It’s been a big year for organizing by students of color, and particularly black students, on college campuses. And as it so often does, Harvard has become part of the discussion.
“Tradition” is a slippery talking point.
Princeton Mom is back, and we didn’t miss her.
There is a house in an imaginary Newark, in a row of red brick buildings between the highway and the sun.
I am too old for this. Last week I arrived at a house party only to spend the first 20 minutes putting the finishing touches on my gender studies junior tutorial syllabus. Tonight is squishy, slushy, miserable, the kind of night that will leave the streets shiny, lethal disco floors by morning. It’s 11:30 p.m. on Saturday, I’m trudging alone down Mass Ave on the way to Eliot Street, and I have never more deeply regretted the existence of New England.
Harvard Square is a place where even the threatened passing of a Dunkin’ Donuts can prompt student outrage; passion for favorite food haunts runs deep. While both students and restaurants in the Square turn over as fast as patties at Tasty Burger, some local favorites persist.
There’s a broader trend in my adolescent confusion: the notion that sexuality is and can always be a form of self-expression; that it is and can always be something chosen; and that there are some more-or-less legitimate forms of it separated from the axis of consent.
Then the dust got so bad in the winter you had to do the floors every day, twice a day, grime thick on the table, my laptop, our books. I hardly left the boys’ place. Woke with my mouth glued open and my nostrils dry, construction workers banging across the way. Deep in the night (and we all crashed at their apartment in a last study binge, kept jagged hours in the sore-throat tipsy-sunny early December, scrambling to get papers done) the watchmen knocked their staffs against the bone ground calling jaagte raho! jaagte raho!—stay awake!—striding in tandem like the ladies that power-walked together every day down the streets of my New Jersey housing development.
The largest, oldest, and perhaps most renowned fashion show on Harvard’s campus, Eleganza is a high-budget and highly-organized production. Its roots in a cultural and arts organization are apparent in the ethnic diversity of its models and highly theatrical style of its performance—an aesthetic which has gained the show both criticism and accolades over the years.
Apparently, Oprah is right: "Happiness is love." Or so says George E. Vaillant '55, director of the Harvard-based Grant Study, which has followed 268 Harvard men over 75 years in one of the longest longitudinal studies of its kind.
In a recent threat to garden parties everywhere, Missouri State Senator Ryan McKenna, a Democrat, proposed an amendment to his state's constitution that threatened destroy spring party season as we know it.
“I wanted to recomplicate what is so reductive, what has been so reductive and so simple: the bad guys and the good guys,” filmmaker Mira Nair ’79 says. I’m sitting with Nair and two other journalists in a conference room at the Charles Hotel, discussing Nair’s new film, “The Reluctant Fundamentalist,” which comes out in May. “I wanted very much to have that complexity of the human being in both characters—not just two countries, not two flags, but two real people.”
Harvard is currently conducting an ongoing review of its sexual assault policies across its various schools and has recently hired its first ever University-wide Title IX coordinator, who begins work this month. Still, some students feel that these efforts are not enough. They say that changes in the way administrators handle cases of sexual assault at the College level are progressing too slowly, and are not sufficiently responsive to student concerns.
The only beverage available in chemo is ginger ale, and it is diet.
Phillip Z. Yao ’13 has built a library that may reach over two million students.