The Carletonian

This is the time of the year when the seniors among us feel a growing sense of mortality in regards to this place. We don’t die when we leave Carleton, but a certain version of ourselves does. It’s the last waltz. It’s the final encore and the band is giving everything it has left. It doesn’t matter how goofy you look. Everybody’s gotta dance.

I’ve wanted to write about violence at Carleton for a long time. I’ve been holding back because (GASP!) I don’t have a well-formed opinion about it. I only have memories. But when I look at them, they all point to the same thing. We need to respect what we’re capable of when the world upsets us, because it’s hubris to think that it never will.

Among the chants of “U.S.A.” and “We did it,” it felt only natural to be proud of what my country had just accomplished. The man responsible for over 3000 American deaths on September 11, 2001 and for murdering thousands of people of all nationalities and religions all over the globe has been brought to justice, and it was good old American perseverance, resourcefulness, and creativity that finally brought that hated man down.