The Mike Snyder Blog

One of my good friends is a really smart and savvy guy when it comes to International Relations and Economics. His favorite pastime is shooting down the ideas of simplistic and narrow-minded undergrads who think they finally figured out a way to solve the world’s major problems. If you’re the type of person who wants to change the world the minute you leave Tufts—at least if you’re an IR major—then you need to talk to my friend first.

I think the conflict in Sudan is a great example. Right now, hundreds of thousands of American college students want the United States Army to march into Sudan and stop the genocide there. I was one of them. It’s a better use of our troops than keeping them in Iraq, and come on now, what kind of selfish and insensitive person wouldn’t want to put a stop to mass killings?

It took me twenty years, but I think I finally figured out a “religion” that suits me: Pantheism. If you need proof, it’s on my Facebook profile.

I used to ascribe to Buddhism, and I continue to adhere to the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path. That’s wisdom for everyone. What bothers me about Buddhism, though, is the excess baggage of traditions, sects, sutras, and other details. The framework of what the Buddha said some 2500 years ago has been added to and adjusted and reinterpreted to the point where the term “Buddhist” has become a meaningless label. You can eat meat, drink alcohol, believe in God, spurn the afterlife, and still legitimately be called a Buddhist. In fact, you’d be no more or less of a Buddhist than your vegan, dry, atheist, and reincarnated friend. Even a term like Enlightenment has become subject to interpretation.

As far as I’m concerned, Pantheism is Buddhism simplified. It’s also Stoicism simplified, Humanism simplified, Taoism simplified, and probably most major world religions simplified. It’s like calling yourself “spiritual,” but with no heavy baggage attached. Everything you need to know is in your little carry-on, which fits snugly into the overhead compartment.

With the Primary Source controversy finally blowing over, some members of the student body feel that one key issue has not been addressed—the use of affirmative action in Bendetson. Some feel that the administration has not done enough to quell rumors that the “52 black freshmen” (now a token phrase) did not get accepted entirely on their own merits; others think the administration needs to stop avoiding the issue and flat-out admit that race is a significant factor in the application process.

Personally, I feel that Dean of Undergraduate Admissions Lee Coffin provided a compelling reevaluation of affirmative action during the December 16 Unity Rally. In his speech, he stated:

In a competitive admission environment like Tufts' -- where 12 students apply for each seat in our freshman class -- every admission decision is an affirmative action. Perhaps I parse words. But as we construct this intentional community of scholarship, the invitation to join it -- and it is an invitation, not a birthright -- is very much an affirmative action.

“Every admission decision is an affirmative action.” That to me is a powerful statement, but also an innovative one. It takes us out of our archaic, 1970s way of thinking about affirmative action as a tool to bring in the under-qualified, and instead offers the idea that every admission decision is an affirmation of diversity. It shines a new light on an old concept, recontextualizing it in a way that is appropriate for the 21st century.

Some people think there are two words that should never, ever go together under any circumstances: Jewish basketball.

Turns out Jews dominated American basketball in the early 20th century. Fresh off the boat from Europe, Jewish youth in poor, inner-city neighborhoods would shoot hoops in their leisure time. Soon Jewish basketball greats emerged from Philadelphia to form an all-Jew basketball team know as “the Hebrews,” or SPHAs—a kind of Jewish Globetrotters—which challenged and routinely beat their Anglo-American competition in thrilling matches that audiences paid a bundle to see. Who says Jews can’t play basketball?

Well, lots of people do. Lots of people also think Jews have no rhythm. That’s funny, considering that entertainment was another favorite means of pursuing the American Dream during the 20s and 30s. Jewish singers and actors like Al Jolson made lucrative careers performing on Broadway. Like today, athletics and show-biz were sure-fire ways of escaping inner-city poverty and destitution.

I went to my friend’s 21st birthday party last weekend at his off-campus apartment. I reached the place and went inside, but was spotted before I had a chance to wipe the clumps of snow and ice off my shoes.

“Hey, Mike Snyder’s here!” my friend announced.

That was a horrible and evil thing for him to say, because it meant I would be spending the next two hours shaking hands with students I had never met before, desperately trying to prove that I was not some asshole who wanted to bring back prohibition and imprison anybody with a blood alcohol level greater than 0.0001.

For better or worse, “Mike Snyder” is a buzz phrase; only somebody who has read “Undergraduate, and Under the Influence” refers to me by my full name. I hear it and immediately recoil, looking to see how many drunks are standing between me and the door.