“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again…” – Theodore Roosevelt

“You can live in the world of myth and be taken seriously.” – Ta-Nehisi Coates

Coffee at Midnight

Spring, 2018. It’s the end of the semester, and I’m feeling pretty good about my academic prospects. After a rough freshman year, I realized that “Do your homework and go to class = A” was not a thing in college, and that you actually had to, you know, study. A lot. But sophomore year was going better, much better. I did quite well the fall semester and was on track to do the same in spring. So there I was, finishing up my last essay of the semester, for a class called Age of Globalization. The premise of the paper was straightforward, not simple, but straightforward: You are assigned a country and you have to write about how its economy and culture have been affected by globalization. I was assigned Japan, which actually made the assignment easier as there was plenty of information available. I planned my work, and finished my essay a day before it was due.

But I didn’t submit it yet, as I had got into the habit of reviewing essay rubrics one final time before doing so. Still, it all looked good, and it appeared that I had fulfilled all the requirements. Almost. For it was then that I stumbled upon two, dreaded, painful words: “single-spaced.” My paper was double-spaced. My ten pages written were actually only five. I had worked so diligently and could proudly proclaim that my paper was… halfway done. Oh no. But there was good news! I still had a day to fix this error, and fix it I did! But it was not easy.

I worked throughout the afternoon, but felt myself getting tired. It became harder to focus, and my writing had slowed to a trickle. I needed to take a break, and I did two things. First, I made coffee at midnight. (Yes, I know it’s not a healthy thing to do, leave me alone.) Second, I watched YouTube. I don’t remember every specific thing I watched, and I just let the algorithm take me where it wanted. Eventually, for some reason, I ended up at a channel called Goalcast, and a video titled “If You Want to Change the World, Start Off by Making Your Bed - William McRaven, US Navy Admiral.” I don’t know how I ended up at this video, but I needed it.

Goalcast cut and added music to a commencement speech given by McRaven at the University of Texas. It was a bit cheesy, but it was inspiring, and it worked. I drank my coffee, stayed up a few more hours, and finished my essay. My grade on the assignment was a 96%. Hilarious. But the point of this story is not “motivational videos are great” or “reading rubrics carefully is a good idea.” It is that stories can teach lessons, and in this case, there are two. The first lesson was that we are usually judged more on the final product of our work, rather than the process of the work itself. My professor didn’t care about what I thought of the assignment, or mistakes I made while writing it, or the 3:00 AM submission time. She cared about the final product. Focus on the end goal, and don’t get caught up in the chaos of reaching it.

The second lesson was one I didn’t even know I learned at the time, but which I will put to use now: it’s ok to borrow ideas from others. In McRaven’s commencement speech, he shared stories from his time as a Navy Seal, each carrying a lesson for the graduates. I like this model, and I like telling stories, so that’s what we are going to do here. Just some disclaimers, these stories are not in chronological order, because I think the substance matters more than the dates. Also, a content warning: the topics of racism and sexual assault are discussed later in this piece. I also will delve into politics, because it would be impossible to talk about my time in college without doing so. If you are unhappy about this, I would urge you not to hide from the uncomfortable.

Labels

I can sum up my four years of high school in one simple phrase: it was nice. No seriously, it was nice. I have no complaints about how it went. I would go to class every day, was well-liked by all of my classmates, did well in my classes, and went home. I still keep in touch with many of my teachers and feel nostalgic when I visit. But it was not enough. My regrets about my high-school experience come not from what I did, but what I did not do. Simply put, I wanted to be liked. By everyone. An understandable goal for many people in high school. And how did I go about this? By just being nice. By being polite. Furthermore, I saw other students who did things which made themselves stick out, or committed to a group, and they received a label. “A football player. A band kid. A math kid. A skater. A snowboarder. A drama kid.”

I didn’t want a label. Freshman year I did band, but I didn’t really enjoy it that much so I left. While I was in the JROTC program all four years and thrived there, I still did not take the steps to become close friends with many people in the program. I did not ask people about hanging out outside of school, and when people asked me, I often turned them down. I liked many of these people, but I didn’t want to be labeled as just another JROTC kid. And so I graduated, with a yearbook full of plenty of signatures and few paragraphs, and a network of friendly acquaintances a mile wide and one-inch deep.

This is what happens when your only goal is to “get along with everyone.” Committing your time to one group inevitably means less time for another. Growing closer with one group of friends means you are neglecting others. I did not want to pay that price. Furthermore, the “just get along” approach doesn’t actually achieve anything beyond itself. Being nice alone does not get you invited to parties, or close friends, or a date. And it shouldn’t. You need to have confidence and commit to people to achieve those things.

College began its assault upon my mindset before I even moved to campus. During a three-day orientation for incoming students and parents in June 2016 called “Colonial Inauguration,” I stayed on campus. I don’t really remember much of this event. I recall it being the weekend of the Brexit vote, which all of the political-science tryhards were talking about. I also remember being whisked from one event in some classroom to the next.

Oh, and I also remember the housing lecture. It was pretty boring, but then came the end, and it was time to ask questions. I already learned that my room number was #420. So, I raised my hand… “Are there any added benefits to having room #420? Asking for a friend.” Everyone laughed, even the presenters. Little did they know, I never smoked weed at any point in high school. Totally had no right to make that joke. They didn’t need to know that, no need to let the facts get in the way of some humor. But the more important story from Colonial Inauguration came the next day, when there was an open house for student organizations. They told us not to sign up for too many so we wouldn’t be bombarded with emails. Of course, we didn’t listen.

