We waited in our car the entire morning, creeping closer to the entrance of the school with every car that exited the parking lot and flew by the line looping around the block. I was in the back seat, slumped over and dozing on the flip-down cup holder and drooling all over my blue medical mask, furious that my mom had dragged me out of bed to get tested. “What did you expect?” I asked when we got our results back. Three negatives between my mom, my sister and I. “What did you expect? I’ve seen no one since getting home. I’ve been nowhere, I’ve done nothing.” It’s almost funny looking back, the drama of our pre-holiday testing experience, the waiting, the overtired tears, the sharp words exchanged between the driver’s seat and the back seats — all for three ultimately useless test results. Thank goodness they were ultimately useless and not ultimately fatal, because they could’ve easily passed into that territory. As we all know, the virus has very different consequences for the elderly and those with vulnerable immune systems than it does for healthy teenagers. Floating on the misplaced confidence provided by those three negatives, we spent the Christmas holiday with my dad, and then my grandparents and my mom’s boyfriend. Except for my mom’s boyfriend who, by some deft maneuver or bulletproof immune system, evaded it, we all caught the virus.

When Josie, crying, got back into the car, I knew I was next on the list. After all, it was only a few days before when she, enjoying a Christmas cookie, spit directly into my right eye as my head was on her lap. When I woke up the morning after her test, my whole body screamed as I slid out of bed and I knew for sure. Masked up, my mom lasted a few days, dealing with my fever-dream ramblings and goading my sister and me into eating a handful of soda crackers, before catching it too. Then it was my grandparents, and then my dad, although he was as cryptic as usual about his symptoms. One morning, after I had passed the worst of it, I remember asking him how he was feeling. “Well Mads,” he said to me, “I usually feel like I could get up and run four miles, and I don’t feel like that today.” I’m still not sure if he was being sardonic or sincere, but I thought it was so funny.

To be fair, I never feel like I could get up and run four miles, even at the peak of personal health. But when I was sick with the coronavirus, I had trouble moving my limbs. It was bizarre. Somehow, my bones, muscles and skin all ached in unison, as if someone was playing a sadistic symphony with my nerve endings. My legs were swollen and pink, and they gave off so much heat for the first few days that my mom made me call the doctor twice in case there was any blood clotting. But I think anyone who has had the virus will tell you that the worst part isn’t the eclectic collection of uncomfortable symptoms. As much as it sucked, there were some okay parts. The high fever gave me an almost pleasant head buzz, and I slept more than I have in years. Since my sister and I contracted it at roughly the same time, we quarantined together, which meant we stayed under the covers all day like Charlie’s bedridden grandparents in “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory” and rewatched the first few seasons of “Adventure Time.” I feel like I miss so much of her life while I’m at college, so I consider myself lucky, in a sick way, to have spent that extra quality time with my sister — even if she did pick up the virus from the bowling alley grime and pass it on to our entire family.

By far, the worst part of my experience was the ambiguity that comes with the coronavirus. My parents and my maternal grandparents had all contracted it, with a viral load large enough to inspire moderate symptoms in each. I come from tough stock. There was not a moment where I seriously feared one of my relatives would brush against death. But looking back, things could’ve gone differently. Losing a parent or a grandparent to the pandemic is horrifying and terribly sad, but it’s no longer surprising. We’re far beyond the point where a coronavirus-related death would be splashed across the front page of our local newspapers. This is a pandemic, which means that tragedies are no longer expressed in individual stories, but in numbers. I’m fortunate enough that the biggest concern when I’m sick is, how is this going to inconvenience me? Will I be able to get my homework done? Will I be able to enjoy my lunch? Will I have enough energy to take my daily walk? For better or worse, those were the biggest questions I faced when we all were sick this winter. I didn’t think I needed to face the bigger, scarier questions of mortality. Thankfully, I was right. But when I think back, I know that my refusal to face them doesn’t mean they weren’t there, or that they weren’t very much relevant. I just got lucky this time and, like the rest of us, I hope I never have to acknowledge the presence of those questions again.

Madelaine Hastings is a sophomore majoring in cross-cultural communications and is assistant Opinions editor.

