campus newspapers

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College Republican group apologizes for horrific anti-Semitic valentine

  • Central Michigan University’s College Republicans are under fire after photos surfaced of an anti-Semitic valentine allegedly handed out by one of the campus group’s members.
  • A student was given a Valentine’s Day package from a member of the group with the message “My love for you burns like 6,000 Jews.”
  •  The Republican group is now apologizing — and claiming it isn’t, as an organization, responsible, the Washington Post reported.
  • The College Republicans at Central Michigan released a statement on the group’s Facebook page Wednesday, saying the valentine was created at a meeting and given away without the organization’s knowledge.
  • According to campus newspaper Central Michigan Life, “Mackenzie Flynn, president of CMU’s College Republicans, said the bags were meant for members only. One member allegedly printed a page of Valentine’s Day memes to cut out and place inside each bag. One meme contained the Holocaust pun.” Read more (2/9/17 9:14 PM)
I Wrote this Poem Just to Show it

Character: Alexander X Reader
Prompt: Reader is best friends with the journalist who runs the school paper. Every week, you write a new poem for them to publish, and it eventually draws the attention of a certain someone.
Word Count: 2,126
W/T: Teasing?
A/N: Honestly the only reason this story came to be was because I was in the mood to write poetry, ngl. Hope y'all enjoy!
~SJ

———

“I’m telling you, Y/N, you’re poems are amazing.” Your best friend, Hercules Mulligan, exclaims, hastily typing it into the same format as you had written it. “Oh whatever, Herc.” You huff, leaning back in your chair and setting your feet on top of the desk. “You only ever wanted me to do this because it gave you one less column to fill out in your campus newspaper.” “Okay, maybe at first.” He admits, eyes still glueing themselves to the screen. “But once the ‘Campus Caller’ took off, people started to give me feedback, and they all really loved your work!” “That’s fine and dandy, Herc, but I still wish to remain anonymous.” You deadpan, tossing the apple you were going to eat around in your hands. “Hey, no food near the laptop, missy.” Hercules warns, taking one hand away from his typing to shoo you away.

Giggling, you tuck and roll onto the floor from your chair, stopping yourself against the edge of Herc’s bed frame. Sprawling out on top of his layers of clean and dirty clothes, you mindlessly stare at the ceiling fan, watching it go round and round. “You know you don’t have to be here, Y/N. I really just needed to type up the poem.” Hercules states, still not looking over to you. “But you said you would take me out to eeeeeeaaaaaatttttt.” You complain, rolling over defiantly, half of your body now hidden beneath his bed. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” He asks himself aloud in a rather monotone voice. “No. I’m not doing this again, Herc. You’ve promised me food for the past three poems, and what do you know? I haven’t gotten food.” “But then people will think that we’re datinggg.” He whines, his fingers clacking away on his keyboard. “As if. Everyone basically knows about you and Peggy, Herc.” You spit, watching his face grow pink. “And besides, your basically my brother, that would be weird. I’ve got my eye on somebody else, anyway.” “Oh? And who is that, might I ask?” He inquires, half aware of what he just asked. “Well if you must know, then it’s-”

You are quickly cut off by a series of sharp and forcefully knocks on the door, each set coming in a triplets, followed by a familiar voice calling out Hercules’ name. Recognizing the voice, you quickly pull yourself all the way under the bed, burying yourself slightly in some of his laundry. He didn’t need to know you were here.

“Alex what the hell. Wh-” Hercules starts, but is cut off by Alexander, forcefully closing his laptop on him. “Don’t what the hell me, Hercules. You didn’t tell me you could write!” Alexander exclaims while you watch his feet shuffle around from your position, his dark blue jeans swaying slightly with his movements. “Excuse me?” Hercules deadpans, obviously confused by his friend’s accusations. “Don’t play dumb with me. You literally write this newspaper of yours on your own. How could you not tell me that your a poet?!” Alex scoffs, his words sounding more and more passionate as he rambles on. “I’m not?” Hercules answers, his words coming off as more of a question than a statement. “Oh really? Then explain this.” Alexander counters, clearing his throat as to read off of last week’s “Campus Caller”.

“Is it true
That the stars are merely
Orbs of orbiting gases
Far, far away from us?
Or are they something more?

Are they something we can’t quite grasp
Something that’s on the tip of our tongues
But yet
Still too far away to understand?

