I came to Duke to be challenged. As the valedictorian of my high school, I was in awe when just weeks before the end of my senior year in high school a thread on Duke's Facebook page where valedictorians complained about writing their graduation speech had more than 100 people comment.
"I write this morning with a heavy heart upon news of yet another set of terrorist bombings, this time in..." begins the email that Larry Moneta distributed to the Duke student body.
Sixty-seven days from today, members of the Class of 2016 will have graduated. They will be alumni.
Just a few days ago a small group of students courageously marched towards the Delta Sigma Phi bench, temporarily annexed the most coveted three square feet of campus and bravely called for the abolition of prisons and Greek life.
"Duke isn't a good place to be. It's just a good place to be from." When I ask students what they think about this phrase, I almost always hear agreement.
I am an American, Ashkenazi Jew. This identity is fairly common here at Duke, yet utterly underdeveloped in campus conversation.
"You are traveling through another dimension—a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind.
"You do not respect our space." "She does not want to talk to you. She does not even want to see you... you better back up." "Do you fundamentally stand behind what she said... even when it's offensive... even when it denigrates me?" "It is not about creating an intellectual space." If you are not familiar with these statements by now, or the sentiment behind them, you should be.
Standing in front of the Duke Chapel Wednesday night, shivering slightly from a crisp breeze, I fought back tears.
The other day, I was walking along the East Campus quad during the afternoon, heading to class, when I glanced at the bus stop.
