Voices

Voices is the Op-Ed and personal essay section of The Georgetown Voice. It features the real narratives of diverse students from nearly every corner on campus, seeking to tell some of the incredibly important and yet oft-unheard stories that affect life in and out of Georgetown.

Voices

Carrying on: Life with my father, the rockstar

At 14, in true hippie fashion, my father stopped cutting his hair, started hiding an ash tray under his bed and picked up a guitar. Just a couple of years later, he watched my mother sing for her audition to the 87th St. Gang, their high school’s folk group. “He told them to pick me because I was cute,” she always chimes in at this point in the story. She got in and six years later married my father with flowers in her hair before they moved to San Francisco so he could try to make it big with his band. Had he succeeded, my parents’ early life would make a hit biopic, complete with stills of my mother in hotpants and my father’s face obscured by a massive beard.

By March 22, 2007

Voices

What is it good for? Nothing.

It was a bitterly cold Saint Patrick’s Day, and my mother and I had already lost feeling in our hands. We found the path at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial that led to the anti-war march from the monuments to the Pentagon. There seemed to be more counter-protesters than protesters, and the counter-protesters all seemed to be wearing veteran jackets and American flags, holding angry signs.

By March 22, 2007

Voices

A major with no carrera in sight

One of the biggest hazards of winter break is the long car ride with your parents to the houses of family friends. This is, of course, nothing more than an insidious trap to get the three of you alone so that they can ask probing questions about every detail of your life for hours on end.

By March 15, 2007

Voices

Zesty family life in the Rockies

I spent this past spring break skiing with my friend Colin’s family in Denver. I thought that everyone in Colorado would be horrifically toned, occupying all their time skiing, with super reinforced ice axe straps on everything from their underwear to their book bags. I nervously prepared myself for the trip by assembling a stylish ski ensemble and watching as much of Jackson, Wyo.’s neo-ski cinema that Netflix would send me.

By March 15, 2007

Voices

A $350 problem in Phnom Penh

It’s the cardinal rule of traveling: never store your valuables anywhere except your front pant pocket. What’s more, the Lonely Planet guide for our host country of Cambodia explicitly warned us against the insecurity of backpacker guesthouses. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when my Swedish roommates jostled me awake and asked if I, too, was missing money. As soon as I discovered my missing cash, I knew it was gone and would never come home. We had broken the rule and our disregard had cost us $350.

By March 15, 2007

Voices

Carrying on: The tale of the enchanted rock

Sometime during my first year in the Boy Scouts, I went on a hike and never came back. I wasn’t alone; perhaps five other kids and an adult scoutmaster set off with me early that morning. It was meant to be a five-miler and we were supposed to be back by lunchtime. I wasn’t found until one in the morning.

By March 15, 2007

Voices

The truth about strangers

Unfortunately, it appears that our mothers’ favorite adage about taking candy from strangers is true. Give your amiable bus driver an inch and he’ll take a mile. Chat with the girl beside you in the Safeway line once and she’ll be lying in wait for you by the shopping carts next time you go to buy cereal. Strike up a conversation with the security guard at your office and next thing you know he’ll stop seeing your 30-year age difference as an obstacle to asking you to dinner.

By March 1, 2007

Voices

The roaring bears of Brooklyn

As a National Park Ranger last summer, I was often asked what to do if a bear came into the campsite. This might be a standard question for most park rangers, but I wasn’t surrounded by Yellowstone’s erupting geysers or the rocky majesty of the Grand Canyon, but by weedy fields dotted with occasional clumps of pine trees at Gateway National Recreation Area. The park is Brooklyn’s largest national park, located on the southern tip of the borough. I follow the news pretty closely, but the frequency of the bear question left me wondering whether there was a rash of bear attacks sweeping New York that I hadn’t heard about.

By March 1, 2007

Voices

The rhetorical war against Iran

It has been over five years since George W. Bush’s State of the Union address in which he proclaimed that an “axis of evil” that included the countries of Iraq, Iran and North Korea “threaten the peace of the world.” Bush made it clear that he is willing to take action against such “evil” when he invaded Iraq in 2003, and now there is much discussion about what should be done with Iran and its ambition to obtain nuclear technology. Currently, Americans are being led to believe that Iran is a serious threat to their security (and Israel’s), yet this idea is simply false and based on misquotations and exaggerations.

By March 1, 2007

Voices

Carrying on: One man plays with his Wii

Back in middle school there was always one kid on the baseball team with gangly legs too long for his body and ears too big for his head: that athletic disaster that you didn’t want to see come up to bat, even though you knew that everybody gets to play in Little League. Remember how that kid didn’t really want to get up to bat either? I was that kid, and I excelled more in the field of videogames than on a physical field.

