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The Carl A. Fields Center for Equality and Cultural Understanding would be my favorite place to study on campus if it were on campus. As a Mathey Moose situated in a corner of campus, I am quite used to the long treks to classes past Washington Road; however, sometimes far is just too far.
What makes it acceptable for Twitter to deplatform widely unpopular members, but wrong for the Department of Justice to jail those with dissident views? As it turns out, nothing makes it acceptable. As Princeton students grapple with questions of free speech, they should consider the effects of social media companies on that speech. Anyone who is committed to a substantive right to free speech against government intervention should support a similar principle in the context of corporations policing speech.
For me, walking into the weight room of Stephen’s Fitness Center is like being an English major in an advanced particle physics class. No matter how many times I walk down those steps, pick up my 10-pound weights, and awkwardly squeeze myself as unobtrusively as possible into a corner, my lack of a Y chromosome makes me feel out of place. It isn’t going to stop me from going down there, but it does make me feel far more self-conscious than I have ever felt anywhere else on campus.
Earlier this year, the Common Application announced to its member institutions that, starting in the 2019–20 admissions cycle, it will no longer ask applicants about their criminal history. The decision marks a major victory for the national civil rights campaign known as “Ban the Box,” which is focused on eliminating discrimination against people with conviction histories.
We all know the feeling. It’s one o’clock in the morning. You’ve been staring at your computer screen for hours writing an essay, sending emails, programming, or doing anything else in our lives as students for which we use our laptops. At some point you notice you’re growing tired. The screen’s brightness starts to hurt your eyes. The inconstancy of its images becomes tiresome. Its endless notifications are overwhelming.
I knew heading into last Tuesday’s midterms that the odds of electing a decent human being to public office were slim to none when the only choices for my Senator were Bob Hugin ’76 and Bob Menendez. The former — despite his insistence to the contrary — has financial ties to perhaps the most corrupt, morally reprehensible president in U.S. history. Meanwhile, the latter is best known for having been indicted on corruption charges, though his name is synonymous with a wide variety of scandals.
In a recent decision by the Supreme Court, our ability as students to call for change and have direct impact on environmental issues was upheld. This past Friday, the Supreme Court denied the Trump administration’s request to dismiss the Juliana vs. United States case. This case, brought by plaintiffs ranging from 10 to 21 years of age, alleges that the federal government has harmed living conditions for the citizens of Oregon by permitting the burning of fossil fuels, despite knowing what the negative effects would be. The plaintiffs have reasonably argued that the government’s prioritization of the fossil fuel industry over the environment is a direct violation of their constitutional rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, as these rights become less accessible in a declining environment. The federal government should respond to these demands by combating climate change through further regulations on the fossil fuel industry.
As a senior going through the post-graduate job application process, I feel an overwhelming feeling of under-preparedness. And I’m not alone — this is common among my peers. After thinking I have been taking the right steps to set myself up for success, I constantly feel like I have no idea what I’m doing and am not doing enough for post-graduation plans.
As fall break ended and classes began again, all around campus a predictable question started conversations. “So, where’d you go?” For some, Princeton was the perfect retreat, while others took the week as an opportunity to fly away from the familiar gothic architecture and forget about the homework that probably should have traveled with them. I decided to get as far away from the New Jersey fall as possible with a trip to Madrid to both practice my Spanish and better understand the culture I had been learning about for the past two months in my SPA 105 class. However, traveling outside the United States presented its own question: “What makes [insert common tourist location] so special?”
“Einstein used to come into this neighborhood and sit on our porches. He used to take me for walks,” local historian Shirley Satterfield told me. Satterfield is a multi-generational resident of the Witherspoon-Jackson community.
As Princeton students, we are surrounded by noise. Whether it be unintelligible drunken shouts outside your window late at night or the patter of your roommate typing away, our lives are rarely quiet. Campus is abuzz with the cacophony of life: it is nearly impossible to sit beyond the range of some conversation or cars or distant organ music. As social creatures, we feel awkward sitting with someone and not maintaining a conversation. Silence somehow implies a lack of appreciation for the company of others and is perceived as rude. We are forced into prolonging a never-ending chatter which, for some reason, is apparently preferable to no conversation at all.
The 2018 midterms have become more than just standard elections. With incidents of politicians and other public figures being heckled out of public spaces and protesters entering the Capitol Building to oppose Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation to the Supreme Court, we seem to have also entered into a national referendum over what constitutes acceptable political discourse.
Hate is on the rise in the United States, and the last few weeks have made that undeniable.
As the flames of political tension are fanned all around us with increasing fervor, our campus is consumed with the seeming imperative of desperate resistance. Unfortunately, we reduce this engagement to the singular, and ostensibly all-important, action of casting a ballot. We judge people not only on the basis of their ideological assertions; more than that, the overriding determinant for our respectability is whether or not we’ve chosen to vote at all.