In 1788, when Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay published the document now known as “The Federalist Papers,” they used the pseudonym Publius to protect themselves from persecution. Theirs was a difficult and dangerous time when dissent was treason and free speech was a pipe dream.

Well, in the wee hours of the morning of February 23, 2010, Dartmouth’s own Publius was out and about putting up signs that accused several Greek houses on campus of racism and sexism and Parkhurst of tacit acceptance of these prejudicial behaviors. The signs proclaimed that our new Publius was holding the signs’ recipients accountable for their hurtful actions.

I have some unfortunate news for the authors of these signs: accountability is a two-way street. In his famous “I Have a Dream” speech, Martin Luther King Jr. said the following:

“When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the ‘unalienable Rights’ of ‘Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.’”

I believe that Dartmouth signed the same kind of promissory note in the fall of 1972, when women first set foot on this campus as Dartmouth students. If we have defaulted on this debt, then we ought to be held accountable by all means necessary. The problem with anonymous signs is that we don’t know where to send the new check.

As the son of a member of the last all-male class at Dartmouth, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we have come a long way in the last 37 years. My father witnessed Theta Delt sing at the infamous 1975 “Hums” (see “Early days of coeducation at the College were bitter ones” from the November 14, 1997 issue of The Dartmouth), and I have heard stories about a fraternity brother stealing every toilet seat out of the girls’ dormitory. I recognize that we still have a long way to go to reach true gender equality, but I would like to remind the members of our community who see these signs as a victory to look around them.

We do not live in the Dartmouth of the mid-1970’s. In today’s Dartmouth, anonymous signs are not brave or courageous. They are cowardly. They use mystique to sensationalize the issue and get media coverage.

I believe in free speech. And I believe that free speech is a necessary factor in the production of change, but not when there is no one to claim it. In these cases, free speech can harm as much as it can help. Perhaps it is a sign of the times when anonymous blogging has become a viable means of social critique, but such actions are, from a purely practical point of view, fundamentally flawed. We do not need secrecy. This campus has plenty of “secrets” already. What we need is open and frank dialogue. Part of activism is talking the talk, but the other part is walking the walk. Activists, just like the status quo against which they fight, are accountable on both of these fronts, and I would wager a pretty penny that most of the people responsible for these signs visited the basement of at least one of the accused fraternities over Winter Carnival.

So to the Dartmouth Publius,
If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. You’re part of it every time you set foot in a frat basement without saying something. You are just as guilty as Parkhurst. You perpetuate the cycle just as much as anyone else. But the ship has sailed on this incident. Coming forward now would not help your cause, a cause which I believe should be shared by each and every member of the Dartmouth community. I am not suggesting you “stand up and say that to our face.” That would be counterproductive at this point. It would only lead to unproductive finger-pointing.

But what I am saying is this: follow in the footsteps of one of the greatest activists in modern history, Mahatmas Gandhi, and “be the change you want to see in the world.” Do not stay silent, but do not be anonymous. There is a place for anonymous accusations and name-calling. It’s called Bored@Baker. You’re better than that.

What exactly does the “Dartmouth Experience” mean? Over the past 18 months, we’ve learned that Dartmouth means many different things to everybody. Today, we students stand in an uncomfortable and uncertain situation. On the one hand, we are trapped between the staff and the Administration in a bitter fight, and, on the other hand, we are embroiled in a battle to save the individual pieces of our own Dartmouth Experiences.

Dartmouth is first and foremost an institution of higher learning. It also happens to be an institution that employs a large number of Upper Valley residents. But Dartmouth’s primary duty is to the College, not its facility. This is the angle from which I approach the Dartmouth Experience. Instead of focusing on the Dartmouth Experience, I propose we focus on the Dartmouth College Experience (I should clarify that I consider the professional schools part of the College in this sense).

This next notion seems to have been brushed aside in light of the pending staff cuts: intergenerational equity. Dartmouth has spent some of its endowment funds during this recession as a means of smoothing the operational deficits it currently faces. On this point, I must admit I am conflicted. A conscientious observer might wonder where this reactionary notion was when certain College administrators were playing Russian roulette with collateralized debt obligations and mortgage-backed securities. Suddenly, after almost $1 billion of our endowment just disappeared, we begin to talk about intergenerational equity. It is an enticing idea: It shows foresight that can serve as a long-term yardstick for the future and a productive mindset for the Administration as it begins to try to ensure that this kind of financial debacle does not reoccur, or least to this extent, in the future.

