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We need to make eating a hyperconscious activity, to recognize that only conditioning ourselves to compulsively think before we eat will chip away at the extant residual effects of the most shameful era of American history.
There needs to be a paradigm shift that forces white (not to mention straight, cis, male, wealthy, and able-bodied) Americans to acknowledge their privilege and then work towards making it omnipresent—to see what’s in their backpack, and then work tirelessly to ensure it’s in everyone else’s.
Over my three years here, much of my writing has served to criticize Harvard, its institutions, and its traditions. But I still love this place. Harvard gives you the thing to criticize and the tools with which to criticize it.
Kevin J. Friel and Anna Kim collaborate on a romantic playlist and share their insights about the genre.
Kirin Gupta investigates the cultural practice of "self-archiving."
Cherie Z. Hu speaks to photographer Jordan H. Hayashi and jazz vocalist and composer Laila Smith about art for more than art's sake.
As a senior I am fortunate to have come to terms with many of these insecurities, but as a freshmen these were the un-talked about realities that plagued me.
Entering a losing locker room in the NCAA Tournament feels like walking into a painting. Players known for their movement are deathly still. A team that has learned to communicate so well is absolutely silent. It feels like the kind of place where the word somber was invented.
“What’s next?” is a question applicable far outside the land of Bartlet and Toby and C.J. and Sam and Josh and Leo. It’s one I asked myself after the end of the Harvard women’s ice hockey team’s loss to Minnesota, 4-1, in the title game of the NCAA tournament on Sunday afternoon in Minneapolis.