Pomona Senior Pleads for Tenderness

By Adam Graham-Silverman

Maybe I should have known that this was going to be another normal semester. I wake; I sleep; I eat at Frary; someone inevitably pisses on the toilet seat the day after the bathroom is cleaned.

Though it's my last semester my classes do not stand out as particularly exceptional as a whole; I have requirements to fulfill.

It's a shame, since things seemed to be going my way.

I can't say I've ever had a standard semester here at Pomona. Each brings something new.

Bonds which seemed solidified by the end of freshman year were more or less lost by a simple change in location as sophomores. [con't]

For Democracy's Sake, Government War Against Drugs Must Come to Halt

By Julius Mopper

As is the tradition with all great op-ed pieces, I would like to start this one off with a Dylan quote:

Well, they'll stone ya when you're trying to be so good/ They'll stone ya just a-like they said they would../They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to go home./ Then they'll stone ya when you're there all alone./ But I would not feel so all alone/ Everybody must get stoned.

Now we all know that Brother Bob smoked as much weed as the human body can tolerate, but my reading of this "text" (it's actually lyrics from the song "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35") is not that it is a recommendation that everybody get stoned, but rather a parody of the paranoia that surrounds drug use. [con't]

Marginalization of Ethnic Minorities is Pertinent Issue for all Pomona Students

By Greg Gomes

What must it be like to be a minority student at Pomona College?

What must it be like not to be white, and yet to be surrounded by white people all the time, every single day?

What must it be like to be a minority student and to be served by minorities at the dining halls every single day?

What must it be like to go to a school in which your average fellow student simply cannot relate to your family life, cannot relate to your friends back home, and just cannot relate to how you grew up? [con't]

Dispelling the Big-Band Theory

By Jacob Ganz

I think one of my favorite things about Pomona is how much people complain about things here. I'm serious. I appreciate the fact that the diversity and breadth of opinions on campus means that students can almost always find someone to disagree with. The small size of our school ensures that the same complaints circulate with comforting regularity. I enjoy hearing these complaints over and over again, and when I hear people complaining, be they my closest friend or my most devoted enemy, my affection for them blossoms like the plumeria, native to the warm tropical areas of the Pacific Islands, Hawaii, and Mexico. [con't]

We Must Face Hatred

By Scott Laboda

What would it take to make you feel unsafe? A rude note scrawled on your door, a cigarette put out on your bulletin board, or maybe a barrage of emails filled with expletives and epithets? These are just the latest in a series of incidents involving harassment and bigotry on Pomona's campus.

This is a sad trend, especially considering the fact that many Sagehens chose Pomona precisely because we thought it was a place where this sort of thing didn't happen. We weren't trying to escape from reality, just stupidity. People will always have prejudices of one sort or another, but there is no imperative to act on them. These infractions are particularly disturbing because of the way in which the perpetrators resorted to vandalism and trespasses to express their opinions. [con't]

Wavering Politicians Consistently Fail to Address the Issues, People

By Sarah Wagstaff

It's no secret to you that, in general, American politicians at the national level fall near the bottom of the curve when it comes to communications skills. The tired gestures, the silly metaphors, the clever evasions, the oh-so-telling facial expressions. Yeah, you know what I mean: The question is, why don't they know what I mean? I know you've tried to clue them in. You've sent letters, staged protests, made records, directed films, mediated talk shows, written books, done everything short of (and probably including) getting down on your knees and begging for a respite from the bullshit. But somehow, the request- or demand, at this point- is not getting through. [con't]