When the endowment began, it was a safety net. As endowments have grown over the years, colleges across the country (including Dartmouth) have done something risky: relying on their safety net for income. Akin to the United States, this College has lived beyond its means. As Warren Buffet said in his 2001 Chairman’s Letter for Berkshire Hathaway, “You only find out who is swimming naked when the tide goes out.” Well, the College was swimming naked, and now it’s time to put on some clothes. This is not to say that we should stop spending from our endowment, which would be ridiculous. We just cannot afford to be dependent on our endowment in the future—it’s swimming naked. Those who spout doom and gloom about the future of our endowment need to take a step back and remember that alumni have not stopped giving to the College.

It seems like every week Dartmouth has a new cause du jour. During these evanescent fads of devotion, a select few whip the campus into a frenzy. This recurring theme lends some credence to the idea that many Dartmouth students have a need to be offended by something. Out of some misplaced need to serve the cause of social justice, Dartmouth students convince themselves that if they stay offended, they are paying into some big karmic pot.

I feel the same way about layoffs as I do about alimony or palimony. The College does not have an obligation to continue to treat employees to “the lifestyle to which they have become accustomed” past any time horizon previously contracted.
That is why we have contracts: to allow for future flexibility in the work force employed by the College.

Here’s the problem: the unions want to have their cake and eat it too. They want high wages and high employment. Who pays for that? Well…we do.

In addition to pandering to Dartmouth’s hypochondria for imbalances in social justice, those who speak for the staff held a candlelight vigil to promote awareness of the job cut situation. Now, I agree that some members of the staff are an undeniably positive part of the Dartmouth College Experience, but I find it very hard to believe that the individuals pictured in the posters plastered around campus are actually the best part of the student in the picture’s Dartmouth Experience. And call me old-fashioned, but I tend to want to reserve candlelight vigils for deaths and missing persons. I don’t mean to sound harsh or indifferent, but when the people who represent the workers act the way they have, I become less and less inclined to sympathize with them. We are talking about loss of jobs, not loss of life. The situation has been sensationalized to the point that it has begun to lose credibility.

It is clear that we have a problem. Moreover, it is obvious that there are several groups who have very strong opinions about trimming the College’s budget by $100 million. So, who should decide what happens? It is useful to consider the different groups in terms of shareholders and stakeholders. Throughout the budget process, I have heard very little respect given for the fact that students pay up to $50,000 a year to go here. That makes us shareholders. Faculty and staff, however, are stakeholders. While they definitely have a stake in this college and certainly contribute to the experience, their role is fundamentally different from that of the students. The alumni are somewhere in the middle on this. Many donate to the College and are in that sense shareholders, but they are also stakeholders in that their personal reputations depend in part on the current actions and present reputation of this College.

Just as Dartmouth’s endowment has become more integrated into the fate of the world economy, our administrative structure has followed a trend in the management style of corporations throughout the world. We have seen stakeholders with increasing control in the College’s operations. It’s not a stretch to say that many Dartmouth students do not believe that Parkhurst actually cares about the students’ opinion. I don’t want token student advisory boards. I don’t want token Student Budget Forums. These groups waste our time and resources, things we have little to spare.

We, the students, pay for a service, and if the changes to the Dartmouth College Experience change that service substantially, then we ought to be consulted, and our voices ought to carry significant weight. If the majority of the student population believes that limiting staff layoffs is the right thing, then so be it, but if the majority of us believe, as I do, that this school needs some restructuring and streamlining, then give the people what they want.

bout half-way through this past summer, two of my high school friends and I went to a local BBQ restaurant in Memphis, TN. After a short wait, we were seated, and the disaster began. Over the course of an hour and a half long meal, our waiter refilled my water once. When he took our order, he was pushy, brusque, and flat-out rude. When my order arrived, it was a beef BBQ sandwich instead of a pork one—a mistake made even more offensive since no self-respecting Memphian would ask for a BBQ sandwich made with beef. At the end of the meal I paid in cash, specifically requesting exact change. After my friends had gotten their credit cards back and signed their checks, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a shiny nickel for my server’s tip. Now before you dismiss me as some miserly schmuck a-la Mr. Pink from Reservoir Dogs, let me explain my own tipping philosophy.

From a purely economic perspective, a tip is a financial incentive for the server to do his or her job well. It is a tangible and immediate response on behalf of the consumer which both informs the server and reassures the served. After all, simply not returning to a restaurant really doesn’t do too much to the server. and in the long-term, may also hurt the server. But in all honesty, like most people, when I a’m upset I want to have an immediate say in the matter, and when I am pleased with the service, I want to return the favor.

