Philanthropy and charity can’t make up for the crushing structural income inequality that make possible Rubenstein's unimaginable affluence, nor can it ethically compensate for the deeply immoral roots of that wealth accumulation.
I’ll always cherish my time in Cameron when it is empty, when you can hear a ball bounce—or maybe even the keys of a laptop being tapped.
I still remember the thrill of seeing my first blog post—no matter how much it had to be edited (most of it)—publicized on Twitter and Facebook.
Sure, I never saw a national championship as a student, but don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve been the luckiest college kid in America.
My news department is all just students, who all have various aspirations of their own. But we’re all journalists, and that’s undeniably important when our work holds Duke accountable or informs the public.
Duke can be scary and overwhelming at times, and being able to set aside a few hours each week to talk to artists, thinkers and dreamers made me see time and time again that Duke isn’t such a bad place after all.
I’ll miss heading up to 301 Flowers every week at 10 p.m. only to leave at 1 a.m., the Chapel lit up behind me, glowing its confirmation of a job well done.
When I came to Duke as a first-year student, I did not have much of an interest in joining The Chronicle. I was interested in science and medicine and had no interest in journalism.
The Chronicle is more than the sum of its parts because it’s the product of hours of sometimes-thankless labor by students balancing their university lives with journalism.
Editorial board became that niche I was looking for at Duke, something I could commit myself to while navigating a campus that I still very much felt alienated from.
Trying out the Wilson rock climbing wall was on my “first-year at Duke!” bucket list, so when a friend asked me to climb last weekend, I thought I would give it a try.
It seems like the cherry blossoms are in bloom for good this time. For the past month, we have been getting glimpses at what spring looks like at Duke. In the past two weeks, we have seen spring in full bloom and there is no going back.
Last weekend, I volunteered at the Duke Coalition for Preserving Memory’s annual Name Reading ceremony to commemorate the victims of the seven United Nations recognized genocides.
"I do not like you. I cannot say why, but this much I know: I do not like you.” I was asked to translate this quip in my first semester of Latin at Duke.
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.”
At Duke, you’ll find secrets everywhere you look: in the faces of gargoyles hiding beneath Gothic arches, whispered between students on the bus, buried in the Chapel crypt.
I read and appreciated Quinn Edwards’ (P’22) excellent response to the Editorial Board’s spiteful, unproductive, and inconclusive March 29 rant about something-or-other pertaining to the unfortunate state of the Democratic primary.
Give us your takes!
My phone vibrates. It’s an incoming call from my mom. I pick up and before she can even say hi, I whisper hurriedly, “Sorry, I can’t talk right now. I’m in the library because I have a midterm tomorrow. Can I call you back later?”
If you’ve ever bought a drink on campus just to have your straw disintegrate halfway through your meal, it should come as no surprise that Duke Dining has banned plastic straws.
