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(10/18/17 11:08pm)
Millennials. Everyone hates us.
Our propensity for arrogance and merciless decimation knows no bounds. Industries, products and practices we’ve “killed” — according to the internet — include: beer, Buffalo Wild Wings, Applebee’s, golf, cars, home ownership, Harley Davidson, the 9 to 5 workweek, focus groups, dinner dates, cruises, department stores, Home Depot, relationships, “the running trend,” wine, McDonalds, crowdfunding, credit, J. Crew, love, diamonds, bar soap, lunch, vacations, the Toyota Scion, fabric softener, Canadian tourism, light yogurt, hotels, marmalade, cereal, The American Dream, loyalty programs, loyalty, and napkins.
If you type “Why are millennials . . .” into Google search, here are the top 7 autofill (aka, most commonly searched) results:
Why are millennials lazy
Why are millennials so liberal
Why are millennials hated
Why are millennials so depressed
Why are millennials so poor
Why are millennials leaving the church
Why are millennials so stressed
If you type “Why are millennials so…” into Google search, the autofill results are, well, even worse:
Why are millennials so liberal
Why are millennials so depressed
Why are millennials so poor
Why are millennials so stressed
Why are millennials so broke
Why are millennials so rude
Why are millennials so sensitive
Why are millennials so weird
Why are millennials so anxious
Why are millennials so stupid
If you’re a millennial and you’re reading this, you’ve probably heard at least one older person bash our generation. I’m particularly curious about the effect this has on a college campus. Our professors chose to work with young adults; they are surrounded by roughly 2,400 millennials daily. Over the next few weeks, I will interview professors in various departments about their impressions of millennials. Will they admit that they hate us? That they like us? Either way, why?
Which, I think, leads to an even more important question about millennial-bashing: is this sh*t okay? What are the consequences of generalizing, infantilizing and demonizing young people at every turn? What contrasts are other generations trying to create by framing their actions in opposition to ours?
I’ll hold off on telling you what I think. You’ll have to wait until I’m on the brink of graduation for that — plus, can’t you guess? Tune in next week for my first interview. I’ll try not to kill anything in the meantime.
Sara Hodgkins is an Opinion editor of this paper.
(04/27/17 1:38am)
This week our editorial focuses on reforming the judicial process at Middlebury, particularly in relation to sanctions the College is giving to Charles Murray protesters — all protestors who were in the room, turned their backs and chanted. We write this as an appeal to the administrators on behalf of those who protested Charles Murray. We urge administrators to read this carefully, with heart and soul in and ego aside. We believe that protesters did not violate community guidelines.
Here is our premise: we think the administration needs to be particularly careful, holistic and sensitive given the fraught and delicate nature of why people protested in this case. We think there are three basic ways that the College needs to approach this situation differently than they are.
First, we do not believe it fits with community guidelines to punish protesters. When we come to Middlebury, we agree to follow certain community guidelines with the intent of fostering a strong community. That is why we have an Honor Code. When people somehow betray the community, we take disciplinary action. But we argue that those who protested the Charles Murray event did so out of deep commitment to the community.
When a man to campus who calls into question the humanity of some of the students on this campus, to protest that man shows a commitment, a solidarity and a respect for the humanity of the people he dehumanizes. No, the protest did not happen in a way that was convenient for the administration (quietly with signs under a certain size, neatly outside the auditorium). Save for those who followed Murray and became violent, however, most people in Wilson engaged in a disruptive (is that not the point of protest? To disrupt oppressive systems of power?) but nonviolent protest that demonstrated not only our school’s intolerance for intolerance, but also that we stand with people of color, women and low-income students on this campus. Does it really fall in the spirit of violating community guidelines if you do it with the intention of defending community members?
We argue, then, that the protest was perfectly in line with community guidelines and with Middlebury’s core beliefs, perhaps even more so than the administration was. The protest stood up to those in authority to say that we stand with everyone on this campus who feels vulnerable today. Even if you do not believe Murray represented these things (and we disagree with you if that’s the case), then you must acknowledge that this was the intent of the protest. If this is the case, then to proceed with normal disciplinary processes — designed for those who have somehow betrayed the community — is riding roughshod over any intent of the protestors and demonstrates that the administration has not heard them. It’s not enough to smile and apologize while putting someone on disciplinary probation — if we believe these things to be true, then we should not put them on disciplinary probation.
