OPINIONS
There are taboos on anything that disrupts the ebb and flow of everyday life, on any vocal dislike of a campus production or any pointing out of the privileged environment.
But I’d like to take this opportunity to say these things.
By privileged, I mean that most of the students on this campus are spoiled. So spoiled that heaps of money can be within the student government and when there is finally a budget town hall meeting, the vast majority of a 25-student crowd are the very bureaucrats responsible for the invisible shifting of funds.
And then I have to add disclaimers that not every single person on this campus is well off, just to ward off any arguments on technicality of generalization.
But we all know that this campus is bursting with rich kids. Just take a stroll in the parking lot and look at all the expensive cars. Go into the cafeteria and see the food that students regularly complain is sub-par, food I’d be overjoyed to have cooked and served to me three times a day. Check out that Olympic-size pool or that rock wall. Notice all the designer clothing.
The exorbitant amount of money isn’t a problem. But it’s there and it defines students’ pampered expectations.
I’ve received letters throughout my year as a columnist requesting that I stop complaining about Chapman since I chose to attend this school.
I will not shut up just because what I am saying is not complimentary. I will not be another piece of the machine, forever nodding my affirmation like an insane, battery-operated bobble-head.
I chose Chapman because it offered me financial security, which public schools could not. That reason outweighed all others. But I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to say that I was inspired by the record-setting rotating ball or the sense of community or the Nobel-prize-buffered academics.
But I don’t care if this campus is plastered in huge, solid gold, ruby-encrusted balls. And an empty shell of a student union is no breeding ground for campus community – especially surrounded by a Sodexo food monopoly that hikes vending machine prices so that I have to re-think buying a Twix bar because I can get one at a gas station down the road for half the price. And if we’re really going to talk about academics, I can’t feel safe inside a shrinking humanities department, where a giant microscope erupts to overshadow brittle paint brushes.
But I’m not supposed to say any of that. I’m supposed to grin like an idiot, plaster a Chapman sticker on my bumper and never point out that maybe this place isn’t as perfect as its gushing fountains and meticulously combed lawns imply.
The irony is that the students who gag negative opinions are only buying into the game of constant, blind self-affirmation. The only way to make progress is to acknowledge weakness and fix it, but instead there is fear of unflattering truths. So they pretend philanthropic events are a satisfactory response to poverty. They pretend that being a global citizen is a good enough response to a blatant lack of diversity.
This campus is a huge stage.
But I refuse to say the lines in the script.
Contact this reporter: michelle.thomas@thepantheronline.com
