The Undergraduate Council is the most maligned student organization on campus. Its parade of trials and tribulations--comically low election turnouts, the consistent failure of Springfest, the recent "discovery" of the "lost" $40,000--no longer even amuse us. Watching 10 people dance to God Street Wine was kind of funny. Last year's blood bath in the MAC quad was not.

In a perfect world, the council would look at itself, perhaps enjoy a morose chuckle and dissolve on the spot. Unfortunately, our esteemed student representatives possess no such capacity for reasoned introspection, and so they forever charge bravely ahead with the business of campus non-government.

Matters are sure to worsen in the week after Thanksgiving when campaigning for the council's coveted executive offices officially begins. In years past, the race for the council presidency has been obnoxious and infuriating; there is no reason to believe that the latest crop of would-be politicos will give us anything less than a repulsive exhibition of hubris.

The council's current predicament can largely be blamed on the administration of Robert M. Hyman '98 and his successor Lamelle D. Rawlins '99. Serving consecutively as the first popularly elected heads of the body, Hyman and Rawlins failed to strike an appropriate chord for student leaders. Undoubtedly, they are both lovely people, but their public style was arrogant and alienating.

Nowhere was this more evident than in Rawlins' 1996 presidential campaign and subsequent reign. The campus should have known it was in trouble when The Crimson reported in the weeks before the election that the Rawlins campaign had met with a professional Democratic party strategist. A degree of organization is necessary to run a successful campaign for any office, but Rawlins' inflated sense of self-importance was evident in the countless news items and word-of-mouth reports regarding the sophisticated War Room she employed to win that glorious office in the basement of Holworthy.

Upon assuming power, Rawlins' delusions of grandeur persisted. Rather than respond to the will of students, broadly conceived, thereby enhancing the council's sorry public standing, she used her position to quixotically pursue high-minded crusades dear to her progressive heart. She spoke on panels, she spoke at ceremonies, she posed for a brochure about female superstars at Harvard. Meanwhile, most of us just lost interest. To this day, many hail Rawlins as a hard-working visionary. She might have been that. But in trying to turn the council into the moral conscience of the campus, she estranged moderates and conservatives. When, in the fall of 1997, she launched an aggressive effort to recruit minorities and women to serve as representatives--as if there are so many barriers to entry--the backlash had already begun.

A vote for Beth A. Stewart '00 was like a vote for Warren G. Harding--the campus wanted a return to normalcy. Stewart's platform of cable TV and universal keycard access wasn't especially inspiring, but it did indicate that she would bring a sense of proportion to the council. Sadly, while progress has been made in some areas--everybody loves Fly-By lunches--we still don't have CNN in our rooms, and the council's reputation for operational incompetence has only grown.

On the eve of the upcoming campaign, those competitors hoping to capture the council presidency ought to heed some lessons from their unimpressive predecessors: First, and most importantly, keep your ego in check. You are not running for the highest office in the land. You are aspiring to lead a body which is the laughingstock of this campus. You don't need a campaign "staff."

Second, remember that student government is non-consensual government. When we all decided to attend Harvard, we did not agree to have our political beliefs represented by anyone. Harvard students do not need a collective voice with which to speak to the outside world. Those of us who don't like labor practices in Burma are perfectly capable of organizing a group, staging a protest or writing a letter. The same applies to controversial issues specific to Harvard. If enough students are really miffed by the supposed lack of Faculty diversity, there is nothing stopping them from launching a vocal movement. In the meantime, the lack of such a movement is an indication that most of us are perfectly content with the progress of the University's already vigorous affirmative action programs.

Third and finally, come to us with concrete plans. For instance, the Core has been rotten for years. Why do you believe that you'll be able to fix it? Yeah, shopping period could be improved, but how are you going to convince the faculty to adopt your reforms. As the Stewart regime has shown, sometimes bread and butter student-life issues are a little more complicated than we'd like to think. Convince us that you've given your tactical plans at least a little thought.

If this sounds like a pretty limited vision for the council, that's exactly the point. Aside from its discretionary power over everyone else's funding, the council stands on the same level as any other student group. Its best hope for legitimacy is to act as a successful liaison between universal undergraduate interests and the administration.

The council has its hands full keeping track of its budget and making sure those few people who show up to Springfest don't leave in an ambulance. Those of you seeking fame, glory, and the salvation of the oppressed, should find another outlet. Naoh D. Oppenheim '00 is a social studies concentrator in Adams House. His column appears on alternate Fridays.