Summer is upon us! As yet another school year comes to a close, the Editorial Board has brainstormed some changes that we hope can improve students’ experience at Tufts.
Walking through the halls of Tisch, desperate to find a study spot, my eyes can’t help but dart to what rests on everyone’s desk. No, it’s not books that my peepers are gazing at but the vast array of colorful Owala water bottles that have taken over campus. I don’t think I’ve gone a single day this school year without seeing one of those brightly-colored vessels shoved into the side pocket of a backpack or standing tall on a desk. Even the Tufts Bookstore has caught on to the epidemic, now selling a variety of Owala bottles for students to hydrate with. Yet, as I sip on my microplastic-infused water from my deteriorating bottle, I find myself struggling to understand this trend. Wasn’t it just last year that everyone was clenching their Stanley cups? And what about those insulated Hydro Flasks that would thunder when they hit the floor?
When I was notified by my supervisor at the Student Accessibility and Academic Resources Center — also known as the StAAR Center — at the end of my first year that I had been accepted as a writing fellow, I was overjoyed. First of all, it was the first job I had ever been offered. Second, it was the only on-campus job I had been accepted to after applying to countless random positions at the Mayer Campus Center and Tisch Library through Handshake. I had always wanted an on-campus job because it seemed so cool and rewarding. Now, two years later, I can confidently say I was right, and that my Tufts experience wouldn’t have been nearly as meaningful without it.
People tend to believe that prison is one of the worst places one can end up in America. Little do they know, psychiatric hospitals are eerily similar to prisons. Like prisons, the food is unappetizing and flavorless; the mattresses are stiff as boards and not at all conducive to sleep; and the showers have minimal privacy and tiny towels that come nowhere close to covering one’s full body. Both healthcare professionals and patients characterize the inpatient hospital environment as carceral in a way that, according to the AMA Journal of Ethics, is “not conducive to well-being or recovery.” Yet the websites for inpatient programs still tout “exceptional care” with false promises that patients will get better.
Having previously written two articles detailing the renewed strife in the eastern Congo, I have admittedly not been too forthcoming with my own opinions on how to confront the issue. My primary reason for this is that I do not think I have the expertise to offer any serious prescriptions, but I now believe that this shouldn’t stop me from at least trying.
With the start of the full-scale war in Ukraine, businesses faced existential challenges and had to find ways to survive in the midst of the military aggression. Students pursuing careers in business found themselves navigating a world where traditional paths would no longer work, having to adjust to studying despite the Russian bombings. Yet, amid the destruction and uncertainty, according to Ukrainian venture investor Ruslan Tymofieiev, the startup ecosystem has emerged stronger than before, supporting students as they deal with the war threats. This article is based on the experience of Tymofieiev, who founded CLUST SPACE, a charity project of smart shelters for students at Ukrainian universities. It will explore how Ukrainian businesses and the next generation of entrepreneurs are adjusting to a radically changed economic climate.
On the first night of Passover, when Jews around the world reflect and celebrate the Jewish people’s passage from oppression to freedom, my mind was preoccupied with the fate of Rümeysa Öztürk. Öztürk is a Turkish Fullbright Scholar now pursuing a degree in Eliot-Pearson Department of Child Study and Human Development at Tufts University, where I lecture. As I sat down for the Passover Seder, she sat in deplorable conditions in an Immigrations and Customs Enforcement detention center in Louisiana, awaiting a hearing brought by her defense team to get her released or at least returned to the Northeast.
As incoming president of the Tufts Debate Society, I recently had the displeasure of going through the budgetary approval process for the 2025–26 academic year. To say that this process was predatory and untransparent is an understatement. I strongly encourage there to be a reevaluation of the way this process operates.
May is just around the corner and with it comes the beginning of AAPI Month. This convoluted acronym officially stands for Asian American, Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month. However, in my experience, you’ll be hard-pressed to find many Americans, much less Asian Americans, Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders, actually celebrating an event dedicated to them. AAPI Month remains a useless holiday used to virtue signal fake acceptance of these populations as part of the “diverse” American dream.
What if there was a world where every kid with cancer was given the chance to fight for a brighter and more fulfilling life? What if we had the power to make that world a reality? Last year, Congress held this power in its hands. They had the opportunity to pass the Give Kids a Chance Act, which would allow companies to study pediatric cancer and develop life-saving drugs to ultimately give children the same chance as adults at living cancer-free lives. However, on Dec. 18, 2024, the House of Representatives was threatened on social media by Elon Musk. Representatives were warned that they could be pushed out of office if they voted in favor of the end-of-year package that included the Give Kids a Chance Act and three other important acts relating to pediatric cancer. The next day, the bill was crushed by the House before it could even come to a vote, reverting the efforts of patient advocates to square one.
