Elite entanglements and the demand for a radically un/ethical position: the case of Wienie Night

Abstract

Sociologist Colin Bell pointed out that sociology “can be easily seen as thoroughly implicated in the power structure of society” (1978, p. 25). One way in which this implication is expressed is the way that ethical concerns have become institutionalized and regimented. This article puts forward the argument that a true study of elites must be, by default, un/ethical because the taken-for-granted assumptions and common sense that shape ethical decisions protect those with power, including academics themselves. I make such a “radically un/ethical” move by discussing the story of a story I was not supposed to tell about a secret ritual at an elite boarding school. I invite the reader to become implicated in the story to suggest that the ethical responsibility to reveal the hidden dynamics of power and that sustain elites override my ethical responsibilities to the institution.

Keywords:

• research ethics
• elites
• prep schools
• homosociality
• masculinity
• school rituals

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Jane Kenway and Adam Howard as well as the two anonymous reviewers for their thorough feedback and their thoughtful engagement with the arguments I present in this article. Ana Ramos-Zayas and the participants in the Studying Up in the Americas Methodology Workshop also offered pointed commentary and helpful suggestions for clarification. I am also grateful to Julie Garlen Maudlin for her helpful suggestions and editorial assistance. All errors and the responsibility for any fallout that may result from the positions I take in this article are entirely my own.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Notes

1. As is customary in the presentation of ethnographic data, all names are pseudonyms and some details have been altered to protect the confidentiality of participants.

2. For a more detailed discussion of my relationship with the school as well as other methodological issues, see the Appendix in Gaztambide-Fernández (2009a). See also Gaztambide-Fernández and Howard (2012).

3. The idea that researching elites can sometimes justify practices that could be deemed unethical is not new. In the 1960s and 1970s, as social scientists began to put in place the various Codes of Ethics that govern their work and research behavior, the question of whether the same ethical principles with regards to consent and confidentiality applied to people in power positions and to research on elite institutions was hotly debated, but it was subsequently largely ignored and left unresolved (Galliher, 1980). Galliher was particularly interested in the dilemmas of deception, or what Sieber (1989) called “pseudo-interaction approaches” to the study of powerful people.

4. The boys sit tightly packed together on the old couches, and Paul Newman appears on the TV screen, declaring that he will eat 50 eggs. The boys sit back and watch as Luke, Paul Newman’s legendary man without a cause, manages to eat 50 hard-boiled eggs on a bet from his prison inmates, who watch and cheer on. Like Luke, who trains for his task like a boxer, the boys who are competing are announced to “the ring,” towels around their necks, hopping from one foot to another, bare chests, lifting their fists, with their respective “corner men” rubbing their shoulders and carrying their water.

5. The soundtrack of Rocky rings in the back, as Pedro Roselló, a handsome if un-athletic senior from a wealthy and well-known Cuban-American family (which at Weston carries as much status as any Latino can have), enters from the hallway with a Cuban flag draped over his head. I feel his stare as he grabs the flag by both ends and lifts it into the air, eyes wide, mouth wide, with a big yell. The crowd seems to rise, engrossed by the spectacle of raw machismo. The five competitors sit on the wooden chairs, and their respective “corner men” bring them a paper plate with five hot dogs, each in a bun, slobbered with meat chilly, which they are to eat as fast as they can. One student, the youngest competitor, pulls out a blender from underneath the table, generating suspect curiosity from the other competitors, mostly seniors, who just like the inmates in Cool Hand Luke protest when the rules appear to have been broken. Unlike Luke, the boy has no advocates, and before he even attempts to whirl the hotdogs into a drinkable mush, the audience gripingly suggests that he should be disqualified. The dorm faculty lifts his watch: “the time to beat is two minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Are you ready?!?! GO!!”

6. The crowd bursts into loud cheers, as if watching a cockfight. The boy with the blender quickly realizes his alternative will not work without liquid and gives up, to the relieved laughter of the audience. The other boys begin to eat their slobbered hotdogs, but no one can match Pedro’s speed; the chilly seems to lubricate the stuffed bun as it slides almost whole into his mouth, quickly disappearing, and on to the next one. Even the dorm faculty, after years of watching boys swallow hotdogs, seems surprised at Pedro’s speed, and his body twists with laughter. One minute and twenty-three seconds pass. The other boys have only managed to eat one or two hotdogs, but Pedro is licking his fingers, standing up, Cuban flag over his head, broad smile; his name and new record will be carved into the trophy. However, the sprint is just the warm up, and it is now time for the main event. Pedro returns to his chair, hopeful to win this one, too. The other boys from the sprint have cleared the seats. Abe, who lured me into this ritual, takes a seat at the end of the row, his skinny torso, arms, and legs look fragile next to the long and muscular bodies of the other competitors. Even Pedro’s un-athletic chest seems manly next to Abe, perhaps inflated by his recent feat. But Abe is unfazed, as he sits quietly staring at his plate while the other boys beat their chests and howl to the ceiling. Ken, perhaps the most popular of the competitors, gets the most cheering. He carries all of Luke’s sedate coolness, with his Newmaneske smirk, messy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, fair white skin, and chiseled muscle tone. As the competitors prepare and the crowd settles, I notice that most of the dorm faculty members have left the basement. Some of the other students gather around the kitchen, and I decide to join them, curious about whether these wieners taste any different or are any easier to eat than any others I’ve ever eaten before. I pay close attention to the taste of canned chili and cheap hotdogs, which I’ve embellished a bit with mustard and relish, and wonder to myself how fast and just how many I could eat. I see myself on a wooden chair, shirtless, drooling red saliva, and I reach for my Root Beer, unsure whether I can finish the second one. For the next one-and-a-half hours, the boys will blow hotdogs down their eager throats, hoping that none will come back up before they are due.

