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Drops of black paint rolled down the technicolor wall under the East Campus bridge. The stretch of concrete was already crowded with art, but that night a message written in fresh paint stood out from them all.
When seven fraternities cut ties with Duke in the wake of recent reforms to rush and selective living—to be later joined by two others—senior Shreyas Gupta wasn’t surprised. But he says there’s “nothing redeemable” about the announcement.
Shreyas Gupta had just started to doze off at 2:45 a.m when a glass bottle smashed through his bedroom window.
At the end of March, a year after Erin O’Brien Regan first signed her lease at an apartment complex off West Campus, she said her landlords threatened to raise rent $80 a month.
Editor’s Note: this column contains descriptions of thoughts and behaviors associated with eating disorders.
Editor’s Note: this column contains descriptions of thoughts and behaviors associated with eating disorders.
I’ll remember the moment I got the notification of Harvey Weinstein’s conviction for a long time. This past Monday, February 24, Weinstein was charged with one count of third-degree rape and another count of first-degree criminal sexual assault. First shock, then relief washed over me as I realized that Weinstein will finally be sent to prison, and remain there for up to 29 years. Finally, the legal system chose to believe women.
By now, we’re all aware that Duke’s response to campus sexual assault is inadequate. But while we make this declaration with fervor, when it comes time to present improvements to these policies, the picture gets a little fuzzier.
I haven’t had a single conversation with an acquaintance of Mary Pat’s who wasn’t thoroughly impressed by her. And trust me, I’ve had many such conversations. It has become nearly impossible to talk about gender violence prevention on campus without hearing her name.
In a 2018 campus-wide survey, 48% of female undergraduates reported having been sexually assaulted since coming to Duke. This means over 1,700 undergraduate women have been sexually assaulted, a statistic that even Larry Moneta suggested was under-representative. Yet in the 2018-2019 academic year, only 169 reports were made to the Office of Student Conduct. Those numbers don’t add up.
Given that Duke boasts a generally progressive and accepting environment, there’s an expectation here that all queer students feel safe enough to come out. But when you possess a marginalized identity, feelings of safety rarely come naturally.
The first time I heard someone admit to having an STI was last spring. I was in the dressing room of the Ruby Studio Theater, sitting with the women of All of the Above. Performing our monologues had brought us pretty close—but the candor of their conversation still left me stunned.
I turned the pill bottle over in my hand and listened to the white cylinders clatter against the orange plastic. Maybe this medication would be the one that stuck.
We’ve become accustomed to a number of luxuries at Duke. Some of us have been afforded such privilege our entire lives; for others, these indulgences are unique to this campus. But regardless of our backgrounds, we are all getting a top-notch education, going to class in beautiful buildings, and choosing from literally dozens of delicious on-campus restaurants.
We’re two weeks into the semester, which means you’ve probably had the “how was your summer?” conversation dozens of times now. But this question is more than seasonal small talk. It’s an appraisal.
One night during my first year, I called my mother in the middle of a breakdown. With tears rolling down my cheeks, I told her that a new mental illness was destroying my life, and that I felt utterly helpless to stop it. “I know how to be anxious, Mom. But I don’t know how to be depressed.”
You walk into class on the day of the midterm and slide into your usual seat. The bags under your eyes are more pronounced than usual after the many hours you spent cramming last night in Perkins. Hiding your sweaty palms under your thighs, you lean over to the person sitting next to you. “I didn’t study at all for this.”
I used to think that I wore makeup to make myself feel good. But when I realized I was afraid to leave my dorm room with a bare face, I had to admit there was something else going on.
I feel immensely guilty when I’m not being productive. Even when I’m choosing to do something fun, or putting my work down because I know I need a break, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’m wasting my life away.
I miss the days before Monday nights were reserved for wine and virgin-shaming.
