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
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This March, when students across campus received an email announcement that classes were shifted to a remote format for the rest of the semester, many of us had one preliminary concern: How will we move out of our dorms? With piles of personal belongings remaining in empty dorms, the job of packing and moving boxes was relegated to students, most of whom did the job without pay. In an interview for an article in our features section this week, one student said he spent approximately 75 hours on the task.
Recently, I was eating dinner outdoors when I saw a classmate throw a plastic Gatorade bottle in the trash can. I mentioned it, and she told me that she wasn’t recycling because there was still Gatorade in the bottle. When I suggested that she empty and rinse out the bottle to recycle it, she just waved her hand and laughed. I returned to my room, crushed — that same morning, my family in California’s Bay Area had awoken to another day of hazardous smoke and “snowing” ash from three nearby wildfires, and some of the sites of my childhood memories had burned to the ground.