In recent months the private rituals of institutional initiation ceremonies have been a subject discussed vigorously in the public domain.

Debate of initiation ceremonies happens every so often and the reactions we see the press and hear in the street are rarely positive. But I am not sure if all initiations that involve some type of abuse, mock or otherwise, are out'of'place in the twenty'first century.

I spent three years studying at a private University College in Sydney University. As a freshman, one was not afforded the same privileges that were enjoyed by sophomores and senior students. For instance, freshmen were not entitled to write their names with upper-case initials. Or if there were ever a situation in the grounds requiring manual labour, senior men could and would stand idle, whilst freshmen were expected to drop what they were doing and complete the task. These were but two anachronisms of the college way of life and were generally considered fair, if not slightly eccentric.

Once in the year an official initiation was held. The ceremony began weeks before the actual initiation night with an auction. In the auction, freshmen would be sold to groups of seniors and sophomores. Each freshman was individually corralled into a darkened room and ordered to stand on a table. Seniors would shine torches into his eyes and command him to do various embarrassing things. A short freshman might stand on the table, at which point the cry of "Stand Up!" would ricochet through the senior crowd. Another might be ordered to sit. When he sat he would be abused for sitting down in the presence of his superiors. The auctioneer would then read through the selling points of each freshman, and the bidding would start.

The initiation night itself was held weeks later. Seniors would invite the freshmen that they had purchased at the auction to pre-dinner drinks and hold a number of tests to gauge the character of their freshmen. I can remember parts of my initiation quite well. It began with a game. At the start of the game all the freshers gathered at the foyer of one of the College halls. The seniors had placed several golf balls in the corridor of the top level of the hall. There was one less golf ball than the number of freshmen, and each freshman was to retrieve a ball. A ball in the hand would entitle its custodian a temporary reprieve. He who missed out would be taken aside and punished. One ball was to be removed after each round, much like the game of flags.

At the start of this game all freshmen charged up the three flights of stairs, sprinting, elbowing, scrambling and diving one over another to get hold of a ball. For the first four rounds I reached the top level in time to secure a ball and my stay of execution. By the fifth run there were only four of us left and I was determined to hold on for at least one more round. From the start I was not in a good position; a thoroughbred caught on the inside rail if you will indulge me. Fearing the punishment I had not seen, I reached forward with a flick of my forearm and tripped the freshman in front. He stumbled for a moment and fell sprawling on the staircase. I was able to pass by him and claim the golf ball. Unfortunately my brilliant move was spotted by a senior. He confiscated the ball in my hand and told me I was eliminated for not showing respect for my peer. The freshman that I had selfishly tripped was reinstated to the next round. As penance I was forced to drink a concoction of red wine and Sambuca in a schooner glass, garnished with a raw egg. This tasty cocktail did not remain in my stomach for long, and I have not been able to smell sambuca without retching in the years since.

Another game in the initiation was a trivia quiz. Each freshman was ordered into a room and told to kneel with their eyes closed and head tilted backwards. A senior dressed in an executioner's hood asked a series of questions and if the freshman answered correctly he could leave without punishment. If the freshman answered incorrectly, he would have another repulsive concoction poured down his throat. As you might expect, the questions asked were not only difficult, they were impossible to answer. The Executioner asked such gems as, "what is my favourite colour?"

"Red" one might have guessed.

"Red is for faggots. It's blue, you fucking idiot! Drink!"

Everybody drank, and most vomited violently. The bite of aniseed and egg yolk is just as vicious on the way up as it is on the way down.

There were other games that I will not discuss because I cannot recall the exact details, but generally involved the embarrassing cycle of drinking followed by abuse, followed by vomiting. After these games a formal dinner was held which involved plenty more drinking and verbal abuse of freshmen. The conviviality of the meal was punctuated by a steady stream of freshmen staggering in and out of the dining hall to be sick. After dinner there were more festivities in the College quadrangle, more drinking, violent threats, vomiting and verbal abuse. The whole evening ended up for me sprawled naked under a cold shower at five the next morning wondering what exactly had happened.

What purpose is served by such childish and immature abuse? It is easy for an outsider to dismiss the whole initiation as antiquated and utterly undesirable. If such practices were officially recognised by a public institution there would be a Royal Commission to apportion the blame. In the cloistered environment of my University College, it was a tradition that did not raise so much as an eyebrow.

I was not aware of the significance of the initiation until the following year when I played the role of initiator. I was determined to deal out the same amount of abuse that I had received the previous year, but it is difficult to maintain a resolve to hurt when you know the pain first hand. To be the Soulless Executioner pouring foul liquor down the throat of the condemned freshman was not as easy as it seemed a year earlier.

One incident has remained fresh in my memory. I was administering a filthy mix of Ouzo and Port to a kneeling freshman as punishment for disobeying one of our ridiculous commands. I could have finished my victim off, but ceased pouring when it seemed that he had paid his due. "That's enough, never disrespect me again! Get out of my sight!" I ordered brusquely, taking care not to show any sign of clemency as the victim staggered away to vomit. Not more than a few minutes later he swept the dribbling strings of sickness from his chin and began to raise the ire of my fellow initiators by accusing me of going lightly on him. He was forced to drink again. Encouraged by this resistance other freshmen began to test the boundaries we had set, until all of them were almost demanding that we force them to drink more disgusting combinations of alcohol. There was too much pride in the corridor that night for us not to oblige their requests and I'm sure at least one ended up on the cold tiles underneath a running shower at five the next morning.

It dawned on me then that the initiation was more than a recognition of hierarchy or a silly rite of passage. It was a chance for each freshman to earn the respect of his equals in a contest which no one could really win. I thought about why I had abused and degraded myself in such a way the year before. I did not want to gain entry to some exclusive club and earn the respect of the senior students, but acted as I did to earn the respect of my peers. One could argue that this respect could be earned equally through sporting proficiency or success in the examination room. I do not disagree. But rare is the competition that celebrates embarrassment and humiliation, and respect is too precious to be saved for just the strong, the fast, or the smart. When was the last time you could proudly boast about the action of vomiting, or drunken incontinence? When were you ever the best at being the most disgusting animal that you can be? If you reach for the stars, you can do anything.