The article additionally states that, “recent evidence suggests a misfired rocket was destroyed by Israel’s Iron Dome defense system in the immediate vicinity of the hospital.” While there has been speculation about the role of the Iron Dome in intercepting the rocket, recent evidence regarding this claim is inconclusive. 

The Oberlin Review’s intention is to report the news factually and in good faith. We apologize for any harm caused by the inaccurate characterization of events cited in this article.

The digital attention economy conditions us to expect rapid change and gratification. We can unfollow or block a person, effectively removing them from our lives within seconds. We can open Instagram or TikTok and receive an instant dopamine high. When I open Instagram, I am looking to be instantly entertained. As I begrudgingly scroll past T-Mobile and NBC Peacock ads to see what my friends are up to, I also wade through an endless sea of content about the Israel–Hamas war. 

On Tuesday, Nov. 7, I tapped through every single Instagram story on my feed to see just how much content there was about the Israel–Hamas war and humanitarian crisis in Gaza within a 24-hour time frame. Out of 165 users who posted that day, 41 had posted content about the war, with a total of 93 individual story posts. But what does this content actually accomplish? Are there real world implications from our actions on Instagram, or any other online media platform? 

University of Pennsylvania professor Jonah Berger, author of the New York Times bestseller Contagious: Why Things Catch On, found that the leading factors that play into people posting on social media were social currency, emotion, and practical value. A similar Times survey conducted in 2018 found that boosting one’s self-image is the biggest reason people post and interact with online users. One survey participant said, “I try to share only information that will reinforce the image I’d like to present: thoughtful, reasoned, kind, interested, and passionate about certain things.” Social media is yet another vehicle for people to buy and sell their own personas and egos. Digital commodification is a topic for another day, but it’s important to keep in mind when thinking about why people post; I could write an entirely different article on how late-stage capitalism eclipses and tends to diminish interest in true civic engagement. 

Activism and civic engagement as a whole exist on a spectrum, and individuals’ levels of engagement will always differ. Some may have the time, money, and ability to join a protest or donate to an aid organization. Others may only be willing or able to perform the simplest action of liking an Instagram post. 

Many would characterize the latter side of this spectrum as “slacktivism,” a term coined by Dwight Ozard and Fred Clark in 1995 which refers to the act of supporting a political cause or movement with very minimal effort or personal resources. I’ve never been a fan of the term, and 28 years later, “slacktivism” has seemed to become a means of further dividing the political left between “real” and “fake” activists. In addition to the never-ending online discourse around political movements and crises themselves there is further discourse around how we ought to talk about these movements and take action on social media platforms. 

This division makes online platforms incredibly volatile spaces, mostly thanks to our short online attention spans and the ability to speak our minds behind the safety of our screens. People, for the most part, don’t take the time to really think before posting something. Instagram is designed to keep you entertained and engaged. That comes at the cost of being accurately informed on an issue or able to have productive discussions. 

The online fallout after the Oct. 17 Al-Ahli Arab Hospital explosion in Gaza City is a prime example of social media’s unparalleled potential to spread misinformation and create animosity. Initial world headlines suggested that the Israeli military was responsible for the explosion, which was deemed to be an intentional airstrike. For a day or so posts circulated and blame was traded. Not long after, news sources retracted these headlines, eventually agreeing that a misfired rocket from the Palestinian Islamic Jihad was responsible, and apologized for acting on insufficient evidence. Online arguments continued to unfold. 

Ultimately, war is incredibly difficult to accurately report on. As of now we don’t really know who’s to blame, although recent evidence suggests a misfired rocket was destroyed by Israel’s Iron Dome defense system in the immediate vicinity of the hospital. Most importantly, the more filters a piece of news goes through the more blurred it becomes, and the news we consume online is incredibly filtered. 

During the immediate days following the explosion, I noticed Instagram users using these conflicting headlines to further their own arguments and — going back to the concept of social currency — bolster their self-image and stance on the conflict as a whole. 

So we know why people post online, and we know what happens when you mix that with heavy, emotionally-tolling issues that many people have physical ties to, the Israel-Hamas war being the current example. But who benefits from this online anger, volatility, and misinformation? It’s not the people of the United States — anti-Arab and antisemitic acts of hate and violence are incredibly high right now, and we are more divided on the Israel —

Palestine conflict than ever before. The Gazans who desperately need clean water do not need an influencer’s infographic endlessly circulating, they need donations from all of us and aid from the United States government. The only people benefiting from what a recent Atlantic article aptly described as the “informational jungle” and “tangled vegetation” that has taken over social media platforms following the Oct. 7 massacre are those contributing to this “jungle.”  