Second, who the administration sanctions calls into serious question who in our “community” we value. The Political Science Department invited and co-sponsored a man who calls into question the humanity of many of the students on this campus. Many of these students spoke beforehand to the administration, asking for them to change the nature of the event or to disinvite Charles Murray. When their words fell on deaf ears, they organized a protest. Even students who got swept up in the momentum of the protest day-of are being punished. One student admitted to chanting “Black Lives Matter” for a few minutes during the protest. According to him, he was told he violated the “respect for persons” community guideline and was put on probation. This example begs the question: respect for which persons? Punishing a student for saying the words “Black Lives Matter” aloud, on the basis of a “respect for persons” community guideline, blatantly privileges some persons over others. Murray actively argues that the poor are less intelligent than the rich, that women are less intelligent than men and that people of color are less intelligent than white people. Yet the students who are being sanctioned by the administration are the ones who chanted “Black Lives Matter.” This demonstrates a greater concern for some people on this campus than for others.
Furthermore, this is one of many examples people of color and other marginalized groups trying to work within the system, being ignored and then being punished for protesting. Punishing the protestors, therefore, plays into the same oppressive systems of power that Murray defends, that the College claims not to defend and that the protestors protested.
Given the points above, the third point of consideration is that disciplining the protestors with intimidating judicial practices will only deepen the divides and exacerbates the wounds that surfaced when Murray came to campus. The administration is equally as complicit as anyone else in the Charles Murray fiasco. Bringing Charles Murray to campus was an act of violence against marginalized students. Any path forward must be one of mutual accountability and healing, not one that reinforces existing power structures and absolves the administration and those who brought Murray to campus of any responsibility. To hire a private investigator to identify students from videos of the protest, to send intimidating emails demanding that students turn over all texts and documents related to the protests and to discipline those who stood up for their community members will only keep tensions high and exacerbate the deep divides in our community. This is not to say that we believe everyone involved should be punished; we think no one should. In order to heal, we need to move forward such that one body of people does not exercise its power to punish another. If we want mutual understanding, we need to come together without sanctions or discipline, but with open ears and minds.
We acknowledge that there is a wide variety of opinions of whether or not Murray should have been invited, how the protestors should or shouldn’t have protested and who is at fault for the whole event. So if we disagree, and if there are legitimate arguments on all sides, then why is it fair for the administration to privately dole out sanctions as if they bear no responsibility? If we are truly the close-knit community we used to claim to be, then it doesn’t make sense for the administration to discipline without conversation or to act without listening. Any response to the Murray event needs to be mutual, empathic and have healing — not discipline — at its heart.
If you have been contacted by the administration and would like to be in touch with other students who have been contacted by the administration for disciplinary action, please send an email to samilamont@gmail.com.
Opinions Editors Sara Hodgkins ’17.5 and Edward O’Brien ’17 write about college discipline after the Murray protest.
(10/14/15 6:26pm)
Two weeks ago, the Campus published an editorial titled “Disrupt the Finance Pipeline.” We have received a great deal of support from members of Middlebury community with whom the editorial resonated. The piece discussed the tendency of driven students to gravitate blindly toward the financial sector, often captivated – for good or for ill - by the prospect of monetary stability. To a certain extent, it is a student’s own responsibility to reflect upon the reasoning behind his or her aspirations. But purposeful, motivated students with ambitions that do not align with the financial sector deserve to be met halfway. Thankfully, there are many remarkable resources affiliated with this college. One such resource is our accomplished Board of Trustees. Accordingly, the editorial board would like to call upon the Board of Trustees to aid students in their search for post-graduate work outside the financial industry.
During her inaugural address this past weekend, Laurie Patton called for members of the Middlebury community to “be bigger in [their] aspirations and yet also to be smaller and linked to a larger cause.” Many Middlebury students fit the laudable description – wildly ambitious yet deeply focused – and such students would benefit enormously from the experience, input and influence of the Trustees. Middlebury has deliberately cultivated a student body with a diverse array of interests and talents. Accordingly, the Middlebury community ought to be able to facilitate an equally diverse array of post - graduate endeavors. We readily acknowledge that the prevalence of the financial sector is a systemic phenomenon, and to suppose that a single action can negate this prevalence would be naïve. But support from the Trustees would constitute an tremendously productive step in the right direction. Therefore, we ask the Trustees for assistance in disrupting the proverbial “finance pipeline.” We are sure that grateful, qualified and eager students would answer the call.
