After we graduate, what could unite us like Ivies?

Half-Assed: Django and Plato: building curricular conversancy

A meager two days after the release of the (in)famous NAS Report, I settled into a seat towards the back of Smith Auditorium to watch Quentin Tarantino’s “Django Unchained.” The film—second of Tarantino’s revenge fantasies—follows the adventures of a slave-turned-bounty hunter, who is seeking to find and recover his wife after the two of them were sold to separate plantation owners at a Greenville slave auction.
Most of the film—in my own opinion at least—addresses a single, pointed issue: the issue of black masculinity in America. It did so by meditating on stereotypes of black physicality. At one point, a suggestion is made to call a certain slave-fighter “Black Hercules.” Certainly, the film’s overall plot—Django’s (Jaime Foxx) quest to find his wife—offers abundant references to contemporary prejudices and realities of black family life. Another riveting aspect of the movie—Samuel Jackson’s unsettling performance as the consummate “Uncle Tom”—forces us to think about slavery’s legacy of African-American powerlessness. And, finally, there is a blood-chilling scene where Django is nearly emasculated (literally) before a fateful interruption.
Once again, I contend that the central theme of the film is black masculinity. What intrigues me about this inference, however, is the fact that a mere three years ago I would not have had the requisite vocabulary to come to this conclusion. I would have been bereft of the discussions and the coursework and the ruminations that give the idea of “black masculinity” any substantive meaning for me today. It is this broadening of my interests, my sensitivity and my ability to ask questions that I believe forms one pole of Bowdoin’s academic offerings.

Half-Assed

After we graduate, what could unite us like Ivies?

This piece represents the opinion of the author:

Judah Isseroff

Columnist

April 25, 2013

Ivies is approaching. There are more 4 p.m. visitors to the Union than is normal—most of them checking out and purchasing tanks, water bottles and sunglasses. Most run-of-the-mill conversations, even those between close friends, mention our upcoming festival at least once. Some goons and/or freshmen venture the classless, “I’m gonna get so fucking drunk,” approach. Most of us, however—especially the more seasoned upperclassmen—speak with a kind of hopeful caution.

It will come—and has. Our calendars and Ivies apps say so, so there’s no need to get ahead of ourselves.

Those who, like me, have missed an Ivies—for some hard-to-swallow reason or another—await the sun-soaked bliss of Brunswick Quad with the pious anticipation of Catholics during a papal enclave.

This is our ritual. It brings unity to those with or without summer employment and warmth to the sun-starved academic laborers of this campus (weather permitting).

But, barring my inability to acquire one-half of one credit this semester, this will be my last Ivies indulgence.

What, then, will be my new ritual? Over-priced Boston barhopping until my hair thins and my back gives?

Now, I realize that I’m sounding a bit maudlin and blasphemous. Ivies is a cool, college celebration, but the world will go on even after the white, Jewish rapper’s do-rag-yarmulke has left the stage.

But, I don’t think my planned antics detract from the overall point, which is this: Ivies is sacred at Bowdoin.

What does sacred mean? It means God help you if you screw around with it. The administration knows this, which is why they take so much care to ensure that it goes smoothly. There simply cannot be an incident that calls the whole thing into question.

Ivies, I say again, is truly sacred. It certainly does not glorify traditional values of service or moderation or hard work, but it does celebrate pleasure in many, if not all of its forms. Bowdoin certainly does not exist solely for the sake of Ivies’ continued vitality. However, I would argue that Bowdoin is never as cohesive of a place as it is during Ivies. Most students have never been to a Commencement; most non-first years do not show up for Convocation.

And yet, we only have Ivies so long as we are students at Bowdoin. Our calendar only revolves around this festival so long as “Spring Semester Closing Notice” emails from Lisa Rendall still pertain to us. So this reflection leads me to two questions.

First, is it proper that Ivies unifies Bowdoin more than anything else? And second, what will my Ivies be after Bowdoin?

My response to the first question is “yeah, I think so.”

For something to unify in an extraordinary way, it must happen infrequently. Bowdoin is not going to be unified fully or ritualistically by coursework or lectures or performances because these things, while valuable, are also perfunctory.

Meanwhile, the religious devotion that may have been a wellspring of common endeavor for Bowdoin students of earlier times has now receded to pockets of students here and there.
Instead, we are left with a celebration of our capacity to feel. We feel the sun. We feel the jolly buzz of alcohol. Indeed, many will feel the exhilarating suppleness of skin against skin.

For Ivies to be a sacred tradition—one which celebrates truly common (and yes, pagan) ideals—makes sense at Bowdoin.

So, what will be sacred to us after we move on, my friends in the Class of 2013?

Will there still be festivals of sensuality to unite an entire community? Will there be any community at all?

I dare say that most of us will remain just as unreligious. I would also speculate that we will become even more atomized. Employment and then the prospects of marriage—maybe even a family—all seem to hasten our retreat from common sacred spaces and rites.

If we are not bound together by shared nationality, what will be our common thread? Bowdoin has posited global citizenship as an ideal to which we should aspire. And, while I do firmly consider the life of each human sacred, the United Nations has a lot of work to do before it can sound the call of common celebration.

Communities, as the horror of the Boston Marathon bombing showed us, can still be brought together in ways that spawn enduring stories of heroism and humanity. But, I think we still need festivals to bring us together in laughter rather than tears. We need more than contentedness, we need uniquely special days that inspire heightened experiences of belonging.

In a world of seven billion individuals, with bloated toddlers at the helm of nuclear states (heres looking at you, North Korea), and in a country where democratic institutions cannot pass laws that have the support of 90 percent of the people, I genuinely do not know where real community will come from.

What I know is that Ivies is sublime. And I’ll miss it when I’m gone.

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