I’m not saying not to post about the Israel–Palestine conflict. Social media is many people’s first experience with activism and a gateway to political awareness. Others rely on social media to know when protests are happening, or to discover organizations to donate to. What I am asking is for people to be more cognizant as to why they post something, what immediate effect that post has in an online space, and who may be actually benefiting from it.

While it was my second choice school, I knew in my heart that it was the right choice for me. So my logic was that, by purposefully oversleeping through such a big decision that would determine the “after” section of my life, I wouldn’t be too disappointed if I saw other people casually posting about it on social media. I fumbled with my password, entering two different versions of it, but when I finally entered the correct version, red and yellow lit up my computer screen. There was the typical college celebration: a celebratory cake, new sweatshirts, and stickers sent in the mail, but it was especially meaningful. Like so many from the class of 2025 or 2026, my senior year of high school was immensely challenging academically, socially, and mentally, and I was excited to leave it behind and start anew.

Yet, even with my excitement for Oberlin, I also had a distaste for going to college in Ohio. From the perspective of a practically lifelong New Jerseyan and East Coast resident, Ohio was a cornfield, a liminal space, and surely nothing but an escape from everything I was previously familiar and comfortable with. I guess it’s also part of a greater internet trend of seeing Ohio as the most destitute and isolated state, even out of the Midwest, but I found the memes about Ohio’s mediocrity funny. I eagerly told everyone about how difficult it would be for me to “brave it out.” 

There have been many pieces written across Oberlin’s publications talking about the dangers of this narrative. By joking that I was “going to school in a cornfield,” Oberlin, not only the state of Ohio, became nothing more than a cornfield to me. I came into Oberlin with the expectation of it being nothing but a school in the middle of nowhere, and that’s how it treated me. It was easier to complain about the bad dining hall food, the 40-minute drive to Cleveland, and the flatness of campus than to give it a genuine chance. My doubts about Oberlin began to translate onto myself as a person. It felt like I was always one second behind in class and conversation; the illusion to people back home that I was doing well felt like it was slowly slipping away. Coupled with an Omicron outbreak that sent classes online and some personal issues, I finished the semester feeling subpar. I began questioning if Oberlin truly was the right decision. I considered logging onto CommonApp again and looking for other schools that were perhaps in a sunnier location, had a bigger campus, and were closer to home. Oberlin had assured me that I could be one person who could change the world, but maybe they were wrong. 

I’m not sure what exactly prevented me from starting another application. Nevertheless, I convinced myself to give Oberlin one more chance. My mindset didn’t change overnight, and I still had doubts about what I wanted to make out of my time here. But I realized that Oberlin wasn’t the solution to my problems. By framing it as such in the first place, it made finding the faults that much easier. This time, when I joined a new class or extracurricular, it was more about taking it day by day, not trying to make some grandiose expectation to live up to by the end of the semester. 

By now, I’ve found some amount of purpose and joy in what I’ve been doing. I’ve learned to say no and quit, which seems like a major action at a school where almost everyone is running from place to place following a packed Google Calendar schedule. There’s often a narrative that comes with college, specifically Oberlin, that it is the place where we will find the answers. But right now, before the Thanksgiving and finals rush, it feels much harder to find a reason for continuing our routines or lifestyles at Oberlin. In truth, these questions will take time to answer, maybe even long after we all graduate. It’s easy to make fun of Oberlin and even the greater state of Ohio for its mistakes, but there’s also a chance to appreciate it for what it does have. It’s okay if your first, second, or even third semester isn’t social-media worthy. 

This article is not in full defense of Oberlin. I agree with many criticisms of the College that have all been widely documented, especially in the last few years. And this isn’t to say my life hasn’t magically gotten better or easier since rethinking Oberlin. But it’s a reminder to myself and to others that Oberlin is what you make of it. It’s either a place of opportunity or nothing but a cornfield in the Midwest. Maybe we can’t change the world in four years, but we can start with ourselves. 

