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The Chronicle will be accepting endorsement letters for the 2024 Duke Student Government presidential and executive vice presidential elections from March 21 to March 25 at noon. All accepted endorsements will be published by March 26 at 11:59 p.m.
Editor’s Note: These tributes to Hans J. Van Miegroet, professor of art and art history at Duke who passed away on Feb. 9, were originally submitted to the department of art, art history and visual studies. The Chronicle has compiled quotes from these tributes with permission from their authors. Please visit the Department of Art, Art History & Visual Studies “Tributes to Hans Van Miegroet” page to read the tributes in full and see their accompanying pictures.
The Chronicle is accepting tributes to Angela Risi, a second-year master of fine arts student in the dance program who died on Monday.
On Dec. 14, 2012, my fourth-grade teacher Mrs. White received a phone call and ran out the door, leaving a classroom of nine-year-olds unoccupied.
It’s been a month since I found out I got cut from every SLG I rushed, and I’m still not over it.
“‘People who menstruate.’ I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud?” - J.K. Rowling, 2020
I live in a city known only to the world for its women’s prison that inspired Orange is the New Black and its sewage plant that memorializes the still-alive comedian John Oliver. Danbury, Connecticut—squared away in New England’s westernmost border—is virtually unknown to the Duke public, granting me an iota of something squarely mine on a campus teeming with commonalities.
In the weeks prior to my early move-in, I had somehow managed to convince myself that I was on the cusp of a great journey by the name of “Experimental Orientation.” The only problem was that I had vastly misread every email I received about my upcoming two weeks at Duke. Said journey, turns out, was actually titled “Experiential Orientation.” Yet, as I packed up my belongings with an absence of information on scheduling and what my program even stood for, I realized that “experimental” was a far more appropriate description of what was to come.
I know it’s going to be a bad day when I’m too weak to open the doors at WU without the assistance of an activation switch.
It’s no secret that universities don’t open their doors to students out of the goodness of their hearts. They’re not public schools operating for the sole purpose of providing an education to relevant individuals. Instead, universities are the hub of their mercantile relationships with students, where an education and recognized credentials are offered in exchange for money, publicity and student-led advancement.
I have a critical announcement to make, one that will alter the course of my life and perhaps the livelihood of Duke as we know it: I have decided to purchase my very first vibrator.
Most of my articles for The Chronicle are filled with flowery language and complex sentences. They match the style of other stories on the site. Rather than express our messages in simple terms, we Chronicle writers often express ourselves in complicated ways.
During the last weeks of any semester, I have a documented history of replacing my crucial habits of sleeping, eating and showering with a steady diet of studying, studying and more studying. My communication with any other living being is limited, leaving me largely at odds with Duke’s flourishing social scene. In an effort to combat these patterns of time, I made the executive decision to dedicate one hour every day of the last week of classes to a mindful activity—a decision I retroactively dub as my “Inopportune Week of Wellness.”
Over the course of my first semester at Duke, I’ve grown to realize just how important maintaining tradition is to the administrative body. I’m talking about traditions beyond the blue and white and black colors that paint our school at face value. I’m talking about the historical pattern of Duke’s administration ignoring the needs and requests of their students and faculty, which persists today.
It has been approximately three months (approximately 90 days, approximately 2160 hours) since I’ve last seen my family. But hey, who’s counting?
On October 26, the Asian Students Associations, Mi Gente, Duke Diya, the Asian American Alliance, Asian American Studies Working Group at Duke University, ASEAN and Mobilizing Asian Students Together released a letter in conjunction with DSG’s Equity and Outreach Committee calling out the administration for ignoring student concerns about the lack of accessible cultural spaces on campus and instead deciding to move the Career Center into the Bryan Center. The letter is formed on the foundation of decades-old demands for improved cultural spaces on campus—particularly for Asian, Latino, Black and Indigenous students, as well as students with disabilities. The letter is formed on the foundation of decades-old demands for improved cultural spaces on campus—particularly for Asian, Latino, Black and Indigenous students, as well as students with disabilities—just as the Howard University’s recent Live Movement was formed on decades-old demands for improved residential structures within Howard University dorms. And just like the Live Movement recognized the need for student advocacy in student spaces, the letter ended by recognizing that the “Bryan Center is a center for students, and as such, student voices and agency should be at the forefront of how this space is utilized.”
Editor's Note: This article contains descriptions of disordered eating patterns. Reader discretion is advised.
When the QuadEx concept was publicly announced on September 15th, I knew that I would be both out of five dollars and in a state of confusion for the rest of my fall semester. Beyond having lost a bet on whether the whisperings of a residential dismantlement were real, I also faced buyer’s uncertainty on what I was being sold on: “The future of residential living and learning at Duke.”
“Ladies, pair up. Make sure both you and your partner get home safe,” a girl from my dorm announced, commanding the attention of the buzzing Randolph common room. “Ten women are leaving here tonight. I expect ten women to be back in their dorms by tomorrow morning.”
If you were to walk into the Center for Sexual and Gender Diversity here at Duke, you’d probably hear a joke common to the LGBTQ+ community in which an individual will claim to have been “every gender” or “every sexuality under the sun.” The statement is, of course, hyperbolic in nature and meant to poke fun at the ever-shifting course of identity that occurs when queer people undergo a journey of sexual or gender discovery. However, to outsiders of the community, such a joke provokes confusion and contributes to the impression that LGBTQ+ identities are fleeting, choosable and unreal.
