The occasion was her roommate's 21st birthday, the theme was the 90s, and the setting was Woodbridge dormitory where her friends—a majority of whom were over 21—had gathered in celebration. Around 12:30 a.m., just as the party was getting good, several campus security guards knocked on her door and, in vague terms, explained that the fun would have to stop. Her party wasn't registered and the RA, a fellow senior, had reported it because the music was too loud. Like any mass of indignant people, they went to find the RA to ask why she hadn't warned them first. "Do you think I don't want you guys to have fun?" the RA, who was now in tears, asked. That was precisely what they thought.
The school year began with long lines outside of East Campus on Friday nights, breakups of parties in Ruggles, and nostalgia for a once thriving local bar scene. That initial frenzy was intensified by rumors that the administration was imposing citation quotas on RAs, that they were systematically patrolling Facebook for any signs of party-activity, and that the university was purchasing ID scanners for local bars. Most of these rumors were dubious, but that did little to assuage the aggravation of the student body, who perceived—from the inception—an epic battle between the administration and collegiate revelers. The War on Fun—as this esteemed publication called it—was on.
But then midterms season came and, by mid-October, the panic had fizzled as quickly as it had begun. The state of the war was ambiguous. Perhaps it had ended. Or, perhaps it had only become a Cold War. Like the U.S., threatened on all fronts by the encroaching Red Menace, the administration fears one thing: lawsuits. Thus, while there is no point-by-point strategy for the takedown of fun, the university is ready to fight satellite wars wherever and whenever revelry poses legal complications.
Columbia crime statistics for the Morningside Campus reveal that in 2004, there were 11 incidents of discipline for alcohol, then 10 in 2005. In 2006, there were 61. Discipline for drug use also increased during those years, from six to eight incidents, and then to 20. There has been a persistent crackdown on the numbers at fraternity parties, more rigorous enforcement of IDs at off-campus parties, and greater restrictions placed on traditions like 40s on 40 and Bacchanal.
These statistics coincide with a changing of the guard. Two years ago Cristen Scully Kromm—previously Director of Barnard's College Activity Office—became Director of Residential Programs at Columbia. At the same time, Eleanor Daugherty was appointed Assistant Dean for the Office of Judicial Affairs and Community Standards. According to most RAs interviewed for this article, the switch resulted in tighter enforcement of residential policies, though these remain virtually unchanged. Both Kromm and Daugherty declined to be interviewed, however, so it is impossible to say how much direct responsibility they bear, or whether their appointments reflects changes from Low.
Traditionally, RAs in upperclassman dorms are uninterested in policing their charges. Nominally responsible for building community amongst a highly heterogeneous collection of seasoned cynics, many are rarely seen by their residents in any official capacity except at the beginning and end of the year when students are reminded not to smoke in bed or toss beer bottles out the window.
But when Scully Kromm began her new position, some RAs who were comfortable with the policy of benign neglect sensed a change.
"There was definitely an emphasis on adherence to protocol," said an RA, who asked to remain anonymous. ResLife "emphasized how the policies contribute to a better community, which you can believe or not depending on your personal views."
The greater emphasis on disciplining students led many RAs to quit after last year, which contributed to the decision to allow sophomore RAs. The new batch of RAs is younger, leaner and meaner. Compared to their predecessors, they're far more willing to end a party and involve Public Safety.
Though EC residents may gripe, their situation is enviable compared to that of Hartley-Wallach inhabitants. The dorm is officially substance-free, and policing has increased: on the weekends, suite inspections on weekend nights have increased from two to three per evening. Ameneh Bordi CC '10, said that one evening her entire suite was reported because two residents had a beer with dinner and left the bottles on the table.
Perhaps more insidious than physical inspection is a new method of surveillance: Administrators are on Facebook, possibly to keep tabs on the social lives of students. Dean Scully Kromm has a Facebook account with no information and no friends. One Hogan resident reported being invited to an EC party via Facebook and then uninvited half an hour later when the host received a warning e-mail about the fête from Public Safety. "I've been pissed," she said, "East Campus is where we're supposed to go."