What surprised me the most though was the diversity of the organizations. There were organizations specifically to advocate for black students, for sexual assault survivors, for international students from different countries and regions, for women, for members of the LGBT community, and more. Of course, there were also organizations similar to what I saw in high school: athletic groups, drama groups, language groups, literature groups, almost anything you could want. But the abundance of identity-based groups was definitely surprising. And at first, I didn’t get it.

I was a conservative from a very conservative county (although many people there would say they’re not far-right and are actually moderate – but, sorry, voting patterns and polls don’t lie). Growing up, I heard students in high school occasionally suggest we create identity-based organizations, but they were always met with replies such as “Well, if ‘they’ get a black student group, we should be able to get a white student group.” That sort of thing. I never bought into responses like that, but I still didn’t get the point of identity-based groups. I wasn’t necessarily against them like many other students were, I just didn’t get them. Because in order to get the point of groups, you have to actually listen to people who are in them. Fortunately, GW actually empowered members of minority groups to organize and speak up about their experiences. Well, at least more than my hometown. And when people speak up, you’re able to listen.

So there I was at the student-org open house, and I listened. I didn’t engage, I just listened. I listened to women talk to GW SASA (Students Against Sexual Assault) about how comforting it was to have an organization on campus they could confide in. I heard black students talk about how underrepresented they were in high school. I saw a group of students congregate at the table of an LGBT group, speaking with an openness about their sexuality I rarely saw people have growing up. To be clear, I don’t want to pretend that my learning here was intentional. I didn’t go into Colonial Inauguration thinking “let’s eavesdrop on everyone’s conversations.” It just… happened.

And it happened again once my first semester started. Immigrants speaking up about their experiences in class. Students protesting about the environment in Kogan Plaza. My roommate Graham, talking about how his family lost its business due to gentrification and rent increases. My roommates Sean and Josh talking about how personal, as Jews, traveling to Israel was for them. My roommate Andrew talking about how different the culture in DC was to his hometown of San Diego. By the end of freshman year, I came to three important realizations – three lessons.

One: You can’t seek to just “get along with everyone.” To have a good social life, it helps to have shared interests. I’m not saying you can only be in one group, or that you must only have friends through groups – but you should find a group. I’m happy to have had many throughout my four years in college. The study abroad people. The student government people. The Thurston Hall 4th floor people. Find a group, and don’t be afraid of being labeled an “X Kid.” Two: Sometimes, learning can be completely unintentional. That’s what makes college so formative. Just by being around such diverse people, you hear about and observe their experiences, and your own experience is formed in the process.

Three, and most importantly: Being able to pick (or not pick) your group is a privilege. The strength of this lesson lies not in what your “gut” tells you but in basic observations. Remember those labels I threw out from high school? Football player. Band kid. Drama kid. ROTC kid. Here are some others which also existed: Black kid. Gay kid. Latino kid. Poor kid. Sexual assault survivor. None of these labels were chosen by any of the people they were assigned to. Furthermore, there were other labels which, while not explicitly forced upon students at birth, were given to them later based on their opinions. Feminist. Environmentalist. Vegetarian. Liberal.

And what identities weren’t labeled? Which weren’t explicit? Which weren’t said out loud? White kid. Middle-class kid. Straight kid. Native citizen. Conservative. Non-feminist. Non-environmentalist. Meat-eater. Because these were the norm. They were the majority. So in a way, the lesson I learned in college was that it would be incorrect to say I was “without a group” in high school. I was in the group. The group which, because it was the majority, was able to pick and choose the labels that they wanted, rather than having one forced upon them. The group whose members, in order to “get along with everyone,” just needed to be nice.

Why Can't Pat Read?

My junior year. Spring semester. I always preferred GW in spring, and liked watching the countless flowers and cherry blossom trees around campus come into full bloom. The employees who take care of them really deserve a raise. Sometimes I would study at the tables in Kogan Plaza during this time of year, or sit down there and eat my lunch as other students walked by. However, this particular day, I was neither studying nor eating. I was in a meeting of GW UNICEF’s Volunteering Committee. The committee was chaired by my friend Mckenzie, who I met during the previous semester in Paris.

I was unique in that I was a brand-new member of GW UNICEF – as a junior. Like most student orgs, the new members of UNICEF were usually freshman. So what was a junior doing here? In a way, I was a late bloomer. Remember when I said how we all signed up for too many student organizations at orientation? Well, I was one of those people. I went all-in on student life freshman year, for about two months. Then, as I was overwhelmed from foolishly doing 17 credits my first semester (seriously, don’t do that, ever), I withdrew from it completely. I still attended different events and listened to speakers come to the university from time to time, but I shied away from fully committing to any student group. Eventually, by the end of sophomore year, I felt that it was too late to get involved.

Then I went to Paris, and found that being in an amazing place for a limited period of time changes your perspective. While in the City of Lights, I fought to make each day count. Another museum visited. Another historic site put on my Insta story. Another night down at the Seine with my friends. Every second had value, because my time was limited. Then it occurred to me – my time at GW was limited too, I just didn’t realize it! Furthermore, I had three full semesters left at GW, and I saw how Mckenzie and other friends I had were involved in student life despite also having large course-loads. Surely I could do something.

