I find myself constantly comparing my college to my high school. The comparison feels nearly unavoidable: they are nearly the same size and yet governed by entirely different social norms.
I cannot pretend I was ever particularly happy about going to a public school in the South. Administered by metrics I often found to be vapid, shallow or insincere, I picked a small liberal arts school in Colorado in complete defiance of these norms that burdened my everyday world.
While this piece is inevitably going to take on a critical or even condemning tone, in the same breath that I mock this perceived intersection of social currency with ethical correctness, I could construct symphonies that sing the praises of all that Colorado College and its student body display that I am proud to be a part of.
Passionate, interesting, unique, this experience has already given me heartfelt discussion, meaningful connection and a sincere sense of belonging. People care enough to be angry; I know this to be a privilege. The line between intensity and superiority when it comes to fundamental beliefs and priorities that one shares is not an easy one to tread. If there were an obvious solution as to how to make this world a better place while still feeling assured in your own moral compass, we all would’ve taken it on by now.
With that being said, this school showed me a different side of the discrepancies that come with deeming your own way of thought the moral and righteous one. Almost immediately, I found a discrepancy in the way people can speak in an intellectual setting as opposed to the way they speak amongst each other. A CC student can weave a fascinating argument in their political science class, discussing the plight of misogyny within our society and how it affects each and every one of us, and then turn around and imply another woman is a slut within the confines of her own room.
People here, governed both by the norms of this school and the norms of their (far more progressive than mine) hometowns, are strategic with the way they insult. If one understands there’s an ethical imperative they must abide by, they know to structure their insults accordingly.
Perhaps you feel guilty overtly using the word slut, so you employ a more thoughtful dig, one that encapsulates your negative feelings towards the person, but overshadows that judgment with a seemingly well-founded sense of superiority. If you understand good versus bad and understand it enough to pick a school that is proudly and profoundly sensitive, you also understand how to evade accountability, with diction as your weapon.
I understand that people are complicated. But if the idea that you’re defined by your actions rather than your thoughts makes you uncomfortable, it may be time to reevaluate your actions.
Much of this selective warmth, this oscillation between intellectual compassion and interpersonal coldness, feels downstream of the way our generation has internalized what is often called Dunbar’s number.
Anthropologist Robin Dunbar proposed that while humans can maintain around 150 “meaningful contacts,” we can sustain only about five truly intimate or “inner circle” relationships at a time. The theory was descriptive, a cognitive limit, and I know there to be at least some truth to it. To be fully known in your entirety is a privilege allocated to only a few in our lives.
As I said, I know humans to be complex beings. However, when intimacy becomes scarce by design, indifference becomes easier to justify. If only five people can truly know me, why should I concern myself with how I treat the others in my daily orbit? If my moral identity is rooted in my inner circle, my public behavior feels less consequential. The smile you grant a stranger is exceptionally impactful. Somewhere along the line, between the negative impacts of social media and our own insecurities, we seem to have forgotten this imperative truth. You matter deeply to the people around you and your existence creates a rippling effect that extends far beyond one’s immediate or intimate circle.
I have found much irony in the reactions I receive when I tell people that this school fell short of the standard of friendliness I expected it to uphold. The people who find this to be downright baffling are often the ones I found to be the most standoffish, sometimes even self-righteous, while the people I think are consistently, sincerely kind and nonjudgemental meet this observation with far less skepticism.
It’s the same way people who both voted for Kamala Harris and drop slurs within the boundaries of their own space are the most offended at the notion of being deemed a bigot, the people who are situationally, circumstantially and strategically friendly are supremely offended at the conception that this is not enough to categorize them as a friendly person. People’s inclination towards defense is often a confession of their guilt.
I take issue with this pervasive, passive judgment—practiced by more students than would care to acknowledge it—because it so often reveals its own hypocrisy. I would argue everyone here has had an embarrassingly drunk night, a moment they would rather not be defined by or a statement they wished they could revoke the second it came from their mouth. After all, we are still practically children, finagling with this newfound identity of adulthood.
If you feel at liberty to dissect someone else’s worst moment, a situation you likely don’t understand in full, but recoil when that same scrutiny is turned on you, was it ever about right and wrong?
Or was it about the comfort of feeling morally insulated? It is no small claim to say you align yourself socially, culturally and politically out of deep ethical conviction. But conviction that collapses under reciprocal judgment begins to look less like morality and more like positioning.
I see this rich irony in someone writing an article condemning those for feeling an ethically founded sense of superiority—does this entire claim not feel like an assertion of my ego in its own regard?
I, too, am deeply imperfect. I have made my fair share of mistakes during my time at CC. This is not a call for perfection nor an incentive for shaming. We attend a high school-sized college. We know, simultaneously, far too much and far too little about each other. We will sometimes be immature, act less than our best selves.
But one thing we can always try to be is more often kind. Kind even when we know we would face no reproach for being mean, curious when we feel judgmental, understanding when we’re hurt, sincere when we’re inclined to be defensive. When you undermine self-righteousness, you make room for vulnerability. All we can ask of each other is to be a little bit better.