When Frosh Week kicked off on Wednesday, the thundering of demolition work was barely audible over the cheers of first-years, led by their equally spirited frosh leaders, parading through campus. Although the noise and energy is typical of every year, close attention would soon have any upper-year at a loss for words—literally.
In an attempt to promote a politically correct Frosh Week, any cheers referencing alcohol are no longer used. The effectiveness of such drastic moves is questionable, and their superficiality is apparent. By asking leaders to deny any involvement with alcohol, they’re essentially ignoring the issue: just because it isn’t discussed doesn’t mean it isn’t going on, and the frosh are well aware.
The goal of curbing excessive alcohol consumption is commendable, especially at a university known for its hearty partying. But changing “drunk frosh, totally lost” to “fun frosh, totally lost” is not going to convince kids to stay in and play a sober game of Go Fish instead of stumbling the 10-minute walk to Smijies. The frosh aren’t ignorant, nor are they alleviated from the pressures to drink simply because it hasn’t been mentioned during group activities.
An integral part of being a Gael, Frec, Boss or Teach is setting an example and acting as a relatable mentor for those in unfamiliar territory at Queen’s. Any effective communication lines are severed the moment a leader sets unrealistic behavioural standards—seeking advice may seem futile for frosh when asking it of an ostensibly moral person. Frosh need to be able to pull their leader aside, ask them about their university experience, and expect an honest answer.
In drastically censoring activities and conversation, Frosh Week organizers have perhaps gone too far. The conduct expected of both frosh and group leaders is hardly rational, and is out of sync with reality. The appeal of getting drunk isn’t lost by its elimination from Frosh Week cheers—if anything, it’s heightened. This year, it will be interesting to see just how many 18-year-olds leave their red plastic beer cups crumpled on the Ghetto’s sidewalks.
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