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The dream, it has been said, is to find a partner of equivalent intellectual merit and productive potential as ourselves; to get married amid the towering buttresses of the University chapel, lit softly by the glow from the stained-glass windows; and to spend the rest of our days happily pursuing our interests and our goals, all the while extolling the virtues of our alma mater and contributing to its endowment in preparation for future generations, including, God willing, our own children.
Editor's Note: This column discusses issues and events that might be traumatizing, or triggering, for some, namely suicide. The author was granted anonymity due to the intensely personal nature of the events described.
My grandfather was born and raised in rural Jamaica in the late 1920s. His mother died as an infant, and his father died when he was 13, leaving him, the oldest male in the family, to take care of his stepmother and his siblings. Although he had already been working in the cane fields as a boy, he now had to work extreme hours, often sleeping in a hammock connected to trees. Because of this, he never attended school and therefore never learned to read, much to his detriment. Later, he and a friend entered into a business partnership and he was cheated out of everything because he did not understand the terms of the contract.
If you’ve heard our president speak, you’ve heard about the dangerous, all-consuming “liberal media.” The “lying media.” The “fake news.” According to Trump and his advisers, the media seems to persecute any idea or person that does not follow its “liberal ideology.”
This is the second article in a series about alcohol and the college experience.
I recently attended a leadership conference series at a consulting firm in New York that was designed to help women explore their identities in professional settings and to learn more about consulting at this particular firm. One of the last parts of the series was a question and answer session with one of the female partners, in which a fellow attendee asked a very thought-provoking question.
On a mischievous afternoon in my childhood, my cousin Michael and I were looking for something to do. “We are going to make some prank calls!” he announced proudly, beaming at the prospect of teaching trickery to his naive younger cousin.
On May 3 and 4, J Street U held an exhibition of photos by an Israeli non-governmental organization called Breaking the Silence, whose goal is to “expose the Israeli public to the reality of everyday life in the Occupied Territories.” I applaud its desire to better Israeli society, but I do not feel the same about the accusations that have come out about the organization.
During football season, I received no shortage of pictures of packed stadiums from my friends at other universities. But at the Princeton-Harvard game this year, Powers Field was two-thirds empty. Had it not been for the free Hoagie Haven at a tailgate before the game, I have no doubt that the stadium would have been even more barren.
This is the first article in a series about alcohol and the college experience.
The Editorial Board is an independent body and decides its opinions separately from the regular staff and editors of The Daily Princetonian. The Board answers only to its Co-Chairs, the Opinion Editor, and the Editor-in-Chief. It can be reached at email@example.com.
While I was growing up in the 1950s and 60s, my grandfather Alan Fitz Randolph (B.S., Chemistry, Princeton, 1913), a descendant of Nathaniel Fitz Randolph, who had contributed the original land for Princeton University in 1753, spoke often of his pride in the University. It wasn’t until I was nineteen years old that I discovered, by accident, that he had received a degree in Chemical Engineering from Columbia University in 1916. When I asked my parents why my grandfather never talked about his time at Columbia, they told me that he never discussed it because he did not feel it was a gentlemen’s school, due to having monitors in the exam rooms, instead of an honor code like Princeton.
Princeton’s exclusivity is old news, and it seems as if it’s embedded in the University culture. For at least two decades, Princeton has not accepted undergraduate transfer students. Today, Princeton is the only Ivy League school that does not. It keeps us exclusive, once again.
The following article clarifies and elaborates on certain points I made in an article I recently wrote and responds to some of the criticism it has received.
Any current Princetonian has probably seen the open letter addressed to University President Christopher Eisgruber ’83, appealing for (political, though it never says so directly) diversity in the selection of books assigned as Pre-reads to incoming first-years. The author bemoans the “tediousness” and “aridity” of recent selections, and posits what she describes as unfamiliar views, to be beneficial not only to “the free debate of diverse perspectives,” but also to stimulating discussion during and beyond the orientation discussion of these texts. While I am often reluctant to wade into public political discussions as I am not American, nor am I usually inclined to action, I found the author’s argument interesting and impulsively began to pen a response. I found her claim that the Pre-read is a good opportunity to introduce diverse texts to be misplaced, and laced with the unfounded accusation that this tradition serves as a channel through which readers are fed biased information. And while I agree with many of the author’s premises, I disagree with her about replacing the “dry” Pre-reads with more exciting texts simply to stimulate conversation.
Mass incarceration is one of the great moral challenges of our time. With merely 4.4 percent of the world's population, the United States holds almost one quarter of the world’s prisoners, far more than any other country. Nearly nine times as high as Germany’s, our incarceration rate is the highest on the planet (save for that of tiny Seychelles). While the destructive impact of mass incarceration is being felt across all poor communities, the racial dimension stands out: one in three black men can expect to go to prison at some point in his life, a fact of devastating consequence for the African-American family.
There are two academic systems at the University that remain stuck in the past. The first is our academic calendar, which I am thankful is on the path to change. The second, however, receives less attention: the limited options for concentrations. Sophomores, take note: The options that were offered to you this spring are not nearly as comprehensive as those offered at other Ivy League and top universities. If we hope to live up to our reputation and values as a liberal arts university, this must change.
On April 11, 2017, Princeton Garden Theatre welcomed Darryl McDaniels as part of visiting associate professor Amy Herzog’s spring course on visual arts and music. McDaniels’s might not be a recognizable name, but he fundamentally shaped the sound of the late 20th century as one of the founding members of the superstar group Run-D.M.C., who opened the doors for the golden age of hip-hop. At the lecture, McDaniels ended one of his responses by saying, “Art succeeds where politics and religion fail.” All forms of art carry a responsibility. Here at the University, we’re much removed from the South Bronx, but most of us are artists in some way or another. We don’t simply create art for the sake of art, but rather for the sake of something greater.
Three years ago, as the Princeton baccalaureate speaker, I stood in the pulpit of the University Chapel and addressed the graduating Class of 2014. I talked about the sacrifices my parents made so I could attend college and my commitment to using my education to help future generations. I encouraged the graduates to consider the path I had chosen: a career in public service.
There is an emerging belief that people who hold conservative views are being persecuted in a way akin to how oppressed groups have historically been. Complaints include an inability to voice opinions without being censored, discrimination based on conservative beliefs, and a fear of being labelled as ignorant.