I'm going to assume that about 20 percent of the people reading this article have, at least once, received that gut-wrenchingly annoying e-mail whose subject line screams "Schedule an appointment!" just daring you to decline.
I have no problem with the Dean of Students Office. In fact, I appreciate the monthly trek I make to Dowling in order to get chewed out for allegedly being intoxicated in public, allegedly drinking in public and allegedly being in jeopardy of being tossed out of Tufts. Under all those circumstances, I certainly expect for there to be some consequences - despite how unnecessarily harsh they are.
I recently made the now-apparent mistake of calling Tufts Emergency Medical Service on myself because I felt short of breath and was slightly concerned I might die. When I realized my options were either to go to the hospital or go to the hospital, I declined medical assistance and took the chance my body was on my side.
You could imagine my surprise when I received this menacing e-mail and got railroaded by the Office of Student Judicial Affairs. Apparently, because they are "concerned" about my health, they offer the suggestion I go and talk to an Alcohol Counselor, so I can waste an hour of my already busy day explaining why I don't belong there.
Of course, these are only suggestions, like when a doctor suggests you get chemotherapy to treat cancer or a judge suggests you spend five to 10 years in prison. My problem with this ridiculous abuse of power is the apparently immediate need to inform my parents. Suddenly, I'm having flashbacks of sixth grade.
And this isn't the first time I've felt hassled by members of the Tufts administration. Last year, I didn't answer my door when someone knocked on it, so the Resident Director decided it was within her rights to grill me about my whereabouts for the day.
The entire reason I came to college had nothing to do with bettering myself, meeting new people or expanding my academic knowledge.
It was simply so I could move out of my parents' house, finally free from curfews, bed checks and endless interrogation about my friends. And yet I come here and, despite breaking no disciplinary rules, I'm being hauled into someone's office because they care too much about my life.
I appreciate Tufts' claim to being a tight-knit community, but small doesn't necessarily mean close.
If this is the consequence of being able to place faces with names, I'd rather be a number. I have parents, and luckily for me, they reside in a different state.
I am a 20-year-old woman and I would appreciate it if my rights to privacy, respect and anonymity were actually occasionally acknowledged.
There is a distinct difference between concern and harassment, and frankly, I don't want or need either.
This is not meant to be disrespectful towards any of the Tufts administration, faculty or staff. I understand the school has a responsibility for the physical and mental health of its students. But what I do have a problem with is when Tufts draws the line between my problems and the community's problems.
Don't ask me about my relationship with my parents, don't inquire about my sexual history or orientation and stop assuming I'm unhappy or in the depths of despair because I complain a lot.
Tufts is so busy searching for warning signs, it discourages students who think they may want help from TEMS or Health Services, because no one wants their personal problems discussed over the water coolers in Dowling Hall.
I'm not sure that there is any real solution to this problem - other than the recourse of a restraining order.
Maybe I'm just another disgruntled student complaining because I don't have the sovereignty to do what I want when I want.
But I guarantee you I may have to go into the Witness Protection Program to save me from discussing why I'm so despondent over coffee and crackers.
Bosede A. Opetubo is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major.
Correction: in original print, writer Bosede A. Opetubo was incorrectly identified as a freshman. She is a sophomore.
