GSRC Director: I share students’ commitment to making campus more equitable
The following is a guest contribution and reflects the author’s views alone. For information on how to submit an article to the Opinion Section, click here.
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The following is a guest contribution and reflects the author’s views alone. For information on how to submit an article to the Opinion Section, click here.
Number one, once again! Aren’t we?
So you’re here for your first full year on campus. As a member of the only class to have experienced this, I am here to offer some advice as a somewhat wise senior. Zoom University was challenging for a host of reasons, but an on-campus year offers its own kind of adversity. You may have noticed in the first few weeks how Princeton can pull you in many different directions as you attempt to juggle classes, extracurriculars, and just being a functioning human being. If you approach each of these spheres of campus life with an open mind and a priority on your wellbeing, you’ll be able to weather the first few months of an in-person Princeton.
I’m almost certain that the Class of 2024 and 2025 are tired of orientation activities, meetings, and how-tos. Despite the good intention of these events and recommendations, they seem to stretch ad nauseam into late September and early October. However, I thought it would be helpful to share my experiences in an effort to reassure those feeling out of place or awkward at the start of their Princeton career.
Princeton’s orientation programming is packed. First-years are sorted into various small group programs, participate in dozens of events, and attend several trainings designed to help them get their bearings as college students. This year featured a new addition to the traditional programming. First-years watched a recording of a virtual “roundtable” discussion which examined a gallery entitled “To Be Known and Be Heard: Systemic Racism and Princeton University.” In the recording, professors examined documents concerning racist moments in Princeton’s history.
Amid an international reckoning over racial justice in the summer of 2020, several hundred Princeton faculty signed a letter delineating University-wide changes. One professor offered criticism of the letter, faced serious condemnation, and then published a piece about “[surviving] cancellation at Princeton.” Without dredging up the original debate, the events surrounding the letter certainly showcase a high-profile instance of “cancel culture” on our campus.
Content Warning: This article contains mention of homophobic and misogynistic language.
We give ourselves to the future everyday. It is our hope that as the future inches closer, our masks will be enough, our vaccines will be enough, and our trust in each other will be enough. Now, Princeton is open. Friends pull in chairs to crowded tables, professors raise voices to quiet lecture halls, and music echoes throughout weekend nights. Yet the haunting fear remains. Will this “normal” last?
When James Madison Class of 1771, Alexander Hamilton, and John Jay wrote the Federalist Papers — some of this country’s most important opinion editorials — they had seven months to write nearly 70,000 words. The stakes of the modern era are no lower, yet news comes at an exponentially faster rate.
After the first week of classes, one thing is apparent: a large portion of the student body has wholeheartedly embraced the University’s “return to normal.” Aside from the University’s indoor masking requirement and the eating clubs’ members-only policy, few indications on campus show that the COVID-19 pandemic is, in fact, still ongoing. Everything from in-person classes and full-capacity dining halls to the widely-attended Pre-rade and Triangle Frosh Week Show contributes to the feeling that we are living in a post-pandemic Princeton. In our highly vaccinated, regularly tested Orange Bubble, it is easy to forget about COVID-19. However, many students do not have the luxury of forgetting.
The fall of Kabul to Taliban forces this past August was undoubtedly one of the most calamitous events that the international community has witnessed in recent memory. The successive conquests of surrounding cities culminating with the quick and sudden capture of the capital were reminiscent of the falls of Constantinople and Rome in ages past.
When I asked my friends about how they felt returning to campus after a year of remote learning, I got a wide range of responses. Some said they were excited to be back and see friends and professors in-person again. Others, including me, were “apathetic” or “checked out.”
At the recent Sunday Night Live Orientation event at Richardson Auditorium, a particularly discontent group of students sat in front of me. They chatted throughout Saturday Night Live (SNL) cast member Mikey Day’s performance, jeered when he requested audience interaction, and ignored fellow audience members asking them to be quiet.
The following is a guest contribution and reflects the author’s views alone. For information on how to submit an article to the Opinion Section, click here.
My first column for the ‘Prince,’ written in the summer of 2020, detailed the importance of protecting the Tongass National Forest in Southeast Alaska. The Tongass acts not only as one of the world’s best carbon sinks, a place of economic potential through tourism and outdoor recreation, and an abundant source of wild foods, but has also been the traditional homelands of the Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian peoples for over 10,000 years. When I wrote the column, the Trump administration had proposed a rollback of the Roadless Rule, which protects over nine million acres of land in the Tongass, despite 96 percent of public commenters opposing the rollback of these protections.
While the first day of class is always exciting, this year felt different for obvious reasons. Most students had not stepped foot in a classroom in nearly 18 months, instead facing the challenges of Zoom from all different corners of the world. After juggling technology difficulties, Zoom fatigue, time differences, and the other myriad of challenges that accompanied remote learning, there was an evident sense of relief throughout campus as students and faculty were finally able to return to physical learning spaces.
On Wednesday, while I sat in my second class of the academic year — a course titled Cities, Sea Level Rise and the Environmental Humanities — an emergency alert buzzed on my phone. It read, “Tornado Warning,” and outlined the steps I should take to protect myself. Don’t go outside. Stay away from windows. Await further warning.
The following is a guest contribution and reflects the author’s views alone. For information on how to submit an article to the Opinion Section, click here.
As a first-year, I sat in precept, struggling to concentrate. I hadn’t been feeling well that day, but I dragged myself to class. I knew how painful it would be to try and catch up on missed work later. Just that past week, my roommate, who suffers from chronic migraines, forced herself to go to class, only to leave to throw up in a gutter. Another friend had stationed himself in Firestone Library for the past 10 hours — and hadn’t even left to eat.
The following is a guest contribution and reflects the authors’ views alone. For information on how to submit an article to the Opinion Section, click here.