After some reflection on the pill’s many marketed talents, it’s not hard to understand why millions of women have welcomed it into their lives. Aside from the obvious benefit of staving off pregnancy, oral contraceptives can be used to relieve menstrual cramping and even clear up acne. More than half of oral contraceptive users, a 2011 study sponsored by the Guttmacher Institute finds, use it for birth control purposes as well as menstrual pain, menstrual regulation or endometriosis. While the pharmaceutical companies choose to sell those pleasant, easily quantifiable effects of birth control, they neglect to mention the profound influence it can have, for better or for worse, on the user’s mental state. I’m not too troubled by this. After all, I’m an American, born and bred — misleading drug advertisements and profit-hungry pharmaceutical companies are as much as part of my heritage as apple pie and the Super Bowl. What we should be disturbed by is the meager amounts of research published on the relationship between the pill and our brains. Somehow, both the medical community and the government that provides most of its funding don’t feel as though the hormonal contraceptives used by several millions of women, that produce wildly individual and sometimes severe side effects, warrants any further scientific inquiry. If I can be permitted to indulge in some meta-analysis, the study from the Guttmacher Institute that I cited above is months away from being one decade old. It was the only reasonably recent study I was able to find relating to the various uses of birth control. It doesn’t discuss some sophisticated science experiment or some complex theories, it simply lays out the results of one survey. For the millions of women on hormonal contraceptives, we must do better than that.

Sarah E. Hill, professor of psychology at Texas Christian University, explains it best in her book, “How the Pill Changes Everything: Your Brain on Birth Control.” “You quite literally are your hormones,” she writes, “And when you change your hormones — which is what hormonal contraceptives do — you change the version of yourself that your brain creates.” Her mission, as she describes it in her book’s introduction, is to equip her audience with a full understanding of the implications of oral contraceptive pills so that they can make the best choice for their reproductive health. A former birth control user herself, Hill understands that the pill often has an effect on the brain’s amorphous functions, like personal identity and general disposition, which is ignored by the warnings on the label. With the oral contraceptive pill, or any hormonal contraceptive treatment for that matter, these issues go far beyond reproductive health.

Despite the enigmatic reputation that inadequate clinical research has permitted hormonal functions to cultivate, hormones dominate our bodies and our minds — especially those bodies and those minds that have yet to cross the puberty finish line. Adolescents are bona fide cocktails of hormones until their biological and psychological development begins to plateau around their early to mid-twenties, after the body and the brain have adjusted to these new changes. For particular difficulties regulating stress responses, demanding libidos and whiplashing mood swings, teenagers can look no further than their internal chemical whirlwind. Adrenal stress hormones like cortisol, sex hormones like testosterone for males and estrogen for females and growth hormones swirl around and mix, triggering everything from hair growth in unexpected spots to brain maturation. I’m sure this isn’t news. The turbulent hormonal journey experienced by adolescents is well-documented in popular culture. Everyone is familiar with the trope of the moody teenager, prone to outbursts so abrupt and irrational that they verge on comical. But for young women, facing the consequences of throwing birth control into the hormonal tempest already raging in their brains isn’t so funny.

When combined with the hormonal instability characteristic of adolescence, birth control’s variable psychological implications can have extreme effects. The unfortunate reality that we have little more than an inkling of how those effects will manifest in the birth control user adds an additional layer of anxiety for them. For women suffering from premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), which is the nastier, seriously troubled sister of premenstrual syndrome, oral combined hormonal contraceptives have been found to alleviate some symptoms. Although inconclusive, scientific evidence suggests that other forms of hormonal contraceptive treatments, including birth controls with different progestogens that could take the form of IUDs, patches and implants, could also be effective in the treatment of PMDD and the depressive episodes, physical exhaustion and wild mood swings associated with the condition. Birth control could be the saving grace of women struggling with PMDD, replacing selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, which can have unpleasant side effects, as a first line of defense.

For other women, though, birth control could tamper with brain functioning by skewing stress responses. One of the most recent forays into birth control research is an August 2020 study funded by the University of Ottawa Brain and Mind Research Institute on the relationship between birth control use and brain function. This study finds that oral contraceptive pills are linked to significant structural changes in brain regions involved with memory and emotional processing, noting that those using oral contraceptive pills experience more brain activity when confronted with negative stimuli (pictures of busted cars, beaten dogs, etc.). In adolescents specifically, it briefly mentions how the blunted stress response experienced by younger users can be a risk factor for depression. The conclusion is less than satisfying, but to be expected — the study acknowledges the desperate need for more scientific inquiry in such an “under-researched field riddled with inconsistent findings.” “Even less is known about the impact of [oral contraceptives] during puberty/adolescence,” it continues, “a sensitive period of neurodevelopment with a high emergence of psychiatric disorders.”

