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Recently, University President Ronald J. Daniels informed students that while Hopkins will offer some degree of in-person instruction and residential living this coming fall, no student will be required to return to campus. All or most courses will be offered online.
Late Sunday night, the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing (NASCAR) was home to a horrific incident of racial intimidation and harassment. The auto racing body said it is fully investigating after a noose was found in the garage stall of racer Bubba Wallace, who is NASCAR’s only Black driver, on Sunday at Talladega Superspeedway in Lincoln, Ala.
I went to a protest earlier this month. I proudly held up a hand-painted sign as I joined the chorus of anguished cries and marched with 2000 other members of my community. I was impressed by the turnout, especially in my very white suburban Missouri town. As one of the few people of color in my community, I grew up feeling isolated and unknown, but as I heard my friends and neighbors proclaim, “Black lives matter!” I felt something new. I felt seen and heard and wanted. Knowing that communities across the nation were chanting the same thing, I was filled with hope. Maybe my people really are important to this country. Maybe Black lives really do matter to white America.
Three days ago, top University officials announced that they would be halting their plans to create a private police force (JHPD) for at least two years. This was the second communication sent to the student body in response to the protests that began when George Floyd was killed by a Minneapolis police officer. It took almost an entire week after Floyd’s death for the University to release a statement.
As a child, I watched the 1992 Los Angeles protests, spurred by police brutality against Rodney King. Today, my children are watching a similar scene unfold.
When people ask us why we want to go into journalism, our response is almost reflexive. “Our passion,” we say, “is amplifying voices that often go unheard.” As protests across the country condemn police brutality and centuries of racial injustice, we’re thinking about how to best amplify black voices as Editors-in-Chief of The News-Letter.
Ahmaud Arbery. Sean Reed. Breonna Taylor. George Floyd. Tony McDade. Yassin Mohammed. These are the names that have recently been added to the Black community’s ever-growing directory of murdered souls. These are the names that have been etched into our minds. The names that we will shout every time we have to fight for justice. Their lives, their stories and their deaths have become integral parts of each and every one of our experiences. From strangers to something much stronger than family.
The first time I visited Homewood Campus also happened to be the first night of the Garland Sit-In. Through all of the tours, class visits, events and students I spoke with during Spring Open House and Overnight Program (SOHOP), what I remember most is University President Ronald J. Daniels standing on stage, briefly addressing the protest that was taking place just across the quad. He was extremely dismissive of the protests, and it seemed to me that he did not care at all about what the students had to say. After one year at Hopkins, I have come to realize that this brief moment in Shriver Hall is emblematic of University leadership’s disregard for student voices.
I am both honored and heartbroken to have the opportunity to put my thoughts on paper and share them with you. I want to use this platform to tell my story and the story of my city.
On Friday, May 22, Vice Provosts Nancy Kass and Stephen Gange abruptly ended ongoing meetings with Teachers and Researchers United (TRU), the Homewood Graduate Representative Organization, the School of Medicine Graduate Student Association and the Hopkins School of Public Health Student Assembly. These meetings had served as a forum to collectively determine how the Hopkins administration would support its graduate students during the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic.
When Hopkins shut down due to the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, I knew that the second half of my semester was going to be strange. I knew that it would be hard. I imagined trying to take finals surrounded by my very loud Syrian family. I imagined finding social distancing lonely and the overabundance of family time grating. I imagined finally using my EMT training to help COVID-19 patients in my county, but I never imagined that I would become one.
The Center for Systems Science and Engineering (CSSE) at the Whiting School of Engineering supported the development of an interactive coronavirus (COVID-19) tracking map to visualize and monitor the evolution of COVID-19 as it spread throughout the world.
On Wednesday, March 11, we sat together in our Gatehouse office for the last time.
I entered a convenience store in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on a warm summer day in 2016. The shop was less than two miles from City Hall, and less than 10 from my home. I was dressed plainly: a tan hat, a plain white t-shirt, black leggings and a dark green book-bag. Upon entering, I gave the cashier a cursory nod.
As I prepared to tread the path of Public Editor, I searched for signposts which would show me the way. I connected with other public editors, considering their ideas in the context of The News-Letter. I read journal articles about the ethics of the reader representative role and studies about how journalism’s audience shifted in the digital age. I pored over our past issues to understand the history underpinning the paper’s coverage of Hopkins students.
In two hours, I’m going to be logging in to my last class, which is going to be the last class I ever attend. It feels like a milestone in my life — leaving the comfort of academia to finally venture out into the unknown.
Five years ago, Baltimore residents took to the streets to protest the death of Freddie Gray, a 25-year-old black man from Sandtown-Winchester. Gray died on April 19 from a severe spinal cord injury sustained while in police custody, yet no officer was convicted.
The pandemic does not affect all Americans equally. Members of racial and ethnic minorities, as well as those without financial security, are experiencing a disproportionate burden of the pandemic. Kristin Topel has seen the burdens in the Baltimore community firsthand.
I want to start by saying that this is completely natural to feel after a breakup. Your ex-boyfriend was at one point a significant part of your life and someone you cared for, so it’s natural to wonder what he’s up to now. Sometimes even years after we sever a relationship with someone, we wonder what or how they’re doing. This is common, but that doesn’t make it any easier; it’s a tough temptation to get over.
It’s hard to believe that I’m writing this article.