Hear from seven members of the Class of 2016 who are married or engaged to be married soon.
If I don’t know my voice, I can’t know what kind of writer I want to be—what I want to write about, or where and how I want to write about it.
A yes-vote for statehood in November would be a symbol, not a statute.
Thinking of the end of our time at Harvard the same way we think of the end of our lives might seem morbid, and perhaps it is. Yet it’s also useful. A version of each of us seniors really is about to die.
The xenophobic, authoritarian culture Trump has produced and promoted is potent, and it’s terrifying. Up against this America, a life of buttered scones and crumpets looks particularly rosy.
The moment we begin to justify keeping something in our lives is the moment we should begin to understand that, maybe, it shouldn’t be there after all.
When the next campus controversy makes its way to Cambridge, we shouldn’t jerk our knees too hard—left or right.
The notion of girl power shouldn’t be enough to keep every female Democrat worshipping at the altar of Hillary. But past and personal slip-ups that don’t jibe with our current conception of sisterhood shouldn’t be enough to keep us away, either.
After weeks of twiddling their thumbs and amusing themselves with passing and petty political happenings like the national midterm elections, Harvard students finally have the chance to engage something that matters: the Undergraduate Council presidential race.
Each of us might remember where we were in one moment, but it’s scores of others that got us there.