So, after learning about UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund) and GW’s branch of it from Mckenzie, I decided to join. There were three committees in the organization, and I joined the Volunteering Committee, as it was the most hands-on in terms of community service. We were a small committee, and met about once a week. At our final meeting of the semester, Mckenzie asked all of us a simple question: Why can’t Pat read? Pat was a 4th grader in the United States who was well-below his grade’s reading level, to the point that his future success would be irrevocably altered by this fact.

“Pat” himself didn’t exist. Rather, millions of him did. Millions of students in the U.S. are below their grade’s reading level. We had to brainstorm why. Going off of my memory, the first conversation went something like this: Why can’t Pat read? “Maybe his parents can’t afford books for him?” Why? “Because they don’t earn enough money.” Why? “Because they have low-paying jobs?” Why? The answer to this third “why” could be many things. Perhaps Pat’s parents were first-generation immigrants who found it harder to get jobs than native-born citizens? Or perhaps Pat and his parent’s live in a very rural area, where it is hard to hold on to a long-term, good paying job? But then the question becomes: why do Pat’s parents live in that rural area? It just keeps going on.

In another go at this, we discussed the public school system. Why can’t Pat read? “Pat’s school doesn’t have enough funding to hire teachers or buy enough textbooks.” Why? “Because the school district doesn’t have enough money.” Why? “Because the town Pat’s school is in is poor.” But why should his town being poor affect his school? “Because schools are funded by local property taxes, and the property values in Pat’s town are low, so they can’t get the money for the school.” Why are public schools funded by local property taxes? “Uhhh…” Do we have enough money in this country to get Pat’s school what it needs? “Of course.” So why can’t it get to Pat’s school? “Because schools are funded by state and local governments, so even if the country overall has the money, the states may not, or they may not want to spend it on the schools.” We started with a simple question: why can’t a 4th grader read? We ended with a discussion about the entire governmental structure of the United States. We went deep, but that’s the point.

Sometimes, seemingly simple questions have complex, societal, and historical explanations. You have to constantly, incessantly, ask “why?” Don’t be afraid to complicate things, because the fact is, they’re already complicated, and you’re just exploring how. Inversely, if an issue seems complicated at the start – unpack it. Take something seemingly complex, like our country’s government, pick an individual, like Pat, and try to surmise how the big and complex effects the small and simple. You’ll be amazed where you end up. From my own experience, I’ve found that many people find the “complicating” or “unpacking” I do annoying. They argue that these issues are really quite simple, and I’m overthinking things. I once heard a classmate say that I was “too much.” But if so, so what? I’d much rather overthink something which matters than not think about it enough, and if some are bothered by that, I really couldn’t care less.

To end this lesson, I must note that I didn’t learn about Pat not being able to read until I joined UNICEF my junior year, and it’s likely that I could have had this experience earlier if I joined my freshman year. But that doesn’t matter. I’m glad I discarded my belief that it was too late to get involved in student life. Because the fact is, it’s never too late to do something which expands your mindset and allows you to learn, and it’s never too late to make a difference to yourself and others.

It’s All Just a Game (?)

University Writing. A course that many GW students have a love-hate relationship with. The vast majority of students take it their freshman year, and the reason for its existence is simple: high school doesn’t teach you how to write academically, so we have to. Every undergraduate student must take the infamous UW 1020. Now, if you’re to take a course which teaches you how to write, you may think: “Write about what?” Every UW course had its own unique topic, to make it more interesting for the students and give them some control over their experience.

For scheduling reasons, I was in the minority of students who did not take their UW class until sophomore year. With a year of academic writing under my belt, I appreciated the course way more. My course was taught by Mark Mullen – a legend. Well, in my opinion anyways. Professor Mullen’s course was designed differently than any other UW course – or any course for that matter. It was a game. No, seriously, it was a game. All students started at “Level 0.” Each assignment was called a “Quest” which gave “Experience Points” that raised your level, and each student could see a chart which detailed what level correlated with each letter grade. We could also see how many people were at a specific level, just to gauge where our own grade was at. We could not, however, see what level a specific person was at, just the overall spread. Some Quests were just “Pass / No Pass” with the opportunity for a redo if you come up short, and there were also many “Bonus Quests” which could be completed at any point in the semester for extra Experience Points. Others, called “Epic Quests” were mandatory assignments which received a “Fail, Bronze, Silver, or Gold” medal upon completion.

The topic of the course also stood out: “Faking Democracy?” We would be learning about, and writing about, the news media. While I’d love to go into everything we learned about the news media in this course, that is a subject for another blog. And by the end of that semester, I had already written a lot about the news media. A lot. What I appreciated the most about this course was that it taught me about arguing. Not necessarily how to argue – although my debate skills definitely improved by the course’s end – just about arguing.

Two weeks into the course, there was a class I’ll never forget. We were assigned two readings the previous week, by two authors who largely disagreed with each other. What we didn’t know was that, upon walking into class, Mark split us in half. We were going to have a debate, with each half of the class assigned an author whose argument they had to represent. You did not get to pick your side – if you personally preferred the opposing argument, too bad. There was just one problem. I had misunderstood the syllabus, and had only read one of the articles: the opposing teams. But just wait, it gets better! Mark announced that each team would have a captain who would decide what points we would make. For my team – he picked me.