Not according to ResLife. As one RA explained, students are not officially permitted to have parties in their rooms. Early in the year, extra public safety officials were stationed in EC to preempt possible parties.
Jim McShane, Associate Vice-President for Public Safety, said that increasing incidents of alcohol discipline may be because of Morgan Levy, who was hired two years ago as the first Dean of Judicial Affairs at Columbia. McShane believes that this increase is not due to stricter enforcement, but may have to do with the creation of a whole new position to hold people accountable once they're caught.
For over 20 years, Hot Jazz, an evening of live music and freely flowing champagne sponsored by Alpha Delta Phi, took place in the literary society's brownstone with little incident. Last year, Housing and Dining officials "discovered" that for all of those years, during which upwards of 300 people had filled the house, ADP was violating New York City's fire code. According to Scott Wright, Associate Vice President of Student Auxiliary Services, the building's maximum occupancy is 74.
ADP, which had already invested in party preparation, scrapped the party altogether after Housing and Dining approved it on the condition that only 74 people came. This year, they held it on a boat instead, but the $40 ticket and strict ID policy kept many away.
"It's overwhelming," said ADP president Michael Magdaleno, CC '08. "The people in housing haven't been helpful unless pressed to an extreme degree." According to Magdaleno, during the Hot Jazz affair, administrators postponed speaking with ADP organizers until a month before the event, took three weeks to schedule a meeting with members of the organization, and generally were "dragging their heels the entire way."
The brothers of Zeta Psi had a similarly frustrating experience, though the stakes were significantly higher. After a guest of the frat punched a hole in the ceiling, and subsequently apologized and paid for repairs, housing began the disciplinary process to have the frat expelled from its brownstone.
Frat president Alec Glucksman CC '08 postulated that Levy had strongly influenced the decision of the Greek Judicial Board. "She really doesn't like us," he said. In July, the frat was ordered to vacate its brownstone. Victoria Lopez-Herrera, Assistant Director of Greek Life, declined to be interviewed for this piece, so it's unclear whether any previous incidents colored this decision.
Wright, however, was quick to dispel notions that the end of Hot Jazz and other forms of campus partying were part of any specific administrative scheme. "I've never sat in a meeting with any colleague and heard them say, 'This campus is out of control, we have to restrain the campus,'" Wright said. "But," he was quick to add, "we cannot put ourselves in a position of neglect." Wright believes his department has the obligation to provide safe residences, even if that has the "unfortunate" consequence of killing some fun. Wright was not entirely sympathetic to the complaints of stifled students. "There are acceptable options to replace what 'fun' was referring to," he said.
Apparently, Housing and Dining defines "party" differently than students do, which is one reason that most frat parties go unregistered. If a party is approved for registration, its host organization is required to provide graduate student proctors at the event to oversee a strict one-beer-per-hour rule. "We registered a party two years ago and it worked out pretty well, but people were upset because of the drink limit," said Scott Hughes, CC '08 and Sigma Chi president. "It wasn't a traditional frat party." Technically, registration is required if there are to be more than 40 people in a house at the same time. In most houses, this means that if every brother invites one friend, they are in violation of policy.
With a certain inventive spirit, hosting a rousing party with a trio of unknown grad students telling people not to drink might be possible. The trouble is, these party-poopers don't do it for cheap. According to Hughes, the three proctors necessary for a three-hour event cost around $180, at $20 per proctor, per hour. Most frats don't have that kind of money.
Recently, the Inter-Greek Council has been attempting to reform party registration guidelines. In early December, the group drafted a policy and presented it to Lopez-Herrera. The policy would allow fraternities to have more beer at parties and eliminate the one-beer-per-hour limit. The plan also currently proposes substituting graduate student supervisors with representatives from other fraternities—a point that Hughes acknowledges "may be harder to sell."
The War on Fun has also made it more difficult for student groups to gather together on the weekends. "You scrounge for people's suites or you go to 1020 with the people who can," said Bordi, a member of CU Players. "There's no space anywhere for anything, so having fun gets pushed to the wayside."
