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I don’t care about the planet. I have no sense of compassion toward the rocks and minerals that make up this gravitational mass. I have no sense of duty to the gases and elements that collect to form our atmosphere.
Several months ago, I had the idea for an article. My initial plan was simple: three trash-free days. I’d prove that the challenge, which has popped up occasionally on my social media, is interesting enough to write about.
This Intersession, I took a course titled Poetry and Climate Change, taught by English graduate student Alex Streim. I’d initially thought that the class would entail penning sonnets to stop the ice caps from melting. Indeed, on the last day, we were encouraged to share original work (I’m really proud of this line I wrote: “Is that a sustainable metal straw in your organic cotton pants, or are you just happy to see me?”).
Last year, the University unveiled a new initiative that would require two-thirds of all campuses’ electricity nationwide to come from solar power. This was the next step in the University’s 2010 pledge to reduce its carbon emissions by 51 percent by 2025.
I am a history buff. Lucky for me, I am not the only student here that has adopted historical research as a pastime. To quote Mark Twain, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.” The past can thus serve many purposes, and for our contemporary world, the best we can do is, well, learn from it.
When we consider the question of why climate change is bad, we tend to think of a number of reasons. These may include greater frequency of wildfires, threats to agriculture, ecological damage, decreased air quality, more hazardous weather conditions due to anomalous ocean temperatures and greater frequency of vector-borne diseases, just to name a few. However, there seems to be a deeper issue underlying these reasons that stems from an intuitive understanding that climate change is threatening the well-being of actual people.
APRIL FOOL’S: This article was published as part of The News-Letter’s annual April Fool’s edition, an attempt at adding some humor to a newspaper that is normally very serious about its reporting.
APRIL FOOL’S: This article was published as part of The News-Letter’s annual April Fool’s edition, an attempt at adding some humor to a newspaper that is normally very serious about its reporting.
APRIL FOOL’S: This article was published as part of The News-Letter’s annual April Fool’s edition, an attempt at adding some humor to a newspaper that is normally very serious about its reporting.
The Student Government Association (SGA) held its first weekly meeting over Zoom last Tuesday, March 24. Amid their usual discussions about student club policies and vague ideas of transparency, the council passed a bill banning the coronavirus from Homewood Campus. The Corona <<<<<< Natty Boh Bill outlines the concrete ban on COVID-19 and the process by which SGA senators will personally remove the disease from Hopkins and all students.
APRIL FOOL’S: This article was published as part of The News-Letter’s annual April Fool’s edition, an attempt at adding some humor to a newspaper that is normally very serious about its reporting.
APRIL FOOL’S: This article was published as part of The News-Letter’s annual April Fool’s edition, an attempt at adding some humor to a newspaper that is normally very serious about its reporting.
APRIL FOOL’S: This article was published as part of The News-Letter’s annual April Fool’s edition, an attempt at adding some humor to a newspaper that is normally very serious about its reporting.
I’ve never really thought myself as a rebel. Stubborn? Sometimes. Difficult? It depends on the person and the situation. But a rebel? Not really.
I am Laís. I am Latinx, I am Hispanic, I am Brazilian, I am a woman. These are all my “identities,” and I accept these identities now, but that wasn’t always the case. I know in my heart that I’m a part of the Latinx community. But why do I feel like because I have white skin and European heritage that I’m not a valid member, even when it’s the community that I fit into the most?
I just took a DNA test, turns out I’m 100 percent that b—. Well, not quite, but love you Lizzo. I took a DNA test in January, got the results a month later and found out that I’m not 100 percent anything. Don’t worry, it wasn’t some shocking turn of results — I knew my DNA would prove to be a multicolored pie chart.
There is a cemetery in Korea whose name I do not know, far away from Seoul and deep in the mountains, where my maternal ancestors are buried. Apart from my grandfather who passed when I was eight, I do not know their names or faces.
What does it mean to go home? What, and where, is home?
Unlike Macklemore, when I was in the third grade, I didn’t think that I was gay. During my childhood, I was instead a mouthpiece of heteronormativity. While in kindergarten, a friend declared that she would one day marry a woman. I argued to her that this was impossible. Even earlier, when a boy in my preschool class showed me his navy-blue fingernails, I insisted that his hands resembled a girl’s.
It’s been over a year since I first arrived at Hopkins, full of hopes, fears and vague expectations for my college experience. That arrival entailed much fanfare from overenthusiastic FYMs and even more awkward introductions and icebreakers between me and my classmates. I expected that, and I’ll even admit that I loved it in its cringyness.