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
In the midst of a global pandemic, Betsy DeVos, the United States Secretary of Education, announced new Title IX regulations that govern how schools handle allegations of sexual assault and harrassment. Under the guise of restoring due process, the changes harm and undermine survivors by enhancing protections for those accused of misconduct.
The COVID-19 pandemic seems to have given rise to a new phrase that has been thrown around by media outlets and social media users across the country: “We are all in this together.” Don’t get me wrong — I am not denying the fact that every person in this country has been impacted by the virus in some capacity, and I am certainly not denying the rise in local expressions of solidarity. Over the past couple months, we’ve seen students and volunteers across the country donate their time and resources to help their neighbors. Young people have come together on social media platforms to address issues surrounding mental health and online learning, creating a sense of community while also practicing social distancing. I am not denying the presence of solidarity. What I would like to discuss, however, is the fallacy of solidarity in a racialized society.
The pandemic might justify making tests optional for the upcoming admission cycle, though I still think they should be strongly encouraged for those who can take it, but I don’t think de-emphasizing tests in the long term is the right approach.