Category: Opinions

I grew up in a small, rural, Western New York town. We had “drive your tractor to school” day, half of my high school had the last name Schmedier, and almost everyone had at least one memory with each person there. However, that did not mean it we were tragedy-proof or somehow hidden from the ills of our society. My senior year of high school, my community was mercilessly shaken when one of my classmates, who had history of mental health problems and intense substance abuse, committed suicide just before the last day of school. This was on Father’s Day: June 15 2014, to be exact.

His name was Jeff. He listened to metal, worked at a pizza shop, and was the youngest of three sons. He wasn’t just a nameless tragedy that made the list of obituaries in the local paper. He was a member of our community. In large part thanks to a lack of mental health education and a substance abuse epidemic, he ended his 17 years on Earth in a gut-wrenching manner and left behind a loving mother, two brothers, and a father, along with a community that loved him.

Jeff’s story is just one of many stories of substance abuse affecting small communities in painful ways. This tragedy is an example of the lack of mental health education in most small communities, which encourages people to self-treat with illegal substances. I could write a research paper on this subject, and maybe I will do that one day, but for now, I am going to talk about my suspicion.

Small-town America has many great qualities, but a stellar track record with mental health education is not one of them. I honestly do not remember even learning what depression was until I was 13 years old. At that point, I had already learned that it was okay if Mommy and Daddy drink a beer at the Bills game but if they drink five every night, we could talk to a counselor. At that point I had been given a poster explaining the difference between controlled narcotics and candies that looked like them. I had been taught what hard drugs were and how to identify them in case I came into contact with them. However, no one ever told me Mommy and Daddy might drink to deal with bigger issues in their lives. No one ever mentioned ways to deal with feelings that went beyond just “sad.” Instead, I learned a brief definition that was heavily biological at 13, when I was at risk of experiencing depression.

So, we have a lack of good mental health education but fantastic substance abuse education and, at least where I grew up, good resources for those experiencing addiction. However, people protest and fight it. We have dehumanized the addict as a bad person who decided that they wanted to have some fun and who now must learn. However, did we ever look at the humanity of the person? Did we ever ask ourselves about the root cause of the substance abuse? It is not because the kids are poorly educated or simply because of peer pressure. Depression, anxiety, and other common mental illnesses are a part of our humanity, our brokenness, and to ignore that is wrong. Jeff was not diagnosed with his mental illnesses until he was 17. At that point he was experimenting with multiple different drugs rather than taking his prescribed medication. The drugs had been there since he was 14. The mental health resources had not. If my peers had better education, we could have understood Jeff was more than a burnout. If we had a better grasp of the situation, communities would not have to suffer the loss of their children. I don’t know what we should do, but it’s clear there’s work to be done.

Alanna is a senior majoring in Spanish and intercultural studies.

You know the old cubicle adage: ten percent of the people do ninety percent of the work.

Low involvement certainly isn’t just a Houghton problem, although it’s tempting to think of it as one. Colleges and universities across the country are scrambling to crack the student engagement code. Translation: they can’t figure out why students struggle to care about the things they apparently claim to be passionate about. A survey released by the Indiana University Center for Postsecondary Research paints a grim picture of student engagement in the United States. Although the vast majority of incoming first-year students expect to be “highly engaged” inside and outside of the classroom, about 32% of them spend no time at all participating in extracurricular events. Only one fourth of all students had “frequently” or “very often” attended art exhibitions, musical performances, or film showings within the school year.

One might assume that a preoccupation with homework and other scholastic responsibilities dampens the desire to participate outside the classroom. Over and over again, however, these studies reveal a surprising theme: those who participate in dynamic classroom discussions and robust academic responsibilities are more likely, not less, to get involved in extracurriculars.