(09/17/15 8:33pm)
During the first few weeks of the fall 2015 semester at Middlebury College, I can guarantee that one question will be repeated over and over again: “What were you up to this summer?”
The College itself is asking this question. The Center for Careers and Internships’ webpage bears the purposeful headline “What Will Be Your Sum- mer Story?” The CCI’s “What did you do this summer?” survey was emailed to us days before classes began. Students are compelled to spend their summers in deliberate, impactful ways, often pursuing practical experiences to prepare them for life after Middlebury. I find it impressive and heartening to discover the wide variety of “Summer Stories” accrued by Middlebury students; but I also worry that our collective attitude towards these varying experiences can become needlessly competitive and one-dimensional.
Language employed by the CCI consistently reinforces the potential importance of career-oriented internship work. Traditionally lucrative fields (read: finance) are often given extra attention. Emails advertising upcoming Goldman Sachs information sessions have already arrived in our inboxes. As the CCI’s internship webpage reminds us, “According to a 2014 national survey, 95% of employers said candidate experience is a factor in hiring decisions. Completing one or two internships during your time at Middlebury will give you that valuable experience!”
This situation is not unique to Middlebury. Melissa Benca, director of career services at Marymount Manhattan College in New York, writes, “Internships have become key in today’s economy... Graduating students with paid or unpaid internships on their resume have a much better chance at landing a full-time position upon graduation."
It is all too easy to rank contrasting experiences. New York Times contributor Susan H. Greenberg writes, “Summer internships are the new Harvard: prestigious, costly, insanely competitive and the presumed key to all future success... ‘Everyone is applying for them!’ my daughter said... ‘There’s so much pressure. It would be really weird to say, ‘Oh, hey, I’ll just be working at camp again this summer.’” At elite colleges like Middlebury, it is common for students to seek prestigious work-related experiences. As New Republic contributor William Deresiewicz writes, “It is true that today’s young people appear to be more socially engaged than kids have been for several decades and that they are more apt to harbor creative or entrepreneurial impulses. But it is also true, at least at the most selective schools, that even if those aspirations make it out of college—a big “if”—they tend to be played out within the same narrow conception of what constitutes a valid life: affluence, credentials, prestige.”
Is such prestige what everyone wants? Certainly, many Middlebury students will seek careers in some of the most traditionally prestigious and lucrative fields. This trend is characteristic of many elite colleges. As Deresiewicz notes, “As of 2010, about a third of graduates went into financing or consulting at a number of top schools, including Harvard, Princeton and Cornell. Whole fields have disappeared from view... It’s considered glamorous to drop out of a selective college if you want to become the next Mark Zuckerberg, but ludicrous to stay in to become a social worker.” I certainly do not aim to disparage those who have sought experience in traditionally lucrative or popular fields. But Middlebury ought to be the sort of community that would never belittle the choices of that future social worker. I do want us to embrace the notion that there are a multiplicity of “good” ways to spend a summer, and, tangentially, a college career. I want the rhetoric surrounding “Summer Stories” to acknowledge the validity of both an internship with Deutsche Bank and volunteer work with a local hospice.
In describing her hope that new mothers can respect varying approaches to pregnancy and early parenting, Amy Poehler writes in her memoir Yes Please, “‘Good for her! Not for me.’ That is the motto women should constantly repeat over and over again. 'Good for her! Not for me.'" Though giving birth and planning a college summer are wildly different undertakings, there is a degree of universality to Poehler's message. “Oh, Jane attended a Middlebury Language School? Good for her! Not for me. And John taught a summer enrichment program for middle school students? Good for him! Not for me. And Jack spent time at home with family? Good for him! Not for me. And Jill worked for Goldman Sachs? Good for her! Not for me.”
No one should have the value of his endeavors decided for him. It is possible to respect choices that do not resonate with you. Please do engage with those who seek opportunities you would not necessarily seek yourself. The ability to engage in robust, meaningful discussions with those whose aspirations differ from your own is part of the beauty of attending a small liberal arts college. But let us not conflate an experience’s marketability with its validity. Let each student’s “Summer Story” be her own.
And so I ask you this, Middlebury College: What were you up to this summer? And no matter what, good for you.
(05/06/15 9:12pm)
If you visit the “About” page on Middlebury’s website, you will find that “[Middlebury graduates] should be independent thinkers, committed to service, with the courage to follow their convictions and to accept responsibility for their actions.”
