The independent news organization of Duke University
Ten years ago today, my best friend Drew Everson passed away during our senior year at Duke University.
As the colder months draw closer at Duke, sweatshirts emerge from hibernation, and students are awash in the bustle of the semester. All the while, something seems absent.
The victims of sexual assault are not a flawed exception to our current system; rather, our system is exceptionally flawed.
America told me I did not belong.
The scale of the challenge is why now is no time for any Duke student to turn off, tune out and settle for a future that is less bright than what America has always promised.
It was incredibly inconsiderate that our video was used, very obviously, as the face of Duke’s racial equity initiative, without any notification of such actions or proper credit where credit was due.
In pandemic times, S/U is a vitally important vessel that can provide students with sorely needed academic flexibility.
If we demand justice and equality for all Black lives, we must examine our meaning of the word “all” and affirm its inclusivity.
To ensure that the administration follows through on their promise of transformative justice, we have to force their hand. And to do that, we have to keep from them what matters the most: our money.
Although calling for manifold actions across the university, Price’s far-reaching anti-racism commitments shared one thing in common: each would cost real money.
Facebook is potentially as detrimental to humanity as Big Tobacco ever was. It has certainly used the same corporate playbook.
Over fifty years after the tumultuous events of 1969, one still must ask: Is change really coming?
Considering the university’s long, profitable history of entanglement with the tobacco industry, why should we see Duke’s leaders as trustworthy defenders of public health?
As a second child of Chinese immigrants, I uniquely owe my birth to the Black efforts that pushed for non-discriminatory policies.
For some of us, convincing those closest to us might be harder than donating money and protesting. But if we cannot convince our parents, no one can.
I am proud to have stood in solidarity with my comrades, many of whom I have never met. And yet, I now feel as if they are all my extended family. My family of peace. My family of Durham.
At times, I want to look away from the violence, the hatred, the darkness. But even having that choice is a testament to my privilege.
Being poor was part of my identity for most of my life, but it’s not anymore. It is the best, strangest, most isolating thing to have ever happened to me.
Especially at a time like this, as we witness marginalized populations suffering the most in times of crisis, we need to take action in our own community in a more informed way.
While these small businesses wait and ponder their next steps, we should all consider what flash of hope we might be able to provide to the people who run them.
