Editorial: The Frivolity of “The Big Weekend”

As the April showers begin to bog the Green, everyone from freshman to the oldest fifth year student anticipate Dartmouth’s most frivolous tradition—the debaucherous festival of Green Key. However, in recent years, this formerly raucous ritual has become a shell of its former self, an insipid imitation devoid of the unrestrained merriment it once embodied. In years past, Green Key was a revelry of epic proportions, a full-fledged bender that commenced on Wednesday evening and didn’t cease until the inebriated masses staggered back to class on Monday morning. 

The entire campus pulsed with an energy that was unbridled, as students shed their typical demeanor and surrendered to primal ego. Fraternity basements hosted incomparable ragers, impromptu slip-n-slides materialized in the dormitory hallways, and amateur gladiators waged battle royales with the dregs of their Keystone tallboys. These days, the weekend is a sterile facsimile, neutered by the steady encroachment of administrative oversight and overzealous risk management protocols. Gone are the fraternity chorus battles during “Hums” and, in their place, “What the Folk?” at Collis Common Ground. 

What was once a quasi-pagan rite of collective debauchery has become an empty husk, a Potemkin bacchanalia where any hint of genuine excess is swiftly snuffed out by dour administrators and draconian townies. Where past generations danced shirtless on sticky floors puddled with split batch, the modern undergrad twerks with ample personal space, sipping a Polar Seltzer and pondering their midterm score. 

Admittedly, the Green Key concert itself offers a rare glimmer of untrammeled hedonism amidst the bland, bureaucratized festivities. This is less in part thanks to the actual Programming Board—though they work hard to secure the talent and logistical support for the event—and more so the willful spirit of the Dartmouth undergraduate. 

As the deep bass lines reverberate across Gold Coast, concussive blasts of overpriced nitrous oxide detonate and droves of undergrads black out en masse, sparing themselves the indignity of witnessing the latest Tik Tok rapper’s performance. However, even the concert has lost some of its luster as each incoming class seems even more restrained than the last. Of course, one could argue that the debaucherous glory days were inherently problematic—rife with brawls, alcohol poisoning, and—the occasional—arson. 

Perhaps the decline of this hedonistic excess is a societal sign of progress, a shift towards a more enlightened ethos of personal accountability and respect for human dignity. Tempting as it may be to adopt such a sober perspective, it cannot be denied that something vital has been lost amidst the relentless push for reform. In our zealous pursuit of individual safety and institutional liability, we’ve drained the very lifeblood from Dartmouth’s most cherished traditions. 

Much like the Puritans of New England’s past, we have prioritized stringent self-control over the Dionysian pleasures of pure, unchecked revelry. While advocating for a complete return to the drunken abyss would be imprudent, one can still lament the decline of Dartmouth’s bravado. In our pursuit of a more conscientious campus culture, we have defanged the College’s most infamous weekends, sanding off their rough edges and ribald charm. 

As we sip chastely from our borgs, we would be wise to recall that the true spirit of these hallowed festivals lies not in the programming details, but in a willingness to temporarily cast off our shackles of propriety and surrender to the thrill of unbridled hedonism.