So, I had not read an article, and had to lead a team of people in a debate defending the article I had not read. I should note – this debate was for credit. The winning team received a small bonus on the next assignment. This was serious business. Furthermore, you had to make points referencing your article to counter the points made by the other team, meaning my failure to actually read the article may be exposed! It may have been pragmatic at this point to tell Mark, or at least my teammates, that I had not read the article. That it would have increased my team’s chance of winning if we had a new captain. That it would have been fairer… but that wouldn’t have been any fun.

I realized quickly that if I had to speak first we were screwed, so I decided that we would let the other team open things up. If we didn’t have any ammunition of our own, hopefully they would give us some – and they did. Every sentence they said, I simplified. Not so much that I looked silly, just enough so it would help us, and they wouldn’t notice. Every point they made, I thought of a quick counterpoint. We didn’t need to fully refute what they said as that was too difficult, we just needed to provide enough of a counterargument so that it seemed like a wash. I had my team make their points quickly, and I made sure we always were able to end our time by asking a question. This was critically important, as it kept us on the offensive. That way, they’d have to begin their response by answering a question we posed, because the alternative would be them looking bad by dodging it. They took the bait.

It sounds complicated, but it was actually quite simple. It was less likely that we could win with a team leader who didn’t read the piece, but we didn’t actually need to win. We just needed to stay on the offensive no matter what, constantly pose questions, constantly make them feel as if they weren’t making progress, constantly make them feel like they didn’t have control, and keep our cool. Eventually, while we would not win, they would break down, and they would lose. Fortunately, other members of my team actually read the piece, and between that and my offensive strategy, I was able to mask the fact that I was winging this whole thing.

And so my team won. I successfully led a team in defending an article I didn’t read a page of. But there was a catch, because Professor Mullen revealed that all of the students on the losing team would receive the extra points anyways. To be clear, this was not one of those professors who just liked passing everyone and handing out A’s for free. There was no curve in his course. Everyone started at Level 0, and knew what specific Level they needed for the letter grade they wanted. They either reached that grade or they did not. The reason everyone got the points was because, as he explained, for complicated issues like those we would discuss throughout the semester, there usually is no “right side.” It’s not like sports, and there is no “winner” in most academic debates. They are nuanced, they evolve, and they last a very long time. Most academics will admit (although sometimes grudgingly) that their counterparts who they disagree with are at least right about something. Sure, the other team may not have “won” the debate, but they showed that they researched and understood the topic they were debating – and that was enough. This was a critical lesson for academic writing, but the story does not end there, for there is a flip side.

Later in the course, Professor Mullen had us conduct a peer review. We had all written rough drafts for our first Epic Quest assignment, and were paired with another student with whom we’d review our work. Afterwards, Professor Mullen would read our reviews and write his own comments. The student I was paired with wrote an essay on media coverage of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. But there was one glaring problem I noticed right away – the student had used the word Pakistan – in the first paragraph. I had hoped it was a fluke, a one-off thing… but then I saw the phrase: “Israeli-Pakistani conflict.” Oh no. This was a very smart person. I had read their review of my own essay and it was thoughtful and well written. I also noticed other parts of their essay which were well put together. But they exchanged Pakistan for Palestine… They messed up, hard. I had no choice but to point this out in my review as it was a major error, especially for such a sensitive topic. Professor Mullen actually graded our reviews, and gave me a 4 out of 5. Why’d he take away a point? Because I didn’t grade the student low enough.

In his analysis of their essay, he said that he nearly stopped reading the second he saw “Israeli-Pakistani conflict,” as there’d be no point to it. The author’s credibility was now gone. Yes, in many academic debates there is no “right” answer, at least not right away. But there are many wrong answers. There are things which all academics and experts agree upon – in this case, that there is no “Israeli-Pakistani Conflict.” Don’t pretend things are 50-50, or that someone has a point, when they don’t. We shouldn’t “cancel” people who say ignorant things, at least not at first, but if someone says something that isn’t true, tell them it is not true. Own it.

That same semester I read a piece by Ta-Nehisi Coates titled “Five Books to Make You Less Stupid About the Civil War.” In it, the author jokes: “I do not contend that this improved history has solved everything. But it is a ray of light cutting through the gloom of stupid. You should run to that light. Embrace it. Bathe in it. Become it. Okay, maybe that’s too far. Let’s start with just being less stupid.” We can’t be experts in everything nor should we strive to be – but we are all capable of learning the basics. Of being less stupid. What’s the lesson here? Attain a baseline level of knowledge on a subject – preferably before you write or talk about it. There are things which many people argue about but which are in reality settled questions – such as slavery being the cause of the Civil War. Similarly, there is no “debate” over the existence of an “Israeli-Pakistani conflict.” So learn what is a debate, and what isn’t. And if you don’t know the answer to that question, you have some learning to do.

The BATNA

Let’s talk about another class I had: Business Law and Ethics. No, don’t leave yet! Trust me, this story will be more interesting than the course name implies. I expected to spend a semester poring over business legal texts. Don’t get me wrong, I want to be a lawyer, so I’d fine doing such a thing. But that wouldn’t exactly be something to include in a blog like this. Not to worry though, because that is not what we did in this class!

