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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.
In an Oct. 26 interview with Donald Trump, CNN reporter Dana Bash noted the president-elect’s large bank account and grilled him on how much money he was willing to spend on advertising in his final two-week sprint towards the White House. Eventually, Trump had to ask Bash to move on to a different question, and in doing so he implied a major — even alarming — flaw in the news and media industry, namely money and what its ramifications are for the journalism that reaches us.
For many Dartmouth students, this November will mark the first time they cast a ballot in a presidential election. Today, students will be lined up outside Hanover High School to pull a lever that will determine the course of our nation — no pressure for you first-time voters.
Newly on the brink of adulthood, Dartmouth students are tasked with great responsibility, especially during this election season. It is a test of your character and it asks that you embrace the noble art of being uncool.
Many times throughout this election season, Donald Trump has proven himself unfit to be president of the United States, and this is precisely why he is the most important candidate.
Despite being here for three years now, the first and only time I have participated in making the Homecoming Bonfire was this past weekend, when the 2017 Class Council hosted a brunch for the senior class so we could all sign the Class of 2017 board. By the time I arrived — after taking advantage of having no classes on Friday and sleeping in — a sizeable crowd had already come and gone in Collis Common Ground. But as I signed my name, I noticed that my signature only added to maybe 30 or so others.
On Oct. 21, the Dartmouth Editorial Board voiced its endorsement of Hillary Clinton for President of the United States. I do not share my colleagues’ enthusiasm for the Democratic nominee. I am instead among the plurality of Americans that reserves a deep skepticism for both major party candidates, and I cannot overlook the many questions surrounding Clinton’s credibility as a leader. No matter how innately flawed her Republican counterpart might be, I find Donald Trump’s failings an ill excuse for Clinton’s own shortcomings.
I’ve come to the realization that I’ve been a shoddy friend.
If you’re a Donald Trump supporter at Dartmouth, you might as well be invisible. In visiting campus this past week, Bill Clinton continued the trend of liberal candidates speaking to liberal students on an overwhelmingly liberal campus. This trend implies that it’s acceptable if “you’re with her,” but there’s no place for you here if you want to “make America great again.”
The Tuck School of Business at Dartmouth College has recently refined its mission statement. Along with the headline, “Tuck educates wise leaders to better the world of business,” Tuck has integrated a small paragraph explaining the meaning of wisdom:
I apologize in advance if this column comes across as a petulant plea from a hopelessly jaded senior. While yes, I am a member of the Class of 2017 graduating this spring, no, I am not jaded.
I don’t feel lonely at 2 a.m. when I hole myself up in King Arthur Flour with the musical compositions of Dmitri Shostakovich secretly blasting through my earphones. Many of my fellow crammers are unfamiliar with orchestral music’s power to soothe angst, so no, I don’t feel lonely then. Nor do I feel lonely when I embark across the long, cold walk back to my dorm in the Lodge (thank you, housing system) across a deathly silent campus. To be honest, my days are quite busy, and I get very little time to actually be alone. I welcome the peace and quiet as I walk home.
In my past three years at Dartmouth, my absolute favorite moments have been when I’ve failed. Let me explain.