When I first entered AUC, I assumed I would be stepping into a world of opportunity—a place that offers me a variety of options, allows me to experiment freely, and encourages me to try, fail, then try again. Instead, I landed on a chessboard; already a piece in play.
In this university chess-game, every move made must be thoroughly calculated with a cost-benefit analysis so as not to risk your position on the board. Every conversation, every club you join, every class you walk into—it all feels like a part of a greater scheme that everyone seems to be aware of, except you. There are rules to be followed, but they are not written anywhere.
There are hierarchies plainly established, but no one dares point them out. There are sides with no clear lines. Eventually, you find yourself permanently stuck in one of them, and can’t change your mind.
At orientation, I was assigned an advisor to help me navigate my academic life, but I wasn’t warned about the unspoken alliances to secure seats in a class before the registration date. I wasn’t given the code that will input the CRN swiftly for me on the first day. I have learned more from accidental slips and whispered warnings than from the formal support system.
I was also given pamphlets for all the different clubs. Every single one of them was vibrant, inviting me to “be part of the team” or “join the family,”, yet the choice is totally up to me!
What wasn’t on the pamphlets was that my first choice could possibly brand me forever. If I pick one, I don’t get a shot at the others. Or, I choose to be in multiple, and risk being seen as disloyal.
It is a game of sacrifice. Those who try to have it all may end up with nothing. One wrong move could lead to social suicide.
Suddenly you’ll find yourself quietly excluded from the conversations that matter, the invitations to gatherings, the important decisions. In short, you’re off the board.
Ironically, AUC prides itself on its great social life embodied by the democratic student body constitution, a document few actually read. As a political science student, it falls in the realm of my interest, so I read it word for word.
It preaches about the fair representation of students and transparent elections. This unfortunately does not represent AUC’s reality. You don’t make it to the top through only hard work, rather your rise depends on your affiliations and usefulness. If you fit the hidden agenda, you get to pass.
The issue was made clearer for me when I told a friend I wanted to join the student government by running for senate, and his first reaction was a question: “Did you join a camp?” He was joking, of course.
Unfortunately, this undermines discourse around inclusivity. How can there be equal opportunity if the process is only a formality? Applications are open to “everyone”, but note that the interviews aren’t an assessment of who you are.
Rather, they are elaborative performances to get the interviewer on your side with no avail. Decisions are predetermined.
The system’s rigidity is to filter out applicants, not by skills, but by their affiliations, appearances, and their popularity. The bias can be felt like an elephant in the room.
I’ve also come to realize that If I am in one student activity’s high board, I won’t be able to join the high board of other clubs “in competition” with it regardless of my qualifications. The choice of club you make, decides your path throughout the rest of your university experience.
By the time you figure out how the system truly works, the game—the chessboard—has already moved several steps ahead. By the time you find the cheat codes, you’ve already lost pieces you weren’t aware were valuable, and this isn’t even the saddest part.
What is even scarier is that the path you choose could have implications post-graduation. I will have to carry the network I built, or I will bear the burden of failing to create meaningful connections.
Whether I manage to climb the ladder or stand idly by while others do will certainly affect me. AUC is only a glimpse into the actual world of employment that operates on the same lines but with higher stakes.
I can’t possibly predict what will happen after I graduate, but if the same hidden rules apply, then AUC isn’t preparing me to critically think. It is preparing me to adapt and survive: forging the way I speak just enough to get noticed, yet not fully seen. Is it teaching me to avoid displeasing the wrong person because talent sometimes matters less than arbitrary judgements?
What kind of world am I really being prepared for? If this is it, then maybe I shouldn’t be learning how to play better.
Maybe, It is time to stop pretending that the game is fair, and that it’s all about winning on the board.
Checkmate.
