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When I first arrived on campus, I was afraid to discuss politics. It wasn’t that I was uncertain of my beliefs, but Princeton students have a formidable reputation. Coming from the dirt roads and cornfields of the Midwest, having never dreamt of attending an Ivy League university, I knew I was entering the lists.
Housed in the austere Whig Hall, with Woodrow Wilson staring gravely upon them, a couple hundred students sit on the edge of their seats, waiting for the next Joe Biden slipup or incendiary roast from Julián Castro. I, too, sit with my friends, pizza and drink in hand. If Joe Biden confuses himself again, the room cringes; when Julián Castro calls Joe out on his confusion, the crowd roars in laughter; when Andrew Yang so much as opens his mouth, he is met with ridicule and snickering.
In 2017, an FBI investigation uncovered a bribery scheme in the complex web of college-basketball recruitment. The investigation revealed, among other offenses, a meeting in which a Louisville assistant coach, an Amateur Athletic Union (AAU) coach, and an investment advisor discussed paying a recruit. After hearing about this meeting, Sonny Vaccaro, a former marketing executive for Adidas, Nike, and Reebok, told The Washington Post that “everybody around [the player] in that meeting ... is making money off of him, and he's 17 years old.”
We, the undersigned faculty, recognize that climate change poses a grave threat to the wellbeing of all inhabitants of the earth. We believe that delaying mitigation and adaptation measures will increase the intensity of the consequences beyond globally marked tipping points. These consequences result in unequal burdens; disadvantaged communities, near and far, shoulder the most severe impacts of the globally changing climate. We recognize that our residency in one of the most powerful nations in the world, and one that disproportionately contributes to this problem, leaves us — as a nation, as a state, as a University, and as individuals — responsible to take immediate and robust action.
The Housing Office welcomes new and returning students to campus. We hope you had a productive summer and a great start to the new year!
I have been listening to Lil Wayne since I was in the fifth grade. But it wasn’t until one lonely summer night, after I stumbled upon a compelling piece on Vice, that I discovered the best track he’s ever produced: “I Feel Like Dying.” The song, leaked online in 2007, piercingly narrates the orgasmic highs and apocalyptic lows of drug addiction — the highs that always make the lows worth it, and the lows that always make the highs worthless: the glorious, vicious paradox of hardcore chemical alteration.
As our leaders equivocate and waver, we, the undersigned, will strike with other climate-concerned young people around the world this Friday, Sept. 20. Coinciding with the start of the UN Climate Action Summit in New York, we strike for stronger action on the climate crisis.
Ideally, patriotism is a beautiful notion — a love for one’s homeland and heritage paired with a burning desire to protect those roots. In the real world, however, the idea of “patriotism” devolves into just another weapon used to propel conflicts between nationalist governments. Even more egregiously, it is often merely a disingenuous rebranding of chauvinism.
A great University like Princeton encourages its students to think differently.
It’s the beginning of another year: doe-eyed frosh and self-assured seniors alike flood campus, bringing it to life. New friends are made, old friends are greeted, and everyone indulges in the buzzing excitement of being back again. In years past, at this point, many people would be heading to the eating clubs for a weekend of festivities and partying known as “Frosh Week.” Though technically the Interclub Council (ICC) policy has always stipulated that first-years are not allowed into the clubs during orientation period, this has never been actually enforced until this year.
Welcome back to campus. This summer brought a lot of front-page headlines from the climate files—from Hurricane Dorian wiping out the Bahamas and ravaging the East Coast to swaths of the Amazon rainforest and Arctic tundra burning at record rates. Europe and Japan suffered through immense heat waves that left thousands dead; wildfires swept through Australia. These ever-graver catastrophes have blown away many of our predictions for what “normal” weather looks like.
To take advantage of opportunities for which this campus is especially noted, we are often encouraged to attend exclusive, high-profile, and high-brow events. The distinguished speakers likely attended the University, and they might have donated substantially. Regardless, take a look at your inbox for the past week; how many emails did you overlook or pay heed to, depending on your disposition, regarding the institutional ties held by impending guests, ties which we are taught relentlessly to covet and venerate?
Donald Trump’s presidency can often feel like an inevitable catastrophe that gets easier and easier to become desensitized to and disengaged from. Trump has successfully deconstructed and rendered irrelevant the traditional neoliberal niceties that have conveniently shielded this country from confronting its history, and continued practice, of structural violence: Trump is an indecent man who has lived an indecent life, and runs the country in accordance with this indecency — yet, unlike his predecessors, he makes no attempt to hide his amorality, and we make no attempt to remain shocked and horrified by his cruelty.
Living in New Jersey, I had the convenient option of loading my car up, driving it to campus and unpacking all my stuff as I moved into year two of my Princeton journey. After a few hours of moving bags and boxes into my room and saying farewell to my family, I had one final thing to do: say goodbye to my precious Toyota Rav 4. Not yet belonging to an eating club and not having what the university calls “a compelling need” to have a car on campus, I had to watch as my family took my car back home, leaving me in the suburban bubble of central New Jersey.
In March of 2018, Pedro Pablo Kuczynski, the former President of Peru and a 1961 graduate of the Woodrow Wilson School’s Masters in Public Affairs (MPA) program, resigned from office a day before the Peruvian Congress would have held an impeachment vote against him. He was accused of laundering money while in public office to benefit the Brazilian contractor Odebrecht with multi-million dollar infrastructure projects.
Shortly after the election of Donald Trump, the late Toni Morrison, the canonical novelist, Nobel laureate, Pulitzer winner, and the Robert F. Goheen Professor in the Humanities, Emerita, theorized in The New Yorker, “So scary are the consequences of a collapse of white privilege that many Americans have flocked to a political platform that supports and translates violence against the defenseless as strength. These people are not so much angry as terrified, with the kind of terror that makes knees tremble.”
Coming into Princeton, I’d heard of the prestigious Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs, and it was no surprise for me to learn that a concentration in “Woody Woo” was among the most popular at the University, along with the closely associated politics concentration. Naturally, I expected this widespread academic interest in political science and public policy to extend into extracurricular life, manifesting itself in anything from a robust student government to animated grassroots campaigns for change. How wrong I was.
As of June 11, 2019, nine international Princeton students have received their work permits for the summer. That’s less than 10 percent of the total number who have applied. For many of us, the processing delays have resulted in the loss of jobs, and with them, the incomes we planned on using to pay for food and rent.
To U. President Christopher Eisgruber and Davis International Center Director Jacqueline Leighton:
I read with great interest President Eisgruber’s recent statement on sexual misconduct concerns for the University. The statement's vague language and unsupported claims remind me of writer Rebecca Solnit's observation, "It is the truest, highest purpose of language to make things clear and help us see; when words are used to do the opposite you know you’re in trouble and maybe that there’s a cover-up."