We read about morality and different ethical theories. We learned about real-world cases with relatable people at large corporations, who were pressured into doing unethical acts. But my favorite part of this course was the negotiations. Students would be broken into “buyer” and “seller” groups, and each group would be given a sheet of information about a potential deal. The buyers and sellers each had fictional clients who they represented, and the goal was to negotiate with the opposing team to get the deal we wanted. But there was a small twist. Each group had information the other group did not, which would come up during the negotiation. So even if you spent a lot of time with your team beforehand studying the case and coming up with a game plan for the negotiation, you were almost guaranteed to be thrown a curveball.

Within this hidden information, the most important items were “BATNAs,” or Best Alternatives To a Negotiated Agreement. In other words, your fallback line. If you didn’t like where a negotiation was headed, you had the option to walk away, and these were the other deals you could walk away to. As my team’s first negotiation started, it hit me: the other team didn’t know our BATNAs at all! So why should we have to go with just the BATNAs on the sheet Professor Pamphile gave us? Why can’t we just make up our own? There was no rule against it, and they wouldn’t know the difference.

I don’t remember the particular numbers, but I do remember in this negotiation we were the sellers, and were selling a building. So let’s say our ideal selling price was $30 million, and the buyers wanted $10 million. Let’s also say that according to the information sheet, we had an alternative offer of $25 million. Not exactly what we want, but possibly better than a potential offer from the buyers. But then, in the negotiation, I told the opposing team that we had an alternative deal for $50 million. Of course, no such deal existed at all, but this changed the dynamic of the whole negotiation. All of a sudden, we weren’t compromising between $10 and $30 million, but between $10 and $50 million. Suddenly, the buyers thought that a $30 million deal wasn’t a huge concession on their part, but actually an even trade for both teams. They upped their offer to $30 million, which is what we actually wanted, and we accepted. You get the idea. I did this for every other aspect of the negotiation as well. Building size. Who would pay for improvements. The move-in date. Everything. No matter what we negotiated, there was always a mythical, alternative deal which was better – one which always moved the other team in our direction.

We finished the negotiation, and the other team left feeling as if they’d won. They got us to compromise! They got us to move away from a seemingly much better deal and accept less, from them! The next week, we went to class, and Professor Pamphile pulled up a spreadsheet of every team, buyers and sellers. She compared all of the negotiations, and at that moment, the other team realized that they were played. They had given up more than any other buyer, to the point that mine was the only seller group which got everything that their clients wanted. The first lesson of this story may be cliché, but clichés exist for a reason: sometimes to succeed, you have to think outside the box. There was no rule against what I did, and we were simply instructed to get the best deal possible for our imaginary clients. There was nothing stopping any of the other teams from doing the same thing. But there’s a second, hidden, and arguably more important lesson to be gleaned from this story.

You may have asked while reading this: what about the other team’s BATNAs? Surely they had their own, and could have just walked away rather than give away everything. This assumption would be correct. Professor Pamphile gave every group of teams an “Impasse” option. If you couldn’t come up with a deal, it was ok, you could walk out. On the first negotiation, almost nobody walked out. In fact, my entire strategy relied on the other team not wanting to walk away. It relied on them wanting to have a deal with us, even though there was nothing in the assignment rubric saying that a deal with the selling team was in any way better than the alternatives provided.

Later in the course, I learned this the hard way. There was another negotiation – but it was a dispute. One team, my team, had a weaker bargaining position than its counterparts. Our only real goal in this weaker position was pretty much to not make things worse, or so the instructions implied. But I knew better! I knew we could get a good deal out of this, and I tried the same strategy I used last time: a fictional BATNA followed by a “compromise” to our desired position. The other team laughed immediately, saying “we would rather walk away than do that.” Uh-oh. Now what? The negotiation carried on, I really didn’t have a Plan B, and I more or less let my teammates take things over. The end result was a deal which left us slightly worse off than we started.

I expected to be at the bottom of the class when Professor Pamphile brought up the spreadsheet for this negotiation. But surprisingly, most of the other teams in the weaker position did just as poorly as ours. Then, the professor said something which surprised everyone. “Every one of these deals should have been an impasse.” There was no reason – none at all, to make a deal in the position we were in. The odds of improving our position in the deal were far too low, and the better option was to just… walk away. Sometimes, you just need to walk away. In life, we often develop commitments to things. Companies, student groups, friendships, relationships, hobbies, the list goes on. These are fulfilling, enriching things which we all should value. But sometimes they hurt us, badly. When this happens, sunk-cost bias kicks in, and we feel a need to maintain things as they are instead of looking forward, for alternatives, for freedom. To be blunt, life is too short to be stuck with a shitty deal. Don’t be afraid to look for BATNAs.

Why Are They So Angry?

Civility. A term thrown around a lot today, usually to criticize those who are perceived to lack it. I’ve found it be considered an indisputable good, one which has fallen by the wayside today as we have become so “divided” and “nasty.” How often do we see the Facebook posts asking the predictable question: “Why can’t we all just get along?” I subscribed to these beliefs for quite a while. And why wouldn’t I? Over the years, I would hear people – classmates, house guests, teachers – argue about many things. I often felt uncomfortable when this would happen, and usually would side with the person who seemed more “reasonable.”