The first of several events that prompted Hill to inspect birth control effects more closely was when she stopped taking the pill after almost ten years of consistent use. Her experience was nothing short of revelatory. She writes about how her confidence, her motivation, even her general life outlook changed for the better after subtracting the pill from her daily routine. She’s certainly not the only woman for whom the pill has unexpectedly given a “personality transplant.” The subreddit r/AskWomen is the home to countless threads on birth control experiences, advice and recommendations, where women share their often emotional stories about hormonal contraceptives. Users gush over the pill, hailing it as the best answer to acne and unpleasant periods, while others warn of depression, stifled sex drive and weight gain. These threads are splashed with stories of triumph, bitter reflections and cries for help by new and potential birth control users. As much as I’m thrilled to see that women have carved out their own virtual space where they can support and uplift each other, it’s shameful that the best recourse for women with birth control concerns is an informal online forum. It speaks to the mistrust of the medical industry that many women share. How could anyone expect otherwise, when women’s health problems are routinely spurned in favor of other concerns? As a woman, it would be irresponsible to not be wary of the drug companies, research institutions and governments that clearly place women’s health needs beneath everything else. For young women especially, more research — and therefore, more funding — into the relationship between hormonal contraceptive treatments and mental health could prevent those in an already unstable hormonal condition from getting seriously worse. Women’s health concerns are societal health concerns, despite the impression made by inadequate research into birth control, and we all will suffer if they aren’t finally given the attention and care they so rightly deserve.

Madelaine Hastings is a sophomore majoring in cross-cultural communications.

This is only one of the most timely anecdotes of TikTok spreading political awareness. In June, many on the social media platform mobilized users to antagonize the Trump campaign by registering for seats at his rally in Tulsa, Oklahoma but opting to stay home instead. Those reporting on the empty seats at the rally and deserted overflow space in the parking lot spoke of “TikTok teens” and their “prank” on the Trump administration. I can’t deny the accuracy of those labels, but the language used understates the power of TikTok to galvanize users and digitally engage them in movements. The public and the national media refuse to recognize the social media platform as an effective facilitator of social change, because of the app’s user demographic and design that is used to maximize the accessibility of video-making and posting.

TikTok’s user demographic is overwhelmingly dominated by young people, most of whom fit into the rough label of Generation Z, with 41 percent of users aged between 16 and 24. The application falls under the umbrella of “social media,” but it is distinct from other popular social media platforms like Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat, which are used almost solely to maintain interpersonal connections online. TikTok is more interested in the creation of unique content, which is reflected in the high level of user engagement that is not only interacting with the videos they encounter (liking, commenting, sharing, etc.), but also creating videos. More than half of all TikTok users have created and posted their own videos, contributing to the constant stream of fresh and diverse content flooding the application since its launch in 2017.

The youthfulness of TikTok content creators and their fans, paired with the ease with which content created and spread, would give the impression that the platform is at best, a trending time-waster. At worst, it’s the newest way to brainwash American youth into developing minute attention spans and dependencies on being spoon-fed media by some shifty corporate overlord. Those who favor either of those reductionist views of TikTok often point to rise of Charli D’Amelio, an influencer who has amassed over 90 million followers after posting choreographed dancing videos. She’s arguably the most famous TikTok user to date, acting as a microcosm for the trivial nature of the platform. D’Amelio has partnered with Dunkin Donuts, a multibillion-dollar franchise, so that the public can order her signature iced coffee drink by name. Many pearl-clutchers react to D’Amelio’s fame and foray outside of the “For you” page with mystified disbelief, shaking their heads and saying that they “can’t believe what the world has come to.” They’re missing the point.

