Please (don’t) stay off the grass

To “like” something on Facebook can be a very powerful statement. People use the infamous “like” button to give their endorsements to everything ranging from pillow pets to presidential candidates. They have used it to take a stand against things such as world hunger and also to get free coffee coupons. To “like” something is a form of expressive conduct, where our actions are communicating words. We would not “like” something just because someone told us to. While we may be influenced by suggestions of friends, it is ultimately our decision whether or not we will hit that button.

For a quite a while, there was a large sign outside of the River Hills Mall in Mankato that said, “Like us on Facebook.” Yet I have never taken the time to do so — not because I disliked the River Hills Mall; I just did not want to “like” them. Expressive conduct does not only reside within the digital universe though; it is all around us, all the time. Whether we are deciding which shoes to buy, which candidate to vote for, or what path to take on our way to class, we are making statements and hitting the figurative “like” button of life.

To hit the “like” button in everyday life may consist of deciding whether or not to buy fair trade coffee, whether or not to wear a “Vote No” shirt, or even whether or not to walk on the grass on your way to class.

This year, tiny signs have popped up along the perimeter of the west mall on campus declaring the grass to be off limits. The signs read “please stay off the grass.” They remind me of that scene in the movie Princess Diaries where Anne Hathaway runs across the grass to the Genovian embassy because she is late for princess lessons. When she steps foot on the grass, she is commanded by a multitude voices from above, all speaking different languages, to “GET OFF THE GRASS!” I wonder if something similar would happen if a Gustie dared to venture upon the restricted lawn. Would we hear, “gå inte på gräset,” or “get off the grass,” in Swedish? I do not know, for it appears as though no one has tried.

It baffles me that while a giant sign outside the River Hills Mall has been unable to get me to simply hit their “like” button on Facebook, the tiny little signs around the mall have enabled a seemingly impenetrable barrier that forces Gusties to travel out of their way and expands the amount of time that we are exposed to the infamous “Gustie” winds.

I understand the desire to keep the mall looking pretty for our recent guests, #NobelandRoyalVisit, but what message are we sending with our blind obedience of these little signs?

Foot paths exist all around campus; they are manifestations of the lives that we are living here every day. The forming of foot paths is like breaking in a new pair of shoes. They signify that this is our home, this is where we live, and this is where we go. They make the campus comfortable.

Last year, as upperclass students might remember, there were a few select foot paths that made their way to the west mall. They were logical, they manifested where we walked and were a statement that “we were here!” Why are we silencing that proclaimation? Why are we not making our mark? Why are we listening to tiny little signs? This is our home, our school, our path.

If the little signs said, “Jump off a bridge,” would we do it?