adherence to the same vague communal goals, what will they have in common? Will these macro-communities allow students to find their unique piece of Dartmouth? I have my doubts.
What seems more likely is that as the college absorbs fraternities, sororities and other off-campus houses in order to make them part of a larger residential system, these little pieces of Dartmouth will lose their unique character. The diversity we enjoy today, and hope for tomorrow, will be watered down in this amalgamation of random interests. The irony here is that the faculty wants to make Dartmouth more "diverse" by reducing the diversity of residential options. Go figure.
Somewhere between a Supercluster and a Greek house must lie a balanced living arrangement that simultaneously recognizes the need for a diversity of groups, as well as diversity within them. If we find it, we may come closer to creating "the college on the hill" that our Puritan founders envisioned.
