On the Campus - March 10, 1999
Website Exclusives...
Chris Rock comes
to Princeton
A comedy-act full of politically incorrect
errors
by Nancy Smith '00
" Princeton. " With a chuckle and a
shake of his head, this is how Chris Rock began his February 18 performance
to a sell-out crowd in Dillon Gymnasium. The audience went wild, cheering
and shrieking as much out of pride for their university as in anticipation
of what the comedian would say in the next hour, and how the traditionally
conservative, serious, andat timesprovincial campus would react.
That is just about the only line of Rock's monologue that can be reprinted in a mainstream publication, much less the paw. Chris Rock's blatant, no-holds-barred, in-your-face humor can perhaps best be described as "off-color." Having made a name for himself as the African-American comedian who tells jokes about "niggahs," Rock has also made millions at it. The first joke he told in Dillon drew on his success, noting that while many members of his audience would hit the books after the show, Rock would drive away in a Porsche, having only attained a G.E.D.
Many might wonder how well Princeton students are able to relate to Rock, who draws on personal experience in the racially segregated ghetto and uses humor to illuminate de facto racism in American society. One comment, "I was the only black kid in my grade," drew cheers of understanding and solidarity from a segment of the crowd, causing at least this white student to pause and consider what that might be like, and what it might be like to be black at Princeton. But an instant later, riotous laughter snapped me back into the heady moment, as the row of plaid-shirted white guys sitting in front of me rocked back in their folding chairs under the weight of unrestrained guffaws.
Half of what makes Chris Rock so intriguing is how successfully he has defied entrenched racial taboos to appeal to white and black audiences alike. Where 50 years ago whites and blacks did not sit together on buses or use the same drinking fountains, today they sit shoulder to shoulder in crowded auditoriums, laughing together. Yet Rock's act resonates more than through the unison of laughter; that white people laugh and nod appreciably at his colloquial renditions of the "black-people mall" and the "ghetto grocery store" shows a deepening acknowledgment of the problems of segregated communities and the economic glass ceiling.
BOY DOES HE OFFEND
But another side of Chris Rock is his potential to offend. Reducing a woman's weighty decision to have an abortion to a simple choice between short-term medical costs, Rock distills the divisive issue this way: "It costs $5,000 to deliver a baby. It costs $1,500 to have an abortion. Face it: It's either Jimmy or cable." Further, his characterizations of male-female relationships center around graphic sexual dominance, putting the woman on her knees before her manin the physical as well as the psychological sense.
His humor oscillates between refreshing disregard for political correctness and a cold slap in the face of social dignity, and people line up for his performances, in the case of his Princeton appearance, as much as four hours before scheduled curtain time. Like moviegoers at a horror flick, people are excited and titillated by what they see and hear. Goodbye to the politically correct.
On the Princeton campus, where daily interactions are rooted in a firm middle ground of codified respect, Chris Rock found no exception, profiting from the fact that we literally have to buy tickets to witness anything different. Certainly very few would wish for a wholesale exchange of Princeton's norms for Rock's pejorative outlook; nobody wants their preceptor to ask them for the "redneck" point of view on slavery or how a "ho" feels about single motherhood. In contrast, a diverse community like Princeton presents all of us with the challenge of how to deal with other groups most respectfully, which is clearly positive. But when this challenge is taken too far, as many have argued in the case of the political correctness movement, many are dangerously tempted to give up on the whole concept of multiculturalism out of frustration. The all-consuming questions of whether to say "blacks" or "African-Americans" or whether it's acceptable to use "he" as a gender-neutral pronoun have become a source of anguish and awkward embarrassment; a dangerous result of all this sensitivity is that many have come to consider respect too much of a burden.
What Chris Rock shows us is that it is possible to break down our oversensitivities through humor. Even those who grimaced at many of his sexual references or whose first impulse was to become indignant at his "racist" or "sexist" comments couldn't help but smirk a little too. Rock brings us closer to reality by removing the politically sterilized terms that we use to inoculate real societal problems. Whether we call it a "ghetto" or an "inner city" does nothing to change the reality of a run-down neighborhood; it only alters the frame through which we perceive it.
CAN WE LAUGH?