My first semester at Oberlin, I enrolled in a course called Introduction to Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies. I examined the syllabus with an excited eye. The readings were from many of my favorite authors and intellectuals like Angela Davis, Bell Hooks, and June Jordan, along with an array of authors whose work I had not been exposed to. Despite the diversity emphasized in the course readings, I attended the class and was surprised to find that I was one of a handful of students of color in attendance. 

Over time I quickly noticed the impact that the racial makeup of the class had on student-led discussions. While analyzing systems of oppression was expected in classroom discussions, many students who were not POC discussed America’s systems of oppression without race in mind. When referring to America’s power system, which subjugates Brown, Black, impoverished, and queer people, students harshly critiqued the system, rarely acknowledging their own participation and place in upholding the system they critiqued. I remember a particular white student who would often remark on the amusingly cringey things white people would do. Afterward, many other white students in the class would agree and remarked on their own experiences of “ridiculous things white people would say.” 

  I listened both enraged and stunned — why did my white peers think that they were separate from the white people they were making fun of? They too were born into privilege and were just as capable of holding unfair biases toward people of color and making tone-deaf remarks. The harm of my peers’ comments is that they separated themselves from systems of oppression; it implied that by being woke and liberal, a white individual does not have the status of “whiteness” in America. By the status of “whiteness,” I refer to the inherent racial position of power and privilege of being born white in America. Privilege does not change based on one’s personal political views. When the white students in my classes refuse to acknowledge their own place in the racial hierarchy, they are not truly interrogating the systems of oppression which they are critiquing. In addition, these students harm their peers of color. Much of the privilege that white people hold and the experiences of racism that impact people of color are normalized. The normalization of Black and Brown people’s marginalization can make it more challenging for people of color to express themselves. When white Oberlin students separate themselves from systems of oppression, they, like much of the world they critique, are creating a culture where it becomes difficult for students of color to discuss their own marginalization. There is no acknowledgement of their experiences of oppression within Oberlin’s campus, even when, at times, the oppression is enacted by the white Oberlin students themselves.  

Another aggravation I felt from my class discussions in my GSFS  was the lack of intersectionality when discussing queer issues. While many students in the class had interesting things to say about issues affecting queer people, I noticed that, when I brought up the oppressive experiences of queer people specific to people of color, there would be few students who responded or added comments. Not acknowledging the ways queer experiences differ based on class and race can make it more challenging for queer students of color to feel comfortable in these spaces. 

The lack of intersectionality in queer spaces at Oberlin is an issue I have felt beyond my GSFS class. Many of these spaces center the experiences of white students. I have found it incredibly difficult to engage in the queer community at Oberlin. I am a Black queer woman. I consider my sexuality an imperative aspect of my identity, but just as imperative, if not more so, is my racial identity. My race, gender, and sexuality are all inherently linked. When I feel I am being asked to separate these identities within a space, I do not feel comfortable.

Due to the ignorance and tone-deafness of many of my white peers, my Intro to Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies class became a very challenging space for me to be in. There is something incredibly frustrating about discussing readings and issues that directly relate to one’s own identity and not feeling heard. I felt that my peers didn’t want to actually critique systems of oppression. Instead, it seems, they would rather use it as an opportunity to showcase their separation from other white and privileged people. 

Once my class ended, I decided to shift my focus to other departments such as English, Africana Studies, and Politics in order to better engage with my own gender and racial identities. However, I truly wish that I had the opportunity to explore issues of race, gender, and sexuality within the GSFS major as I had desired upon coming to Oberlin. 

If Oberlin students wish to study gender, sexuality, and feminism, they must acknowledge their own privilege and the specific experience of people of color within these areas. Without doing so, they fail to truly understand and analyze gendered systems of power. Oberlin’s students of color deserve to feel heard and cared for, especially in spaces which are intended to center marginalized experiences.

Individuals should be able to openly share their perspectives as long as they’re not promoting hate speech or spreading threats. Having an awareness of how words impact others allows people to think critically about their own opinions. This awareness reminds people to evaluate whether or not their statements are conducive to a given discussion. Words can carry weight, so as we contribute to a conversation, taking a moment to think about what we are going to say is vital. 

