Reforming the ‘Toolshed’

Walking into Frist Campus Center to check my mail Thursday morning was an interesting experience, to say the least. As I entered the narrow passageway in which I invariably have awkward encounters with fellow students, I was greeted by joyous screams from a couple of my friends. Apparently, the acceptance letters for the Wilson School had been mailed a week ahead of schedule. Sitting in the TV lounge after af quick celebration dance that probably scared more than a few freshmen, we pondered the meaning of our admission into the Wilson School and hastily came to the conclusion that we were “an incredibly toolish group of friends.”

As Princeton’s only selective major, Woody Woo provides an interesting look into the rationale of students wishing to study public and international affairs. For many, the prospect of attending a university without knowing if they’ll be able to pursue their major of choice can be stressful. But since most students know about Woody Woo when applying to Princeton, this article isn’t a case for or against the selectivity of the Wilson School. I wouldn’t presume to discuss the intricacies of a major I was accepted to only a week ago. And yet, I think there is an argument for improving the way in which the Wilson School caters to first- and second-year students and how this serves as a microcosm for public service at Princeton.

My first experience with Woody Woo came when I was a young and impressionable freshman who had just arrived on campus. During freshman week, somewhere in between participating in numerous different scavenger hunts that always ended up at “Nixon’s Nose,” and making sure I didn’t accidentally put a poster on my door, I managed to find a few hours to attend some of the open houses hosted by academic departments. For most departments, like history and computer science, they were used both as recruiting tools and meet-and-greets, complete with tasty cookies, fascinating Princeton water bottles and famous professors. Hoping to illustrate why their respective department was the best choice, the department representatives pulled out all the stops, going so far as to actively subvert other departments by having even better desserts.

The open house for Woody Woo was completely different. Sitting in the admittedly impressive Robertson Hall, we heard from the admittedly impressive faculty adviser, Gary Bass. What he said, however, was far from it. He began essentially by telling us, and I loosely quote, we all needed to “chill” about Woody Woo and that as freshmen, we really shouldn’t have even been attending that open house because the application process was a year and a half away. To me, his words were more confusing than attempting to understand why I was living in a different zip code. The larger problem was that the experience wasn’t unique: Even as late as the sophomore meeting in early February, a few weeks before the applications were due, the advisers spent more time describing the type of people that were not meant for Woody Woo and should not apply rather than explaining what exactly they looked for in a student.

I couldn’t — and still don’t — understand why a department would try so hard to be so indifferent toward students who wanted to join it. Their apathy perpetuates the common misperception that you are somehow a tool if you appear too eager to study policy or enter the department. In many ways, it is taboo to say that you want to be a Woody Woo major, and for many on this campus, the department has been warped into a representation of self-serving students who only desire a high-paying job in finance. While I honestly believe that nothing could be further from the truth, I can’t help but feel that the school itself never seems to take steps in fighting these stereotypes. By actively discouraging non-majors from enrolling in departmental classes, or by refusing to offer a class geared toward sophomores (like most other majors do), the Wilson School shuns any responsibility to try and influence underclassmen — who are often the most open to new ideas — to become interested in policy. Rather, they somehow expect students to bounce around other departments before having a midnight revelation that studying policy is what they truly wanted to do all along.

The disadvantages to such an approach are manifested most clearly in the common criticism that Princeton — and the Wilson School, in particular — are not doing enough to ensure that students enter the public sector. Actively recruiting students would help reduce misconceptions about the major and help students understand what studying policy really means, disincentivizing those who are not pursuing it for the right reasons while simultaneously attracting applicants who are more likely to enter the public sector after they graduate. In the end, Woody Woo’s decision to invest in underclassmen would result in a group of dedicated students committed to fulfilling the school’s mission in public service.

Jay Parikh is a sophomore from Jacksonville, Fla. He can be reached at jparikh@Princeton.edu.