I am a very deep sleeper. Two years ago, I slept through the Death Cab for Cutie concert in Cameron despite the fact that, awake, I found the noise levels painful. Last year, I slept through a fire alarm. In high school, my mother knew my alarm had gone off when the wall between our rooms would start shaking. I would still sleep through it.
Which is why, when I woke up at 7:40 a.m. the first Saturday after classes started, I knew something was seriously wrong. It had been a long week: I was on a waitlist, and therefore needed to attend more classes than I was planning on taking, all while catching up with the many friends I hadn't seen in four months. It had been a late night: It was Saturday morning, after all.
And yet, there I was, lying in bed, wide awake, and thinking thoughts that would make the NRA rethink their support for the Second Amendment. What the h- was going on? It took me a while to orient myself, but when I got up and peered out the window, what I saw made me angrier.
The quad was empty. Nevertheless, on the second floor of KA's section, two speakers were perched on the outside of the window, blasting music at volume levels normally associated with air raid sirens... for no one. Apparently, the good brothers of Kappa Alpha had decided to give everyone a violent and unsolicited wake-up call for Tailgate.
At my and a friend's request, my resident assistant, Carson Denny (who wasn't on call), asked them to turn down their music. Over the course of the next few hours, he had to repeat the request twice. Another RA called Duke University Police Department. Both Carson and I contacted the resident coordinator. In the end, however, Carson had to move to a commons room in the other part of Few Quad to escape the noise.
Admittedly, this was an extreme incident, not necessarily typical of greek groups at Duke. As Carson noted in an e-mail to his residents, "For those of us who have rooms directly across from KA's section, the first two weeks of school were, frankly, hell"-hardly the status quo in the Gothic Wonderland. Ultimately, KA responded to student and RLHS complaints, and turned down the volume.
This attitude of reckless disregard for neighbors, though, is often seen at Duke.
Vice President for Student Affairs Larry Moneta was right to decry the "awful mess" left behind in the parking lot after Tailgate. However, the "'pleasure' of seeing the parking lot shortly after the crowd has dispersed" is opt-out, at least.
The pleasure of seeing the quad I call home completely covered in trash, however, is not. Off campus, if a gang of drunken louts threw beer cans all over my front lawn, I'd have a restraining order against them by lunch, and I'd make sure the police brought charges.
The problem isn't restricted to KA or Tailgate. Every time I walk by a section party with a band or DJ outdoors, I marvel at the fact that everyone at the party is indoors, listening to whatever music is being blasted on their individual room's speakers. The quad outside is empty, the music played only for other residents, who can neither sleep nor talk at normal levels over the din.
I don't mind fraternities playing music they listen to. I don't mind fraternities partying in public spaces they clean up. I really shouldn't have a problem.
Not all fraternities want to play loud music to empty quads or to trash those shared spaces, but those that do should share in each other's squalor and not subject the rest of us to their antisocial behaviors. What I am proposing is a DMZ of sorts, a quad, "frat row" or other space for them to inhabit on their own terms.
Each fraternity would have the choice to move or to stay on West, but then only on more restrictive terms. For many fraternities, this will require no change, as most greek-affiliated students, like most Duke students generally, are respectful neighbors. Independents and non-greek selective living groups who like a wilder environment could move, too.
For those that did choose to move, the "DMZ" would allow them more freedom from the tyranny of noise restrictions, the inalienable right to submerge their benches under a sea of Busch Light cans, and, generally speaking, the right to pursue happiness as they see fit.
Because, ultimately, I don't care what they do. Just not in my backyard.
David Rademeyer is a Trinity senior. His column runs every other Thursday.
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