Tuesday, September 23, 2014

"Townie:" An Exercise in Wittenberg Snobbery


The term is likely as old as our University. When used, it strikes a similar universal resonance as the Weaver Chapel bells. Frankly, it is as much a part of the Wittenberg community as stomping the seal. However, this term doesn’t share the same prestigious celebration as Wittenberg’s founding, and it’s not used to make a wide-ringing call for community, as are the chapel bells. In fact, when used, people are not stomping on a bronze plaque to symbolize accomplishment; rather, they are stomping on other human beings — or whom they call “townies.”

Despite the term’s obvious derogatory nature, many come to its defense. “When I use it, I’m referring to those ‘rough, scary’ off-campus residents who always try to sneak into parties,” so the defense goes. “And there is obviously the difference between ‘townies’ and the other residents of Springfield.” In this particular context, “other” seems to signify a higher sense of civility, class, and, as the logic follows, ethics; or, in a word, superiority.

While the champions of this argument may feel as though they have cracked the code on the socioeconomic dynamics of Springfield, they are merely overlooking — willfully, I might add — that this same line of defense has been used for most other derogatory terms. The same held — and still holds — true for the use of the “N-word:” “I’m not racist,” so the argument goes, “for there is a difference between a ‘N-word’ and most other African-Americans.” With slurs referencing the LGBT community, it has been: “there’s a difference between flamboyant homosexuals (i.e., fags or queers) and other gay people.”

And even though the experiences of those whom bear the blunt of these slurs are magnificently different from those who have been defined — at least in our bubble — as “townies,” the same logic applies, and the hateful sentiments are quite similar: “we don’t like your kind.” But instead of being accompanied by a Confederate Flag or a proverb from Leviticus, the sentiment is expressed alongside a pair of Sperrys and a Wittenberg t-shirt.

What is more, this term is not only prevalent within student discourse, but the connotations it carries are also perpetuated by the Wittenberg administration.

For instance, the day before last year’s Witt Fest, Dean of Students Casey Gill and Chief of Police James Hutchins sent a campus-wide email, warning, “A large event such as Witt Fest draws many members of the Springfield and surrounding communities to our campus. Among them may be individuals who are seeking opportunities to take advantage of our community. Please do your best to SECURE your residences while you are away and attending Witt Fest, as this is a prime opportunity for home invasions.”

Granted, there are certainly Springfield residents who steal things, but why differentiate the populations? Why were we not granted the same helpful “safety recommendation” in regards to those within our “own community?” Are Wittenberg students not capable of theft?  It seems, for Gill and Hutchins, that there is something inherently threatening and dangerous about the surrounding communities, an element not prevalent in “our community.” Hence, while the email is coded in professional, politically correct language, the message remains the same: “watch out for townies.”

 Alas, the Wittenberg bubble is not myth or in the abstract — but is real, tangible, and not to be popped. Indeed, we fortify it with our privilege, a trait we should be less haughty about.

Though the intra-campus use of the word is discouraging, our use of the term has caught-on beyond campus. Over the summer, Ruby’s, a local bar, created a flier promoting the advent of a “Thirsty Thursday” exclusively for Wittenberg students: “NO TOWNIES ALLOWED!!” the flier reads. One could critique and moralize Ruby’s all one whishes, but, after all, businesses will be businesses, and they will market what will sell. And, in the Wittenberg community, “no townies” resonates as well as a diaper advertisement resonates in a maternity ward. Ultimately, we have, in a very real way, made a reputation for our haughty selves that extends beyond campus.



As a commuter, I don’t take personal offense when I hear the word, for I know the surly epithet doesn’t apply to me. More to the point, the term isn’t merely a demographic title to be worn — as, for example, “Brit;” it isn’t an endearing nickname for commuters, professors who live in Springfield, or well-to-do locals. Rather, the term refers to surrounding residents who reside at the bottom of the socioeconomic latter. Indeed, it is slang for people who are poor.

Thus, the next time one is compelled to use the term “townie,” I suggest he or she should refrain, and say what he or she really means: “person who is beneath me.” Or, if we don’t like that particular shift in vocabulary, if we are too partial to that socioeconomic slur, we could always change our campus motto: “Having light, we hold it above others.”

I, however, think we can do better than that; as a liberal arts institution, I reserve hope for our ability to interrogate our less attractive traits: the social ills we create, the ugly norms we perpetuate. But if I’m wrong, if we don’t have the intellectual and ethical courage to do so, do we actually have any light at all?

1 comment:

  1. Very good! Thorough, thoughtful, I love the ending, and how you point out that we are building our own rep for haughtiness. Submit this to the Torch's opinion section.

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