From Shiraz Allidina's "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96 From Shiraz Allidina's "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96Mandating behaviorFrom Shiraz Allidina's "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96Mandating behaviormodification as part ofFrom Shiraz Allidina's "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96Mandating behaviormodification as part ofdisciplinary action is anFrom Shiraz Allidina's "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96Mandating behaviormodification as part ofdisciplinary action is animproper exercise ofFrom Shiraz Allidina's "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96Mandating behaviormodification as part ofdisciplinary action is animproper exercise ofUniversity power.From Shiraz Allidina's "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96Mandating behaviormodification as part ofdisciplinary action is animproper exercise ofUniversity power. It must have been a wonderful experience for freshmen this year to enter these great halls of ours having been edified by Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. I can't think of a better way to launch a college adventure. I was, however, dismayed, even appalled, to hear analogies made between that book and the Penn experience. To this I say "Pish!" (It is customary to follow this with a "tosh," but my editor informs me that this would be excessive.) I would postulate that the healthier, more sensible members of this year's freshman class will, of course, look forward to being intellectually challenged, but will be slightly keener on the more debaucherous aspect of college. And who's to disagree? Good luck to 'em, I say. The trouble is, the University has taken it into its collective head to make wassailing, carousing and general Dionysian revelry as difficult as possible for students. Take a case from my innocent, frolicking, sophomoric days. I remember one particular occasion, at a fraternity party, when I was sucking down a can of beer in what I imagined to be a Hemingwayesque manner. Dancing to the mellow strains of Eddie Grant's immortal "Electric Avenue," I felt delirious with the freedom of youthful foolishness. Suddenly, the dance floor cleared, and looking around, puzzled, I noticed an Officer of the Law heading my way. I responded with a nonchalant, Hemingway-like glance and took a swig of brew. He was not amused. I complement Penn Police on tracking me down after I had given them a false name and address -- nice work, boys. A letter came for me a few months later announcing that I was to face the infamous Judicial Inquiry Office. At the time, this department had a pretty bad rep, so I naturally expected a kind of Spanish Inquisition. However, the JIO officer facing me turned out to be a reasonable, highly competent and sensible person, who, having ascertained that I wasn't a menace to the general populace, let me go with a relatively light "settlement." I use these atrocious quotation marks to indicate that it was not in fact a settlement in the conventional English sense of the word. It was more of a punishment which, if I knew was good for me, I would accept. And I did. Part of my requirements were that I visit an alcohol counselor. "I know you don't need counseling," said the officer, "but this is a formality." Eventually I did see this counselor, who was, regrettably, less reasonable than the JIO lady. She asked me if my parents knew I drank, and I replied that, yes, I go out for a beer with my dad whenever I'm home. She didn't like the idea that I believed drinking in moderation to be an acceptable social phenomenon. I mentioned that in France they give red wine to schoolchildren and she became very offended, saying that if the FDA were to evaluate alcohol today, it would not be approved for American consumption. I couldn't believe it. I was facing a real, live, apoplectic neo-prohibitionist. What is even worse is that I was required by University policy to meet with her. I don't mind the fact that I was busted for having the temerity to consume alcohol at the tender age of 20 years and five months. I understand that as long as I'm living in a country, I must accept the consequences of breaking its laws, however ludicrous they may be. What I object to is the University doctrine -- known to the cognoscenti as In loco parentis -- that dictates that an administrator should seek to modify my behavior. While I was illegally holding a beer, I was not threatening harm or being disruptive toward other students, and my academic standing was good. The University, as an institution, should not be concerned with our private lives. As long as I am competently fulfilling my duties as a student, whether I'm a heroin addict is one, immaterial, and two, none of the administration's business. The issue here is that the University, regardless of what it may think, has no parental mandate. It is an educational institution, plain and simple. There is no reason for tuition money to go to administrators who, in an altruistic vein, seek to insinuate themselves into students' personal lives. Similarly, the University has no business inviting others, like Liquor Control Enforcement officers, to do so. Those of you who have studied large organizations know that numerous conflicting objectives tend to render a body ineffective. The University seeks to be a broad-minded institution of ideas; wearing a parental hat will ultimately weaken that focus. My mother spent nine terrible months carrying me in her womb and 23 more years whipping me into shape. My father has gray hairs that speak volumes about my mischievous childhood. They are my parents, God bless 'em. I don't need another set.
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