It did not take a pandemic for queer people, especially those who must conceal their identities to survive, to endure the loneliness of alienation, secrecy, and heterosexist, violent hate.
No one is too old — or too queer, or too poor, or too black, or too disabled, or too incarcerated, or too undocumented — to be worthy of life, or worthy of grief.
Even if Jesus were straight, and even if queer joy manifests in blasphemous fashions (whatever that means), queer people should still be free, loved, and embraced for their queerness.
At the very least, though, we should acknowledge that the continued practice Bicker and Greek life is a conscious choice we, as a student body, make. There’s nothing from stopping us from imagining, and eventually creating, a social scene without these exclusionary traditions — nothing except our own unwillingness to confront our collective complicity in an inequitable system.
Existential crises know no boundaries. So many of us are in pain, I can sense it. So many of us are struggling. So many of us need a hug, a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to, or just someone to hear them.
The ongoing detention of innumerable migrant children, women, and men has been perhaps the most concrete manifestation of the president’s ruthless disregard of basic human empathy, due process, and the rule of law.
Undoubtedly, Toni Morrison’s absence will be felt in this moment of craven moral complacency, political turmoil, and subjugating authoritarianism.
Managing editor Samuel Aftel ’20 reflects on his heady experiences in Miami this summer, at once embracing and lamenting the impermanence of his stay.
In a more inclusive, democratically compassionate world, Israel Shabbat would not be an inherently polarizing event. Congresswoman Omar would not be defamed as an anti-Semite. And Palestinian rights would be valued as much as Israeli rights.
The prospect of banning the box surely raises difficult legal, practical, and moral questions. But nonetheless, the box should be banned.
