Compromising Positions

Compromises are, in general, good things. But American history is dotted with attempts at conciliation that, for one reason or another, are short-sighted or downright silly. The Missouri Compromise. The Compromise of 1850. The "three-fifths" compromise.

President Clinton seems to want the history textbooks to remember him as an author of another "great compromise": the military's "don't ask, don't tell, don't prosecute" policy on gays.

Of course, Clinton spent a lot of time researching and debating the policy. So it must be the right solution. Just for fun, let's see what would happen if he saved everyone some time and applied all that work to other situations:

.Gun control: Forget the Brady bill. Need a compromise? Just institute "don't ask, don't tell." It would save tons of bureaucracy and paperwork if we just assumed that everyone who wanted a gun already fulfilled our criteria for sanity. "Are you a deranged lunatic who needs this gun to kill your family? Oops, I shouldn't have asked that. And please don't tell me if you are."

I know I'd sleep easier.

.Senate confirmation hearings: No more pesky reporters asking questions about Supreme Court nominees' past histories of sexual harassment, or of their track records in hiring domestic help. Never mind ethics. Actually, we might as well do away with the hearing altogether, since Ted Kennedy couldn't ask, and we certainly wouldn't want Clarence Thomas to tell. Better to let Supreme Court justices get on with their lifetime terms without a hitch.

But by far the most useful application of the policy would be Massachusetts'--and by extension, Harvard's--new regulations on underage drinkers. Like the policy on gays in the military, the new regulations are already making some tutors and College officials uneasy: "There is not a lot of desire on the part of tutors to act like policemen," says Cabot House Senior Tutor Julian P. Chang.

The policy would work as follows. Tutors: Don't ask for ID. Students: Don't volunteer such information(i.e. Bart Simpson T-shirts that read "Underage Drinker and Proud" are not acceptable.). Ad Board: Don't prosecute.

(Another part of the military's compromise seems eerily applicable to Harvard's situation, namely that military personnel will now be allowed to frequent gay bars without being prosecuted. But it's not clear that we could apply that rule to the drinking law.)

Of course, officials would inevitably discover some cases of underaged drinking; for example, they might run across minors who commit crimes after excessive imbibing. But there's a solution here, too: Stop printing student's birthdates on their Harvard IDs. That way, police could apprehend allegedly drunk student perpetrators without bringing them up on two charges.

Put plainly, the premise of the "don't ask, don't tell" policy (and of this editorial) is ill-conceived--you might say dumb. Support for "don't ask, don't tell" demonstrates a wishy-washy perspective.

So too does the College's mixed message on underage drinking. Evidently, Harvard had to be told it was located "in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts" and that it therefore fell under the jurisdiction of the state law amendment that prohibits underage possession of alcohol. This alone is testament to the University's reluctant attitude toward the new policy. Officials' statements on the policy so far only echo such reluctance.

Likewise, President Clinton has waffled on the gays in the military issue since his inauguration--the day that, according to his campaign promises, he would lift the ban by executive order.

Both policies miss the element of long-term planning; neither will stand the test of time. Court cases are still debating the gay ban, despite Clinton's change. And drunken first-years are no less prevalent in the Yard than they ever were.

It would be great to see the military ban really lifted, but it's not clear whether the College should simply ignore the new drinking rule, or actually crack down. But whatever they decide, Clinton and the College administration need to take a stand--on whichever side they fall. Then, the merits of a strong case can at least be tried in a living laboratory.

Or maybe everyone should just go have a beer and think about it.

Ivan Oransky '94, executive editor of The Crimson, was born in August, 1972. He's legal.