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On Feb. 8, Princeton Pro-Life penned a letter in The Daily Princetonian after marching in the 45th annual March for Life in Washington, D.C. In the letter, the group promoted its anti-abortion, pro-life stance through the misleading rhetoric of “love.” Although I genuinely appreciate PPL’s attempt to support its pro-life perspective with empathy (rather than with misogyny or reactionary conservatism), the PPL letter’s rhetoric of love dangerously oversimplifies the complexity of the abortion debate.
A massive hint tucked away in an instructor’s reply to a follow-up on a Piazza post. Eight hours wasted on a problem set because you couldn’t make it to office hours where they told attendees a big clue. Review sessions where the teaching assistant walks through a problem virtually identical to one on the midterm, but you were at sports practice or a job interview or sick at McCosh Health Center. Coding assignments where having beefed-up hardware would have provided a significant advantage. Even in supposedly “objective” STEM fields, grading can be a befuddling, frustrating, and often inequitable process. Add to this the common complaints of humanities students about the subjectivity of grading in their fields — how one preceptor grades more harshly than another, or how some professors use an indecipherably cryptic rubric to assess papers, or even how writing style can shroud a strong argument — and we see that the difference between supposedly good and bad grades at Princeton is often arbitrary.
At one point in time, I wanted to be scientist. I was eight and I really, truly knew what I wanted from life. But to my recollection, that was the last time I was truly sure about anything.
The notorious Yale psychology course, PSYC 157: Psychology and the Good Life, has swelled to sizes previously unheard of at the college, beating its own record from earlier in the year with 1,147 attendees at most recent count. PSYC 157, not yet blessed with the kind of snappy name Princeton students would undoubtedly have given it (think “Stars for Stoners,“ or, my personal favorite, “Bridges”). But the Yale course promises “psychological insights into how to live a better life and build a better world,“ as well as “scientifically-validated strategies for becoming happier.” These are lofty claims that raise obvious questions: what kind of psychological insight makes life better? How is science claiming to cure happiness? Although valid, these are questions that neatly sidestep the underlying quandary that this course, like most other manifestations of positive psychology, truly raises. What does “better” mean? What makes one really “happier?” These are questions humanity has grappled with for the better part of its existence, and while I staunchly believe that the answers shall someday be unearthed, I am skeptical that the site of this discovery will be in a lecture hall with nearly 1,200 people.
Tucked into a basement at the corner of Hulfish and Witherspoon Streets is a new restaurant — Lan Ramen. It’s delicious and affordable, and I recommend that everyone check it out. When you hear a name like “Lan Ramen,” you might think that you’re going to a Japanese restaurant — ramen is Japanese, after all. But Lan Ramen isn’t a Japanese restaurant but instead Chinese. “Lan” refers to Lanzhou, the Chinese province famous for “lan zhou la mian” (兰州拉面), a certain kind of pulled noodle. Ramen, in contrast, is comprised of cut noodles. Although the origins of the ramen noodles are perhaps Chinese, apocryphally attributed to a couple of Chinese chefs in the late 19th century, the dish is now distinctly Japanese, with an entire set of cultural rituals dedicated to its consumption. The restaurant aimed to serve these kinds of Lanzhou noodles once it finished its soft opening; in the meantime, though, the restaurant served non-noodle Chinese dishes, hence affirming its decidedly Chinese culinary identity. In light of this, you might ask, why would a restaurant take on an ethnically inaccurate name?
On Tuesday, Feb. 6, professor Lawrence Rosen used the racial slur “n****r” in an attempt to stimulate student reactions on “oppressive symbolism.” By this metric, Rosen succeeded. As The Daily Princetonian reported on Feb. 7, four students walked out of the lecture, one of whom returned to confront the professor. The rest of the class argued with Rosen for the remainder of the period, demanding an apology. Since the Feb. 7 publication, there have been four separate Letters to the Editor, defenses which take a variety of sides on the controversy. At least six outside publications have picked up the story, and there have been hundreds of comments on the various articles published in the ‘Prince.’ On Monday, Feb. 12, Rosen cancelled his class. This was without pressure from the University.
I’ll be honest: I didn’t bicker because I was terrified of being hosed. As I wrote in an article earlier this year, I felt rejected by every group I auditioned for and every person I spoke to. I tried out for groups and spent hours waiting for pickups that never happened. I applied for ideal internships, only to receive emails beginning with “thank you for your application” — the classic rejection opener. The idea of having my personality put up for judgment was daunting. I couldn’t put myself through it again. But more than anything, I was scared that I would treat a potential rejection the way I had gone through previous experiences this year: by blaming everything on myself.
As an anthropologist teaching in the Princeton Writing Program whose courses regularly involve offensive material, I would like to weigh in on the recent controversy surrounding Lawrence Rosen’s use of the N-word in his class. In short, I write in support of the students who walked out on Rosen.