Are stars our past
Shining down upon us
Through the blackening abyss
That is our future?

Or are they are future
Shimmering
Glimmering
With our hopes and dreams
Among a sea
Of disarray
And despair?

Is it true
That the stars
Are something I’ll never
Become apart of
No matter how hard I try?

Am I forever earthbound
Upon this shrinking planet
Forever cursed
To never be apart of
What I wish to be?

Is it true
That the stars
Are only
For me?

Or will I be able
To share these
Hopes
Dreams
And ideals
With someone beside me?”

His words seem to flow from his mouth like a coursing river, each one alive with emotions he put behind them. You close your eyes for a moment, taking in his melodic voice, melting a little bit as he speaks so highly of your poetry.

"Hate to break it to ya, Alex,” Hercules interrupts, jarring you back to reality, “but I don’t write that column. I have a friend who does that.” You silently curse Herc for getting ready to throw you under the bus, ready to punch him. “You’re kidding.” Alex huffs, his feet shifting again. “At least tell me who writes these marvelous works of art.” “You see that? That little word right there in spot of the author’s name? What’s it say?” “…Anonymous.” Alex answers, sounding upset. “That means they don’t want to be known. See how that works?” Hercules finishes, his voice laced with sarcasm. “But why can’t you just tell me? I’m just one person, Herc!” Alex pouts, refusing to give up on this. “Because,” Hercules huffs, standing up from his seat, beginning to push Alexander back out the door, “I know that you’ll seek said person out, and badger them about their writing. So no, I’m not going to tell you who it is. Anything else you wish to know?”

“Whatever, I’m going to rant to Y/N.” Alex scoffs, storming out of the dorm. The sound of his footsteps fades away, and you pull yourself out from underneath of Hercules’ bed, stretching your legs to relieve them of their cramps. “Thanks, Herc.” You smile sheepishly, taking his outstretched hand, letting him pull you into a standing position. “Yeah, but you better go after him though, he’s ready to blow at any moment.” Hercules suggests, his eyes glancing towards the window across the room. You quickly stride over to the windowsill, staring down at the lush campus itself, 5 floors below you. Almost too perfectly timed, a small figure barges out of the bottom of the building, his shoulders hunched. “He could have a storm cloud hanging over him if this were anime.” You state, blinking at the disappearing Alex. “Just go after him.” Hercules chuckles, gently nudging you to the door as well. “Okay, okay.” You groan, walking through the doorway. “Have fun with your boyfriend.” Hercules calls out after you, making your cheeks flush pink.

Deciding against the elevator, you fling yourself down the fire escape stairs, your footsteps echoing against the concrete as you fly from floor to floor, racing against Alex. Knowing that the first place he would go to would be your dorm, you opt for the next place he would automatically go to; the college cafe. You eagerly fling your backpack over your shoulder, your books and keys humbling themselves up inside as you take off for the main building, your pace breaking into a dead sprint. Adrenaline begins to wash over you as you begin to near your destination, the top of the building peaking over the horizon. Your breathing heavy, you slow your pace as you approach the familiar glass doors, the dim lighting and wavering scent of coffee making you feel calmer.

Gingerly, you press your hand against the smudged glass, the smell of coffee becoming stronger than before as you step into the small cafe, faint jazz music hitting your ears. Luckily, Alexander was nowhere to be found, so you let out a sigh of relief and take the same table you always do when you come here.

Happily remembering you already completed you papers for your classes, you dig your favorite notebook out of your bag, it’s slightly tattered edges and worn look bringing a small smile to your face. Turning to the folded page you left off on, you quickly finish the poem you had started last week, writers block preventing you from doing so earlier.


“A feeling
An emotion
A change of heart
A kindling fire
Growing and spreading
Across your body

What is love?

Love
In simplest terms
A feeling
A simple smile
That clicks
With someone
That no other smile has before

What is love?

Love
As some might explain
An emotion
A sense of longing
For someone to return
From an overseas trip

What is love?

Love
Is a change of heart
The innocence of a child
Giving the sinner
A new perspective
On life
With a simple question

What is love?

Love
A kindling fire
Growing and spreading
Across your body
Your face growing hot
And your nerves
Tingling with a sensation
That you had not known
Up until this moment

What is love?

A feeling
An emotion
A change of heart
A kindling fire
Growing and spreading
Across your body.”

