I’ve been critical of the Greek system in the past . I must admit to feeling somewhat vindicated when I heard about the “pig roast” competition, but I don’t want to rail against that in this column. I’d like to perform the unpleasant but oft-necessary task of criticizing people who agree with me. I know a fraternity brother who is thoughtful, intelligent, friendly and well-liked. A thoroughly capital fellow.
To cater to the massive Asian-American population in the Bay Area, my local movie theater occasionally screens blockbusters that are currently popular in East Asia. As dutiful Korean immigrants, my family fulfils our patriotic obligation by going every time they show a new Korean movie. Over the break, my family went to watch 1987: When the Day Comes, a Korean film about the military dictatorship that interrogated and tortured pro-democracy protesters during the 1980s. It showed scenes of college activists of my parents’ generation being beaten and hauled away by policemen who resembled vigilante gangsters more than federal law enforcement. As the final credits rolled, the audience, comprised mostly of stoic, first-generation Korean parents, sat in their seats silently weeping, bound by a collective reminiscence of mutual struggle only their age cohort could fully appreciate.
A previous version of this column incorrectly stated Kelly Song’s year. She is a sophomore, not a junior.
I am not a sorority girl. I prefer sparkling water over beer and I don’t own a Gucci handbag or shiver in 6 inch heels in the middle of winter. But last week I found myself at rush event, plastering on a sorority girl smile. Why?
How many points would I be worth in the Zeta Beta Tau “Pig Roast?” How do you assess the worth of someone that you’ve slept with? How do we evaluate the young women on this campus? Freshman year, I learned that I was worth one full entrance to a party when on my own, and half an entrance when I was accompanied by a man. It should be noted that this currency value was entirely dependent on the supposed quality of the party I was trying to attend — my value declined when I was attempting to gain entrance to the events of those “top” fraternities and sports teams. Also, whether or not I looked hot (and note that my value has been boosted by the fact that I am white). My hotness has been constantly measured, to my face, through comparison between myself and my friends; my value is how I look, how much I weigh, and it has been continuously assessed by men across this campus throughout my undergraduate career.
When I gave my first blowjob, I was really nervous. Sure, I had heard about it from my friends, who assured me there was no way I could fuck it up (unless I literally bit the guy’s dick off — ouch). I read countless Cosmo articles and “How-To” columns to make sure that I would deliver a top-notch, excellent blowjob. Bottom line, I was really prepared for the first time I gave head. Let’s be frank, it really isn’t rocket science, but nevertheless, I felt slight pressure to be great at it.
You’re told to write about what you know — with good reason, in order to avoid assuming the likeness of a total dud and expounding on topics that are far beyond your expertise. Today, though, decorum begs to be broken as I attempt to comprehend the national spectacle that is the Super Bowl. Powerful enough to coax a purr out of President Donald J. Trump, Super Bowl LII transported us to an alternate universe where viewers’ pride and happiness are inextricably linked to the wins of their athletic counterparts. [Spoiler Alert] “Congratulations to the Philadelphia Eagles on a great Super Bowl victory!” — a tweet posted last night from Trump’s own account, staggering and confounding in its authenticity, begins to capture the scope of this annual match. Such a priority is the occasion, in fact, that previous commitments are rescheduled and responsibilities are dismissed for a fateful few hours.
2018 was going to be my year. This semester would be one where I would finally expand my network, get good grades, find an internship and just feel great about myself. I returned from a de-stressed break a week before school started to get over the jet lag and prepare for the upcoming semester, by planning out classes to take and striving to become a morning person. As the start of the semester approached, I began to feel tired and I developed a tickle in my throat. I was awfully exhausted on the first day of classes and had to drag myself to Cornell Health only to find that I had a fever of over 100 degrees.
My name is Chad, 22, and I am a student at Cornell University only two miles away. I’ve had the pleasure of looking through your photos and deeming you worthy of the highest honor, my personal seal of attractiveness, a right swipe, and I am interested in pursuing the position of Your Romantic Suitor. My colorful personality, relevant experience, and chiseled physique make me an outstanding candidate to serve your needs. To help you get to know me better, I’ve provided you with a unique and varied canon of photos that display the many facets of my personality. First and foremost, I am an artist.
A note to the Interfraternity Council: This was definitely “normal.”
To imply that the commodification and abuse of the female body is anything but ordinary is naive. To suggest that the sort of amplified masculinity inherent in the system of the American fraternity is neither an incubator of nor a conduit for misogyny is deluded. To deny that sexism in Greek life is routine is appalling. To say we should be surprised is an insult.
I won’t rehash all the arguments against Greek life, because I could never explain them as well as Priya Kankanhalli ’19 in the eloquent and chilling “Brotherhood Inverted” or as Ara Hagopian ’18 did bluntly and assertively in “Greek Life Should Not Exist” — and also because they’ve been repeated over and over again in almost every collegiate and national publication. But I have a lot of anger; anger not only at the recurring abhorrent conduct of members of Greek organizations, but anger at the responses from both the University and from the Greek community.
The Consensual Relationships Policy Committee has undertaken a long overdue revision of Cornell’s policies on romantic and sexual relations between faculty and students. These relations are fraught because of differences in power and experience, because they can involve serious conflicts of interest and because they can have disruptive effects on the functioning of and climate within our professional workplaces. However, there is another class of romantic and sexual relations that seems similarly fraught — in kind if not in degree — that has received almost no discussion: those between graduate students within the same department or workplace. Graduate school provides a transition between young adulthood and full professional stature, and graduate students mature enormously over the course of their studies. Before graduating they may participate in many of the professional functions of faculty, including undergraduate teaching, training and supervising new graduate and undergraduate students, evaluating students and writing recommendation letters, managing collaborations, and writing and reviewing manuscripts and proposals.