It doesn’t matter if your reaction is one of disgust, incredulity or admiration, because TikTok has still allowed one dancer to become internationally famous and embraced by a company whose enterprise value is beyond the threshold of our comprehension. It would be foolish to underestimate the power this app has to influence the national political dynamic as well. It’s true that TikTok is made by and for young adults, but that doesn’t mean it’s restricted to hormones and high school drama. On the contrary, young people are the most active age group when it comes to participating in social justice movements on social media. The Pew Research Center found that in June 2020, 44 percent of users aged 18 to 29 on social media encouraged others to take action on social issues and 54 percent of users in the same age group searched social media for information about rallies and protests. The Tulsa rally wasn’t some juvenile prank, The Washington Post’s video about the debate wasn’t some desperate grasp to appear relevant to young people. Let’s call them what they are: the new wave of political activism and discourse. TikTok allows users to get involved in movements from the comfort of their homes and the familiar glow of their phone screens, and it would be a mistake to overlook that.

Madelaine Hastings is a sophomore majoring in cross-cultural communications.

For university students, the COVID-19 pandemic has shattered any expectations about their college experience because every long-standing connotation of American collegiate life has been rendered unsafe by the pervasive and unpredictable nature of this virus. The academic and social exploration at the core of this stage have been abandoned in favor of the bare minimum — degree acquisition — for who knows how long. I’m not advocating for anyone to eschew university safety policies in an attempt to live out their collegiate fantasies. The reckless decision-making that some post-grad, middle-aged adults openly reminisce about doesn’t just mean an unfortunate tattoo or a rough morning anymore. It could also mean taking a life — your own, your classmate’s or a stranger’s. We must keep washing our hands and keep staying home, but we also must be honest with ourselves about what we’re getting for our money: much less. And it is up to the university administration, not us, to make up for that delta between product and price.

Although Binghamton University hasn’t released any information yet about the class of 2024, trends from other universities indicate unfavorable numbers of student enrollment, something BU publicized already grappling with in their 2011-18 financial report. BU President Harvey Stenger and Provost and Executive Vice President for Academic Affairs Donald Nieman cite softness in graduate student enrollment and non-resident undergraduate enrollment as blocking the University from reaching its revenue target for 2018. This means that BU was falling short even before the pandemic tanked the economy, therefore disrupting the three-year plan designed to spread out the ramifications of missing that revenue target so that academics and campus services don’t suffer significantly. It is hard to tell if and how this new, nastier financial reality spells doom for our university, but when the value of the BU experience has been dramatically reduced for an indefinite amount of time, and it is likely that the value of the BU degree will be reduced too, any responsible student would question the value of attending BU at all and that will be the death knell for the institution. Especially considering how the coronavirus has severely restricted the facilitation of skill-building and career opportunities, our educations have been stripped down to their skeletons and they don’t look so different from the educations offered by other schools across the nation. Limited contact means we’re all learning and living in our own little bubbles, meeting our professors on video calls and navigating socially distanced extracurricular options, whether you’re at Harvard, “the SUNY Harvard” or Broome Community College.

So BU administration, make no mistake. Resources could be at an all time low since the opening of the school in several decades prior, but now is not the time for laying low and penny-pinching. The student population is restless, irritated and most importantly, getting only a shadow of what we paid for. Many of us are risking our health to continue our education back on campus, and many more are mortgaging the first chunk of our adult lives to satisfy the debt from doing that. We can no longer nurse any illusions that the administration cares about our well being beyond how it translates in dollar signs. We’re still chumps, but now, we’re savvier and we’re angrier. We’ve adapted, and the BU administration must adapt too, and devise some new canal of value to be presented to the student body. If not, the next class might not be so forgiving.

Madelaine Hastings is a sophomore majoring in cross-cultural communications.

The transition from high school to college marks the convergence of countless social pressures and changes: forming a community of friends from scratch, living without the help or reassurance of family members, handling the expectations paired with academic autonomy and navigating choices with consequences that could resonate for years after graduation. It follows that students would experience hiccups in their mental health during this period of acclimation. But for many students, the battle against anxiety and depression doesn’t just fade away after the first few months of adjustment to college life.

Nearly one-third of college students report, in the past 12 months, having felt so depressed that they had difficulty functioning, while almost half of students report having felt that “things were hopeless.” At a cursory glance, the numbers for the mental health of college students are bleak, but few studies continue over the span of the student’s education. A 2009 report published in the Journal of Affective Disorders addressed this gap in research, focusing on the “longitudinal course” of various mental health disorders and treatment plans throughout a two-year period. It found that over half of the students who experienced a disorder at the start of the study were still wrestling with their mental health two years later. The study also tracked the perceived need for help and the use of therapeutic services among the selected participants, and found that both were seriously lacking for the participants who exhibited a mental health problem. The report asserts that a large proportion of students are suffering with mental health problems “that are more than transient issues related to adjustments or other temporary factors,” such as the college transition.

