The case for good-willed women (and men)
It’s been a few weeks since my last column, “The case for well-behaved women (and men), in which I reflected that the common adage, “well-behaved women seldom make history,” should give us pause.
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It’s been a few weeks since my last column, “The case for well-behaved women (and men), in which I reflected that the common adage, “well-behaved women seldom make history,” should give us pause.
Some show Duke pride: GTHC, white letters in an unequivocally Duke-blue circle. DDMF, in any way it comes. “Bull City,” tracing the figure of a Durham bull. “Anyone but Carolina.” “Forever Duke.”
I’m what they call a “legacy,” but not the kind that gives me a leg up in university admissions.
It’s a powerful thing to have a tangible reminder of why you believe what you believe, why you fight for what you fight for, that can serve as a source of hope in today’s overwhelmingly disenchanting political world.
On the 25th of August, one American “[came] to the end of a long journey” to, as he put it, “[make] a small place for [himself] in the story of America and the history of [his] times.” That American was John McCain.
As much as the election of President Donald Trump has ushered in a period of uncertainty and change to domestic policy and American society, it also has muddled a clear sense of America's foreign policy.