Advocacy

I played basketball throughout high school and middle school, and before that I played on travel teams and in intramural leagues, and before that I played in my cul de sac with my two older brothers and dad. Basketball was a big part of my identity, something that shaped me and helped me grow.

Here’s a name you might not know: Nancy Gibbs.

There are so many reasons students decide to study abroad. Getting college credit while exploring a new country? Check. Learning about a culture that’s different than yours? Check. Broadening your horizons, both literally and figuratively? Double check. Plus, traveling always makes for cool profile pictures.

We’ve all heard the stories about the dangerous frat parties. We know that one in five college women will experience sexual assault by the time she graduates. We’ve seen the stories about party rape and the use of alcohol in sexual assault. We’ve tried to make bystander intervention a part of the college culture, tried giving courses on sexual assault to fraternities, and tried teaching women how to avoid situations that make sexual assault more likely.

At 3:30 in the morning, my head resting on the toilet, I decided to give the whole vegetarianism thing a try. Food poisoning is a bitch that tends to change how you see things--in this case, my juicy cheeseburger from the night before looked much less tantalizing on the way out than on the way in.

Why was anyone surprised?

Our university: adorned with shrines to the Confederacy, built on top of graves where slaves were buried after their backs were broken building its white columns. Where our president and deans speak of incredible diversity as they stand in front of the Confederate plaques at the Rotunda. Where we black students try to push back that little voice in our heads asking:

“Do they really mean it?”

“Why is OAAA confined to former slave houses on Dawson's Row?”

“Why is the Multicultural Student Center hidden away in a basement?” 

When neo-Nazis marched at UVA on August 11th, they didn’t come in the KKK head-to-toe white garb that history textbooks showcase in black and white. They didn’t come with cloaked heads and hidden identities. They came as themselves, wearing costumes of “normalcy,” which made them all the more frightening.

As you find your seat in Scott Stadium on a sunny Saturday afternoon, you’re drawn to the shifting sights and sounds: the bright advertisements on Hoo Vision, the shouting fans, the acrobatics of the cheerleaders and dance team, as well as the rowdy student section. Suddenly, a cheer begins to ripple through the crowd, as a line of students carrying drums of different sizes emerges on the bright green field. Behind the drumline, tuba players stand at the ready.

If you’re anything like us, you love to read (and you love to read Iris, am I right?). We read because literature, regardless of content or style, is a gateway to thought and passion. Language tells stories, and stories are powerful little entities that can shape and reshape mentalities, take us to faraway lands, allow us to fall in love and hate, and force us to feel.

The art we use to decorate our spaces says a lot about us. My dentist, for example, has simple, minimalist paintings and sculptures from local artists ornamenting her office walls. She likes to support local efforts and has modest taste. Really, it’s her values that adorn the room.