Crimson opinion writer
Sameer M. Khan
A Love Letter to My Grandparents in Kashmir
But as I drift across different spaces at Harvard, especially South Asian-centered institutions and initiatives, I am forever haunted by the chilling reminder that here, Kashmir is never a home to be held close, a culture to be celebrated, or a memory to make last. Rather, at Harvard, Kashmir is too comfortably scripted as a caricature of itself, rendered most legible when depicted as a site of violent occupation and extraordinary militarization but utterly unintelligible upon attempts to foreground enduring, everyday ways of life in the region.
God Save the Colonizer
Despite the violence she engineered in my homeland, I do not wish Queen Elizabeth pain in death. I only wish to puncture this protective veil we seem to cast on figures of history, who, upon their death, are allowed to luxuriate in the past, untouched and beautified.
Ramadan Mubarak, From My Organic Chemistry Lab
As I break my fast in my organic chemistry lab tonight, I will pray to live a future in which this University mobilizes itself in our support, for myself and for the rest of my Muslim community.
My Mother Tongue Is on Her Deathbed
That my neglect of Kashmiri for Latin proved so fatal is endemic to an academic landscape — from primary to professional education — where lack of representation is malignant. And when this lack presents in an institution as commanding as Harvard, it metastasizes, reproducing feelings of invisibility and insignificance that have characterized the experience of students from marginalized groups for generations.