I was usually shocked when I’d see people become angry in an argument, especially about politics. Yeah, these issues are important, but the way to discuss them is with a level-head and hushed tones, right? Yelling and being “emotional” doesn’t solve anything, right? Going off this, I preferred political positions which were more moderate. Or, to put it correctly, which I and everyone else in my hometown perceived as moderate. I liked when people “looked at both sides.” After all, that’s how you get things done, by bringing everyone together, right? People who take extreme positions, who get angry, they just want attention, or just don’t know better… right?

November 8th, 2016. Election Night. I was walking down the hallway to my dorm just after the race was called, and I didn’t know how to feel. I did not vote for Donald Trump, but I was still fairly conservative. Was I thrilled that he won? No. But I was not outraged, and I didn’t understand why people were. So I walked down the hall to my dorm, after leaving a few watch parties once the good feelings ended and the drinking began. On the floor in the hallway were two women, sitting next to each other in their pajamas, and crying.

At first, I thought I’d just mind my own business. But I was quickly shedding that mindset after being in college for just a few months, so I asked a simple question. “Are you ok?” I thought this sounded dumb the second after I said it, because the answer was obviously a “no.” But what else was I to ask? “What’s wrong?” or a generic “How are you?” would have been even dumber. But then one of them responded: “No. No I’m not. Because… because I have friends who were sexually assaulted. And now we have someone who has bragged about it… as president. And men are going to see that and think its ok. And it’s never… it’s never going to stop.” I didn’t really know what else to say. (Although, I was at least smart enough to not say some forced-optimistic crap like “It’ll all be alright.”) I frowned, lightly nodded my head, and returned to my dorm.

I did not realize it then, but I realize now that after listening to this woman, that I began to unpack what she said. Buckle up. I first thought about the claim that he bragged about sexual assault. And I thought back to the infamous Access Hollywood tape. When I first heard of the tape during the election, my thoughts on it were shallow, and primarily electoral. Things like “Wow that’s messed up, I wouldn’t say that.” and “This is really going to hurt Trump.” That was it. But there was more to it than that. I listened to it again. And again. And I realized something – the news media seemed more obsessed with one particular sentence: “Grab them by the p*ssy.” I recall them playing this clip over and over again, with the appropriate “bleeps” at the appropriate times. But to be honest, the media outrage over this sentence was idiotic, because they made it seem like Trump’s big sin was that he just used a crude word.

The far more important part of the tape was that which came earlier: “I better use some Tic Tacs just in case I start kissing her. You know I'm automatically attracted to beautiful... I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait. And when you're a star they let you do it. You can do anything.” I don’t even wait. Wait for what? For consent. The possibility that they, the women, “let him do it” is irrelevant because there was no consent obtained beforehand. He bragged about sexual assault, there is simply no way around it. That’s a big deal, and I realized my error in glossing over this as “just another scandal” earlier.

But then there was the other part of what the woman in the hallway said, which I was still skeptical of. At first I thought, “Sure, boys may hear the recording of Trump, but does that mean they’ll think sexual assault is ok themselves? Surely not, you can’t just make connections like that.” But then I thought about it some more. Can’t I? Looking back, I heard many of the people who made this exact claim also draw similar connections themselves. I saw Fox News pundits argue that Obama was not praising America enough in his speeches, and that it set a bad example for children on patriotism. I would hear friends at school say that their parents banned them from watching football, because they didn’t want their kids to think it was ok to kneel for the national anthem. I watched YouTube videos of conservative parents outraged at liberal teachers commenting on politics in class.

In all of these cases, there is the assumption that young people’s mindset is formed in part from the environment they grow up in, from parenting, to schools, to the president. Yet somehow, when it is Donald Trump in question, this logic goes out the window. His comments are dismissed as “locker room talk,” and the idea that a president bragging about sexual assault will lead to more sexual assaults is treated as “the media blaming him for everything.” Ask yourself, if you were the woman in the hallway that night, with friends who were sexually assaulted, would you be angry that Trump was elected? Probably. Would you be “emotional?” Probably. And you’d be especially angry if someone told you to “calm down” or to be more “civil” when venting that anger.

This story, along with countless other examples over my four years at GW, led me to shed the childish belief that being angry over an issue probably meant you weren’t seeing things clearly. What may be more likely is that you are seeing things clearly, and are anger by others who fail to. I’m not saying that we should never try to be civil. Civility can be a good thing. But the lesson I learned is that you should never assume someone is wrong just because they are emotional. And you shouldn’t assume someone is right just because they keep their cool when making their points. Sometimes anger is righteous, sometimes it is justified, and sometimes it can mobilize people to change the world in positive ways. Don’t allow your voice to be drowned out by the civility police.

One of “Those” Guys

Fall, 2019, the first semester of my senior year. I had three whole years of college under my belt, was shocked at how quickly things went, and was in denial that I was graduating. All normal senior year things. I’ll also admit, I was less “wowed” by professors and classes at this point than I was three years earlier. Not saying that that is a bad thing. It’s inevitable that the “newness” of class will wear off over time and having a new batch of professors every few months just becomes routine. I also had an internship that semester at Cohen & Burnett P.C., and with much on my plate, I perhaps did not engage with my classes as much as I should have. None of this means that this was a semester that went by without giving me good stories to tell, and here’s my favorite.

