RUSA had a good grabber for their budget meeting: “Where does your money go?” I didn’t stick around long enough to find out the answer to that question. Instead, I left after becoming both overwhelmed and underwhelmed by the first hour of the event—overwhelmed by the amount of information thrown at me; and underwhelmed by the absence of tools to make sense of it all.

The last three and a half weeks have been incredibly stressful, and I am sure those readers who are familiar with the recent controversies facing BAKA: Students United for Middle Eastern Justice can understand why. BAKA is a secular and political campus organization that attempts to combat injustices by raising awareness of those injustices currently taking place in the Middle East and its Diasporas. While I am a member of BAKA’s executive board, this article conveys opinions that belong to me as an individual rather than the group as a whole.

You’re out and about or in and around, just doing what you do when you’re one or the other, and, ka-pow, you’re knocked aside the head with a seemingly racist comment. What do you do?

Recently, during a panel session on Arab-American affairs, I asked, “What do you believe to be the role of Muslim secularists and Muslim-Atheists in revolutionary movements which have been increasingly framed in an Islamic context?” I meant this in reference to the global Islamic Revival which followed the 1967 Six Day War. Grumbles of disagreement occurred almost immediately, and I was confused as to why my inquiry had caused controversy.

I ‘unthinkingly’ made an offensive quip about homosexuality the other day. I did not consider the content of the joke, the people in my presence, or the impact the joke would have. I just didn’t think. I suppose I thought the joke was harmless. I only realized the seriousness, the disgusting homophobic undertone inscribed in my words, after they were uttered. I am still mortified about my carelessness. For that brief moment, I allowed myself to mimic the widespread hateful attitude our …

I was using the restroom at the train station Dunkin Donuts when I noticed there was a Swastika on the door that someone had turned into a 3D cube. “Racism isn’t an illusion,” I thought, “It’s real!” Too often, however, prejudice is treated with a, “Now you see it; now you don’t” approach. At Rutgers, for example, there’s an annual practice of whitewashing bigoted bathroom graffiti, providing a superficial fix to a well-entrenched problem. I figured I’d document some of that graffiti before it gets covered-up.

Project Civility is in full swing at Rutgers, whether you noticed it or not. The initiative’s aim is to get people to ask questions about what it means to be part of a community, about how people should treat one another, and what can be done to improve the quality of people’s treatment of others. Of course, the whole initiative is voluntary rather than mandatory, which means that, chances are, one likely won’t be prompted to participate in Project Civility in one’s day to day. At the very least, I’ve yet to be prompted, so I figured that I’d prompt myself and my fellow JVPers to participate ourselves with this week’s question: Should America have a notion of civic duty if it doesn’t already? Why or why not? If so, what should it entail?

Hello and welcome to JVP Speaks! In this soon-to-be-a-recurring-feature, contributors will kick-off a discussion on a particular topic by writing on a single prompt. This week the JVP asked itself: are you voting? Why or why not? Feel free to answer the question yourself, comment on any of our answers, and to generally get the ball rolling on this important topic! Here’s what we had to say:

To me, voting seems like less than the least that one can do. And to say that this sort of sentiment breeds apathy is mistaken. You can be civic-minded and active and still not vote. In fact, I’d take a community of people who care about each other and are active participants in each other’s lives over a community of voters any day of the week.

“I think fourteen-year-olds should be allowed to vote,” I told my girlfriend. “Why not thirteen-year-olds?” she asked. “Sure, they can too.” “Twelve-year-olds?” “Sure, why not?” “Eleven-year-olds?” I paused to think. “You, know, I’m not sure how long someone should be a part of a rigorous education system before they’re critically thinking.” “Then how about you can vote when you think you’re ready to vote?” she asked. “Perfect!” I said.