Black out.
It’s one of the most popular terms in today’s collegiate word bank, infused with plenty of meaning and memories (or, more to the point, the lack thereof).
It’s also one of the most problematic terms in what has become today’s acceptable collegiate culture, with far too many stories of dodged responsibilities and nights gone wrong buried under it as a rationalization or, worse, a laughing acceptance.
From Orientation Week in 2015 to K-Ville in 2018, during the majority of the parties at Duke University, many a person has blacked out. And while it’s unfortunate to see a fellow student hauled off in an ambulance or slung over the shoulders of friends at the end of the night, at least they’re headed somewhere safe—be it from others or from themselves.
Because more often than not, we choose to stay at the party, playing a dangerous but guiltily exhilarating game of “Black out, Black in.” We dance with the unwarranted courage and lowered inhibitions that alcohol engenders, praying that we aren’t putting ourselves in jeopardy as we lose all self-control. We close our eyes and turn off our brains and let our youthful bodies lead the way, progressively numbing all sense of responsibility for our own actions with each excessive chug. And we have come to foolishly expect nothing worse than a hangover in the morning, and a good story to share later in the day (that is, if we can remember enough of the story to tell).
But the gap in truly comprehending what our bodies might be capable of when our brains are drowned in alcohol holds within it a terrifying sea of possibility.
When we black out, we lose our inhibitions. That is, we lose our “voluntary or involuntary restraint on the direct expression of an instinct.” Simply put, we lose the rational ability to read situations, to reason with others and to recognize our own compromised state of being. When we black out, we give ourselves over to pure, unadulterated instinct, with a heavy lean into our willingness to take risks, not recognizing the level of risk itself. We blindly throw ourselves into endeavors, behaviors and speech that we would never even consider when we’re sober.
In 2012, Campus Safety Magazine published a study revealing that 69 percent of perpetrators of sexual assault consumed alcohol before their actions. It’s not a giant leap to imagine that if we had the statistics for actions of general harassment or the creation of uncomfortable situations fueled by blacked-in, blacked-out interactions, the numbers would likely be just as high. And these are crimes committed by men 99 percent of the time.
With a justice system that cannot fathom the reality that there are far more drunk perpetrators who rape others than drunk victims who are raped (69 percent of perpetrators vs. 43 percent of survivors), it is horrifying that 18-to-22-year-olds at Duke University continue to practice and celebrate the idiotic, dangerous culture of blacking out. We are more informed than ever, and yet we reject our own role in perpetuating a toxic culture.
At Carolina Cup. At Beach Week. At PChecks. Away formals. Barn parties. LDOC. Halloween. Shooters. Off-campus. On-campus. O-Week.
Because which college kid is going to be thinking about getting consent when they’re not even able to think about anything but that which is directly in front of them? And which college kid is going to remember their bystander training when they're too drunk to take care of themselves?
Of course, well-mannered men don’t suddenly become irrational beasts with too much to drink, and subsequently view women's bodies for conquest. Structural patriarchy has contributed to the ways our society treats the issue of sexual assault—and some men will exhibit predatory instincts no matter drunk or sober. However, when we willingly try to black out, our behavior does nothing to alleviate the growing epidemic of sexual abuse, already rife with cues and perceptions and complexities.
It’s not like we don’t know all of this, either. We don’t need a(nother) student journalist to sit on their well-positioned column and pronounce that binge-drinking is bad—unless you’re drunk while reading this, in which case I’ll speak outside of AP Style for good measure: BINGE DRINKING IS BAD.
And although it can’t be said too often, we really don’t need to continue shaming and subsequently punishing those who drink too much and find themselves on the wrong side of a horrifying incident, like the victims involved with the cases of Saifullah Khan and Brock Turner.
What we need is to stop blacking out so that we might become the intentional community members we promised to be as 18-year-olds during those orientation week seminars we forgot all about.
So that we don’t place the burden on our friends’ nights by making them take care of us.
So that we can empower our actions, rather than strip ourselves of self-control and rationalize with embarrassing regrets.
So that we can create a better “party” environment, one where we don't trick ourselves into believing our actions exist in a vacuum.
So that we might be better able to prevent the 69 percent from doing something awful, or to prevent something awful from happening to the 43 percent.
We need more active bystanders, and we need less blacked-out dudes, to set an example for those 18-year-old boys looking to 21-year-old boys to show them how to operate at Duke.
So on my 21st birthday yesterday—and onward—I've opted out of playing the game of “Black out, Black in.” I think we’ve all become too smart for that now.
Out of desperation, and for lack of a better metaphor, we need to black in for good.
Jackson Prince is a Trinity junior. He is the Editorial Page Editor of The Chronicle.
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