But economics, however, cannot fully explain tipping. The ubiquitous law of unintended consequences also alters the face of the game. In his book Freakonomics, Steven Levitt cites a study about Israeli day-care systems that charge a fee (incentive) for late parents. The study found, however, that simply paying the “late fee” replaced the moral incentive of shame with a simple penalty parents could pay and then move on. In this case, the price of being late was equated at a price the parents were willing to pay. Something similar seems to have occurred with tipping. The moral and social consequence of not tipping seems to have been deemed more significant than the financial cost of the tip. People who don’t tip are considered rude, ignorant and brutish. It takes truly awful service for it to be deemed socially acceptable to leave no tip. So, in this case too, there is a social incentive to tip. Tippers are seen as charitable, kind, and forgiving.

The most common argument for tipping seems to be the idea of providing a server with a “living wage.” Because waiters and waitresses are exempt from federal minimum-wage laws, tips are the way in which waiters and waitresses make most of their money. It is not surprising that this argument often comes from people who were servers once themselves.

Another argument for tipping a certain “appropriate amount”, which typically falls in the 15%-25% range, is that food quality and timely service are in large part out of the server’s control, depending instead on cooks who are not exempt from minimum wage laws.

It is with these two points in particular that I take issue. As for the first, which seems to be a much more humanitarian response, it seems preposterous to mete out handouts, in the form of tips, to servers who don’t earn them. This situation is similar to another of Levitt’s studies, this one concerning real-estate agents. Real-estate agents take a percentage of the value of homes they sell or buy as a commission. The problem with this system is a conflict of interest stemming from decreasing marginal returns to time invested trying to sell a property. That is to say that for each additional unit of time that the real-estate agent spends trying to negotiate a higher price for the home, they get less and less additional sale value. Hence, it is more profitable for them to give up trying to raise the price of the home too much when they can sell two homes for lower prices in the same amount of time. This relates to the food service industry in that each additional unit of time the server spends on one table produces a decreasing marginal return for the server in the form of tips. If the servers want to earn more money, as is reasonable to assume they do, then the smart money is in doing an average job with more clients at more tables. This strategy holds, however, only as long as people are sluggish in adjusting their tips when they receive average or below average service. Currently, the servers simply have almost no incentive to be good servers in order to eek out another 5% of tip. After all, for a $40 meal, each 5% increase in the tip is a mere $2. On the other hand, if they can run two tables poorly with the same amount of effort necessary to run one table very well, then as long as the “normal” or “socially accepted” tip is above 5%, then there is absolutely no reason for the server to attempt to give above average service.

Furthermore, the idea that all of these people deserve a “living wage” may not truly reflect reality.The idea that everyone, whether or not he or she is willing to work hard, deserves a living wage, is a stretch. An integral part of food service is courtesy, so if you can’t do that part of the job, then why should I pay you for work you aren’t doing?

That said, I do believe there are two situations in particular when servers should get a little lagniappe. As any server will tell you, on busy nights, the money is in flipping tables in order to serve the highest number of meals possible. This is true whether they are good servers earning big tips or poor servers earning lower tips. Unfortunately for servers, busy nights are often nights when people have more time to spend at the restaurant and sometimes stay seated talking for hours after they have paid their bill. I always tip a little extra if I do this, because regardless of whether the service was good or bad, after I have paid my bill I am taking money out of the server’s pocket by hanging around.

Another situation is when I order an unusual variation on a menu item. For example, if I were on a date with a vegetarian and the server made a special effort to accommodate such a dietary need, then I would certainly tip a little extra. In this situation, the server has made an extra effort to do his or her job, and that should be rewarded so that this the behavior is reinforced and continued. However, if I were on a date with a vegetarian and the server simply said (as was once the case), “No, I’m not the chef. I can’t take the bacon bits off the house salad”, then I would tip accordingly. The concept of tipping seems to have diverged from its original purpose and taken on various social stigmas that have greatly reduced the patron’s ability to insist on good service for fear of being considered greedy and uncouth. But I hope that after reading this, you will be less afraid of pulling out a bright shiny nickel the next time when the situation calls for it. Tipping was an effective tool once, and if more patrons would use it to reinforce good service once more, we might find ourselves in having noticeably improved restaurant experiences sometime soon in the not-too-distant future.

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