As I left Dillon Gymnasium a few weeks ago, I pondered what life would be like, on campus and off, if we could give each other the freedom to laugh without constantly worrying about offending each other. In our use of hyphenated labels, whose wordy precision has permeated our language and our precepts, we are sending each other a message that every joke must by definition be at someone else's expense, and that there is no such thing as laughing with someone instead of at him (or her). In a multicultural society, it is admittedly a fine line to draw, and the stakes are high. And in the case of Princeton in particular, it is probably too much to ask that an Ivy-league community not overanalyze everything. Still, the simplistic idealist in me sometimes wonders if we're only making things worse by our hypersensitivity, and if the world might be a little more harmonious if we could only laugh at ourselves once in awhile.
(illustration by Chris Brooks)
Muscling aside the men
Princeton women are trying to make the place their own, despite a
"good old boy" atmosphere
by Kruti Trivedi '00
What does it mean to be a woman at Princeton? I remember my first week
on campus when my roommate and I trudged over to Burr Hall to check out
the Women's Center. It was a letdown. Three other women were raring to plan
a frenzied feminist year for Princeton women. That was about it. My roommate
and I drank free Snapple and huddled close together. Then we went home and
never breathed a word about the Women's Center again.
Overt feminism has no place on campus these days. I'm told the Women's Center, now located farther away from the main campus in Stevenson Hall, is often as empty as it was my freshman year. The annual Take Back the Night march to protest violence against women is a fraction of the size it was a few years ago, and women's groups are having a difficult time finding members.
As we female students become enmeshed in our orange-and-black existence, we think as Princeton students, people with goals, ambitions, talent, and a desire to change the world. Sometimes we think of ourselves as Midwesterners, or squash players, or future government officials. Very rarely do we think of ourselves as just women.
However, after this year's Nude Olympics, with its attendant degrading behavior and incidents of sexual harassment and assault, many Princeton women sought to redefine themselves and their role in the community. I spoke to several junior and senior women, asking them what they thought it meant to be a woman at Princeton.
The biggest problem Princeton women need to overcome, they say, is tradition.
"Being a woman at Princeton means trying to claim and be a part of a tradition that didn't include you," said one junior.
"Although all of the classes, clubs, and activities no longer cater to only one gender, a feeling still lingers of the traditional good old boys' school that it once was," said one senior. "Tradition runs deep at this school, and although that is one feature of Princeton that should be praised, honored, and valued, it is also one that constantly reminds us of what Princeton once lacked: women."
"Being a Princeton woman has made me tough. The feeling of tradition and the need to fulfill a legacy of honor is a driving force behind every action, but often a burden as well," said one junior. "In a way I feel like being here has made me lose touch with my female sensitivity. I understand that this is a man's world, but here I feel that I can only succeed if I do things the man's way."
"A Princeton woman has to be a she-male. She has perfected the art of being assertive in the classroom, aggressive with the opposite sex, yet remaining typically feminine," concurred another junior. "It's a balancing act that never leaves her completely satisfied."
Another student told me about the time she accepted her boyfriend's excuse that he couldn't deal with a relationship while he had to study differential equations; then she spent the evening before her molecular biology exam listening to his problems because she didn't want to be labeled cold-hearted.
One student related her amazement when she found that this semester three of her classes are being taught by women.
Another told me about a male preceptor who said that she could change precepts so she wouldn't have to be the only girl in the class. She ended up agonizing over whether to switch because he was already biased against her.
I spent an afternoon with a woman in Chancellor Green who was debating whether to spend a year after graduation teaching in Tangiers. She wondered if she could afford to spend a year doing something that might keep her from meeting Mr. Right, which would slow down any marriage plans, which would mean that she wouldn't be able to produce three smiling future alumni by the time she hit 30.
When I told my roommate I was doing a column on women's views of Princeton, she grimaced. "You better be careful, or you'll sound too bitter," she warned.
There are things to be bitter about; though I imagine they're nothing compared to the situation of women 30 years ago, when Princeton went coed. Women are still degraded, harassed, and made to feel unwelcome at a school that is supposed to be their own. Many women strongly believe that they shouldn't need to ask others for help, that as Princeton women they are more than capable of taking care of themselves.
But what I found is that women here, despite some disappointments, are happy with their decision to come to Princeton. And they're trying to make it easier for those who follow. One junior put it best: "Being a woman at Princeton means you have to make yourself so firmly a part of that tradition and heritage that others can't imagine a time, or don't want to imagine a time, when you were not a part of it."
Kruti Trivedi is a peer educator for the Sexual Harassment/Assault Resources Education Program.
GO TO the Table of Contents of the current issue
GO TO PAW's
home page