A lot of the time, when someone shares their personal opinion, those who think differently will try to persuade them to agree with their own outlook. Though these people feel it’s necessary to try to change someone’s opinion, talking at someone instead of talking with them isn’t practical. It either strengthens their original beliefs or dissuades them from sharing in the first place. Creating an environment where people feel comfortable sharing and discussing their views is important for productive discourse. Openly sharing opinions can create open discussion surrounding issues that are hard to digest alone. During the discussion, people can simply challenge and present arguments in a way that’s not too forceful. If someone wishes to change their perspective one can highlight more of their insights as a way to provide guidance. Some might view challenging opinions as unsettling, but that’s how some of the best discussions start. 

As important as it is to maintain an open mind during discussions, it is just as important to be confident in your own opinions. It can be hard to have confidence in sharing and challenging opinions due to potential harmful pushback. On social media, one of the many realms that our generation uses to voice our opinions, there’s often cruel pushback to opinions people disagree with. This pushback can be even more intimidating if this takes place in a public environment such as the internet or even in the classroom. The internet especially can be quite dangerous, since there are a lot of individuals who seek to bash people who don’t share the same opinions as them. There are also many people who intentionally use social media to spread hate. 

When it comes to classroom discussions, it can be challenging for some people to express their viewpoints because of the fear of saying something “wrong” and being viewed a certain way by the class. However, sharing opinions in classroom settings can cause connections to form. I’ve noticed that within Oberlin’s community, there are active discussions surrounding hot-button issues, even in casual settings. But when it comes to classroom settings, people are a little more hesitant. Let’s continue to have open minds in and out of the classroom to create a comfortable environment that can allow people to share their opinions. Someone might share the same perspective as you. Bouncing opinions and ideas off one another can allow people to understand the class content better. 

While this is a positive outlook, there remains this pressure of being like-minded within a communal space. How does one overcome this hesitation to share opinions?

Opinions don’t define us because they can change. I’ve noticed this belief going around that “people are too sensitive nowadays,” which is contributing to this hesitation with sharing opinions. Speaking out about issues and sharing opinions should not be seen as “sensitive,” which has contributed to people not wanting to share their opinions.  

Sharing opinions is a somewhat vulnerable task since they’re often based on personal experiences or how we’ve been brought up. This vulnerability might cause some to feel like they shouldn’t share their opinions at all. Nonetheless, opinions don’t necessarily determine what type of person you are; they highlight a stance or perspective. Opinions are not set in stone; as people grow, opinions grow, so we should all share them to continue learning. Opinions can force people to remember these matters and initiate change.

This concept of how randomness affects social interaction is crucial to understanding how people socialize and interact. It also may allow us to understand the recent epidemic of loneliness in the United States.“Young adults suffer high rates of both loneliness and anxiety and depression,” explains the Harvard Graduate School of Education in an article published with the Making Caring Common Project “According to a recent CDC survey, 63 percent of this age group are suffering significant symptoms of anxiety or depression.” 

If I were to pinpoint a factor for this increase in loneliness and lack of mental well-being, I would put it squarely upon individual convenience and the design of modern society. Processes that promote individual convenience make time consuming tasks easier but, in doing so, often isolate us. An example of this would be driving a car as opposed to taking the train. When you drive, you operate as an individual. If you drive to work, it is unlikely that you will bump into another person and strike up a conversation during your commute, or even be in the vicinity of another person for an extended period of time. On the other hand, taking the train, or any other public transport, is communal. While on the train, you occupy the same space as strangers for an extended period of time. You are forced to have random interactions and, as such, are afforded more opportunities to be social.

This phenomenon can be seen clearly on campus. The places where the most interaction between strangers happens are gathering places like Wilder Hall or Mudd Center. I’ve noticed these communal spaces reduced this year. The new system in the Rathskeller is one example. Last year, students were forced to wait together in a physical line to order and receive their food. Now, you just order on the app. I met at least four people who I would now consider friends while waiting in line last year. This type of interaction can no longer occur.

If the number of people who congregate is reduced, less people interact by happenstance. I feel this type of interaction is vital to an interactive social landscape. I believe that such a landscape would entail an environment where people are constantly in the presence of others, which, by the nature of statistics and the aforementioned randomness, will have people interact, forming new ties and bonds. 

If we were to incentivize these interactions and, more importantly, this kind of environment, then we would begin to see this epidemic of loneliness shrink. We can accomplish this by taking measures to make sure students have as many opportunities as possible to cross paths with one another. I propose that more action be taken by the College to incentivize students to leave their rooms, to go out in the world, and participate in events. Action does not need to be conducted by the College alone, as students play a crucial role in reviving our campus’s social atmosphere; this concept of randomness only works if there is someone to sit next to in the first place.

