Junior economics major
Sometimes, it feels like this university never left the 1990s.
It’s not the worst era to find oneself in – certainly beating out the Hooverville ’30s or, dare I mention, the Alf-infested ’80s. For those young bloods out there who can’t recall what made the ’90s unique, don’t fret — just think back to an animated delight that so encapsulated the decade’s magic: Arthur.
With his unbridled idealism, America’s favorite anthropomorphic aardvark was undoubtedly a ’90s lovechild. Each episode was invariably profound, but the show’s appeal was perhaps best expressed by its reggae-style theme song, “Believe in Yourself.” The song fed millions of young viewers a heartwarming mantra to live by, echoing the confidence and optimism of the decade. America was turning into ’Merica. We told the world to take a backseat while we finished smoking our Cold War victory cigars and assumed our position as the greatest country ever.
And then the fantasy ended. The dot-com, WorldCom, Enron, housing market and most other bubbles all eventually burst as our self-assurance proved delusional. Fast-forward a decade later; naysayers began to fear the nation’s economic engine was in total disrepair.
In truth, the contrast is far less severe. Our country is not a modern-day equivalent of the Roman empire in decline and not quite as fantastic as too many assumed in the ’90s. Vacillating between these positive and negative extremes exists a comparable study: the collective psyche of the university community.
In College Park, sometimes we take Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers’ Arthur anthem a little too seriously, prematurely basking in our own greatness. The campus is filled with construction and progress, making it easy to fully believe in our ability to succeed and to assume the position of greatest university ever — or, well, at least the designation of a top-20 college town. Specific departments and programs may continue to bolster their national pedigrees, but, in pure ’90’s fashion, we can tend to fool ourselves into being something we’re not.
Let’s get a few things straight: Our men’s basketball program is not elite, our campus isn’t ranked in the top 50 national universities according to U.S. News & World Report and College Park isn’t even close to a top college town. From the “Unstoppable Starts Here” slogan to the not-so “Great Expectations” fundraising campaign that was delayed in meeting its $1 billion goal and didn’t come close to what many comparative institutions in the Big Ten have generated, presupposing ourselves to be unstoppable or great seems silly when it juxtaposes the reality around us: We’re a good — not great — school on the whole. “Believe in Yourself” all you want — even with new slogans, it’s hard to shake the stigma of “A Livable Community.”
On the other hand, College Park is far more compelling and attractive than the crime-infested cesspool the crime alerts may lead some to believe it is. The salience of a few high-profile tragedies shouldn’t cloud the fact that this campus saw a 4-percent reduction in crime last year. And development along Route 1 in the coming years — perhaps with the help of a Whole Foods, conference center, upscale restaurants and other amenities — could truly transform the identity of the campus. Grand plans and monumental shifts aren’t becoming of this campus, proved all too well by the decadelong East Campus development odyssey. The prolonged construction project has embodied this campus’s clear flaw: too many empty promises and a tendency to self-congratulate before actual progress is made. The dreams of College Park turning into a top-20 college town won’t be realized until every storefront on Route 1 is filled, from the boarded-up building next to Taco Bell to the abandoned dive restaurant beside Subway.
Like the ’90s itself, a middle ground exists between delusional optimism and pure gloom. So let’s channel Arthur’s lessons into something more substantial.
Nadav Karasov is a junior economics major. He can be reached at njkarasov@gmail.com.