In her Feb. 8 letter to the editor, Professor Carolyn Rouse offered a pedagogy for Rosen’s class as contextual background for why certain students should not have walked out. Unfortunately, her letter entirely misses the point as to why the students walked out of class. There is no pedagogical purpose to using “n****r” versus “N-word” or some other euphemism in any class. What are the pedagogical reasons for using “n****r” repeatedly in class if your goal is for students to be able to argue why hate speech should or should not be protected? Can this discussion not take place without the full pronunciation of the most incendiary and racially divisive word in our lexicon? To argue that there is educational value in this line of thinking is at best, disingenuous and at worst, something else entirely. This is one of the many red herrings Rouse offers in her recent letter to the editor. The examples provided regarding a student wiping her feet on the American flag may not elicit the same response because one cannot conflate the 400-year history of the word “n****r” with those upset regarding desecration over the flag. Has anyone offended by flag desecration been oppressed, discriminated against, or systemically denied civil rights? In fact, both flag desecrators and those offended by them have been offered more protections than those called “n****r” by their oppressors. Should we also argue a pedagogical reason for using the word “f**got” or “homo” so that gay people can move beyond their emotions, too, and make an argument about why hate speech should or should not be protected? Certainly not!
Carolyn Rouse, chair of the anthropology department, pictured above. Courtesy of Princeton Alumni Weekly.
Love saves lives. This was the theme of the 45th annual March for Life in Washington D.C., which drew tens of thousands of pro-life activists — including 40 students from Princeton Pro-Life — to protest the legalization of abortion in Roe v. Wade. Though four and a half decades of marches have not overturned Roe, we persist in joyfully and peacefully witnessing to the sanctity of all human life.
There is something sacred about eating, about the basic act of breaking bread with another. It is one of the rituals of human history, the sharing of a table. It sits alongside other sacred rituals of humanity — passing time together, praying together, mourning together — that are all, at their heart, forms of togetherness.
Last month, the feminist website Babe ran an article recounting the traumatizing sexual experience that a 23-year-old photographer, writing under the pseudonym “Grace,” had with comedian Aziz Ansari. While this comes during a time when sexual assault awareness is at a record high with the rise of #MeToo, many are quick to dismiss the victim’s allegations as an unviable part of the movement.
One year ago, I asked a sophomore friend about eating club initiations. I questioned him further about the specifics of the centuries-old rites and rituals surrounding these infamous events, so he showed me firsthand what they were like by whipping out his iPhone and scrolling through posts on social media. As he flipped through them, I was appalled at what I saw.
“You were never the problem, but you are so much the solution,” said Judge Rosemarie Aquilina to Olympic gymnast Aly Raisman after she gave her heart-wrenching testimony at Larry Nassar’s sentencing. Aquilina allowed more than 150 women to speak their truth and reveal their scarring experiences with Nassar, who had abused his power as the USA Gymnastics national team doctor and Michigan State University physician to molest young girls during treatments. She went on to directly tell Nassar, “I just signed your death warrant” after sentencing him to 40 to 175 years in prison. Many people have criticized Aquilina, accusing her of crossing a line by overtly showing support for the Nassar’s victims and harshly condemning Nassar. However, I believe Aquilina’s statements were not only acceptable, but also necessary, providing more hope to the gymnasts, as well as to the current #MeToo movement and Time’s Up initiative. By allowing the women to gain the closure they might need to heal and criticizing Nassar face to face, Aquilina set a precedent in the courtroom that demonstrates complete intolerance of sexual assault. This is especially important considering the outcome in many other high-profile sexual assault cases. In 2016, Judge Aaron Persky sentenced Brock Turner, a former Stanford swimmer convicted of sexually assaulting an unconscious girl, to only six months in jail, worried about the effects prison might have on Turner’s psyche. In 2013, before sentencing former bishop Keith Vallejo for rape, Judge Thomas Low called Vallejo an “extraordinarily good man.” When judges show sympathy for men who have hurt women both physically and mentally, they send a message to other victims that their stories do not carry much weight and they are better off silent. By giving all Nassar’s victims a platform to speak and thanking them for their bravery, Judge Aquilina told victims everywhere that their voices matter and are welcome. Instead of silencing the victims, she silenced the perpetrator, throwing away Nassar’s letter expressing his difficulties listening to the women.
I had just hopped on the treadmill when three of the TVs in Dillon Gymnasium lit up with the exact same press conference. President Trump’s doctor had just started answering questions about the President’s mental and physical health, and all of the major cable networks gave this press conference priority over other news.
“That sucks.” “Thank you for sharing that with me.” “I’m really sorry you’re going through this.” “How can I be here for you?”
The backlash to the University’s decision on the Honor Constitution referenda has been growing since the January 4 announcement. There are now calls for protests in February by the Honor Code Reform campaign, and the USG Executive Committee has vowed to “[actively pursue] other avenues of action available to us.” These responses demonstrate a fundamental misunderstanding both of how the University operates and of the relationship between the faculty and the Honor System. The University’s decision is consistent with its authority over academic policy and was a prudent response to a highly flawed attempt to alter the Honor System. Going forward, students should focus on participating in the work of the Honor System Review Committee, not protesting a legitimate exercise of authority.