Randomized Ambivalence

A few days ago, I had an interesting conversation with an upperclass student. "So which House do you want to live in next year?" he casually asked me. "Oh, I don't know," I replied, equally casually.

"What do you mean you don't know?" He was incredulous. "You don't have a preference? It's where you'll be living for the next three years!"

"I guess I haven't had time to really think about it. Too busy with Expos."

This Thursday, I, along with the rest of the class of 2001, will receive my housing lottery assignment. But despite all the drama, this promises to be an anti-climactic event. Don't get me wrong--I'm certainly curious to find out where I'll be placed. But besides mere curiosity, I, as well as most first-years, really don't have a preference. Though there might be one House we would like to have, it wouldn't be the end of the world if we didn't get it. After Thursday's big revelation, many of us will simply look at each other, shrug our shoulders, and go back to writing our papers.

Why the ambivalence? Without a doubt, randomization has a lot to do with it. Since our fate is determined by some complex computer algorithm, it doesn't really matter where we want to live anyway. Why should we place undue stress in unnecessary places? That's what blocking is for.

But the major reason for our apathy is that randomization has equalized all the Houses to the point where, except for physical differences such as location and room size, they all seem the same. I couldn't tell you a thing about Mather's social atmosphere, its arts scene or the strength of its intramural teams. But I do know it's situated "way the hell down there." Whatever house preferences we do have are based solely on physical aspects. And so, for first-years, there are really only two Houses: "River" and "Quad."

As the first class to enter a fully-randomized House system next year, none of us have any memory of "what it used to be like." Since there was nothing to judge it by. we have accepted randomization as neither good nor bad, but rather as the way things worked. Upperclass students tell us stories from the days that houses were different--they tell us that Currier was for parties and that Adams was for weirdos. And though we listen, skeptical of their ability to characterize an entire House with a single adjective, none of us really cares. Whether or not the Houses still have a unique character is debatable. But the fact of the matter is that most first-years think they don't. And this bodes ill for the University as a whole.

By regarding the housing assignment process with this kind of ambivalence, we limit the role of the upperclass House to a physical presence which exists for the sake of convenience. This should not be the case. Houses, especially in the University context, are supposed to transcend their mere physical presence by promoting a more cohesive sense of community and interaction. We are no strangers to this theme; it was, after all, repeated again and again at the race forum held last week.

The community as a whole rests on each individual's desire to be a contributing member of that particular community. Randomization takes that desire away. Not having to take the shuttle is not a good enough reason for wanting to live in a River House. Nor is having big rooms a legitimate reason for wanting to be in the Quad. Instead, we need to seek a better alternative--one that restores each House's unique character so that first-years will actually want to be part of their Houses, not just residents of them.