Hey YCC, this ain't high school

By David Wertime

I didn't vote in last week's Yale College Council (YCC) elections. Of course, there were plenty of other typical, silly Yale activities that also didn't make the cut, including signing up for the Yale Hunger and Homelessness Action Project (YHHAP) "fast" and doing my homework. But there was something beyond the typical laziness and surly rebelliousness that lay at the heart of my decision not to vote. It was not a disgust with the YCC, about which I know blissfully little; it was a disdain for the larger institution of resumé-padding.

Yes, YCC presidents, secretaries, and acting associate committee directors, I was once like you. Like most Yalies, my college application glows with words like "captain," "officer," and "president." In high school, these titles didn't indicate that you could do anything passionately or effectively; it was just a matter of wanting to create titles for yourself, pushing your way over other people, and taking on responsibilities for which you were clearly unprepared. In other words, you just had to be a jackass—which, for me, was no problem. But college brought a sense of perspective. Arbitrary designations of authority seemed useless in a community of 5,000 individuals dedicated to their pursuits.

Unfortunately, I relapsed into the high school ethic around the time of the YCC elections. Among other things, they proved that the back door to fancy positions is wide-open, even at a major university. It is shocking that someone who received votes from just one-ninth of the student body was elected its president. None of the other position-fillers got more than one-fifth of the student body's support.

Of course, YCC reps will tell you that the low turnout is the fault of the student body for not caring enough about the group that represents them. This is a logical fallacy. If we don't vote and we don't care about the YCC, then the YCC is hardly representing us. The Administration does its own thing. New Haven residents don't know what the YCC is and wouldn't care if they did. And this year's candidates hardly represented the diversity of the student body. Every candidate fell into one of two molds: the silly, rebellious outsider who wouldn't have known what to do if elected (are you reading, Rumpus staff?), or the insider who swore by the value of a student government whose most noble function is, according to one candidate for YCC secretary, picking up trash [YDN, 4/15/99].

The image of pained self-sacrifice that YCC representatives try to convey is utterly laughable. Working in student government can be a big commitment, but I can see little intrinsic value to doing unforgiving, menial work for a bunch of rich, snooty college kids who won't even take $8.50 per hour dining hall jobs because they have to "touch food." It can be nothing but the sense of power and superiority that makes it all worthwhile. But more than the thrill of walking around in an official "YCC" shirt during Spring Fling like a petty tyrant, there is the allure of the résumé.

A resumé is like a forgiving, senile relative. It only vaguely remembers what you do, and tends to put a flattering gloss on that vague memory. More importantly, it doesn't care how well you did anything, or—happily for next year's YCC officials—how you got there. But at some point, we have to stop trying to satisfy Great Auntie Martha and start looking at ourselves and at the relationships we forge with other people. When we face that proverbial academic, political, or spiritual St. Peter, the gates will open for those with vision and verve for the future, not those sporting a laundry list of past activities. So, to all current and would-be resumé padders: get your minds out of high school. And stop telling us who's in charge.

David Wertime is a sophomore in Morse.

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