“Why isn’t Ireland racist?”
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“Why isn’t Ireland racist?”
One has to wonder at the fortitude of winter’s merrymakers. From the depths of January, on evenings worn black by nights already eight hours old, you can observe something strange. Scurrying about Webster Avenue in the freezing cold are spectral lumps. These creatures mill over icy roads and through weather-biting winds, and a stench of beer incubates beneath their heavy winter layers to be released as a heady perfume upon arrival at some familiar destination … The cold air often invigorates these inebriates, and it is perhaps at this moment that one of the creatures recalls those now indelible lines from College President Phil Hanlon’s Moving Dartmouth Forward plan: “Our vision is for Dartmouth to be a place of around-the-clock learning.” The student grumbles, to no one in particular, “Around-the-clock what?” before continuing a jumbled march onward, unsure about what this sentence could mean in a world as cold and confusing as ours.
After President Barack Obama’s historic presidency, President-elect Donald Trump will follow him into the White House with a regressive agenda. He is responding to and playing on fears many Americans rightfully have in ways that may enrich his family and inner circle of supporters. This cynical appropriation of American nationalism that enabled the takeover of the government by an ultra-wealthy cabal has brought latent hatred to the surface of public life.
We have a tendency, in a world saturated by media, to be drawn to that which feels familiar. That is why, to cite anecdotal evidence, we might be more inclined to watch a reboot of a movie franchise that supposedly ended 10, 20, 30 years ago than to choose a new and unknown movie from the thousands of internet options. Familiarity is comforting. It is safe. What’s so bad about that? Intrinsically, there is nothing wrong with sticking to what you know. It is when the familiarity, safety and goodness that accompanies a recollection of the past prevents us from discerning the flaws of the past that we become entrapped in nostalgia.
I published an article entitled “In Defense of Fraternities” which received a fair amount of criticism. My argument was three-fold: that fraternities offer benefits for members, that they are not as limiting as stereotypes may suggest and that during my first term in a fraternity, I had a positive, enjoyable experience.
One of my best friends has a Donald Trump sticker on her laptop. When I saw it, I was so appalled by this shameless show of support for the president-elect that I proceeded to scratch angrily at the corners of the sticker, trying to rip it off, while she wrestled her computer away from me and yelled something like “That’s my sticker!”
Did you know that three out of ten millennials do not know who Josef Stalin was? Or that only two out of ten recognize the name Mao Zedong? It is these sorts of horrific statistics that give shame to America and its next generation. And these are not due to the blatant ignorance of these 18 to 34 year-olds, but rather because those first two things I said were completely false. I just made them up.
When I was 11 years old, I had an irrational fear of sailing. I didn’t like the way the wind jerked the boom violently in irons, it filled me with an overwhelming anxiety. This changed when my summer camp counselor taught me a lesson that has stayed with me for over two decades.
For many Dartmouth freshmen, winter break is a time to reflect on the past term while relaxing with family and planning for the terms ahead. It is a much-deserved period for rest and introspection. And, of course, a time to watch Netflix.
I didn’t expect to be on campus on Dec. 30, 2016. Instead of trudging up Mount Cube, I trudged up the stairs to my third floor dorm, kicked off my overboots and microspikes, dropped my frame pack and, well, cried.
In the wake of such a contentious election, it is easy to lash out and be afraid. It is perfectly understandable that one might feel apprehensive about the future of American politics, or fear for what may follow in the years to come. Nonetheless, it is inexcusable to unfairly brand an entire voting demographic as a force of oppression, and I will not remain silent when my fellow students insist upon doing so. In that regard I must write in fervent opposition to Michael Mayer ’17’s guest column, and in defense of Tyler Baum ’20’s guest column.
Let’s start out with a really simple question: what’s the most common occupation in the United States? We’ll end with a Ronald Reagan ’84 presidential campaign commercial — but more on that later. The answer, as it turns out, is either long-haul trucker or retail salesperson, depending on how you sort the data. But that’s probably not what you thought it’d be, so we have to ask another question: what things are fundamentally American?
