Indescribable. Unbelieveable. Unforgettable.
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Indescribable. Unbelieveable. Unforgettable.
For Spring Break, I didn’t sunbathe in Cancun or live it up on the West Coast.
This weekend, I had the pleasure of seeing “Get Out” — and yes, it certainly earned the 99 percent rating it was given on Rotten Tomatoes. Between the intricacies of the plot and the calculated cinematography, it is clear that “Get Out” is truly a masterpiece. In addition to the themes of race and the tension between black and white characters, the questions that arise from attempting to unpack the film in its entirety speak to its value.
Valentine’s Day is a beautiful concept. Taking time to do something special to celebrate one’s relationship and going out of your way to do something sweet for someone you care about is nice and all — but I hate the pressure that’s associated with it.
Last week in a classroom discussion, we brought up the relationship between White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer and Dippin’ Dots. Long story short, Spicer has a long history of bashing Dippin’ Dots, and CEO Scott Fisher decided to extend an olive branch by offering to host an ice cream social at the White House.
I saw “Hidden Figures” during Winter Break and it was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a while. Despite the astonishment and shame I felt for not knowing the names of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan and Mary Jackson, I felt an overwhelming sense of determination and inspiration.
I am from Charlotte. I have two Black teenage brothers in Charlotte. I have a Black father in Charlotte. I have Black cousins and uncles and friends in Charlotte.
I am disappointed and angry. My anger and disappointment hit me for many reasons and in different ways. The most shocking reason being that the sexual assault claim issued by Delaney Robinson was grossly mishandled. I live on campus. I love everything about UNC – from my professors and classes to Sup Dogs and all-nighters in the Undergraduate Library. What’s terrifying is that my roommates, my friends and I could easily find ourselves in Delaney’s shoes.
The beginning of this year was different than the past two.
It has been a challenge and a privilege writing for you all every other week.
Yesterday was the best Monday I’ve had in a long time.
Lately, I’ve had many conversations about political action. In most of my discussions either I, or the other person I’m speaking to, has said: “I’m just not that, you know, radical.”
The Catalyst Conference is a weekend-long conference for high school students focused on social justice. I attended the conference as a junior in high school, and I have been a counselor for the past two years.
In the spirit of spreading love and affection for Valentine’s Day, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what love is and isn’t. Love doesn’t always have to “look” like love. Love doesn’t always have to be giving someone a kiss or a hug or a gift. When it comes down to it, I think choosing to be kind, choosing to consider others, is a form of love.
Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Frederick Douglass, Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Rosa Parks and Wilma Rudolph.
During my winter break, regardless of which home I visited or for how long I stayed, I was asked in some form or another, “What do you think about Bill Cosby?” I was challenged and debated while I formed my own opinion and listen to others’. What I found interesting is that, through it all, there was one common factor — each individual struggled with the issue of legacy.
The Oxford English Dictionary defines a platform as a plan of action; a scheme or strategy devised to achieve concrete results, which is strengthened by realizing sources of power. The recent events at the University of Missouri illustrate the importance of establishing and utilizing platforms and power — even when it compromises one’s privilege.
Last October, I was midway through my first semester of college. I was walking through the Pit when I saw a slew of students holding posters and flyers. One of them was a Black guy wearing a button-down shirt and holding a poster.
A piece on The Daily Tar Heel’s Pit Talk blog was offensive to me in several ways: