Walk around FoCo on a Saturday or Sunday morning, and you’re bound to notice a common theme among the diners. Many are slumped in their chairs, elbows on the table to support the weight of their heads, with looks on their faces that resemble those of extras from “The Walking Dead.” We’ve all been there.
While we wonder why evolution has left our bodies inept at processing poison, we usually regale each other with the epic tales of our adventures from the night before. We tell stories of pregames held or tails attended, the perpetual struggle to get on table and how close we got to going home with that cute guy or girl from class last term. The most interesting stories (and the ones that storytellers are most excited to tell) are usually those that involve blacking out. We brag about our debauchery, but that’s fine, right? I mean, we were blacked out.
When has blacking out become a free pass to misbehave? Although we often act ashamed or laugh it off, it seems that we have some sort of misplaced sense of pride in drinking to the point at which we have no idea what we are doing. The bragging implies that losing total control of our faculties is a goal to strive toward. Further, it suggests that people who do not push themselves to that limit somehow fall short, like they just are not trying hard enough.
If I approached my friend and said “Dude, I punched a hole into a bathroom wall, stole a bike and rode it home and then threw up all over my hallway,” he’d probably be pretty concerned about my mental health and legal standing. But if I add “I blacked out, and then...” right before? I just get a slap on the back, and it’s all chalked up to silly Andres and his shenanigans. Why do incredibly dumb and sometimes hurtful things become badass when you add half a handle of Smirnoff to the equation?
I’m not here to lecture or crusade against all you miscreants — I see it in myself, too. I want to hear the stories. I laugh at the stolen bathroom signs that now grace my friends’ rooms. I find myself wanting to learn about the friend who poured her drink on the head of that guy from her class who never shuts up. And this is what concerns me. We don’t even stop to think about how we perpetuate the idea that it’s okay, or even encouraged, to drink ourselves into a stupor.
Scarier than the damage to our own bodies from this race toward blacking out, however, is the fact that, for a lot of us, blacking out becomes an escape from any sort of accountability or consequences when we do damage to others. It has gotten to the point where even the victims of these actions sometimes do not blame the drunken culprit. Think about how many stolen bikes or jackets you’ve seen shrugged off as “Well, some drunk guy probably grabbed it.” So that just makes it okay? If we don’t put some accountability back into the equation, people are going to keep thinking that acting this way is acceptable. If people who do wrong while blacked out aren’t made to realize that they are actually hurting someone, they will keep getting away with things, a lot of which are worse than stealing a fracket.
Done responsibly, drinking can be a pretty fun part of a social experience. What concerns me is that it is often done not even close to responsibly, yet people are then celebrated for their behavior. We need to change the way we think about drunkenness. If we keep cheering on our friends and encouraging each other, we will continue reaching the point where we hurt each other and ourselves. I know drinking will always be central to Dartmouth’s social culture, but once we start holding each other and ourselves responsible for the things we do when we’re wasted, we can take a huge step toward improving Dartmouth for everyone.
Andres Smith '17 is a contributing columnist.
