FEB 20, 2025 | OPINION | By Fiona Frankel
To preface, I do believe that the architect who designed Mathias Hall had to have made some sort of error; our walls feel remarkably thin, not possibly more than an inch thick. Throughout the past six months, I have gotten to know the people on the other side of the wall far more intimately than I’d like. I know when they’re sick, as the coughs and sneezes reverberate through both rooms. I know the sound and specific timbre of each of their voices, as well as all of their friends. And most unfortunately, I have heard their conversations.
Over the past few months, I have made a point to spend as little time in my room as possible. I slept on a friend’s floor when they hosted their very own party in their room. I bought earplugs over winter break and learned to fall asleep to white noise through earbuds. I spend hours in friends’ rooms when I’m inclined to relax in my dorm but don’t want to deal with the noise.
The reasonable step would be to call the RA or talk to my neighbors directly. But RAs can only do so much and in this case, hardly anything, when they simply choose to turn their music right back up afterward. As for the latter, I’ve spoken up significantly only once, which was received quite poorly.
It’s also worth noting that I would love to forget the truly horrifying conversations I’ve heard through that wall. I don’t need to approach the wall with a cup to my ear — these discussions occur loudly, shamelessly and lengthily.
I grew up in the Bay Area and was raised as a typical sheltered liberal in a school environment where a joke about taking one’s life would raise eyebrows. But I understand that most people don’t censor themselves. Even at Colorado College, many students don’t hesitate to use the r-word, a slur for disabled people, or call someone a pussy. And though I don’t personally use these terms, I also don’t call people out for saying them.
Still, hearing the way my neighbors speak still occasionally startles me. The way they disparage their female friends, crassly discuss others’ sex lives and freely call each other the f-slur, a slur for gay people. But as I’ve spoken to friends about this, about how annoying, insulting and frustrating it is to hear this dialogue night after night, I’ve come to personally realize that my neighbors are not unique. The only thing that makes them truly distinct is the volume at which they have these conversations — the same conversations that are being had in many men’s dorm rooms across the country.
When discussing big tech’s acquiescence to a less woke culture under the Trump administration, an article from the Financial Review wrote, “Even the way people on Wall Street talk and interact is changing. Bankers and financiers say that Trump’s victory has emboldened those who chafed at ‘woke doctrine’ and felt they had to self-censor or change their language to avoid offending younger colleagues, women, minorities or disabled people.”
My neighbors aren’t exceptionally bad people. They’re inconsiderate and annoying and, as I refer to them to friends, assholes. But, they’re also emblematic of anti-woke culture in America right now, mere products of Joe Rogan, big tech, Trumpism — however one prefers to describe the epidemic of toxic fragile masculinity sweeping our country.
Whether they realize it or not, most American men using offensive language are parroting that of the manosphere, a phenomenon that has bled from the extreme fringe right into accepted society. Not all men who use rhetoric, including my neighbors, are Trump supporters. Some even voted blue and merely feel emboldened by breaking the woke sphere they fall into by doing so. Yet as we toss around terms like ‘woke’ and ‘politically correct,’ it’s important to recall their derivation: an awareness of social injustice that makes one more conscious of others’ emotions and experiences. Essentially, empathy.
Still, it seems as though empathy is becoming an increasingly unpopular concept. Trump made a name for himself among young men by making outlandish, shocking statements that triggered the left. His rhetoric differed from those before him because it was so senseless and impromptu, easy to brush off as a joke. With this came a characterization of the left — the ‘woke mob’ — as overly serious, sensitive, establishment liberals who can’t take a joke and overreact to humorous dialogue. Women are especially susceptible to this depiction, particularly young women of color who are oftentimes the very victims of this language.
I’ve struggled to confront my neighbors primarily because I believe it would be futile, if not detrimental. In a similar vein to parenting a rambunctious toddler, I don’t want to give them the attention or satisfaction that they unconsciously seek when using offensive language. Especially in a ‘woke’ environment like Colorado College, most men, but people in general, use this terminology for the shock factor they will inevitably incite. Still, this response veers into ‘boys will be boys’ territory, in which we ignore and inherently accept and condone poor, hurtful behavior.
Proximity and interaction with a diverse population, many of whom are the subjects of popular slurs, helps to humanize these demographics and not let them fall into the ‘woke mob’ that many young men are eager to upset. Still, this approach cannot be implemented without continuing to hold people accountable. Men like my neighbors aren’t dropping the f-slur unknowingly. They know gay people, have gay friends and still genuinely do not care. For them, it’s not that serious. It’s just a word. Calling their female friends ‘sluts’ and ‘whores’ is just talk, victimless joking in a confidential setting. And I shouldn’t be hearing it — they are conducting themselves under the pretense of privacy, a safe environment with just their friends who won’t be offended the way the broader community might be.
Where do we go from here? Young men are both more vulnerable and more volatile than ever, yet calling them out on their behavior oftentimes has an adverse effect. Ignoring it permits its continuation, allowing them to think that it is acceptable. Though confrontation can be, as stated, faulty and counterproductive, it is also a pathway through an epidemic of behavior that works against empathy and respect. Young men forming lasting, platonic relationships with women is crucial to their understanding of the effects of their actions. And to any man reading this, I will present the classic adage: what if it were your mother, sister or daughter facing the consequence of your behavior?
All of that to be said, I am choosing to do nothing. In my case, I don’t envision an outcome of confrontation in which my neighbors stop their behavior, recognize their errors, or even apologize. Though hypocritical to my recommended approach to this behavior, I’m looking to make it through the next three months during which I continue spending as little time as possible on my floor and avoid conflict altogether. Men’s behavior continues to be a pervasive problem that should be addressed, but I’m not inclined to make direct enemies out of the people I’m forced to pass in the halls every day. I choose to surround myself with the support of my friends two floors below — people who can understand complex concepts like respect, empathy and basic decency — and for now, that’s how I’m choosing to get through this.
NOTE: This story has been updated to reflect the titles of individuals and other information more accurately.