COLUMN: "But I Didn't Inhale..."

From Stephen Jamison's "On the Green," Fall '92. The Sixties were certainly a powerful era of rising social conscience and collective activism, but does such a pervasive climate of change and radical causes really exist at Penn? Today? Need we compare, or have you already noticed increasingly large numbers of wild-eyed students, sportin' sandals and tie-dies, protesting on College Green -- and then getting baked in between fabulous sessions of group sex? Hmm, either Time and Newsweek are truly in touch with American culture, or maybe that stuff only happens to journalists who went to Berkeley. Well, just who is holding these senseless megaphonic rallies down on the Green? It's always been groups like the Progressive Student Alliance, a mischievous and conniving little bunch of commie retreads, perpetually eager to entertain passersby with their harmless catcalls. Luckily, Penn has been spared from serious crunchy-style activism for one simple reason. At least 20.45 percent of each year's class enjoys ridiculing the latest social cause of the day -- they're the Whartonites. Please excuse my lack of journalistic integrity as this figure does not include adjustment for the presence of the Wharton Democrat(s). One may have already concluded I have no time for any type of activism, liberal or otherwise. This is simply not true. Chilled deep down in the icy caverns of my cold, cold heart, lies just another rabble-rouser. I still remember back to my hazy, lazy days as a freshman, one who was certain that he could change the world. One damp, chilly, Britain-esque, spring morning, I bagged Econ class -- this is sacrilege for a Wharton student -- and set off for College Green. Abortion rights was my cause for that particular day, and of course, I was going to the rally for Molly Yard, the quite-elderly former president of the National Organization for Women. While supporting a woman's legal option to a safe abortion, I had never agreed that it should become legally "as simple as taking a piss," as some particularly eloquent feminists might propose. I supported the Roe v. Wade decision for purely libertarian reasons -- I wanted the government out of peoples' lives. Now, having grown older, but not necessarily wiser or more sophisticated in my reasoning, I am reconsidering my abortion stance. If one decides that life is imminent at the moment of conception, then abortion is absolutely unacceptable under any circumstances. The question remains: who is best able to make this decision, the individual woman or the electorate of each individual state? Now, three years later, I'm almost too ashamed to admit that I pushed to the front of the teeming crowd, waving one of those big, blue circular placards that read "Keep Abortion Legal" high over my head, and cheering for the geriatric bitch. Fortunately, the "Action News"-cam filmed me close-up for posterity. Maintaining my future political viability will not be an easy chore. The initially peaceful demonstration grew restless as random feminist remarks and chants quickly grew and culminated into a tremendous roar led by Molly, herself. It went something like this: "Bush, Bush, make him pay! He's racist, sexist, anti-gay!" What had, until this moment, been the greatest moment of my short-lived protesting career, immediately became a sickening lump that quickly dropped from my throat to the unbounded depths of my stomach. My mind spun as I tried to piece together what had just happened. They had simply gotten off the point. They were polluting the larger message. They were unjustly defaming my hero, Reagan's heir! It made me sick. The most basic instinct of self-survival quickly supplanted my concern for Bush, as I formulated my retreat before the feminist mob could turn on the daring few males that remained. Successful escape immediately changed to weary defeat as I stumbled out the rear of the enraged mass. Hoping to collapse and collect my thoughts on the edge of the Green, I instead found myself rushed by a second, different ring of well-intentioned religious thugs shoving crosses in my face. Were they just protesting the protest, or adding insult to injury? Three years and many beers later, I have pondered the roots and implications of campus protesting. As always, I'll chalk off my freshman antics as a learning experience. However, I've developed a new understanding of our fellow student activists. No matter how amiss their reasoning, or misguided their approach, their political awareness and fervor deserve some applause for rising above the general level of apathy at our University. Despite how frightening it is that they actually believe in their causes, I nevertheless enjoy the comic relief. See you on the Green, Brother. Stephen Jamison is a senior Finance major from McKeesport, Pennsylvania. "On the Green" will normally appear alternate Fridays.