When I first decided to go to Georgetown, everyone I told responded in the same way: “So you must be interested in politics.”
“Actually, no, I’m not,” I was always forced to reply.
Georgetown University is a political campus, if you haven’t noticed. Sitting in our classrooms, furrowing their brows and ferociously scribbling notes, are many of tomorrow’s leaders. While students at other universities gather to watch football games, we have presidential debate parties. Your fellow Hoya may be puking in a bush, but she may also be America’s first female president.
When we meet new people, we ask them their name, where they’re from and what political party they’re affiliated with. We have GU Democrats, GU Republicans, GU Moderates, GU Libertarians, and GU Independents. On Halloween, we trick-or-treat at the embassies and we don’t even have class on Inauguration Day. Many famous political figures, including former President and Georgetown grad Bill Clinton once wandered through the corridors of the School of Foreign Service. Indeed, most students at Georgetown live for politics, which leads me to wonder about those of us who can’t tell Secretary of State nominee Condi Rice from Rice-a-Roni. Is there a place for the politically apathetic at Georgetown?
I’ll admit, I was once one part of the politically clueless horde more commonly and accurately known as America’s youth. I grew up in Massachusetts, where a Republican is as rare as a Mediterranean Monk Seal. In such a one-sided atmosphere, one would assume that I was raised with some type of political education. But one would be wrong. Students in my high school never got together to talk about tax overrides, and our discussions of recent presidential actions were limited to jokes involving a certain notorious intern. My parents are both moderate and they rarely talked about politics in front of me. I learned the fundamentals of government in my U.S. AP History class, but when I picked up a Newsweek it might as well have been written in Afrikaans. Nonetheless, I managed to survive for 18 years knowing next to nothing about politics. I even managed to get into Georgetown.
But then I came here. I was surrounded by people who were devoting their lives to politics and creating paths they hoped would one day lead them straight to Capitol Hill. I was still struggling to find Capitol Hill on the Metro.
Politics were everywhere. My French teacher spent entire classes devoted not to grammar or pronunciation, but instead to the French presidentcy and parliament. For one essay, I had to do more research on the American government than the French. Many of my friends, on the other hand, had worked for the presidential campaigns over the summer and when the elections came around, they urged me to vote Bush or vote Kerry. It seemed like everyone had an opinion except for me. I was left standing in the middle of the SAC fair, scratching my head and wondering which list my named belonged on.
This continued throughout the semester, but, upon my return to school from winter break, I had an epiphany. Sitting in my dorm room with a few friends, one of them mentioned that she could never marry a Republican.
“But part of being a Democrat is being open-minded,” I argued. “And besides, there are many different kinds of Republicans and Democrats. By saying you’d never marry a Republican, you’re going against the most fundamental principle of the Democratic Party!”
Maybe I was getting a little carried away, but after one semester at Georgetown, I finally had an opinion. The next day, I went to Map of the Modern World, even though I’m not in the SFS. As TAs patrolled the aisles like bouncers and Professor Pirtle threatened death by stoning if we talked, drank or blinked too many times in his class, I realized that I was subjecting myself to this because I actually wanted to learn about the political and geographical history of the world. Without knowing it, I had become one of the people who had once confused me so much.