One of my courses, US Political Parties and Politics, was taught by Professor Vincent Stine. I liked Professor Stine’s class, and it was full of good discussions about the political parties and current events. He was clearly very knowledgeable and taught us well. But I didn’t love it, but not because of anything the professor did. Rather, I didn’t love the class for the simple reason that, as a political science minor, the American government classes eventually felt one in the same. There was too much overlap. I felt as if I had discussed the Election of 1800 and its implications a million times.

So what I liked the most about all of my poly sci courses was not the readings or even much of the subject matter. It was all interesting and important, but I could only take so much of it. What I liked most was the professors themselves. I loved hearing the anecdotes from Capitol Hill and their recollection of witnessing famous political events. One day in US Political Parties and Politics, we were discussing how the political parties operated in Congress, and Professor Stine began to reminisce about what he saw on Capitol Hill. It was then that his reminiscing developed into the most memorable, epic rant by a professor I’ve ever heard.

Going off my memory, the entire thing deserves to be written here: “I would go to the Hill, and I would see guys who loved being there. It was their whole life. They would go early in the morning, stand in line at Starbucks and get a giant coffee, and head to the office. They loved the intensity of it. They loved watching votes, and being in a chaotic Congressional office. They were on the front seat of the action. And then I’d go back years later – and they were still there. Some of them would be in their late-thirties and would be single. Yet there they were, still walking into the office with their Starbucks, still bragging about being ‘on the front seat of the action.’ They’d say they were changing the world. No they weren’t! And the fact is that anybody given a few years on the job could do it fairly well. I got out. I did some time there in my twenties and it was a good experience. But I got out. And that’s what I’d tell all of you who are looking to get into politics and work on the Hill. Do a few years there in your twenties, by all means, it's great experience. But then get out! Go into lobbying. Go into academia. Go travel. Do something else. Don’t be that guy with the Starbucks. Please, don’t be that guy.”

The entire class clapped. It was an impromptu rant, but students found him so spot on, that the entire class clapped. I then thought back to my internship sophomore year on Capitol Hill. I worked in the Office of Congressman Mark Sanford. I didn’t agree with much of his politics then (or now), but I just really wanted a “Hillternship.” I applied to every application I could, didn’t really research the people I applied to, and chose the one which got back to me earliest with the best schedule. I loved working there. I still keep in touch with his very intelligent and kind-hearted staff. It was definitely a great experience.

And yes, I loved being on the front row of the action. I loved my ID card, and seeing members of Congress walk down the hallway. I loved wearing my suit to the office. It was all very glamorous. Upon hearing Professor Stine’s speech, I thought back to my time there. Yes, it was great – for a semester. But what about a year? Two years? Ten years? Twenty years? One thing I didn’t notice while on the job but realized years later was that almost all of Congressman Sanford’s staff were young. I think almost all of them were in their twenties. And in the summer of 2018 when Sanford lost his primary, many of those staff members did “get out.” They went into lobbying, or think tanks, or worked for political campaigns outside of D.C. One way or another – they got off the Hill.

I also thought about some of the other students in my political science classes. It was usually white guys (I genuinely can’t recall one woman or person of color being among this group) who would talk too much in class. Yes, I’m on thin ice here, but there’s a good way to engage in class (asking questions and referencing readings), and there’s a not so good way. These people would try and frame everything as a debate. They would be so eager to use something they had probably just learned to prove themselves “right” that they’d go out on limbs to do so. They’d talk about polling data and vote counts at parties just a little too much. While there’s nothing wrong with talking politics at social events, especially to challenge a racist comment or to correct misinformation, those aren’t the reasons these guys would. Rather, their only goal is to demonstrate how smart they are. Most importantly, they usually are not invested in any of the actual issues being discussed. All they do is follow elections and policy minutiae, and they rarely spend the time to engage directly with the human beings who are affected by the policies they learn about.

It is these people who I’ve observed over my time at GW who I believe will end up on that Starbuck’s line fifteen years from now, with their horizons remaining unbroadened. And I’ll admit, for a while I was on that track, and I think many people who have an interest in politics and go to GW end up on it, at least for a little bit. It is easy to fall down the rabbit hole. But don’t do it. That’s the lesson here. Make a conscious choice not to do it – treat pigeonholes like landmines to be avoided. Get a hobby, go on dates, and travel the world. And please, if you’re of a background similar to mine and are interested in going to D.C., don’t join the faceless legions of shallow white men who spend their whole lives on Capitol Hill, who spectate power without wielding it, and who believe they know everything while they’ve created nothing.

Enter the Arena

I started this piece with two quotes. The first was from Theodore Roosevelt’s “Man in the Arena” speech. It’s been cited countless times and you may have already heard it, but like I said at the beginning, it is ok to borrow ideas from others. In the speech, Roosevelt argues that it is better to “dare greatly” within the arena of life than to criticize others from outside it. I’ve realized that, as the last four years have ran their course, I’ve adopted this mindset in regards to college. Learning is not always easy, whether it is about your classes, about dating, or about people who look or worship differently than you do. Yes, some learning does “just happen,” but I believe you need to make a conscious, continuous effort if you really want to improve yourself and deepen your knowledge of this world. You need to be in the arena, and as Roosevelt said, be willing to have your face “marred by dust and sweat and blood.” Or, less figuratively speaking, be willing to have the tough conversations, to risk saying dumb things, and to occasionally admit you’re wrong. To embrace the awkwardness and rawness of it all.