This all adds up. Everyone has, at one time, sat in a classroom that resonated with empty silences and awkward eye contact. I’ve participated in class discussions where a professor sat in the front of the room, desperate for anyone to offer even a faltering opinion on the book assigned. I’ve attended purely elective review sessions where students scroll through Instagram under the table, instinctively embarrassed although the only person they’re damaging is themselves. And I’ve read probably five hundred essays that start out “The impact of ____ on _____ simply cannot be denied.” Of course it can’t be denied, because your professor almost certainly drew that conclusion in class the week prior. How exhausting must it be to grade twenty or more papers that read like a bizarrely academic version of Mad Libs, simply because students can’t be bothered to give a damn about originality or creativity.

I don’t care if you abhor mathematics, got an F in 11th grade Western Civ, or don’t give a crap about the nuances of English literature. This kind of apathy should not be happening at a college that bills itself as a liberal arts institution. These environments suffocate their less ambitious students by never pushing them out of the shallows. Treading water ceaselessly, the high achievers have no space to breathe or grow.

During my time at Houghton I’ve held five different jobs, most simultaneously. I’ve sat on the board for several major events each year. I’ve edited both of the school’s print publications and written for them frequently, too. I’ve interviewed honors program prospects and written letters to donors and planned events and designed posters and given speeches and revised papers. Some nights I get back to my house just in time to stare vacantly at the wall before I collapse into my bed.

This isn’t meant to underline how tirelessly I personally work to support the college, but to draw attention to how unwilling many others are to take on their fair share of responsibilities. I took on many of those tasks not because I felt a need to prove myself or feel superior to others, but because I was assured that no one else was available or willing to fulfill them. This is the message that talented, engaged students receive over and over: “Don’t feel pressure to run this event or organize this club…just be prepared for no one else to step up to the plate if you don’t.” So be sure to give your next project to a person who’s already ripping their hair out! Be on the lookout for ragged nail beds and spotty eyebrows! Those are the people who will get the job done.

Everyone has different abilities, skills, and competencies. But carrying a few 200-level classes doesn’t make you too busy to attend a meeting, write an article, or volunteer your time. So stop making excuses about how busy you are or how much work you have to do. Just admit that you’d rather spend your time muching on French fries or hanging out with your friends. Just admit that you want your evenings free to mess around on Pinterest and binge Legend of Korra. (What do you think I did with my weekend?) Once we own up to that, we can start thinking about why we value our time and talent so little. 

It’s the difference between corn chips and kale, between Netflix and libraries, between pornography and sex. If the bare minimum offers satisfaction, why put in the extra effort? If you can squeak by while skipping class and cramming all your studies into the hour before the exam, why try to broaden your experience or gain intellectual depth? In short: why bother at all? Sometimes I worry that if we don’t answer that question soon, we’ll stop asking it altogether.

Carina is a senior majoring in communication and writing. She is the outgoing  STAR editor-in-chief.

I think that we really like to throw around the word “addicted” when it comes to social media culture. People often fast from social media—Lent or not—because they see it as a distraction from more important parts of life. However, it would be hard to deny the fact that technology is a crucial part of our world. No one likes to admit that they’re addicted to their phone, and yet most of us probably can’t function unless we have our phones on our bodies at all times. Even when we go to the bathroom.

We have become so attached to our phones that, when people make that brave decision to abstain from phone usage for the long weekend, we all gasp in shock. But I would argue that this is really a deeper problem masquerading as a trendy Buzzfeed think-piece about millennials and their love for Twitter. When used properly, social media has a valuable place in today’s world of communication.

What I’ve come to understand is that we live in a society that has consequences for the people who don’t follow particular feeds and don’t remember to “like and subscribe” to important videos. Referencing vines and tweets has become the norm, and complaining about the relatives we’ve friended on Facebook has become a go-to conversation starter. You probably didn’t even think twice about the word “friended,” even though that’s a word which was born directly from social media culture. Part of the reason our reliance on social media has grown so pronounced is that it’s the core of our everyday language. If you aren’t laughing at the latest screenshot of a popular tweet, then you’re out of the loop.

This dynamic boils down to social pressure. It’s not all fun and memes, because that social pressure tends to enforce the idea that communication is cut off as soon as we power-down our devices.

