After 34,000 Palestinians have been killed, students at American universities have stepped up to say not in our names. The BDS (Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions) movement is not a new one in the United States but this is certainly a watershed moment in its nearly 20 year history. Gen Z has taken up this cause after a brutal 7 month war on the Palestinian people funded and supported by the US government.
The 2024 encampment movement first began at Vanderbilt on March 26, and was amplified by Columbia University protests on April 17th. At Columbia, student actions echoed 1968 campus protests opposing the Vietnam War and 1985 anti-apartheid protests.
Students have always served as a moral compass for social movement organizing, given the time and opportunity they have to live their values and put their bodies on the line. The truth is, for most people, putting their bodies on the line in protest is a possibility only for a short window of their life, as responsibilities to family and work obligations make this risk less tenable. And it is risky. But with risks also comes opportunities.
This is an opportunity for students to learn how to be effective political actors. The wins and failures of this moment will stay with them forever. This is an opportunity for universities to live their espoused democratic and free speech values and invite scrutiny into often opaque investment processes. This is an opportunity for educators to think about how to support the young people we teach, protect them, and support their strategizing.
We know that what comes of this moment simply sets up the next generation of protesters to win more. Every action moves us forward.
currently reading
After seeing American Fiction, I’ve set up my own little Percival Everett trilogy this spring. It’s been a joy to get back to fiction after teaching last quarter and Percival Everett’s work is a sharp and witty escape. I’ve read his books Erasure and The Trees and I’ve just begun James, which the literary girls (haha, so to speak) are raving about. It’s a retelling of that ~classic~ American novel, Huckleberry Finn, from his enslaved friend Jim’s perspective.
Part of my interests in fiction are the ways writers tinker with form and how their prose evokes feelings. Everett’s writing is creative and provocative— a joy to read and learn from. He’s particularly good about excavating the internal narratives of folks who don’t often get to be the center of the story.
can billionaires make good music?
I’ve been tossing this question around for a while given both Beyonce and Taylor’s new albums. I don’t want to be reductive about either of them, certainly. Working at your craft consistently for many years is laudable. And Beyonce specifically is deeply interested in history, genre, craft, while Taylor is invested in songwriting.
But when we get down to storytelling, the substance of music that draws from the drama of real life experiences… I can’t help but think that both of these women are far too removed from reality to speak in any substantive way to people.
When they drop music, the earth shakes, heaven moves, and they occupy public space and discourse. Their music is dissected and turned over and over in our heads and ears. And I’m not one of those people who can’t enjoy things— “II Hands II Heaven” and “Ya Ya” went double platinum in my house…okay, as did Taylor’s weird ditty with Florence, “Florida!!!”
But the critical part of my brain is like… why? There’s very little meaningful struggle in this music: there’s lovers, haters, working hard, working through. Broad universal themes that make the music fun and enjoyable. But these artists and songs don’t move my soul, like— say, “Fast Car.” That song is about going through something.
When Renaissance came out, I felt I wouldn’t go to the concert. It was too expensive certainly. Also, I had already been to a Beyonce concert back in Chicago and it felt… almost too big.
I was there, in Soldier Field, with thousands of fellow fans, in the nosebleeds. And there was Beyonce: a tiny speck on stage with billowing hair and amazing costumes. But I felt disconnected from what was happening. I felt like a concert should be more intimate— like the time my friends and I were dancing in the rafters of the Tabernacle as the Decembrists clanged on their cymbals, or bopping in the crowd when Kendrick or Chance performed at my college. I think it’s hard to relate when entertainers are a business, too big to fail, too big to connect.
Part of my angst here might also be the ways pop culture is flying high above politics these days and how celebrity and art merges less and less with political struggle than it seemed to in the past. Perhaps, as I discussed with colleagues last week, the stakes are simply higher now for the celebrity class: if you have a chance to be a billionaire through your talent or fame, doesn’t it seem like alienating members of the public with your political opinions could cost you…a billion dollars?
Anyway. Eat the rich. Stream Tracy Chapman.