If we accept this more nuanced, complex perspective, we’re also faced with the question of why students would still be struggling after they’ve settled into their dorm rooms, made new friends, joined clubs and finalized all the stressful financial and administrative details of their academic careers. The answer can be found in the understanding that just because the direct challenges faced upon entry to campus may be resolved, the external pressures and expectations about college life are not. The push to re-engineer their personal short- and long-term goals and perspectives within the context of a new social and intellectual framework will have an impact on the self-concepts of students who are unsure or unable to settle on those goals and perspectives.

Self-concept encompasses the understanding of oneself as an individual and as a piece of their social environment, otherwise known as the answer to the question of “who am I?” Both factors of intra- and interpersonal identity are subject to constant fluctuation for many undergraduate students. This can lead to insecure or even negative self-concepts among students. When a person’s self-concept suffers, their mental health does too. A 2016 study that surveyed college students in China found that those whose answers indicated issues with their mental health also indicated issues with their self-concept. The antidote to the epidemic of mental disorders on campus isn’t waiting for the discomfort to pass, because the insecurities that contribute to the unhappiness of many students are beyond any momentary jolt to routine. Creating a solid self-concept, or even becoming comfortable with an ambiguous one, is a task best faced with the wisdom of a qualified counselor. It is the duty of on-campus counseling systems, many of which have been criticized for their skimpy and inconsistent services, to provide students with those resources, and it is the duty of students to recognize their need for professional help. Sometimes it takes more than time to resolve a problem, but there is always a resolution.

Madelaine Hastings is a freshman double-majoring in English and economics.

I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a whisper of doubt echoing in my head as I put down my deposit for Binghamton University, saying that I would spend the next few years lonely and starved for the company of those with similar intellectual interests. Luckily, I couldn’t have been more wrong, but I will still vigilantly defend humanities majors against those who say they’ll spend their post-graduation unskilled and penniless. I will acknowledge my bias on this topic, but there is a kernel of truth to my advocacy for the liberal arts.

Many students choosing what to pursue in college buckle under the societal pressure to attain an education in the STEM fields, which often promise lucrative and stable careers. The pressures they feel are backed by the numbers. A study released by the National Center for Education Statistics showed a 6-percent national increase in STEM majors — specifically those with a bachelor’s degree or beyond — in the six years after the 2009-10 academic year. As the number of STEM majors increased from 15 percent to 21 percent in this period, the number of humanities majors stayed stagnant at 14 percent. In the starkest terms, as the number of STEM majors rose from 388,000 to 550,000, those fields experienced a 43-percent increase in graduates, while the humanities saw no increase at all. As technological developments occur at an exponential pace, opening up opportunities for innovation and specialization in scientifically and mathematically orientated industries, young adults today are flocking to schools with the intention to graduate with expertise in those industries.

But this cultural and educational trend away from liberal arts degrees doesn’t translate to the careful observation of the current job market. Professionals working in those fields have noticed, and coined the discrepancy “The Global STEM Paradox.” This cultural and economic inconsistency is explained in a recent report by the New York Academy of Sciences. They found that in the United States, company recruiters are continually struggling to fill three-quarters of open positions that require middle- or high-level STEM skills, while Sub-Saharan Africa is lacking the 2.5 million engineers needed to address urgent infrastructure issues. India’s lack of STEM workers with proficiency in essential STEM skill areas is also a major impediment to economic growth, needing to double or even triple the 2008 hiring level in those sectors to keep up with the national economy.

As many capable graduates with shiny engineering, computer science and biomedical degrees as there are prowling around for jobs, vacancies in technical fields like these remain prevalent. While those graduates are qualified in technical terms, they just don’t possess the “soft skills” employers are so desperate to find. These “soft skills,” such as effective communication, critical thinking and teamwork have long been the foundation of the liberal arts education. With an emphasis on analyzing media, participating in meaningful discussion and presenting ideas clearly and precisely, English, philosophy and history majors are among those trained in those areas so essential to even STEM jobs that employers are likely rejecting technically qualified applicants while in need of workers. The value that graduates with humanities degrees have to employers speaks to just how essential solid communication, critical thinking and interpersonal skills are to employers and other employees.