But this revelation leads to a second question: why? Is it really necessary, to dedicate such time and energy to learning? And the answer to that question, for me and other people in the privileged position I am in, is up to us. It could well be no. Which leads me to the second quote I opened this piece with, by Ta-Nehisi Coates, one of my favorite authors. The quote was from a Twitter thread Coates wrote in 2014, discussing his own development as an author, saying “I came to Howard when I was 17 with some backwards-ass ideas--specifically about white people.” After elaborating on some of the uneducated beliefs held in his youth, Coates comments that “They [his professors] knew that if I ever went out and said that in front of any group of well-read people, I would get my head cut off.” As Coates has stated elsewhere, if he wanted to succeed as a black author, he had to get his shit together. Because if he did not, he would end up fitting the stereotype of the uneducated black kid spouting off crazy ideas about race and America, and he would be ignored. He would not be taken seriously, because he’d be “living in the world of myth.”

Coates then went on to say that when you are privileged, however, this dynamic changes. This is because “You can live in the world of myth and be taken seriously.” I could have taken a very different course over the past four years, a course which I saw many classmates take. I could have said “You know what, I’m just going to focus on my grades and getting that job after graduation. I’m not going to concern myself with meeting all these different groups or getting into student life because at the end of the day, we’ll graduate and that stuff doesn’t matter. Get a good job, a wife, a house, and kids, because that’s what matters most, not all this political stuff.” It’s true, those things do matter. They matter a lot. And fifteen years from now I’d have all of them and would be perfectly happy. But them being the only things that matter is a privilege.

I could have chosen to walk by the crying woman in the hallway. Hey, it was late, and you could argue I’d be better off asleep. But a sexual assault survivor or the friend of one can’t “ignore” the politics of sexual assault. It’s their life. I could have just went to the business networking groups at the student org open house, and not listened to the black students talk with their organization. Hey, the connections I’d make with that business group would be great, and my time at the event was limited. But a black student often needs to identify the resources available to them on campus for support in the face of potential racism. For some, it’s not a choice of what student orgs to join. I could have not cared at all about why Pat couldn’t read. Hey, junior year was a busy time, and I could have used the time in those UNICEF meetings to study, or go for a walk. But guess who can’t ignore Pat’s problems? Pat. When he finds out that he can’t advance to the 5th grade through no fault of his own. I could have wrote a piece upon graduation quoting and admiring Theodore Roosevelt, without also pointing out his racist attitudes towards American Indians, and his belief in eugenics. Hey, he still did a lot of good things, and it was a long time ago, what’s the big deal? But if you’re someone who’s physically disabled, you may not be as quick to honor someone who believed in eugenics.

And you know what else? After those fifteen years, after all that non-learning, I could still talk about all of these political issues and more, and be taken seriously. Because when you’re financially secure with a good job and a family, and have the right amount of grey hair on your head, you’re granted a level of validity to speak on virtually any topic, even one you know very little about. You can live in the world of myth, and be taken seriously. And that would be the biggest lesson from my four years at GW.

Yes, if you’re privileged, you can choose to live in the world of myth. But you shouldn’t, and I challenge you not to do it. This world is too complex and too chaotic and too wonderful to spend your time on it in blissful ignorance. So there you have it, the lessons from my four years at GW:

1. Focus on the end product, you are probably judged on it more than how you got there.
2. It’s ok to borrow ideas from others.
3. Don’t be afraid to be an “X” kid.
4. Learning can be unintentional. Put yourself in places that help you grow.
5. Being able to define yourself is a privilege. Recognize it if you have it.
6. Think deeply about the world. Unpack things, and don’t apologize for it.
7. It’s never too late to make a difference, especially to yourself.
8. Sometimes there is no “right side” to an issue. Don’t pretend that it’s your own.
9. Sometimes there is a right side to an issue. Don’t pretend something is 50-50 when it’s not.
10. Don’t impose limits on yourself – think outside the box to succeed.
11. Look for BATNAs – walk away when life offers you a bad deal.
12. Being angry doesn’t make you wrong, don’t be silenced by civility.
13. Get off the hill! Don’t pigeonhole yourself into the land of boredom.

And most importantly:
14. Hold your head up, throw yourself into the arena, and fight every day to leave the world of myth.

Earlier in this piece, when writing about high school, I stated that my experience there simply “was not enough.” Since graduating college, I’ve found myself pondering the question: “Was my four years at GW ‘enough?’” I’ve reached the conclusion that the premise of this question is fundamentally flawed, because it assumes that there is such a thing as “enough” in the first place. Yes, I’ve outlined fourteen lessons here, and have told you of some of my experiences. But there are more experiences I wish I had and more that I want to have. There’s always going to be that class I didn’t take, the woman I didn’t ask out, the speaker I didn’t see, the student group I didn’t join, the museum I didn’t visit, and the party I didn’t go to. And yes, there will be the lessons I didn’t learn. But just like my life experiences won’t end once college ends, the number of lessons also won’t end at fourteen. So no, college was not enough – and it shouldn’t be, because “enough” is a lie which says that once we learn a lesson or have an experience we should just settle and not strive to build upon it. I don’t know about you, but that’s a lie I never want to live my life by. Never.

Never enough.