Dark days for our nation
These days, it seems each sunrise is a little dimmer.
Just this week, a terrorist took the lives of 11 mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters simply because he didn’t like the god they worshipped. Bombs arrived at the doorsteps of our elected representatives and media institutions.
I fear for the wellbeing of my Jewish friends. I fear for the lives of my public servants. More than anything, I fear for the future of my country.
America needs to heal, and I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to do about a president who paints people of my profession as enemies of the people. I chose journalism precisely because I wanted to serve the people.
I don’t know how to fight an underground network of American terrorists. We must speak earnestly to those with whom we disagree. But those who would do their own nation harm abide by no such constraint.
I don’t know why millions and millions deny the self-evident truth that we as a nation must denounce the vitriolic and shameful rhetoric from the fringes of our respective parties. I don’t want to burn our country down in a violent revolution. This is my home. These are my people.
Our nation today seems hopeless. There is no light at the end of this tunnel. I fear that no matter what the future holds, we have reopened and infected wounds which had only just begun to heal. Sepsis is setting in.
Emmanuel AME. The Republican congressional baseball practice. This week, it’s Squirrel Hill and package bombs. Political violence is no longer an anomaly in today’s America.
This is our Bleeding Kansas. This is the opening of a fissure that may never close, a bottomless pit lined with hatred and despair that threatens to swallow our friends and countrymen.
So I urge you to civilly engage your political foes. Seek common ground. Help us find the way forward. We as college students, the youngest enfranchised generation, have the most to lose. Join the coalition of good-faith stewards of our national future.
Because I don’t know what I’ll do if the sun finally sets for good.
More from The Rice Thresher
Before you attend a counseling session at the Rice counseling center, you will be told that “the RCC maintains strict standards regarding privacy.” You will find statements from the university that your mental health record will not be shared with anyone outside of extreme situations of imminent harm, and only then that your information will be shared with only the necessary officials. This sounds great, except that these assurances bear no teeth whatsoever — no enforcement agency ensures that Rice follows its public confidentiality promises, and there are no penalties for Rice if they break them. The Wellbeing and Counseling Centers should more directly communicate the limits of their confidentiality policies when compared to unaffiliated counseling centers, and students in sensitive situations should take the necessary precautions to protect their information.
This week marks the last issue of the Thresher for the year, and for the seniors like myself, our last issue ever. I have been a part of the Thresher since freshman year. And it would not be an exaggeration to say it has defined my Rice experience. As someone pursuing a career in journalism after graduation, there has been no better place to learn than at this paper.
In January, the Rice Board of Trustees announced plans to move the Founder’s memorial to another area of the academic quad as part of a whole redesign, adding additional context of his “entanglement” with slavery. This comes despite continual calls from the student body to not have the enslaver displayed in the quad regardless of the context provided. It would be just for these calls to action and the majority of the Task Force Committee who voted to not keep it there that the Board of Trustees decide to not keep the memorial prominently displayed in the quad at all.