The aroma of morning dew, the fresh white lines being drawn on a perfectly level playing field and the preparation for another football season come together and conveys one thing — August is here.
As Michael Brown’s body turned cold on the pavement in Ferguson, Missouri last week, my “ifs” turned to “whens:” “When I lose a friend to violence,” “When I get pulled over by a police officer,” “When I feel the barrel:” Who will arbitrate justice for me?
Coming to college can be a frightening adventure for first-year students. Everyone you see is a stranger, tall, mature and exuding an aura of experience.
As I’ve grown, I’ve come to better appreciate the significance of Black History Month. I can (and have) defended its presence, explained its necessity and advocated for its expansion, as have many others before me. Unfortunately, a hazy apathy holds the monthlong memorial back from being as meaningful and effective as it can be.