I am a proud alumnus of Tufts University (LA’93) and an even prouder alumnus of the Daily, serving as executive business director and a sports columnist during my years on campus. I am also a member of the Tufts Daily Alumni Council.
Back in January, Meta made a bold move — it dropped third-party fact-checking on Facebook and Instagram andreplaced it with community notes. The company said this change was about deepening its “commitment to free expression.” But not everyone is buying that explanation. Critics argue that there might be political motivations at play, and they’re worried that this shift could make it even easier for disinformation and toxic content to spread on their platforms. These concerns are valid, but there are larger questions lurking underneath all of this: Does fact-checking actually work? I mean, can it really stop people from believing falsehoods? And how distinct are facts from fiction?
I’ve spent the past year being what my friends jokingly like to call a “professional hater,” writing columns where I rant about the bleak state of our world’s social and economic conditions, usually while drinking coffee, as my column name suggests. To be clear, there’s no shortage of issues worth addressing, and I can always think of more to critique. Maybe this makes me a cynic, a pessimist, a subscriber to realpolitik or all of the above. But beyond venting, I’ve come to realize that the true value lies in the process itself — the act of recognizing the significance, complexity and multidimensional nature of these problems. It has made me realize that — in a self-conceited way — the ability to critically think about social and economic issues is what’s the most important. That said, all I ask is for you to do three things.
When I tell people I’m majoring in sociology and Spanish, their response is almost guaranteed to be something vaguely critical of the social sciences and humanities. My favorite response I’ve received is “you’re just wasting your parents’ money” from a Floridian taxi driver. Despite the popular misconception that degrees dedicated to the social sciences and humanities are unnecessary, the current sociopolitical climate has rendered them more important now than ever.
To this day, my grandfather mentions an English class he took his first year of college, where a professor taught him how to form his own arguments. Similarly, my father often mentions, with fairly vivid details, lectures he attended and papers he wrote that sparked his intellectual curiosity during his undergraduate years. I know that, when I am older, I will talk about the two classes I took with Professor Sam Sommers with the same kind of wistful enthusiasm.
Have you ever walked into a club meeting and immediately felt unwelcome? Maybe it was because your fellow club members were already so engaged in conversation with one another that they didn’t pause for a brief moment to greet you. Maybe you tried to say a friendly hello, only to continue being ignored. If something like that has ever happened to you, you are certainly not alone, nor are you at fault. Experiences like this are most likely due to something much bigger — the toxic “clique culture” that has come to dominate countless organizations at Tufts.
On March 27, the Rapid City Area Schools district in South Dakota received a letter from the Trump administration’s Office of Civil Rights. Having concluded a 14-year investigation into school-based racial discrimination about a year ago, the district had finally agreed to provide equitable access to education for Indigenous students, who had disproportionately high disciplinary rates compared to their white peers. A civil rights agreement was settled, and an action plan was implemented to combat Indigenous discrimination. Now, President Donald Trump has nullified this agreement due to “DEI” and the district is no longer obliged to treat students equitably.
Last fall, while filling out the tiny ovals on my mail-in ballot for the state of Florida, I found myself questioning everything. As I scanned Question 4, I read, “Amendment to Limit Government Interference with Abortion” followed by the description, “No law shall prohibit, penalize, ...
One of the seven core principles of conservatism is the commitment to the rule of law. It’s a principle that ensures stability, predictability and fairness — the very conditions under which societies flourish and individuals thrive. Hand in hand with this is another value conservatives proudly uphold: the pursuit of economic growth and wealth accumulation through a free market economy. These principles intertwine because without a robust legal system that regulates the market, the ultimate goal of profit cannot be achieved.
On April 4, I was co-moderating a discussion on risks and art at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts at Tufts University for the event “Arts and Society: Dialogues.” I was looking at my phone and going over the sample questions to ask the participants when I received a text from my mom saying, “We were outside with your brother and our dog, the explosion felt far but the ground was shaking.” Momentarily, I tracked back my thoughts to before the event. Right before the discussion, I saw a notification that there was an air raid alert in Kryvyi Rih, possibly due to the missile carriers being launched in Russia. I had a feeling that this was not a precautionary alert, yet never in a million years would I assume that the attack would be that deadly.
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