This is why I propose that the College should be allowing more freedom in the breadth of events possible on campus. This could be done by loosening the red tape involved with hosting an event and increasing awareness among students about how to host sevents. On the other hand, students should be working to bring their already planned events into the limelight and introduce new ones. To garner this amount of interest, I argue that outdoor events are crucial. The only places where students consistently need to go are to class and to buildings like Wilder or Mudd. However, once someone is inside of those buildings, they are less likely to get sidetracked by events. If you are walking through the hallway of King Building and someone is hosting a major event in a room, you most likely will not go in there. Hence, I believe that there should be outdoor stalls and other eye-catching affairs happening regularly. A prime example of what this could look like is the club fair earlier in the year. Personally, despite wanting to work on some homework in Mudd, I got sidetracked and ended up going from table to table, meeting people, and signing up for clubs that seemed interesting. Events like these pull people’s interest and allow for social connections to be formed. A large enough jumpstart, on both ends, from students and the College could begin a chain reaction, bringing more people out of their rooms into public spaces, creating more events and interactions, and bringing more people out. This could repeat and repeat until we have fully repaired our social ecosystem, bringing it back to where it once was, and maybe even beyond that. 

The two politicians were the primary sponsors of Ohio Senate Resolution 215, which “oppose[s] proposed constitutional amendment Issue 1.” They expanded and rationalized their words through their own “On the Record” statements, featured on the Ohio 135th General Assembly websites. The pieces not only had the emotionally charged language of an ASPCA animal cruelty commercial, but also had paragraphs upon paragraphs devoted to deceitful statements.

Many of the utterances featured in the above statement were fact-checked by a constitutional law expert and ultimately proven to be false or at the least, extremely misleading. They claimed that the bill would remove parental rights; this topic did not appear in the full text of the bill whatsoever. They asserted that abortion would be allowed at any time during the pregnancy; there is explicit language within the bill that says otherwise. Similar statements to theirs made by their fellow Republican politicians were also fact-checked and shown to be deceptive. In response to this, Reynolds doubled down, writing that “proponents and some media fact-checkers say that is not true. Issue 1 would not allow these procedures because they are never explicitly mentioned. They have it exactly backwards.” You heard it here first, even the fact checkers are wrong! Do not trust the independent and respected academics, but rather blindly believe whatever your legislators tell you. After all, if there is one word that everyone associates with politicians, it’s honesty. 

When Roe v. Wade was overturned in 2022, Roegner responded to the nationwide backlash by declaring that “it is important to remember the decision did not outlaw abortion. Rather, the court returned the issue to the states where it belongs.” Roegner was clearly very adamant that we not misinterpret this decision to be more extreme than it actually is. A little over a year later, it seems that she shockingly no longer believes this and is more than happy to exaggerate the effects of Issue 1. Who would have guessed that her principles would flip as soon as they no longer benefited her own personal agenda?

One of the nastier arguments against the bill made by Roegnor in her announcement stated that, in regards to possible exceptions for abortion in cases of health concerns, “Anything could be defined as a threat to a patient’s health, especially her mental health. If a patient decides in the ninth month of her pregnancy that a child would be too inconvenient, it wouldn’t take much of a nudge to persuade an abortion-providing doctor that her mental health was at stake.” It’s so great to hear that Roegner sees mental health as a way to cheat the system and not as a growing crisis facing many Ohioans, the very people she is supposed to be a public servant for. In fact, in 2021 “suicide was the second-leading cause of death among Ohioans 10–34 years of age and the 12th-leading cause of death in Ohio, overall.”

Roegnor represents the 27th district of Ohio, the same place I grew up and currently vote in. I know firsthand that nonprofits and organizations in Summit County are fighting hard to mitigate the stigma against mental illness and provide resources for those experiencing these issues. They do not need Roegnor to undo the work they have done by insinuating that poor mental health is not as severe and detrimental as it actually is. We do not need her to accuse individuals seeking abortions of exaggerating or completely fabricating their mental concerns to doctors in order to gain consent for the procedure. I would encourage the senator to do more research into the correlation between mental health conditions and pregnancy-related deaths, as mental health conditions are the leading cause of these fatalities, accounting for a staggering 23 percent of them. So yes, mental health could be defined as a threat to a patient’s health. And it should be.

