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April 14, 2002, The New York Times Magazine
Hidden Lessons
By WALTER KIRN
Our name for him was ''the principal of vice,'' an ancient wisecrack we
thought that we'd invented. He wore a funeral director's dark suit and tie,
but his shoes were brown sneakers with soft treads -- the better to creep up
on us, we figured. He liked to wrap an arm around our shoulders and ask us,
in a casual, jolly tone that masked the alertness of a customs agent, how we
were doing or what was up at home. We said nothing; one tiny confession might
lead to others. At last, perhaps after growing frustrated with his failure to
penetrate our ninth-grade demimonde, he dropped the big one over the P.A.
system, ruining his buddy act forever: ''Schoolwide locker check in 15
minutes! All students will go to their lockers and stand by.'' Afterward,
certain students grumbled about their ''privacy'' -- complaints that made
them seem guilty, at least to me. Me, I'd never felt I needed privacy,
perhaps because I'd always been granted it. The presumption of innocence,
until it's taken, isn't something most kids are aware of. It's like air. But
that was two decades ago; the searches were cruder then. I'm not sure how I
might react to the new versions. These days, the public-school principals of
vice can, on just as short notice, distribute Dixie cups and send their
charges to the lavatories. Once, only athletes faced these random drug tests,
but lately there has been a move in scattered school districts to extend the
chemical dragnet to anyone involved in extracurricular activities, from
debate to choir. The issue is under review by the Supreme Court, and experts
predict that it will rule in favor of asking America's teenagers to prove
their purity by unzipping at the whim of school administrators.
If this happens, the results should raise some interesting questions,
particularly for middle-aged Americans who grew up immune to such intrusions
-- often to their abiding benefit, as they might never have played varsity
basketball, or even earned their diplomas, had things been stricter. Indeed,
it's fashionable now for former drug users, from media stars to presidential
candidates, to treat what they invariably call their ''youthful
experimentation'' as an understandable silly season that they're wiser, more
fully human, for having passed through. The acceptable level of indulgence
has never been quantified, and the statute of limitations never spelled out,
but a lot of adults now seem to feel that drug use, if it went undetected and
if it's in the past, constitutes a modern rite of passage rather than grounds
for expulsion from normal society.
The war stories of their children will be different. Some who might not have
been caught under the old regime almost surely will be under the new. Certain
scholarships and distinctions will go unclaimed by certain students who might
have won them handily. Certain field goals by certain players will never be
kicked. It could even be that certain presidential campaigns, which under the
current rules require confessions that the press and the public can chew on
and then forgive, will never get going in the first place. Meanwhile, other
kids will become masters of deceit and will brag about their slyness when
they get older (''Then there was the time I smuggled in dog urine''). With
their unspotted records, these accomplished tricksters will most likely
surpass their less evasive peers to become our success stories, our leaders.
But most high-school students, I'll bet, will accept the inspections as
thoughtlessly as I did, and that's what troubles me. When I was a student it
was axiomatic that school was a training ground for citizenship in a
democratic society. Basic obedience was expected, sure, but we also voted on
this and that: homecoming kings (elected royalty -- how American!), the
design of new baseball uniforms and so on. It was all a game, but it had a
point: someday you'll be free of this depressing place and these will be the
rules. But what sort of rules will kids who have grown accustomed to
urological pop quizzes make -- or find themselves all too willing to abide
by?
Random drug testing is a type of hazing, and having been hazed by the
principals of vice, these kids will want to haze others, I suspect. Tough
treatment tends to be passed on, often with pride and usually to one's
juniors. That's how it works. The children of zero tolerance may one day
advocate less-than-zero tolerance, whatever that will be. I don't want to
know.
The teenagers of tomorrow may find out. There appears to be a logic to locker
searches -- they continually grow more thorough as the individuals who have
undergone them acquire the authority to conduct them. The cause of the
searches never disappears, though; all that's confiscated is the innocence of
the searched. The privacy I didn't know I had because I'd always had it no
longer exists, at least in public schools, but the drugs are still there.
Some new ones, too. One substance that the testers could probably find a lot
of is Ritalin -- the amphetamine-related stimulant that some public-school
administrators practically mandate for unruly pupils. As the growing use of
Ritalin proves, school officials aren't against drugs themselves, even those
that substantially alter consciousness; they're merely out to detect illegal
drugs, which a cynical high-school debater might define as any drugs that
they don't dispense themselves.
But, really, what do I care? I'm home free. The principal of vice found
nothing on me. Was there something to find that day? I'll never tell. I don't
have to tell, but I pity the kids who do, even the innocent. The innocent
most of all.
Walter Kirn is the literary editor of GQ. His most recent book is ''Up in the
Air,'' a novel.