You smile, satisfied with your final draft. Inspiration now flooding through you, you start to begin another poem, but the jingling of the front door catches your attention. You glance up to find Alexander, his eyes scanning across the cafe. You smile and wave your hand, motioning for him to come over. His glare softens at the sight of you, and his shoulders become a little less hunched as he strolls over to take the seat next to you.

“Hey Ale-woah, you look like you’re about to murder someone.” You laugh, scooting over slightly in the booth. He raises his eyebrows in agreement, huffing out a sigh of frustration. “It’s just-” “Hold on a sec.” You interrupt, readjusting the way you were sitting, propping your hands up on the table and leaning your chin into your palms. “Alright. Go.” You giggle, smiling warmly. Alexander chuckles, his eyes seeming to search for what words he wants.

“Okay, it’s about Herc.” “Ahh, the living, breathing teddy bear. Yes, go on.” You joke, earning an eye roll. “Well, you know about the newspaper he does? Campus Caller? There’s this column he has in it, it’s dedicated to poetry. You know how I love poetry, it’s what I live for. Anyway, I went to him, ecstatic that he wrote! I didn’t know he had it in him to write so vividly, so immensely! But he admitted that he had someone else write that column for him. I asked who it was, determined to find this person. But he refuses to tell me! Honestly, who does that to a person?! Who willing holds the key information that allows someone to meet the person they’re meant to be with?! The person that could very possibly be their soulmate?! The person who could change your life forever? The p-” He freezes, his eyes widening as his body tenses up.

“What? What is it Alex?” You ask, becoming very worried by his sudden stop. His eyes lock upon yours, a look of mystery and astonishment whirling around in them. “Alex?” Say again, unsure of how to react to his change in attitude.

“Kiss me.”

“What?!”

Kiss me.“

"I-uh-Al-!” You stutter, quickly cut off by Alexander placing his hands on either side of your face and pressing his lips against yours, a surging current sparking between your abrupt connection. Heat flooded your face as you returned the gesture, his rough lips feeling soft against yours. You leaned into his hands, melting at the touch. Alex pulls back inches, leaning his forehead against yours, catching his breath. He quickly takes one of his hands from your cheek, grasping for the notebook sprawled out on the table. He begins to flip through them, his eyes hungrily taking in each and every word scrawled across the pages. “Why did you never tell me you were so fluent in poetry? I recognize this style of writing anywhere. Thank god you left your notebook open-can I keep this?-otherwise I would’ve driven myself mad. That is, if I weren’t alrea-Oh my god, when did you write this? How did you write this? How did you get it to read so fluently? How on earth di-” Alex excitedly rambles, flipping through the lined pages like a child in a candy store. You roll your eyes at his abundantly happy babbling before leaning over and placing another warm kiss against his lips to shut him up.

“I love you, Alex, but you talk way too much.”

Art Student Hangs ‘Black Only’ And 'White Only’ Signs Around University Campus

On Wednesday, Sept. 16, students of the University of Buffalo were shocked to find “White Only” and “Black Only” signs hung near campus bathrooms. Students were sickened and traumatized by the apparent act of racism; by 1 p.m., the police had received 11 phone calls regarding the signage.

It was later revealed, however, that the signs reminiscent of the Jim Crow era were put on display by graduate fine arts student Ashley Powell, who is black, as part of an art project.

Before Powell admitted to hanging the signs at a Black Student Union (BSU) meeting on Wednesday night, students and faculty were left wondering about the source of the racist designations. “We didn’t know it was an art project, it could’ve been an act of terrorism,” a student explained to The Spectrum, the independent campus newspaper.

Did the disturbing installation cross the line?

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE DAILY UNIVERSE

Dear @DailyUniverse and #BYU Comms Department,

I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on a lot of issues. I know there are several staff members and faculty with whom I’ve personally clashed, and several things I’ve said out of emotion and frustration that I now wish I could take back.

But it’s because I love you.

Which is why I (like many other graduates and students) was so disappointed with the recent decision by the BYU Department of Communications to shut down the daily operation of the print publication, The Daily Universe.  It’s not that we “don’t get” that there is a future in digital publishing and Web journalism; it’s that we were hurt because of all the emotional lessons, hard upbringings and school-of-hard-knocks experiences we had, thanks in large part to producing the daily student newspaper.