I cannot help but wonder if Reynolds and Roegnor feel any sort of shame for using intentionally incendiary language and outright falsehoods to manipulate voters. Most reasonable people would morally disagree with constant lying and hypocrisy; clearly these two do not feel the same cognitive dissonance. As Ohioans, we not only should expect better from our elected officials, but we deserve better too.

On Sept. 15, 2023, ABUSUA held a community meeting to discuss issues around campus. A big issue that was discussed was AVI Foodsystems. Relating to Afrikan Heritage House, we found these to be the biggest issues: 

 1. The main priority that we would like to discuss is lunch in A-House. In our 2020 demands, we asked for Campus Dining Services to offer more meals catered to students of color. In our demands, it was agreed upon that this was a temporary measure contingent on the pandemic; however, it was also stated that we would be in constant communication. We did not have any communication directly with A-House or ABUSUA about possibly losing this staple. This year, Black students are battling communication issues in all departments, and it has become evident that administrators do not understand how important it is to communicate issues with students, especially those who live in intentional spaces and are the minority group on campus. Lunch in Lord-Saunders’ dining hall served more than just A-House, and was an option for all South Campus students. While we know dining is not perfect, students are forced to overcrowd the other options on campus and not have a closer option on South Campus. We would love lunch back or to discuss compromises such as Friday dinner, etc. 

2. With that being said, we need more staff! A huge reason why lunch and dinner  are low in numbers is because there is not enough staff to ensure that students are tapping. In Stevenson Dining Hall, there is a staff member near the sign-in who will literally follow anyone who enters without swiping in. If the administration doesn’t respect A-House, neither will students, and it has shown in our numbers. Aside from people not tapping, our consistent staff is cleaning up later than staff at other dining halls because there are so few of them. They are overworked and because of that, we as students get the short end of the stick. We are hoping that you would consider giving A-House more Black staff such as Ms. Erica and Mrs. Katreena. We know that the process for picking is based on seniority; however, in a safe and intentional space, we are asking for staff members who look like us and understand the food that is being served. Also consider giving Mr. Eugene a raise or a higher title because he has been pivotal in the community, ensuring that we are happy, and getting the things that we need. 

3. In addition, the menu needs consistency. The menu doesn’t accurately reflect the African diaspora. We would love to discuss the recipes that y’all are using and try to make this better for students. It is great to have a space that reflects our food, but it should not be done lazily and research must be done into our culture. Also, like any other dining hall, the menu online should reflect what’s being served and what’s on the menu display. 

4. Language and what you say is important. We have heard from many incoming students, parents, and AVI staff members that “A-House has good fried chicken on Sunday.” You may not see this as a problem; however, there are huge undertones when you say this! A-House has more than fried chicken, and we are more than that. This goes with having low attendance at other times — when you don’t promote our lunch and other dinner recipes, how do you expect to get more students? Instead, you could say, “A-House is both an intentional learning and living environment that has a dining hall attached to it with amazing food catered to the African diaspora.” We are the only dorm that does a high amount of programming and activism on campus and it is horrible to hear both your staff and students only attach fried chicken to Black students.

5. A big problem for all South Campus students is the lack of dining on our side of campus. We are separated from all things when it comes to programming and dining. A-House needs dining hours back. Think about it like this: we have to walk 15 minutes for food, and once we get back, the food is cold. There is a rush hour during lunch, so students have to choose whether to eat and wait in line or starve. In addition, as mentioned earlier, if the menu is not accurately reflected, students are walking to North Campus and then are disappointed when they don’t get the meal they expected. AVI could send an announcement through the mobile order app or put it on social media. These problems are exacerbated when it is cold outside. 

6. Lastly, we just ask for respect. AVI had a meeting in Saunders Lounge and, maybe they didn’t realize it, but they were occupying space without thinking about the community they were in. Students see A-House as an intentional and cultural space, so to have non-Black staff occupying that space with no warning is rude and can be triggering. Please advise staff members to not do that if possible. 

ABUSUA would like to continue future dialogue with the Oberlin administration on forming a better relationship between students of color on campus and AVI.

All of this against a backdrop of war in Israel and Gaza where we both have family and friends affected. And quite frankly, we are affected too. That meeting is what brought about this piece, which we hope will inspire further change and exchange, if only at the smallest level.

