Mritika Senthil | Why Penn’s crackdown on Homecoming darties backfired — even for non-partiers

As of this year, Penn’s Office of Fraternity/Sorority Life has implemented a ban on daytime parties, or “darties,” during Homecoming weekend, sparking outrage across the student body last month. Here are a few impacts of the University’s new “Major Event Weekend” protocols:

• Undergraduate student group events during Homecoming weekend had to occur on Saturday evening 
• Events were not allowed to overlap with official Homecoming activities scheduled across campus throughout the weekend
• Due to capacity restrictions, only around six fraternities were allowed to register events after 7 p.m. on Homecoming day

These new policies are a part of the Penn administration’s efforts to encourage students to attend a University-sponsored tailgate. In the days leading to our unsuccessful football game against Harvard, many highly anticipated events held by Panhellenic organizations were either canceled, pushed further under the radar, or risked intervention by campus security.

I’ll admit that I was initially amused by the new protocols. In my experience, socials where at least one person isn’t blackout drunk are almost all hosted by the Muslim Students Association. Sobriety is almost a statement of faith, or worse, a political stance, as prominent right-wing figures like President-elect Donald Trump have publicly taken the teetotaler route.

I don’t drink, and I actively try to avoid events where I have to either opt for nonalcoholic beverages or risk the social repercussions of awkwardly standing by. Yet at almost every club-sponsored happy hour, panel, or lecture I’ve attended, I was greeted with a complimentary drink. At least for now, the highlight of my social life will no longer be a mocktail-fueled Homecoming darty.

I know that I’m not the only one who dreads the prospect of squeezing into a frat house filled with sweating, semi-conscious members of Penn’s upper echelons dancing to Sabrina Carpenter on full blast — only to discuss the United States’ budget deficit with the same people in class the next day. In a recent conversation with my classmates, I was surprised by how many of them have chosen to abstain from alcohol as a means of maintaining mental clarity. Especially among the younger generations, there is a growing acceptance of nondrinking lifestyles. From a pure health perspective as well, drinking and listening to loud music for long periods of time are both harmful when unregulated.  

Yet Penn, and especially the Wharton School, is among the types of institutions that foster a tragically romantic norm of heavy drinking, akin to that portrayed in “The Wolf of Wall Street.” Alcohol is used both to celebrate successes and cope with failures, whether in the exam hall or the trading floor.

So as expected, I was taken aback by the OFSL’s policies for official event registration, which seem so ironically at odds with the reality of any underground “networking” mixer on campus:

• Alcohol service must end by 1 a.m., though events can continue until 2 a.m.
• Professional security must be hired to check IDs and distribute wristbands to legal drinkers
• Trained, sober bartenders unaffiliated with the host organization must serve alcohol
• Advertisements should not promote the availability of alcohol

As I’m sure most students would agree, there’s an obvious disconnect between these policies and actual enforcement practices. Penn’s flourishing party culture isn’t a consequence of inadequate regulation — it’s the reflection of a broader cultural norm that begins in college and persists into our adult lives. After graduation, we won’t need to conjure up the names of “three brothers” at a fraternity house’s entrance, but instead, we’ll resign ourselves to small talk over post-work drinks as a way to bond with higher-ups and clients. On that account, when Penn actually chooses to follow through its new “Major Event Weekend” protocols, it seems to overreach into our personal and professional lives.  

This trend of selective disciplinary action is not restricted to Penn. For instance, during the COVID-19 pandemic, some regions imposed strict lockdown measures while others, including my home state at the time, South Carolina, remained lenient. Americans grew uncertain about the virus’s severity, resulting in public distrust of health authorities and increased violations of protocol. Penn’s inconsistent enforcement of its policies seems to similarly erode its administrative credibility, leading to a downward spiral of noncompliance. If this current narrative continues, we’ll reach a deadlock in student-management diplomacy.

MRITIKA SENTHIL is a sophomore from Columbia, S.C. Her email is mritikas@upenn.edu.