Of all the leaks of former Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton’s personal emails, one that attracted the least attention in the end was her description of having both a private and public stance on Wall Street. Clinton was articulating something deeper here: the idea of politicians having differing — perhaps untruthful — personas in public. In itself, this is not a bad thing. As long as public promises are kept, or there is at least an attempt to keep them, I see no reason to care about a politician’s personal beliefs. That said, this notion of a divided identity can only work when it is not public. And keeping it secret is increasingly improbable in a time of hacks and leaks — those grown-up offspring of yesteryear’s tabloid journalism. Today, politicians’ private lives are fair game for the public eye — but so are everyone else’s.
The column “Why I Voted for Trump” perpetuates violence and reinforces perspectives that must become unacceptable if we are to create a world of peace and justice for everyone.
Every year, during the holiday season, I find myself constantly cringing at interactions between my generation, the next generation and the previous generation. It’s painfully unavoidable. Whether it’s discussing relationship advice, American politics or nostalgic movies, there’s always at least one time per party where I wince at some sort of awkward discussion.
The clothing options on Hanover’s Main Street, like J. Crew and other aesthetically similar boutiques, epitomize the general fashion trends of our campus and town. This is why one of my first destinations upon returning to California for winter break was Fairfax Avenue in Downtown Los Angeles. It was a refreshing break from chinos and plaid. Regional fashion, of course, is not homogenous, but Los Angeles taste-makers err towards a deceptively casual aesthetic.
Shortly after Florida Sen. Marco Rubio announced his candidacy for president of the United States on April 13, 2015, I pledged my support to his campaign — a campaign largely grounded on the rural conservative ideologies I was raised with. My support for the Republican candidate’s campaign strengthened as the GOP debates progressed last fall, and I did not look back. I distinctly remember when Rubio, while on the campaign trail in Waverly, Iowa this past January, promised an atheist voter that “no one’s going to force you to believe in God. But no one’s going to force me to stop talking about God.” As an evangelical Christian and a Constitutionalist who supports atheists’ rights as firmly as those of Christians, I became even more committed to Rubio and his campaign after hearing this.
Donald Trump is the next president of the United States. It seems easy to lose hope, to believe that this election shows the irredeemable hate that lives in this nation’s underbelly. We desperately want to disengage and hope that, in four years, there will be enough of a millennial or minority vote to return us to the path of “progress.” Mostly rural, white Americans decided this election. They felt left out, excluded from the progress of the past eight years. They have grounds to believe that globalization and technology have robbed them of their once-thriving livelihoods. They have been told that life is better now than it was eight years ago by people for whom that is true — but that is not how they feel. They have expressed this anxiety through a rhetoric rife with hate, but hate alone did not win this election. To continue to believe that it did would be to continue missing what the media and liberal America have failed to recognize over the past year and a half.
I’m writing this article on Wednesday, Nov. 9, and let me just say that I don’t want to write it. I’m tired, bitter. Part of me is deeply saddened that I must pen these words. Another part of me is stunned. Another part frightened. Another numb. But this isn’t about me — this is about an election result that would have been the punch line of a joke just six months ago. This is about coping with a result that is at best surprising and at worst terrifying, depending on who you ask. This is about President-elect Donald Trump, and how we should respond.
I remember a year ago sitting in my high school cafeteria with my friends and confidently proclaiming: “Hillary’s going to win.” My friends and I saw Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton’s victory as a given since, living in Michigan, a state that has voted blue for the past 24 years, we couldn’t imagine the vote going any other way. Yet look at us now, in the aftermath of an election that shocked the world — and an election in which Michigan bled red instead of blue — and that put a man into power who, as recently as a year ago, no one thought would be a presidential candidate yet alone the 45th President of the United States.