This is not an op-ed about our politics and views on the conflict in Israel–Palestine, which  we may agree on, in some instances  and differ on others — maybe there will be future articles about our own opinions. But that is the beauty of being on a college campus, especially a campus like Oberlin, where the exchange of ideas and experiences should be enlightening and educational. We look around the country and see people barricaded in buildings out of fear of walking around their campus or worried someone will act violently against them. This cannot be our Oberlin. Oberlin must uphold its tradition of being an intellectual high ground as well as a visionary and leader in how the world thinks and acts.

So, what does this mean? We have to be willing to engage with each other, to hear stories, perspectives, and even facts that might offend our sensibilities or contradict what we have heard in the past. It is dangerous and detrimental to have a policy that dissuades dialogue. We have to be humble enough to listen when people tell us certain phrases that may feel like an attack or even a threat. We have to work toward building understanding rather than giving voice to inflammatory statements and intimidation. We have to give room for people to talk and to mourn. We have to fully embrace the complexities of one another. Reach out to your Palestinian and Jewish peers, connect with them on a human level, and discuss these issues in earnest without retreating into echo chambers. That is the luxury we — half a world away from the bombing — have been afforded, and it is imperative that we utilize it mindfully.

This is a plea to the Oberlin community at large. Let’s remember the humanity of each other on campus. Let’s be willing to roll up our sleeves, open our minds and hearts, and engage in constructive dialogue that creates rather than destroys. Palestinians and Israelis, Muslims and Jews, and any interested party are capable of having civil discourse. It may not seem that way, considering the very difficult history we are all far too familiar with, but something that seems impossible need not be unattainable.

It is not necessary to remain apolitical. It is not necessary to let go of our deeply held convictions when engaging in conversation. But it is absolutely necessary to consider the deeply held convictions and the experiences of those we are engaging with and to make conversation in a way that does not compromise our community and our shared humanity. We hope that you will join us in this spirit so Oberlin can truly be a model to other campuses, to show America that communities can thrive amid differences and engage in more complex and thoughtful expression on campus.

We are united under a shared belief in peace and the strength of unity. That has always been true of Oberlin, where intellectual integrity and honesty have historically gone hand in hand with activism, strong emotions, and important and often difficult discourses. Our community must remain stronger than the disagreements threatening to tear it apart. Our individual interactions as human beings must remain more important than our group interactions as political entities. As threats and violence against both Jewish and Palestinian communities rise across the U.S., Oberlin can, and must, be an example of peace and understanding, of healthy disagreement, and of cohesion. That is, and will remain, our legacy.

It has been a complex and difficult experience to exist as a Jewish person at Oberlin who strongly believes in and advocates for the freedom of the Palestinian people. I do not believe that complex and difficult experiences should be avoided. It is through this discomfort that we can all grow into the best versions of ourselves, able to hold nuanced and compassionate opinions. 

In times of tragedy and loss, it is of the utmost importance that we support each other in our grief and acknowledge the collective suffering that we are experiencing. Oberlin is a community that emphasizes the importance of empathy and compassion as well as justice and activism. But have we been holding ourselves true to these ideals? I’ve noticed that some of the activism that has been happening on campus lately does not seem to come from a space of compassion, and it is certainly not leading to any justice. 

I had a conversation a few weeks ago that keeps running through my head. It was the night after the war broke out, and I happened to be at a party. One person wished to celebrate the cause for Palestinian liberation. I was ready to celebrate with them. Then they said to the group and also to me, unprompted, “If you have friends or family in Israel, I’m sorry, but suck it up. It’s our turn.” My mother’s best friend’s cousin and his entire family died two days later. Since then, I have lost contact with multiple Israeli students that I had shared choir rehearsals with in high school. I am praying for them.

On the other hand — though this is by no means a two-sided issue, it is much more complex than that — memorials and vigils put up on campus for Palestinian victims have been taken down, trashed, and otherwise destroyed since the start of the war. I feel sick to my stomach when I attempt to fathom the sense of entitlement and the lack of respect that would drive students to destroy a memorial. 

The dismissal of the humanity of the lives lost in the Israel–Hamas war is beyond disturbing to me. Each of these deaths, which now total over 10,000, is a tragedy and a loss. Why do we refuse to acknowledge the pain and suffering on every side of the war? 