Hidden Lessons
By WALTER KIRN
Our name for him was ''the principal of vice,'' an ancient wisecrack we
thought that we'd invented. He wore a funeral director's dark suit and tie,
but his shoes were brown sneakers with soft treads -- the better to creep up
on us, we figured. He liked to wrap an arm around our shoulders and ask us,
in a casual, jolly tone that masked the alertness of a customs agent, how we
were doing or what was up at home. We said nothing; one tiny confession might
lead to others. At last, perhaps after growing frustrated with his failure to
penetrate our ninth-grade demimonde, he dropped the big one over the P.A.
system, ruining his buddy act forever: ''Schoolwide locker check in 15
minutes! All students will go to their lockers and stand by.'' Afterward,
certain students grumbled about their ''privacy'' -- complaints that made
them seem guilty, at least to me. Me, I'd never felt I needed privacy,
perhaps because I'd always been granted it. The presumption of innocence,
until it's taken, isn't something most kids are aware of. It's like air. But
that was two decades ago; the searches were cruder then. I'm not sure how I
might react to the new versions. These days, the public-school principals of
vice can, on just as short notice, distribute Dixie cups and send their
charges to the lavatories. Once, only athletes faced these random drug tests,
but lately there has been a move in scattered school districts to extend the
chemical dragnet to anyone involved in extracurricular activities, from
debate to choir. The issue is under review by the Supreme Court, and experts
predict that it will rule in favor of asking America's teenagers to prove
their purity by unzipping at the whim of school administrators.
If this happens, the results should raise some interesting questions,
particularly for middle-aged Americans who grew up immune to such intrusions
-- often to their abiding benefit, as they might never have played varsity
basketball, or even earned their diplomas, had things been stricter. Indeed,
it's fashionable now for former drug users, from media stars to presidential
candidates, to treat what they invariably call their ''youthful
experimentation'' as an understandable silly season that they're wiser, more
fully human, for having passed through. The acceptable level of indulgence
has never been quantified, and the statute of limitations never spelled out,
but a lot of adults now seem to feel that drug use, if it went undetected and
if it's in the past, constitutes a modern rite of passage rather than grounds
for expulsion from normal society.
The war stories of their children will be different. Some who might not have
been caught under the old regime almost surely will be under the new. Certain
scholarships and distinctions will go unclaimed by certain students who might
have won them handily. Certain field goals by certain players will never be
kicked. It could even be that certain presidential campaigns, which under the
current rules require confessions that the press and the public can chew on
and then forgive, will never get going in the first place. Meanwhile, other
kids will become masters of deceit and will brag about their slyness when
they get older (''Then there was the time I smuggled in dog urine''). With
their unspotted records, these accomplished tricksters will most likely
surpass their less evasive peers to become our success stories, our leaders.
But most high-school students, I'll bet, will accept the inspections as
thoughtlessly as I did, and that's what troubles me. When I was a student it
was axiomatic that school was a training ground for citizenship in a
democratic society. Basic obedience was expected, sure, but we also voted on
this and that: homecoming kings (elected royalty -- how American!), the
design of new baseball uniforms and so on. It was all a game, but it had a
point: someday you'll be free of this depressing place and these will be the
rules. But what sort of rules will kids who have grown accustomed to
urological pop quizzes make -- or find themselves all too willing to abide
by?
Random drug testing is a type of hazing, and having been hazed by the
principals of vice, these kids will want to haze others, I suspect. Tough
treatment tends to be passed on, often with pride and usually to one's
juniors. That's how it works. The children of zero tolerance may one day
advocate less-than-zero tolerance, whatever that will be. I don't want to
know.
The teenagers of tomorrow may find out. There appears to be a logic to locker
searches -- they continually grow more thorough as the individuals who have
undergone them acquire the authority to conduct them. The cause of the
searches never disappears, though; all that's confiscated is the innocence of
the searched. The privacy I didn't know I had because I'd always had it no
longer exists, at least in public schools, but the drugs are still there.
Some new ones, too. One substance that the testers could probably find a lot
of is Ritalin -- the amphetamine-related stimulant that some public-school
administrators practically mandate for unruly pupils. As the growing use of
Ritalin proves, school officials aren't against drugs themselves, even those
that substantially alter consciousness; they're merely out to detect illegal
drugs, which a cynical high-school debater might define as any drugs that
they don't dispense themselves.
But, really, what do I care? I'm home free. The principal of vice found
nothing on me. Was there something to find that day? I'll never tell. I don't
have to tell, but I pity the kids who do, even the innocent. The innocent
most of all.
Walter Kirn is the literary editor of GQ. His most recent book is ''Up in the
Air,'' a novel.
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