Tangentially, (or conversely?), if you visit the first page of the “Admissions” section on Middlebury’s website, you will learn that Midd describes itself as “highly selective ... Most students rank in the top 10 percent of their high school classes.”
If you ended up at Middlebury, you probably self-identify, to at least some extent, as an academic achiever. Commendably, the ways in which Middlebury students define “academic achievement” vary in depth and breadth. Cultivating diversity of thought is one of the most valuable pursuits of liberal arts colleges. Middlebury students and their talents are undeniably extraordinary. But I think the ways in which the message of “extraordinariness” is reinforced ought to cause us to pause.
In his essay entitled “The Disadvantages of an Elite Education,” William Deresiewicz, reflecting upon a combined two dozen years at Columbia and Yale, writes: “The last thing an elite education will teach you is its own inadequacy ... Elite colleges relentlessly encourage their students to flatter themselves for being there, and for what being there can do for them ... We were ‘the best and the brightest,’ as these places love to say, and everyone else was, well, something else: less good, less bright … ”
So much of the Middlebury experience revolves around an achievement-oriented narrative. I don’t care if this is a narrative you subscribe to or vocally reject – it’s still a pervasive narrative. It lurks behind the text of every CCI email advertising recruitment opportunities and career workshops. It is assumed in the classroom. It stares us in the face each time a “falling GPA” witticism is attempted on YikYak (read too often.) We are provided with a diverse array of avenues through which to put our high-achieving selves to use. There’s nothing strictly wrong with achievement being a defining component of our Middlebury experience. But there is something wrong with this being the only component of our Middlebury experience.
There are numerous ways to look at a Middlebury career. One version is just that – a career. It involves exacting as much influence, sway and exchange-value as one possibly can from the opportunities offered by this college. It involves a meticulously crafted resume and an untarnished GPA. It involves viewing Middlebury as a system to play – a mere stepping-stone on the path to “what’s next.”
I’m not as concerned with the nature of “what’s next” as I am with the very focus upon it. The person who aspires to be an executive at Goldman Sachs does not necessarily or more powerfully exemplify this problem than the person who longs to open a thoughtfully curated bookstore in Portland. Regardless of your dream, a solely future-oriented outlook merits some reflection.
I will not argue that one can entirely avoid the narrative of “what’s next,” or should for that matter. We attend an expensive institution of higher education and our tuition dollars do translate roughly to an investment in ourselves and, tangentially, in the development of future careers. But I will argue that we spend so much time worrying about who we’ll be at 26, or 46, that we forget to be 20.
As Deresiewicz writes, “Getting to an elite college, being at an elite college, and going on from an elite college – all involve numerical rankings: SAT, GPA, GRE. You learn to think of yourself in terms of those numbers. They come to signify not only your fate, but your identity; not only your identity, but your value.”
If you’re a student at Midd, you have probably, at some point in your academic career, received grades that reinforced your sense of self worth – grades that perhaps told you: “You can do anything.” And therein lies the problem, I think. We are a community of achievers operating within an institution telling us that not only can we do anything, but that the institution concretely possesses the resources to “make it happen.” And so we take the narrative of “you can do anything,” and accidentally try to do everything.
Our faculty met last week in the wake of a turbulent semester to discuss stress levels at this college. And rightly so. In his essay, “The Organization Kid,” David Brooks, describing the reflections of a group of Princeton students in the early 2000s, writes: “One, a student-government officer, said, ‘Sometimes we feel like we’re just tools for processing information. That’s what we call ourselves – power tools. And we call these our tool bags.’ He held up his satchel. The other students laughed, and one exclaimed, ‘You’re giving away all our secrets.’”
Roughly a decade later, the analogy rings true. We, as a collective student body, possess remarkable processing power. We are entirely capable of becoming high-achieving students of this college, high-achieving graduates and high-achieving members of the workforce. But a nontrivial question remains: At what cost?
An optimistic sentiment holds true – the opportunities afforded by this college are tremendous, and there’s so much we can do here. But we must stop trying to do too much. Power-tools are certainly rewarded for their behavior. But maybe, from time to time, step back. Choose your friends, choose your mental health, choose the little kid in town who needs a babysitter, choose the book that’s not on your syllabus. These, too, are rewarding undertakings.
