I slowly walked into Kline Commons, the dining hall at Bard College. The sorry excuse for a cafeteria, where I munched on hotdog pizza and fries with mayonnaise, was full of students, despite the fact that dinner was over. In the middle, two tables had been pulled together and eight or so students were frantically sorting through papers, testing microphones, and trying to settle down the eager crowd. I saw what the crowd was so anxious about; behind the tables there was the most magnificent pyramid of beer I had ever seen. This stronghold of alcoholic goodness must have contained nearly 50 racks of beer.
I sat down with the rugby team, who had already sent a couple of freshman to wait near the table, ready to snatch up as much booze as physically possible when the time presented itself. I watched as a nerdy boy with a wild mane of red hair and slightly crooked glasses timidly approached the main microphone that stood in front of the table. He tested the mic a few times, as if he was afraid of what he was about to commence. Finally, he spoke up: “In just a few moments, Budget Forum will begin. For those of you who have not attended before, tonight we are going to vote on the way the student budget will be distributed amongst the many groups. Each group will have its chance to request to receive more money by attempting to take from another group’s allotted budget. They will both get to speak and then a vote will be taken by a show of hands”. At this moment, he cleared his throat in great discomfort. “Alright, you guys can come up and take some beer.”
Immediately, a rush of students ran to the front, and within moments, every case of beer had found an owner. Students began to drink, regardless of age. Security didn’t come to Budget Forum. The school knew what was going on. They didn’t care. All it meant was that there was less work for them to do, and that the extraordinarily liberal students would shut up about their ’federalist’ administration. As we drank, students began to approach the microphones. There was an abundance of ridiculous clubs at Bard, and the legitimate ones were quick to decimate their budgets. After about an hour, the wealth had been redistributed and everyone, except for those groups who wished to be granted money to watch clouds and build flying machines, was happy and intoxicated, ready to get on with their Wednesday night.
I made a strange revelation in my drunken stupor as the other rugby players and I stumbled down the road to our dorms. That night, I had seen true democracy in action. There were no representatives, elected based on well-worded lies and promises of a brighter future, speaking for us. The budget hadn’t been distributed by a small group of students that had their own personal agendas. The budget was decided by the people, and represented the true opinion of the student body. This was the way a democracy was supposed to be. No parties, just people.
However, after watching the speeches and commercials made by both Obama and McCain, I saw the flaw in democracy that I should have easily seen at the Budget Forum. When each group went up, they spoke against the group from which they were taking from. Instead of making their own budget plans clear, they attacked the legitimacy of the other group. Then, to make sure they would get the vote, they promised to use their budgets to throw parties at which they would provide beer. Instead of voting for groups based on their group’s potential impact of campus, we voted for groups based on the likelihood that their budget would return to us, the people, in keg form. This is not much different than what the presidential candidates are doing to us now. They promise change in return for a vote, which is no different that the promise of beer. What is change? The policies aren’t as radical as they are made out to be, and the change might not be as significant as they say.
I think that people need to watch out for the beer when they are casting their vote in the upcoming presidential campaign. While a little beer on occasion is fine, you don’t want to wake up on a street corner, dazed and confused, wondering why your shoes are gone and if you should get that weird rash looked at by a doctor. Or, even worse, you could wake up in Iraq, without a ticket home for nearly a decade. Let’s try to learn from our drunken mistakes, as we finally overcome the hangover.
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