There are two purely non-academic reasons that I consider legitimate to take a certain class that you have already taken three times. Number one: you are madly in love with the teacher. Number two: you get to go to West Point. My Advanced IR Theory class falls into the latter category. I probably had IR theory in some disguised form every single year in the last four years but I was dying to get into this one. The waiting list was long, the costs of the books totaled at $350, and the extra-curricular but hyper-compulsory Bard-West Point joint seminars were scheduled at 8 am (which, for a decent Bardian is about four hours before standard weak-up time). It was eventually a Swiss girl’s first week drop out and my international status (ironically the same that barred me from staying in NYC) that proved to be my lucky constellation.
When the first Monday morning came with the 6 am alarm clock obnoxiously waking me up from my 4 hour sleep I was little less enthusiastic about the lawful or unlawful status of detainees in Guantanamo Bay and all that jazz…
But duty is duty. Outperforming myself with a record breaking speedy dress n’ go I was out in the chilly, snowy realities of a 6:30 dawn before I even realized. That’s when I paid my first deep respect for all military students around the world who do this seven days a week without the faintest grumble.
The bus ride to the US Army campus on the other side of the Hudson River was probably picturesque but I respectfully slept it over. I woke up just in time to be able to dutifully present my visa to the officer at the gate and try not to behave suspiciously and more civilized than what my Eastern European passport implies.
West Point being the oldest military base in the long history of the US has a sort of eerie atmosphere, its fortress-like grey stone buildings projecting rigid authority. With all our civilian humbleness and Bardian coolness we penetrated into the Social Science Department which happened to be housed under the same roof with the Combating Terrorism Center. Welcome, make yourself at home. Gulp.
Since last week we have spent an entire hour of the class wondering what time they get up, go to bed, brush their teeth, date (is it permitted?), if they ever leave campus other than to Iraq or Afghanistan? And questions like are women allowed, are they all tomboys? Do they use names or only numbers? Are they graded? Are they allowed to get married? Are they allowed to vote? Are they allowed o breathe? Etc, etc.
Having a friend from West Point and having visited his perfectly normal family I found ourselves truly entertaining. But I have to admit, I was nevertheless extremely curious. Surprisingly enough, the future brave man and women looked remarkably human (minus the uniform): the girls were girl-like and the guys were guy-like, some were brawny, some were scrawny. They were from all over the States, and majored in shockingly strange things like English, Engineering, Political Science or History. But the unconventional circumstances and kind of mythical status of the players added a massive dose of stimulation to the by nature controversial US foreign policy topic we had to discuss. They talked like students, had good points and weak points, said smart things and less smart things. By the end of our very short 75 minute seminar session we realized we have at least one thing in common: we’re all completely clueless about the current chaos.