These events show that in the face of global tragedy, we are on the verge of losing our humanity and our willingness to support each other in our collective grief. I do not know what to say. I am grieving and I am afraid. But I am not alone. We are all grieving and afraid. Why can’t we acknow- ledge that? 

Many of us here at Oberlin are faced with absolute devastation in the news and through our own personal and interpersonal connections to the region. Meanwhile, around the world, antisemitic and Islamophobic hate crimes are increasing at an astonishing rate. And yet, we seem to be disconnecting from each other and disengaging from difficult and compassionate conversations rather than coping together as a caring community. We are failing to support each other. In my year and a half at Oberlin, I have never felt this distanced from my classmates. If we as a campus, thousands of miles away from the Middle East, cannot find common ground or at least acknowledge the tragedy of lives lost on every side of the war, how can we hope for a just and peaceful resolution to the conflict in the Israeli-Palestinian territory? 

It is true that atrocities have been committed by both the Israeli military and by Hamas.Those are conversations we absolutely need to have. I also think we all need to have conversations about our lost loved ones to keep their memories alive and to create spaces where we feel safe to grieve. We all need to provide each other with support, empathy, and communal care. We all have the choice to either invalidate the weight of each others’ grief or to bear the heaviness together as a community.

It seems that the current Oberlin administration has something of an inferiority complex with regard to its standing. Just a few weeks ago, Campus Digest felt the need to complain that Oberlin was not highly ranked in the U.S. News and World Report — as if that ranking was at all an objective measure of quality rather than just the most prestigious colleges currying for favor to achieve a good ranking in a prominent national newspaper. But this does fall into the current administration’s determination to run the College as a business, an unsurprising but regrettable display of the business mindset that pervades postmodern capitalist society. And what is the easiest way for a business to turn a profit but by imitating what is already profitable? And for Oberlin, this means imitating the cookie-cutter model of a modern urban university. And what way is more iconic than the architectural renovations Oberlin loves so much these days?

Oberlin has been in the process of “updating” much of its infrastructure. Some of it serves a practical purpose, such as making buildings more accessible — (though Wilder Hall’s renovations in the meantime have made things harder for disabled people waiting in line for the Rathskeller), — or admitting more students because Oberlin desperately needs more money. But then there are other changes, such as the newly painted doors and vending machines. Painting the doors  serves no new purpose. This has a similar objective to the numerous building renovations and sleek modern buildings being built on campus, but lacks the practicality. But what these changes have  in common is the conversion of Oberlin’s aesthetic spirit to postmodern capitalism.

Now, make no mistake, I do not hate modern architecture nor do I fetishize old-fashioned architecture. But what I do not like is the erasure of idiosyncratic character in favor of homogeneity. Oberlin’s campus has a unique character that is strengthened by its residents — humans who usually have that spark that does not quite fit into a plan. To attempt to “modernize” Oberlin is to remove the flaws, the imperfections, and the wild humanness that gives it character. I do not believe Oberlin is planning to tear down all of the old buildings, but I do find the new design choices fitting with the administration’s direction. They are the same glass, steel, and fresh brick designs that would be found in any new campus building at any “future-thinking” college in any city or town. While I am not opposed to modern architecture, I am opposed to needless uniform modernization prioritized over character.

When I first pitched this article, I planned to write about how modernist, vaguely futuristic looking renovations were fundamentally dishonest, but for a college that is in decline, I have realized that it is in fact is quite honest. After all, what is a better fit than uniform sterile corporate aesthetics for a college that is gradually tearing down its institutions and determined to turn itself into a soulless business in its quest for profitability? Where unions have been busted and dining food outsourced to another company? Where OSCA has been press-ganged into changing its arrangement with the College effectively, increasing its costs so that the College would not lose a potential source of profit? Where a board of wealthy businesspeople has cut the autonomy professors have traditionally enjoyed? Where students are required to spend hundreds of dollars on interactive textbooks and other expenses on top of the tens of thousands of dollars already being spent by them on education, room, and board? Where student activism has become increasingly ineffective against these changes as the remnants of counterculture fade away, even at one of the most historically countercultural schools?

I do not believe that the College will go bankrupt anytime soon, with or without these changes, but I do believe that Oberlin is at risk of losing much of its uniqueness and turning into a generic, modern, profit-oriented college.