Student Development and Activities has become crotchety about permitting organized on-campus gatherings where alcohol is served. In previous years, at the senior class's monthly Lerner Pub, students were IDed at the door, but once they were inside it wasn't too hard to snag three or four of the 700 Miller Lites. This year, a limit of 550 beers has been imposed—that is, the maximum capacity of the room times two. At the last Lerner Pub, a guard was stationed at the door of Lerner Party Space to stop admission as soon as the room was filled to capacity.
"I was under the impression that the first three Lerner Pubs ran smoothly," said Senior Class president Neda Navab. "It came as sort of a surprise to me that they were enforcing the rules." To supplement the policed Lerner events, the senior class council hosts weekly senior nights at Amsterdam Café, which (surprise!) have been well attended.
But these are only unpublicized, strategic air strikes compared to SDA's high-profile assassination of last year's 40s on 40—the cherished, anti-establishment tradition in which seniors sit nursing bottles of malt liquor on the Low steps 40 days before their graduation. Of course, the virtue of having a campus with gates that essentially demarcate a playpen for students is that it's conducive to such public acts of mild intoxication. Predictably, SDA no longer agrees. Last year people stood around in a white-fenced corral on Low Steps, two IDs to drink. The day was neither 40 days before graduation, nor were students permitted to drink 40s.
Due to an odd exception in SDA rules, Bacchanal is the only non-student-council group allowed to purchase alcohol, a privilege which they have traditionally used to throw open bar parties and large events on campus in the spring. Juniors Jordan Keenan and Jeremy Reich, president and vice president of the club, recall parties from their freshman year that were liberally supplied with cheap beer.
But things have become more difficult. Last year, the club bought 30 cases of beer for a homecoming soirée in the Lerner Party Space, but the strict ID policy and two-drink restriction limited attendance. By the end of the party, only four of the cases were gone.
Without alcohol, it's difficult to attract Columbians to their student center on a weekend night. The Fed, which throws its semesterly Fed Bash in Lerner as well, has reported similar problems.
"Nobody wants to come to a place where they get their mail and eat their lunch to go to a party," said Keenan.
While suites are too small and well-policed for big parties and space on campus is too tight to organize parties people want to go to, getting university money for off-campus events is no easier. This year, Bacchanal was not allowed to throw its traditional last-day-of-classes party at an off-campus bar because SDA Associate Director Robert Taylor said it would be an unfair use of student life fees to pay for an event which only half the student body could legally attend. John Rawls would agree. But the underlying reason is liability—the university can be held responsible for any incidents that occurred on its dime.
The class of '09's semi-formal, held at Havana Central, was the first official off-campus student group party where an 18-to-party, 21-to-drink policy was enforced: its posters warned attendees that the bar would only accept "real, valid, legal, legit, scannable, and black-lightable forms of identification."
All this would be manageable if students could still count on being able to escape the policed dorms to slake their thirst at local bars. But—zut alors!— Columbia's squeeze on consumption has coincided with a citywide crackdown on underage drinking and fake ID sales. Our neck of the woods is faring particularly poorly: Mona and Roadhouse have both closed in the last year. The West End, formerly a haven for underclassmen without look-a-like older siblings, was replaced by ID scanner-equipped Havana Central. The Heights, also formerly a freshman haunt, recently hired a professional bouncer after repeated raids by local police. According to Maria, a bartender at The Heights, since then the bar has been significantly less crowded. The faithful remnants believe that it is only a matter of time until Columbia's administrators relax their war against fun.
The piecemeal, peripheral-war strategy makes retaliation difficult. But the domino theory was disproved long before the fall of the Berlin Wall, so students can only hope that administrators think of a less destructive containment strategy. "They're not managing risk, they're just managing their responsibility for risk," says Reich. "The only group it's benefiting is the administration. It's not helping students, and it's not lowering the risk for them; students are safer when they're out in public spaces and not alone in their rooms."
- Not for Four Years
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