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Welcome to Duke. I guess I should say that first. It's friendly, and it will temporarily hide the fact that I don't know what to tell you. See, I have a nasty habit called honesty. Usually honesty is a good thing, but sometimes it gets in the way. Like now, when you're looking at me with shining eyes and asking, "So how do you like it here?"
This column is not about war, except inasmuch as everything, anymore, seems to be about war. It may be about history or physics. I'm not really sure.
When the new, unimproved Duke housing system creaked into action last February, I felt smug. I'd just become a resident adviser, so my room-pick dilemma was over. And, like most Blue Devils, I've experienced my share of housing hell, so although housing wasn't RAing's main attraction, it was a nice bonus.
A year ago today, I was wandering around the Amsterdam airport, waiting for a delayed flight and giggling in a jet-lagged way at the Dutch word "doof."
When my parents were in college, the students were revolting. Not just in the sense that several of them didn't shower very often or were afflicted with the undergraduate curse of nauseating self-righteousness. I mean they were rioting in the streets and burning things. Organized "Angry Groups" like Students for a Democratic Society and their conservative counterparts had plenty of members. The year before my parents arrived, protesters even set fire to the union, and, since it wasn't a concrete monstrosity like the Bryan Center, it burned.
I believe the organizers of last Wednesday's vigil were right to sound a note of restraint and to refrain from patriotic displays. It may be that war is the best response; however, the kind of war we are contemplating is no cause for glorying and should only be entered after much agonized, careful thought--not the revenge-mad rhetoric coming out of Washington.
