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In 1992, University Trustee Bob Hugin ’76, then in his mid-30s, said that attempts to allow women to join his former eating club, Tiger Inn, amounted to “politically correct fascism.” The New Jersey Supreme Court had just mandated that the Princeton eating clubs accept female members, and Hugin actively opposed the decision. Hugin is now running as a Republican to represent New Jersey in the U.S. Senate, and his remarks on co-ed eating club membership have resurfaced, raising questions about the history of discrimination — sexual and otherwise — at Princeton.
Legal and accessible birth control has been a perennial topic of debate between the feminist movement and its opponents. Reproductive health access is often treated as a binary — you either can access it, or you can’t. In reality, each woman’s experience navigating an insurance and medical system that demonstrates anywhere from casual disregard to active hatred of women falls along a dramatic spectrum. In some cases, access is circumstantial, stressful, or unduly expensive. Yet, this variation in birth control accessibility is ignored in most discussions of women’s reproductive rights.
Whether it’s the chairs or my behind, one of them needs to go. Twice a week I sit in McCosh Hall 28 and attempt to listen to an ostensibly fascinating lecture, but inevitably I spend the hour fidgeting in discomfort. I hunt desperately for something soft to sit on: a jacket, a scarf, a binder, another person, anything! In warmer months, I often forget to bring sufficient protection and end up perching on my laptop case.
If someone asked you, off the top of your head, to describe the wildlife you see at our University, you would undoubtedly think of the seemingly ever-increasing squirrel population. From day to day we tend to pay them little mind, unless of course you happen to spot a black squirrel on your way to class. You may be surprised, however, to learn that our little neighbors are quite literally living in trash. The culprit of their dangerous and unsanitary housing predicament is clear: uncovered trash cans around campus.
Princeton students are infamous for meticulously structured free time — get coffee with Amanda 10–10:30 p.m., call a friend from home 4–4:15 p.m., hang out in Carly’s room 9–9:50 p.m. With demanding schedules as well as academic, extracurricular, and career pressures, students often feel anxious about wasted time or un-optimized schedules. But in the first few days on campus before our workload escalated, we let ourselves reunite with friends and settle in slowly. Without a routine, we let our days fill up — or not — without the commanding Google Calendar notifications dictating our every minute. And we need to do this more often. Princeton students need to let themselves be spontaneous.
In 1959, renowned novelist and physical chemist C.P. Snow delivered a lecture titled “The Two Cultures,” in which he highlights the widening rift between the sciences and the humanities (including art). Though often interpreted as a purely ad hominem attack on humanists and British elites, I believe Snow is arguing that balancing and blending knowledge of these two seemingly disparate realms is critical to understanding and improving the world.
This piece is a response to a column in The Daily Princetonian by Gabe Lipkowitz ’19 entitled “There is no art of science.” I consider Lipkowitz a close friend and recognize that he wishes to promote discussion by deliberately taking a bold stance. But his latest article, in my opinion, takes a stance much closer to ridiculous.
To the editor,
This year, for the eighth in a row, the University has put up an exhibit in the Friend Center on the “Art of Science.” These exhibits display images of scientific phenomena — cells, computer simulations, chemical reactions, the like — and assign them the magnificent and ambitious classification of “art.” In a proverbial pat on the back, the curators — all scientists, no artists — claim these exhibits form a new “synergy” between art and science.