As Deresiewicz writes, “Being an intellectual begins with thinking your way outside of your assumptions and the system that enforces them. But students who get into elite schools are precisely the ones who have best learned to work within the system, so it’s almost impossible for them to see outside it.” I will not say that the capacity to achieve should be cast aside. But I’d much rather spend these years of my semi-youth with a community of, as Middlebury itself advertises, “independent thinkers ... with the courage to follow their convictions” than one-dimensional power tools. Wouldn’t you?
(04/29/15 6:01pm)
“Hey, how are you?”
“Fine, but I have so much work to do.”
How many times have you heard this exchange? Presumably, too many to count. We at Middlebury are perpetually busy, treading water in a proverbially stormy (and decidedly cliché) sea of academic and extracurricular pressure. We complain frequently – so frequently that to do so has become merely customary, rather than declarative.
But I’m not sure we wholeheartedly dislike being so busy. I think we derive a twisted sense of comfort from the fact.
As New York Times contributor Tim Kreider writes, “[Busyness] is, pretty obviously, a boast disguised as a complaint. And the stock response is a kind of congratulation: ‘That’s a good problem to have,’ or ‘Better than the opposite.’ Notice it isn’t generally people pulling back-to-back shifts in the I.C.U. or commuting by bus to three minimum-wage jobs who tell you how busy they are; what those people are is not busy but tired. Exhausted. Dead on their feet.”
To a significant extent, “busyness” at Middlebury is self-imposed. The constraints placed on our leisure time are voluntarily sought. We chose to join that extra club, we chose to register for that rigorous course. We once chose to attend this very institution. I will not argue that, on some level, it isn’t difficult to fully conceptualize the amount of time and energy it takes to dig in and succeed at this college. I also will not argue against the somewhat rigid nature of the academic grind, losing precious moments of leisure and spontaneity along the way. But I will argue that, as much as we may occasionally (or regularly) resent the high expectations placed upon us at Midd, I think we are much more afraid of where we’d be without them.
Busyness is the most comfortable of complaints. What it not-so-humbly indicates is a lack of other, much more uncomfortable states of being – insecurity, loneliness, uncertainty, boredom. We have a tendency to do too much, perhaps because we are so afraid of having nothing to do. Washington Post contributor Brigid Schulte writes, “Somewhere around the end of the 20th century, busyness became not just a way of life but a badge of honor. And life, sociologists say, became an exhausting everdayathon ... People compete over being busy; it’s about showing status.”
What I will call the “busyness reflex” is exemplified by the urge to multitask. However, such productive intentions are doomed to backfire. Indeed, one study conducted at the University of London found that “constant emailing and text-messaging reduces mental capability by an average of ten points on an IQ test ... For men, it’s around three times more than the effect of smoking cannabis.” So if you’re constantly checking your Snaps while working on that problem set, take note – you’d legitimately be more functional if you were high.
The “busyness reflex” at Midd, is a more nuanced phenomenon than meets the eye. Students at this school who spend a semester taking three classes frequently describe how relieved they feel, how thoroughly they are able to immerse themselves in their coursework, how pleasantly surprised they are to discover that a genuine love of learning lay dormant, formerly smothered by sheer volume of work. The difference between three and four classes, it seems, can be likened to the difference between swimming and treading water. An age-old platitude holds true – less is (or can be) more.
So, what’s the solution? Four classes a semester is obviously the norm. The need to do more pervades. Our classes and extracurriculars will continue to demand our attention. This fact is out of our control. What’s within our control is the power to start giving one another permission to take a breath. The first step in addressing any problem, big or small, is developing awareness. We at Midd are caught, collectively, in a cycle of work-related woe. We announce how busy we are, look for confirmation that either a) others around us are equally as busy or that b) busyness is indicative of our own import. Both represent attempts to reassure ourselves that busyness is an unquestioned good. Somewhere along the way, we forget to step back and actually calm down.
Leisure time is important. Carve it out whenever possible. As Schulte writes, “Even as neuroscience is beginning to show that at our most idle, our brains are most open to inspiration and creativity ... we resist taking time off ... In the Middle Ages, this kind of frenzy – called acedia, the opposite of sloth – was one of Catholicism’s seven deadly sins.” I certainly would not attempt to belittle or undermine the value of hard work. But I would call for moments of peace, whether they consist of an hour-long walk through the organic garden, a 20 minute conversation with a friend that has nothing to do with school or 30 seconds spent staring into space. Try to remember that the opportunities provided by Midd are just that – opportunities. Don’t let busyness turn into a crutch.