c o l u m n s


 
Duane Gibson
    Class Clowns

It's that time of year again, folks -- last Friday saw the beginning of that most recognizable manifestation of the sacred cow known as student self-governance -- the student council election campaign kick-off. By now most of us have certainly seen our little democracy in action -- those disenfranchised politicos running around Grounds like chickens with their heads cut off, resorting to any means necessary to garner the number of signatures needed to earn the right to inscribe one's name on the sidewalk with a dazzling palette of colored chalk.

While this image is, without a doubt, revoltingly shallow to many of us here at Mr. Jefferson's university, this year's campaign season offers us an opportunity to look back at the promises of last year's elections and see where they stand today. The year's biggest award winner, taking home the hardware for Most Poorly Conceived Idea, Worst Platform Plank in a Presidential Campaign, Best Attempt at Introducing First-Years to Revisionist Thinking (formerly known as the Best Preparation for U-Guide Tryouts award), and Best Kept Secret Since Iran-Contra, is Scot Fishman's brainchild (read: brain fart), UVA 101.

Have any of you heard anything about UVA 101 lately? Probably not, at least until Monday. Granted, its prolonged absence from the pages of the Cavalier Daily's coverage of StudCo developments could have meant what we had all hoped for since the beginning -- that UVA 101 had gone down in history along with Clinton's health care reform bill and FDR's proposed expansion of the Supreme Court as unmentionably bad ideas that fortunately didn't make it. There was unfortunately another possibility, which on Monday became truth: it was actually in the process of being covertly brought to fruition by Fishman and his StudCo cronies. Since that is the case, you can imagine the possibile scenarios (many laughable) that could unfold:

a) Rampant cheating in UVA 101 causes honor trial volume to skyrocket.
b) Next year's StudCo president takes the hand-off from Fishman and begins development of upper-level U.Va. courses and the "UVA major," which replaces Echols-Interdisciplinary as the least marketable degree in the known universe.
c) Yet another scandal breaks out in the university community as it is revealed that incoming Echols scholars will not be required to take UVA 101, resulting in a mysterious round of Messenger Mail letter bombs being sent to Webb and Maupin.
Although it is true that there is little possibility that any of these things might happen, I think they help to point out how ridiculously absurd the very idea of UVA 101 really is.

Regardless of whether UVA 101 actually does become a reality, there is yet another problem (and a rather serious one at that) that needs to be addressed here. The problem I speak of is this: a proposal can be made that will result in a fairly substantial effect on the student body and the university itself, yet those who will be most directly affected by that proposal (i.e., the student body) can somehow be left in the dark about its status. The simple fact is that until Monday, many students here at U.Va. simply didn't know where the UVA 101 proposal stood, and many probably still don't. Student council is undoubtedly to blame for that.

Why were we kept in the dark for so long about UVA 101? My best guess is that its supporters feared that if progress reports concerning the status of UVA 101 were given regularly to the student body, we would all realize, over time, that the idea is nothing more than a manifestation of U.Va. self-righteousness of the worst kind. I'm just glad that my experience with UVA 101 is limited to being merely a spectator. I don't often concern myself with other people's problems, but I truly feel sorry for those unknowing future students who are going to have to suffer due to this unconscionably ill-conceived idea. But I guess it doesn't really matter to those in charge of this whole debacle; after all, they're not going to be the ones who have to actually go through it.

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Duane Gibson knows the sexual subtleties of gently banking the eight ball into the far right corner pocket, without even a single cue-buff.