A brief and cozy sit-down with six Daily seniors as they reminisce about how they got started at Tufts' newspaper of record, how it has changed and more.
The story of the famous Chinese science fiction novel “The Three-Body Problem” (2006) begins in a military camp in Mongolia during the Cultural Revolution in China. Over the course of the story, the lives of people from that tiny corner of the world and the choices they make become inextricably intertwined with alien invasions, inter-dimensional travel and the fate of galaxies.
In movies, the process of someone being incarcerated often gets more attention than how they return to society. The entry to prison is often portrayed as a rugged odyssey, while the reentry to society is simply reduced to someone walking out the prison gates, to a car with a friend waiting. So what does reentry actually look like? And how has Tufts assisted with that process?Since 1994, federal Pell Grants (government funding that helps students pay for college) have been barred for incarcerated college students. This year, however, they are being reinstated for approved programs like the Tufts University Prison Initiative (TUPIT), which offers higher education in prison and will now be able to access this financial support.
On the evening of Feb. 29, the Rabb Room in Barnum Hall became a productive dialogue space consisting of Tufts undergraduates, Tufts Prison Initiative graduates, activists and government legislators, all gathered to discuss how to turn policies on paper into real change.
Members of The Tufts Daily talk about this year in film ahead of the Oscars. They discuss their favorite movies and predict winners, all while ranting about the worst snubs and their juiciest hot takes.
On a rainless weekend morning above 40 degrees, you can usually find Roland Pearsall, director of institutional research at a small private college in Boston, lugging a cart with chords and amplifiers in one hand and a guitar case in another, about to start his day of street performance. Street performers often feel like a part of the space they’re in, but they all have stories, quirks and lives of their own. We sat down with Roland and asked the questions you’ve (maybe) always had about a street performer.
Although it is already December, pumpkins from Halloween continue to haunt the Tufts University campus. Remembering how these gourds were dismembered, carved, gorged and skinned to make into pie, perfume, spice and lattes in October, it is nice to see them just sitting around now. They often perch at inaccessibly high parts of buildings, upright and intact, as if giants had carefully placed them there as ritualistic protection so that “Attack On Titan” (2013–23) could conclude on a satisfying note (which was proven successful).
I was loitering in my dorm one afternoon when I received the following text: “Hi Amy, I’m Lena, are you still in NY? I will come to NY next month. Do you have time to go hiking together?” I tried to remember if I’d left a fake alias of Amy anywhere, and when I couldn’t, I told her she had the wrong number. The conversation should’ve ended with whatever she’d say next, probably something short, but then came two cordially punctuated sentences.
On a rainless weekend morning above 40 degrees, you can usually find Roland Pearsall lugging a cart with cords and amplifiers in one hand and a guitar case in another. He’d be on his way to Harvard or Davis Square, about to sing his heart out for the next several hours with the voice of someone who had grown up singing on grassy plains.