By March 1, 2007

Voices

The woes of Western Sahara

In the vast expanse of the Algerian desert, a hundred thousand refugees from the Western Sahara languish because of Moroccan imperialism. Exiled from their homeland 31 years ago, they wait while the international community averts its eyes from their travesty. As human rights abuses increase inside occupied Western Sahara and a food shortage in the Algerian camps becomes critical, the Western Saharan people need self-determination more than ever before.

By February 22, 2007

Voices

Blue glitter and black Sharpie

I never knew what to write in people’s yearbooks in high school. I wasn’t eloquent enough to state my feelings plainly and I was afraid of the alternatives: overly-sentimental messages that made me cringe or vapid goodbyes that made me question the strength of my friendships. But when my friends always finished their messages in my yearbook and could only wait for so long, I’d scribble something along the lines of “Remember the night we…” or “I could not have asked for a better roommate” and hand the bulky yearbook back, feeling fake.

By February 22, 2007

Voices

To the North and back again

No one is born looking and acting like a Georgetown student. Regardless of where you come from, you have to lose a bit of your identity in order to assimilate to life here. After a few weeks here you realize that your collar has crept up and you’re talking like your new friends from New Jersey.

By February 22, 2007

Voices

Carrying on: A glimmer of red-carpet glamor

I love the Oscars. I love the predictions, the ballots and the “May I have the envelope, please?” I love seeing who brought his mother—Clint Eastwood—and who brought his terribly young, terribly attractive date—Ian McKellen. For one night only, I love Joan Rivers. Every year, I am in front of the television when the countdown begins and the only one still excited when the Best Picture is named four hours later.

By February 22, 2007

Voices

You say tomato, I say you’re wrong

“Can I get a glass of water?”

“I’m sorry, a glass of what?”

“Water.”

“No, you said ‘wooder’. In the rest of the country, we pronounce it wa-ter.”

By February 15, 2007

Voices

From D.C. to a dung hut

If you had predicted freshman year over dinner at Leo’s that I would join the Peace Corps, I would have laughed till ginger ale shot out my nose. Then I would tell you about a trip my family took to Kenya when I was seven. I ate gazelle, chased baboons, and enjoyed myself thoroughly. But, visiting a Masai village, my brother pointed at the walls of the dung huts and told me just what dung was. Shit? I was in the Business School freshman year, and though I didn’t know what I wanted to do after, my plans in no way included a dung hut in Africa.

By February 15, 2007

Voices

Carrying on: A desperate woman knocks

My dad and I had just sat down to a spaghetti dinner when the pounding on the door began. It was furious and incessant, as if someone were trying to knock the door down. My dad hurriedly shuffled to the door and opened it a crack. A screaming woman forced her arm through the opening and the rest of her body followed. Someone, she said, was trying to kill her. Running over, I caught a glimpse of the snowy moonlit expanse outside the front door. There, wild, noble-looking and gray, stood a Siberian Husky. The door slammed shut, and my dad twisted the deadbolt into place.

By February 15, 2007

Voices

Monologues counterproductive

I would like to thank Jessica Bachman (“Censure for a Censor”) for raising important questions about my not funding subsidies for tickets to the Vagina Monologues in my role as Faculty in Residence for the Culture and Performance Living and Learning Community (CPLLC). I would also like to thank her for writing a balanced article, even though the editorial staff of the Voice cut out most of her quotes of my substantive arguments. (I’ve seen the original form of her piece, and it is much better and fairer than what the Voice published.) I would, nonetheless, like to respectfully disagree with Ms. Bachman’s opinion that my conscientious decision not to subsidize tickets to the Vagina Monologues was religious discrimination against the students who wanted to see it. My current policy is to personally match the price of each ticket purchased by a CPLLC member with a donation to My Sister’s Place, the charity that the Monologues support. I feel that this is a reasonable compromise between either subsidizing the tickets or not subsidizing them.

By February 15, 2007

Voices

Censure for a censor

Believe it or not, there is a group of Georgetown students who would rather spend their Friday nights baking bread from scratch or watching King Richard III at the Shakespeare Theater than competing in beer-pong tournaments. These students live on the Culture and Performance Living and Learning Community (CPLLC), a unique outlet for creative Hoyas. But when the CPLLC refused to subsidize its members’ tickets to the University-sponsored production of Eve Ensler’s the Vagina Monologues, I was confronted with the sad reality that even Georgetown’s more progressive institutions are unable to escape censorship and discrimination.

By February 8, 2007

Voices

Chillin’ with my faux Jew ‘fro

I hate yarmulkes. They mess up my hair. And because they cover up the spot on your head where men typically begin balding, I used to think that they make you go bald.

By February 8, 2007