In short, I was stunned. Stunned that the department could remove a campus institution. Stunned that BYU students would allow this, Hell, even support it. Stunned that faculty members who I trusted and admired would push the idea so freely and with such vociferous glee.

I owe a lot to The Daily Universe. Hell, I owe my entire career to them (albeit a brief one, thus far). Without my daily (and more often, nightly) work with the newspaper, I would not hold my current position. My livelihood and my prosperity is founded upon the Universe. And I know many other Communications graduations who can say the same thing.

I’ve heard reasons: you’re trying to prepare students for a future in digital journalism. Advertising revenues have steadily declined for more than three years. The department is undergoing a vast curriculum change, and this will allow it to be implemented in full measure.

If the “future” is digital journalism, shouldn’t universities highlight journalism as much as digital in its curriculum and practicum courses? How can basic journalism skills be taught without daily deadlines, a nightly push to release a quality product, and the ability to see the effect of our successes (as well as our errors) in the printed pages? It’s possible to teach and develop digital journalism skills, while still applying the basic principles of “the printed word” in classes and labs.

I know advertising revenue has been falling, and even dramatically, in recent years. It’s the same in media outlets across the country, even in broadcast media. So how is pushing advertisers to a Web-only format, where most companies and agencies are seeing less and less value for the ad dollars, going to improve on that number? Sure, it may decrease overall costs by removing one of the most expensive portions of the average newspaper budget (printing). But won’t it also remove a large amount of revenue, even the 70 percent that has been retained over the past three years?

Furthermore, since when was The Daily Universe about revenue? For the past century, the daily newspaper has operated at no cost to the reader, due to its nature as a lab publication of BYU print journalism and public relations students. If making money were a factor in the newspaper as a business, shouldn’t methods have been undertaken long ago to implement a subscription or circulation process that raises funds while allowing for a timely consumption of a quality news outlet?

We understand professors want to teach more “digital media” courses, and this paradigm shift with the DU will help focus their lessons into practical applications. But couldn’t that be done along with the continued use of the print project, even as a form of promoting the digital medium? Why must digital be a replacement for print instead of a complement

In short, we’re hurt. We’re hurt that our foundation has been yanked out from underneath us. We’re hurt that eight people will lose their jobs — their livelihoods — in a seemingly unnecessary and irrelevant move. And I personally am hurt that a product I spent a large portion of my college career attempting to improve and perfect will now be lost to the sands of history. I never expected to be remembered for my time as a student employee of The Daily Universe. But I had hoped that my work would live on in the form of continuing opportunities for students and future journalists to prepare them not only for the future, but also for the present.

If you haven’t already seen it, I’d also invite you to take a moment to reflect on the bitter emotions that have been stirred on both sides of this divide. And maybe we can all remember that public discourse must always contain civility.

From a friend:

“It’s sad to see the direction this discussion has taken, with faculty members belittling former students. The Daily Universe was and is a great organization that has changed many of our lives for the better. I think all of us can understand and appreciate the shifting topography of the media, and the necessary change in distribution methods, but hopefully what you who made the decision can understand is outrage at the treatment of the faculty members who changed our lives. Because we see little (no) justification for the decision to get rid of them, despite changing the delivery method of the content. So, please forgive us for being upset. But what we really want to understand is the rationale behind the decision to not allow the former faculty supervisors to continue at the paper, with their wealth of experience and expertise.”

The University of Missouri’s President Resigned Over His Failure to Deal With Racial Tensions

At University of Missouri, the school’s football team went on strike, some professors were staging a walkout from their classes, and a graduate student had gone on a hunger strike—all demanding the resignation of president Tim Wolfe. Today, he resigned. Many students at the school, which is 75 percent white, say there is a climate of hostility toward Black students. Journalism professor Cynthia Frisby wrote in the the campus newspaper this week that in her 18 years at the school, “I have been called the n-word too many times to count.”

Students formed the group Concerned Students 1950 to push back against racism at the school—the group’s name refers to the year that the school first started admitting Black students. On Friday night, students confronted Wolfe outside of a fundraiser and asked him to define “systemic oppression.” In a video of the incident, he’s seen responding, “Systematic oppression is because you don’t believe that you have the equal opportunity for success—” before being cut off by a chorus of people upset with his answer. 

Read more about the resignation and the history of racist incidents at the school at the LA Times.