Students involved in programs without a humanities curriculum at their core, such as those in SOM, Watson School of Engineering and Applied Sciences and Decker College of Nursing and Health Sciences, should endeavor to take what liberal arts courses they can, and the programs should adjust their curriculums accordingly. After all, BU prides itself on preparing students for their post-graduation lives with the award-winning Fleishman Center for Career and Professional Development, so it should make sure its STEM students have that essential exposure. Although the center was recognized in 2017 by the National Career Development Association for its excellence in providing students with career guidance, it should aim to ensure its resources are useful for the entire student body. This not only means stressing the importance of being familiar with the humanities before entering the workforce, but also ensuring that its resources are as effective for all students as it markets them to be.

On a more immediate and personal note, the reason why a humanities-focused education is so important is because those “soft skills” are exercised every day in our relationships with ourselves and others. If you’re unable to bundle your thoughts, infuse them with intention and meaning and share them, how can you be expected to live beyond the confines of your self-narrative and contribute something to society? Of course, claiming that a liberal arts education is the only way to build these skills is ridiculous, but curricular stress on thinking and speaking with a purpose allows us to develop and hone them. The recent push for STEM involvement is problematic not because those fields are inherently somehow inferior, but because it diminishes the great value of studying the humanities. We’re called to be as deeply human as we can be, and we can only achieve this if our search for that instinctive connection is not abandoned after popular culture turns away from it.

Madelaine Hastings is a freshman double-majoring in economics and English.

Only 7 percent of the class of 2023 hails from Broome and Tioga counties, in contrast to the 49 percent of students from the New York City and Long Island areas. Students experience culture shock when those raised amid a grid of skyscrapers and concrete are suddenly transplanted to Binghamton University’s campus, where the only educational building taller than four or five floors is the massive Glenn G. Bartle Library Tower, and where the separation between student living spaces and an expansive deciduous forest is measured in meters.

The majority of college students also come from a background of relative affluence, although this reality is beginning to shift as the general population recognizes that an undergraduate degree is no longer a marker of the intelligentsia but a tool for economic survival. A 2015 study from the Pell Institute found that only 9 percent of the college-age kids in the lowest-income quartile will receive a bachelor’s degree by the age of 24, as compared to 77 percent of the college-age kids in the highest-income quartile. It also indicated that from 1965 to 2015, the percentage of those in the lowest quartile who had secured a bachelor’s degree within the age threshold has generally not increased, an unfortunate and surprising reality considering the recent push for accessible education in the last decade.

With 33.3 percent of Binghamton residents living below the poverty line, a devastating number compared to the statewide poverty rate of 15.1 percent, many of the students at BU are strangers living side by side to a city where one out of every three citizens is choked by economic destitution. More than just living minutes away from the city of Binghamton, many upperclassmen live literally right next to the people who are the subjects of classist ridicule that circulates around campus. They have just as much of a stake in the welfare of the greater community, because just like “townies,” they patronize local businesses, attend local events and are impacted by the local government. Tracing that prejudice of “otherness” to the cultural and economic contrast between the BU student population and the Vestal and Binghamton civilian population isn’t a stretch, but that doesn’t make it any more acceptable. The derogatory nature of the word “townie” and its associated philosophy of cultural superiority and elitism are offensive and, like all prejudices, have the potential to creep into actual oppression if not carefully managed.

The Town-Gown Advisory Board (TGAB) was created to foster positive relations between the University students and those living in the surrounding communities, and their board includes members from the University, the city of Binghamton’s local government and the commercial sector of Downtown Binghamton. One of their active proposals, the Bus Stop Improvement Program, is especially promising for combating toxic “townie” culture.

