I Was Wrong Being “Right”
Danny Rangel
The moose looked at me like he might just want to devour my face. He wandered about, sniffing at the grass, staring at cars, ignoring the Dartmouth students crowding around—most of them, anyway. He kept glancing back in my direction, seemingly debating which of my limbs would be the most delicious. I kept my distance—this giant beast of a thing looked like it could do some damage—but the students smiled and giggled and laughed at the moose, searching for signs of a possible (and deadly) charge at the crowd. But the moose just sauntered about, paying attention to no one, lost in its own lack of concern, the kind of confidence brought about by years of being the baddest motherfucker in the New Hampshire wilderness.
I was thus introduced to Hanover, the pinnacle of civilization, the place where a moose can so casually take up space between the East Wheelock residential cluster and the gym. During my first two years at Dartmouth, I can’t quite say I was as comfortable in Hanover as the giant moose.
My first full day as a college freshman, I was sure I wanted to write for the Dartmouth Review. Today, I look back on this and want to vomit at the memory, along with any other ridiculously offensive comments I must have made in those days. To all those who had to suffer my pretentious, conservative bullshit: apologies all round, I really didn’t mean it, it wasn’t my fault, I wasn’t even there, my dog ate it, it was actually you…etc.
In any case, it felt strange to be such a flaming conservative inside the liberal beltway that is Dartmouth College. I was angry. I was pissed. But all of a sudden, something appeared in the sky to wipe away all my anger towards liberalism and focus all of it on Republicans. In the skies above Hanover in May of 2006, a gift flew by that cemented my long shift towards becoming a Democrat: the College Republicans, or the Dartmouth Review, or Darth Vader, or Lex Luthor paid for a plane to pass over the college with “Illegals are criminals. Send them home” emblazoned on a giant banner for all to see.
That was the day I decided to be a Democrat. That’s the day I’d had enough of my own bullshit. And that’s the day I decided I didn’t like it at Dartmouth all that much, not with that kind of people around. Things have changed since then, but when I looked up and saw that banner, I knew I couldn’t just revert to what I believed in high school. These people were going after my parents—these people were going after my friends and my family.
Thus, I became the “angry minority” for the next two years. I was one of those guys. The kind of guy that looks at a bad grade on a paper and says, “Damn. That’s racism right there.” The guy who sees the white guy cut in front of him at the Foco grill and thinks, “Damn, that’s mad racism right there.” That guy. Do you know that guy? He’s really annoying and you’re ALWAYS being racist to him. I mean, there’s not a goddamn thing you can say to the guy that’s not gonna piss him off.
Example:
Person A: “Hi, Danny, how are you?”
Me: “Fuck you, that’s racist.”
Yeah, it was a problem. At some point, I started hating rich people in addition to white people. So, even if you were a minority, even if you once had any sort of street cred, if I saw that you went on a cruise for spring break, if you made some reference about going to Europe with your six friends in high school, then I hated you just the same. It was incredibly stupid, I know, and I look back on it and cringe at the things I must have said, the way I must have treated people.
But there’s something to be said about a place like Dartmouth, something to be said about the way our social dynamic works here that could make this possible. What is it about this place that changes people? Is it just the people around us, the air of privilege, the Norman Rockwell feel of the campus itself? I’m not sure what it is. I’m not sure if the change would have happened if I’d stayed closer to home and gone to UCLA. Is Dartmouth a unique enough place to make us into different people?
Perhaps, and perhaps not. Ultimately, I believe that some of the mistakes I made during my college years could have been avoided. I believe that so much of the social meandering I went through for the initial years didn’t have to happen. Also, I don’t think I’m the only one in this position. In my time here, I’ve found plenty of people who shared my views. The amount of privilege and pretentiousness here is at a ridiculously high level, and it’s pretty hard not to notice.
But there was a point when I realized that the angry minority contributes nothing. No, really, he contributes absolutely nothing. In fact, he may even be responsible for continuing the cycle of political correctness that’s become so rampant on this campus. Not that political correctness is wrong. No, actually it’s generally good under most circumstances—the circumstances that exist once you step off Dartmouth’s campus. It’s strange for someone on the Dartmouth Free Press to say this, I agree, but I think most of what I thought I was fighting for—pointing out racism as I saw it everywhere, making resentful comments about wealthy students on campus, generally being a bitter douchebag—was counterproductive in the end. It was shallow. I can see that now.
And if there’s one thing I can leave to people who enter this place for the first time, it’s this: there are so many things about this place you might learn to dislike. Dartmouth isn’t the dream that they’ve created for you. But that doesn’t mean you have to hate the place. I started to hate the place because I thought it signified everything I was not—preppy, rich, and flamingly Caucasian. But then, like many of us who find themselves in that position, we start to love this place for all its flaws.
There it is, right there. Just when I start to love the place, they’re asking me to leave. Not only are they asking me to leave, they’re asking me to get a job. Don’t they realize I finally love it here? I’ve finally found the right level of comfort, the circle of friends that couldn’t be better, the living situation that can’t be matched, the weather that’s finally cooperating with my California roots—Jesus, it’s like they’re kicking me right in the ass when I finally have got the hang of things. I’m not pissed at white people. Christ, I LOVE white people. Rich people? I want to BE a rich person, who the hell doesn’t? Dartmouth? HOLY SHIT THIS PLACE IS AWESOME. Doesn’t anyone understand I need another year here? College should be five fucking years long, this doesn’t make any sense.
Unfortunately, I’ve completed (or will soon complete) most of my graduation requirements, which means President Wright will actually give me a diploma during Commencement and not that blank piece of paper they’ve been threatening to give to people who fuck their life up. Goddamnit, I want that blank piece of paper, maybe I should just go apeshit on that stage, that way I’ll never graduate. That way, I still get to write pieces for the DFP and actually get them published. That way, I can still write plays and actually have them produced by the Theater Department. I’m gonna miss all of it, all the opportunity this place provides—even if there’s definitely some massive douchebaggery around, I’ve learned to love those douchebags. Ridiculously dominating Greek culture. I love it. Lack of a real alternative social space and a decent dance club/sports bar? Fuck it, that’s fine. Bands of drunken college kids dancing around a massive bonfire during Homecoming? I love that shit. If it wasn’t for this place, I’d still be that conservati
ve asshole I was four years ago. If it wasn’t for Dartmouth, I’d be telling everyone that history will soon redeem George W. Bush and his magnificent leadership skills.
Damn, thank god I didn’t go to UCLA.
