Judas, Farva, Rosenberg

By Matt Won

Dear President Rosenberg,
It is time that you answer for your conduct as President. We are an institution under siege, and would that the diseased heads were being chucked around from the outside in, but as it turns out we’ve let a traitor into our castle gates. You Judas, you Farva, you Benedict, you, Brian, are the cause of our woes. The only existential crisis here lies with you.
It is only you that stands between us and the glorious Macalester of years gone by. We must be rid of you, Mr. President, be rid of you in order to bring us back to a many-splendored time, when the women didn’t shave, and the men failed to bathe, absorbed as they were in their battle for a more equitable future. The Minnesotan air was sweet, the silent spring was fresh, and the schnozberries tasted like schnozberries.

Don’t insult our intelligence with your lies: we know how much you paid that magazine to stick “Ivy” somewhere in the title of their list. We can see through those contacts you use to hide the green in your eyes. And come on. “Hottest” liberal arts college? It was like 20 degrees yesterday. Is that supposed to be funny? And anyway, we rejoice in our awkwardness and plain looks that teeter over and occasionally fall into the canyon of ugliness.

You have overseen an administration as sexist and racist as a tampon. You’ve recruited droves of East Coasters, with their hygiene, their competently applied makeup, their impeccable study habits, and their Exxon Mobil scholarships.

And what of this new athletic center? What folly, what malicious miscalculation! I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the statuesque, athletic physiques of Macalester students. These great bodies, Mr. Rosenberg? Not products of treadmills and exercise machines, by any means. Did you know that studies have shown that reading Foucault burns 300 Calories a minute? I walked an extra three-quarters of a mile today to purchase some fair trade hummus at the co-op. I’ve read so much Derrida my neck looks like The Body’s from having to hold up my grossly enhanced brain mass all the time. My intellectual pursuits keep my body chiseled like it’s my freaking job. That’s how the Greeks did it, right? You might as well turn the Chapel into another library because my body is all the temple I will ever need. So thanks, but no thanks, Mr. President, you can take your $50 million wannabe-green athletic facility and shove it.

I propose a Truth and Reconciliation Commission, where you will answer for your crimes against the legacy and virtues of Macalester College. There, through the amazing healing power of catharsis, students may voice their grievances to you directly.
Alas, we must consign ourselves to an existence defined by our chief executive.

Obviously, the last recourse we have against a life of presidential determinism is writing articles and petitions to the student newspaper. To say nothing of taking this college’s image and conduct in our own hands, and mounting a counterhegemonic project by earning this institution distinction on our own, in our own way. For now, let us sing the tragedy of our decline, and project our insecurities onto the school’s most visible figure.