The academic autonomy, the lack of parental oversight and the sudden induction into unfamiliar learning and living communities are only a handful of transitory changes experienced by college students. While the challenges of acclimating to new people, new places and new academic expectations cannot be undervalued, it is the challenges presented by the newfound lack of mobility that cause strife within the student body ⁠— and the greater Binghamton community. Transportation opportunities are limited; cars and Uber rides are expensive, parking is cumbersome and the on-campus bus system is less than reliable. This may seem like an ultimately inconsequential issue to have, but the lack of student exposure to the areas surrounding BU’s pocket of campus, tucked away in a forest, exacerbates the rift between the student body and the local community. The Bus Stop Improvement Program was set in motion to help combat the discrepancy between campus and the city with the addition of shelters to several stops along the Broome County Transit and Off Campus College Transport (OCCT) routes, incentivizing students to exercise their bus privileges. With the TGAB’s initiative to improve the ease and comfort of utilizing the bus system, hopefully the BU students will be able to shake off their apprehension about Vestal and Binghamton. In doing so, they would move away from the mindset that embraces hurtful, prejudiced terms like “townie.”

While the efforts of the TGAB are certainly a movement toward a more cohesive, healthier Binghamton, it is only a small shift on the periphery of the true issue. The plain and ugly truth is that “townie” culture is fed by prejudice and ignorance, the same prejudice and ignorance behind the more violent, destructive manifestations of class strife. If the students at BU refuse to shake off their entitled and hurtful attitudes toward locals, they’re welcoming a future University that is plagued by bitterness.

Madelaine Hastings is a freshman double-majoring in English and economics.

Scorning the idea that drag should only be enjoyed in a big city ballroom or in an armchair pointed at a television, the queens of the Binghamton area, alongside students who doubled as junior queens for the evening, exploded the Angelo Zuccolo Little Theatre at Broome Community College (BCC) in a flurry of sequins, dollar bills and mid-century groove hits on Oct. 18 for “A Night of Drag.”

The performance benefited the BC Center, a childcare center accessible to the students and staff of BCC. Tables at the event draped in rainbow hues were manned by volunteers from the student body and the Binghamton Pride Coalition, a group founded in 2005 to facilitate a more open and visible space for those who identify as part of the LGBTQ community.

The Coalition often works with the drag community for various benefits and events. The group was contacted about the opportunity to table at the event and promoted the drag show on their Facebook page, which is how Lauren, ‘10, a former dancer who attended the show, was introduced to the event.

This was not Lauren’s first time being entertained by the dramatic flair that can only be captured by a drag queen in a heavy wig and even heavier heels, and she said she appreciates the “chance for people to express themselves in a different way.”

Lauren noted that “A Night of Drag” contrasted with previously seen drag shows in that the “younger generation” of student performers were “redefining drag” in terms of their music and dress preferences. In fact, the contrast between the experienced and student performers was stark. The professional queens stuck to a heavily disco-inspired set, dancing in fluffy wigs and chunky platform boots to classics like Peaches & Herb’s “Shake Your Groove Thing” and Donna Summer’s “Bad Girls,” while the student queens stomped around to emo-punk anthems in leather, chains and, for performer Rusty Lock, a fully painted skeleton visage.

For Lock, a BCC student and a newcomer to the drag community, the event was an opportunity to showcase her talents in front of a crowd that included family and friends. Chris Waters, an administrator for the Coalition, said the mission of the organization, as well as the Binghamton drag community, is to provide any person with a few spare bills and a hankering for the theatrics with an opportunity to see a drag show firsthand.

“The drag community has really made drag more mainstream, holding shows at all different kinds of venues,” Waters wrote in an email.

According to Waters, Pride Palooza, the annual event that is central to the work of the Coalition, brings tons of people to Downtown Binghamton, helping economic development. He said that drag is also instrumental in local fundraisers.

“The drag community itself has done so much for the community raising thousands and thousands of dollars for organizations and people,” he wrote.

The city is responding as the drag community gains momentum in the size and enthusiasm of its local fan base. The 2019 Pride Palooza event was sponsored by the City of Binghamton. Lauren also pointed out the same trend in the “A Night of Drag” event itself, praising the college for “putting on an event that is so progressive.”

“We are very fortunate as we have been very well accepted, and Broome County and the city of Binghamton has really embraced the community,” Waters wrote.

The alternative assignment to the letter to the department was a “formal professional letter explaining the brilliance of The Backstreet Boys.” In the alternative, the students were tasked with analyzing the Backstreet Boys’ music videos and interviews spanning from the late 1990s to the early 2000s and comparing them to those made in 2019, substantiating any claims with evidence from the video clips.