7. Within 15 minutes, the purpose of the carefully arranged trashcans with their pristine plastic bags becomes obvious, as the first stomach gives up and the guttural sound of regurgitation fills the basement, amplified by the sides of the empty aluminum can. The cacophonous mixture of utter disgust and sheer pleasure erupts from the eager audience, none of whom leave the room, despite clear evidence that more is yet to come. One after another, the competitors unload their stomachs to the rising cheers of the spectators, and the milky red substance begins to fill the trashcan. One competitor rubs the ketchup off his fingers on his chest, covering his nipples in red. The corner men rub the shoulders of the remaining competitors, some whispering into their ears; “you can’t hear it! Its nothing! Don’t even listen!” The corner men work hard to distract the remaining eaters from the nauseating sound and rising smell until only Ken and Abe are left, each hard at work, trying to keep down the 13 or 15 hotdogs they have eaten. But the dynamic in the room has shifted, and almost all of the spectators are focused on making sure that Ken, the handsome, blonde, athletic, and popular member of the “senior posse,” wins the game. Abe sits alone on his chair, his skinny and ordinary body slouching back, quietly swallowing one dog after another, while Ken is standing, walking around to stay distracted, with three younger boys bringing him water, rubbing his shoulders, and wiping his face with wet towels. Another senior asks Ken if he is feeling “aroused,” noting that his nipples seem particularly stiff. Suddenly his hard body gives up, his rigid waste bends, and he leans into the trashcan, much to the disappointment of his younger fans. Questions begin to arise as to whether Abe has indeed eaten his 16th hotdog, but he is unfazed. The dorm faculty finally declares Ken disqualified, and for the final 30 seconds, the entire dorm (with the exception of the rest of the dorm faculty, which has by now retired) turns to Abe, engrossed in the spectacle of watching him chew on his 17th hotdog – slowly, chilly dripping down his chin, a bulging stomach sticking out, his skin covered in sweat. They forget he was the least favorite and begin to chant the champion into his record-breaking 18th dog. With great fanfare, Abe is declared the winner. His eyes are bloodshot, the capillaries on his face seem about to burst, and he walks around, hand in his belly, entranced. The students follow behind him, wondering when he will finally throw up. The seniors prepare a new trashcan, pull the sides of the bag tightly around the lip, the entire dorm has crowded around Abe. The trashcan is set next to a center column, and Abe stands about 10 feet away, surrounded by a cheering crowd of boys: Do – it! Do – it! C’ – mon! Do – it!

8. Abe stares at the trash can, lifts his index finger, puts it down his mouth as far as he can, lifts his head, and after a short pause, waiting for the gag, runs toward the trashcan whipping his head forward, spitting his finger, followed by an intermittent rush of regurgitated chilly, hotdog meat, and bread. As his entire body ejects the gooey mix of bread, chili, and hotdog, the crowd goes into a trance of cheers: A – gain! A – gain! Do – it – a – gain! The crowd clamors, between bouts of laughter, interrupted by their own spontaneous gags, both entranced and disgusted by the display, and oblivious to the stench that emanates form the trashcans. Abe backs up and once again elongates his body, which seems to grow a bit taller, puts his finger down his throat, and with an exasperating gulp, throws his half-naked body toward the trashcan for one last bit of bread and meat, blood and flesh.

9. While working on the final edits for this article, news about sexual rituals at elite boarding schools made headlines when Owen Labrie, a 2015 graduate of the St. Paul’s school, stood on trial accused of sexually assaulting a 15 year-old freshman. Labrie allegedly made sexual advances to the victim as part of an initiation ritual called “the senior salute,” in which senior boys competed to “slay,” or have sexual contact, with the most freshman girls. According to the police record, Labrie was quoted as stating that he was "trying to be No. 1 in the sexual scoring at St. Paul’s School.” (Bidgood & Rich 2015)