After over a year of debate over a neutrality policy, Tufts has adopted a position of “institutional pluralism,” involving a plot in which the word “neutrality” has been swapped out for “pluralism,” to make it seem like Tufts is actually doing something productive. Spoiler alert: they’re not.
BookTok is difficult to describe. It is, in its earliest form, a forum that originated on TikTok for people to talk about books across social media. Now, though, BookTok has developed into the be-all and end-all of readership opinion. If a book is popular on BookTok, then it is virtually guaranteed to sell well; if BookTok doesn’t popularize it, then it’ll fade into the noise.
As counterintuitive as it may sound, protest, revolt and revolution are embedded in American culture. Our very country was founded on the American Revolution, with radical acts like the Boston Tea Party celebrated by our founding fathers. Suffragists endured hunger strikes and prison sentences just so women could secure the right to vote. Civil rights leaders organized bus boycotts so effectively that the very legislation surrounding them changed. Disability activists staged sit-ins in politicians’ offices for weeks on end to advocate for laws protecting disabled people. These acts of resistance are now remembered as honorable acts of courage, necessary for the development of our country. That same support, however, has not been extended to modern movements.
As a native Texan, I’ve spent my fair share of time at Christian overnight camps, where many of my former bunkmates gradually shifted their summer plans from Bible study and kayaking to religious mission trips. These missionaries, predominantly white and Christian, waste no time posting on Instagram to commemorate the end of their missions. They often capitalize upon South American communities and exploit their interactions with children to garner empathy and praise from their peers without the consent of the families they work with.
Just this past week, conservative organizer and internet personality Charlie Kirk was shot and killed at Utah Valley University while holding a political event. No matter your political leanings or personal beliefs, we should all agree that the assassination of a political figure of this magnitude is and should always be utterly unacceptable in these United States of America.
Once I submitted my last final and the freedom of summer washed over me, I made a radical decision: I would not spend a single second of break doomscrolling. Pulling out my deteriorating phone, I gleefully deleted all my social media apps, committing myself to saving my attention span and being morally superior to my peers. But it only took one 40-minute layover on my flight home for me to supplement my need to scroll with another vice: obsessively checking the news.
There’s a special kind of anxiety I feel sitting in a room full of students, suspended in the silence between a professor’s question and the first raised hand. As I’ve spent the past week preparing to teach a class as part of Tufts’ Explorations program — a part of our Experimental College in which upper-level students instruct incoming first-years about a topic of their choice and help them adjust to college — I’ve been thinking, and worrying, about that dreaded silence. Why, in so many classrooms full of skilled learners, is this such a familiar phenomenon?
The media that individuals consume dictates their views on society. The average individual sees more than 5,000 advertisements per day, each of which has the power to shape their beliefs, attitudes and expectations. Hence, it’s imperative that popular media uplifts marginalized groups, rather than confining them to stereotypes that can normalize sexism, racism or homophobia. Gender stereotypes have persisted in popular media, from sexist portrayals of women in 20th century advertisements to their depictions in movies and music today. Although the representation of empowered women has increased, gender-restrictive stereotypes and the objectification of women are still prominent in popular media today.
When I came to Tufts in the fall of 2022, I was still in shock from the start of the full-scale invasion of my home country, Ukraine. I was exhausted by uncertainty watching the horrific news unfold, not yet knowing how to cope with the daily tragedies caused by the bombings and fighting on the frontline. Speaking up about the war on social media was helping me to feel less powerless. When I heard about the Daily, I realized that writing for the newspaper would be another great way to raise awareness about the war — a tool to turn my frustration into helpful actions. At first I was not sure that I would find support for a column about Ukraine. However, from the very first meeting in the Opinion section I felt encouraged to express my reflections about the war, and this support helped me tremendously to gain the courage to share my personal, often traumatic experiences through my writing.
More than 47,000 species are currently threatened with extinction. Just last year, the International Union for Conservation of Nature Red List reported five newly extinct species and five others moved to the critically endangered list. Scientists from Dallas-based biotech company Colossal Laboratories & Biosciences are working to revive extinct animals in order to “jumpstart nature’s accestral heartbeat.” However, its choices in animals are questionable: Tasmanian tigers, mammoths, dire wolves and dodo birds. Colossal Laboratories & Biosciences’ mission, although a marvel of modern technology, is a shoddy attempt to restore balance to mother nature without addressing humanity’s failure to protect animals that went extinct in the last decade.
Over the past few months, I, like so many others, have been thinking a lot about what it means to be getting a liberal arts education. At a time when the world is changing with the advent of new technologies, changing markets and constant commentary from family friends that artificial intelligence will leave us unemployed: “Why liberal arts?” is a question that has become even more important.
If you’re part of the Class of 2025, you’re likely no stranger to the emotional whiplash of dread, anger and anxiety, sometimes punctuated by flickers of hope and anticipation, that has characterized the last few months. Perhaps you’re part of a student research project whose funding was cut. Or, the jobs that once defined your dream career no longer exist. Maybe, like most of us, you’re facing adauntingly high level of competitiveness for entry-level jobs. In short, the future does not feel bright.I, for one, do not feel limitless career potential. Regardless of what commencement speakers may say, it is objectively a terrible time to graduate from college. So, how can we, as a graduating class, cope with the fact that our plans are being forced to change due to factors beyond our control?
As I prepare to graduate from Tufts, I find myself reflecting on what I’ve learned over the last four years. I’ve learned an incredible amount academically, grown emotionally and matured as an adult. Still, the piece of knowledge that grabs my shoulders and shakes me, screaming, “I am the most important!” is my new, glimmering mindset. Over my time at Tufts, I have realized that our perceptions of “reality” are often fake. As such, why not commit to living authentically, despite what others may think of you?
On April 22, Knopf Publishing Company released “Notes to John,” a posthumous collection of journal entries Joan Didion wrote after sessions with her psychiatrist.The 224-page work marks the first release of new content by the writer since her 2011 memoir, “Blue Nights.”
When I arrived at Tufts in 2021, I knew who I was and what I wanted. When I introduced myself across countless icebreakers that fall, I made sure to let anyone and everyone know that I was here to major in international relations and minor in economics, aiming to work in a think tank after I graduated to be close to the political world. This confidence, at the time, seemed well justified. After all, since middle school, I had maintained a passionate interest in Model UN as a vehicle by which I could learn about international affairs and diplomacy, and in my International Baccalaureate program, I regarded my classes as preparation for delving deeper into international relations.
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.
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.
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