Students felt that, beyond the sheer absurdity of writing an analytical letter on the media of The Backstreet Boys for an engineering course, the difference in difficulty of the extra credit options and the sizable impact they could possibly have on their final marks in the class was wrong. Adding 10 points to an assignment the professor describes as having “a large impact on students’ grades,” was perceived as an abuse of the professor’s power as they were an authority figure going beyond curriculum and program structure for noneducational purposes.

Particulars aside, this conflict beckons conversation about the power dynamic in the classroom that should be happening between students, professors and administrators. Entering any institution of higher education, students will inevitably encounter a learning experience unlike previous ones, as the removal from childhood dependencies on doting parents means that they have complete ownership over their education. Teachers are more apt to foster their own learning environments without ceding to the demands of students and their families. Professors can curse freely, openly discuss their thoughts on current policy and dole out personal anecdotes that would shake pearl-clutching parents.

Barring hate speech, discriminatory or derogatory comments and entirely irrelevant stories, the college classroom is at its best when professors can speak candidly to students and their discussions can have a natural, conversational flow. When a professor imbues their course with a personal spark, students respond by becoming more actively engaged in the coursework, as they’re able to connect with the material in a more intimate, humanistic capacity.

The line is drawn when the professor begins taking liberties with the curriculum and the grading system. The intermingling of a professor’s personal opinion and the graded coursework has the adverse effect, breeding animosity between those taking the class and those teaching it, as any semblance of objectivity is scrapped with the proper, department-endorsed curriculum. Several students approached a higher-ranking professor in the Watson school to notify them of the professor’s adjustment to the curriculum and their personal agenda-fueled genesis. Their professor subsequently issued an email apology to her students, nullifying both extra credit assignments. However, this should be a springboard for a conversation about what is appropriate conduct for the professor-student relationship in the Watson school and beyond.

Madelaine Hastings is a freshman double-majoring in English and economics.

I don’t remember the rest of the speech, but it must’ve been inspiring and educational, because here I am, a first-year student at BU. But ever since my arrival, I’ve heard this same sentiment — this equivalency drawn between BU and some elite university with gobs of academic clout echoed everywhere. I’ve heard BU described as “the Harvard of the SUNY system,” as the place where those who are too frugal or too relaxed to attend Cornell University go, seeking haven as a member of the list of “public Ivies.”

If I hear someone assign the phrase “premier public Ivy” to BU without a hint of irony, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to suppress the scowl that appears on my face. It’s not that I take issue with fellow students and staff being proud of the impressive national standing of our school. BU is the highest-ranked university in the SUNY system, sliding into 79th place in the 2020 U.S. News and World Report’s “Best National Universities” list. Within New York state, and even in neighboring states, BU is a recognizable name with a solid academic reputation. It’s no secret that the University attracts students who are sharp, with a tendency toward both scholarship and practical decision-making when it comes to the price tags of higher education.

My distaste for drawing parallels between the University and other excellent universities is derived from the fact that it shifts the focus away from our own accomplishments and offerings as a school and as a community. Instead, we appear desperate to appease popular sensibility by cramming ourselves next to schools steeped in legend and prestige. In claiming that our halls are a few green sprigs short of being ivy-covered, we abandon our identity as a federally funded university that seeks to provide students with a high-quality education — downplaying the opportunities for growth and learning special to the BU campus.

Relying on these equivalencies to convince others of BU’s value as a university is not only a weak rhetorical strategy, but a poor marketing technique. Anyone in search of a premier university can easily access that U.S. News and World Report “Best National Universities” list and see that there are many schools, 79 to be exact, of equal or higher academic and cultural reputation. But those schools don’t have the same things we do. For example, they don’t have a nature preserve that stretches more than 180 acres on campus and is easily accessible to students. They also don’t have the Dickinson Research Team (DiRT), a research program created specifically for students living in Dickinson Community that provides them with an opportunity to conduct research even as undergraduate freshmen.

Frankly speaking, we are not the counterpart to UC Berkeley, Harvard or even Cornell. We are Binghamton University and we exist outside the realm of uber-selective, uber-expensive universities. We are our own school, with our own exhaustive lists of academic and cultural activities, so we need to start acting and talking like it.

Madelaine Hastings is a freshman double-majoring in English and economics.