In many ways, this is true. Personally, I use Facebook to communicate with different groups and friends and family; if it weren’t for Facebook Messenger, these conversations would be significantly harder to coordinate. I am able to stay invested in the lives of my close friends, people I grew up with, and people who live across the country through Snapchat. This, at least to me, is incredible! So, why do we to hate on ourselves for using our phones?

We need to acknowledge the value of social media as a tool for investing in the lives of others. Cell phones are a part of our lives as much as the shoes on our feet, and while many people are afraid of this fact, it may not be such a bad thing. Now, trust me, I know that there is a lot to say about using our phones in moderation. It is possible that we are addicted to the devices, after all. (That’s a STAR opinion piece for another week.) This time, though, I want to say that I believe we shouldn’t be so quick to condemn ourselves. We are in a time of technology that allows us to connect with other people so easily. We should appreciate this opportunity, not rebuke it.

Last Wednesday morning, it seemed as if notifications were clambering over each other to reach the screen of my phone. “Renowned physicist Stephen Hawking, dead at 76.” Each obituary covered the same ground: “rare science celebrity,” “cultural icon,” “Star Trek Meets The Simpsons.” Then “severe physical impairment” and “debilitating disease.” In them Hawking is lauded, over and over, as an iconic thinker who spent his life “slumped in a wheelchair” but is blessedly now “free” from his suffering. Here’s a headline from The Washington Post that caught my eye as I scrolled: “Stephen Hawking was the ultimate image of mind over matter.”

How Stephen Hawking himself would laugh to hear such saccharine, clueless descriptions! His disabilities were neither an insurmountable barrier nor a mystical gateway to enlightenment. They were simply physical conditions. Dr. Hawking was not “confined” or “chained” to his wheelchair, nor was he “muzzled” by his augmented speech device, as various articles I have read described him. He was just a man who could not speak or move his legs.

Stephen Hawking did not “overcome” a disability to become a world-class physicist and beloved public figure. His trademark acerbic wit, his wildly innovative way of thinking about the universe, and his skill for swiftly transitioning between deep scientific analysis and a chaotic popular culture often undecided on its view toward hard data—all depended upon the freedom to see the world in a different manner from his peers. “My disabilities have not been a significant handicap in my field,” he said in 1984 (long enough ago that one might be tempted to think we would have learned better by now.) “Indeed,” he continued, “they have helped me in a way by shielding me from the lecturing and administrative work that I would otherwise have been involved in.” In his 2013 memoir, Hawking wrote: “I felt [my disease] was very unfair–why should this happen to me…now 50 years later, I can be quietly satisfied with my life.” A few years ago, Intel offered to give Hawking a new communication software, a less robotic voice. He turned them down. That was his voice.

How wholly unsettling—yet also entirely unsurprising—that most scientists and writers who composed obituaries are blind to the significance of stories like these. Mere sentences after describing Hawking as a “crumpled figure of a man,” the author of the aforementioned Washington Post article admits: “Partly because of his physical difficulty in working with equations as most theoretical physicists do, Hawking developed new graphical methods that allowed him to visualize….the convulsions of the universe as a whole.”

What, then, sets Dr. Hawking apart from the average person with disabilities? The fact that, unlike so many others, the world chose to accommodate his needs. Where Hawking succeeded, millions of others are left to fail. Hawking understood all too well that, apart from his disability, he was perfectly situated for success in the world of physics. He was painfully aware of his own privilege as a white English man with access to a whole range of support and assistance.   

In a letter to the World Health Organization in 2011, Hawking explicitly called for the United Nations to fund health, rehabilitation, educational, and employment opportunities for disabled people. “We have a moral duty to remove the barriers to participation,” he wrote, “and to invest sufficient finding and expertise to unlock the vast potential of people with disabilities.” And while genius in the hard sciences does not necessarily guarantee political or sociological aptitude, this sensitivity to his own luck is one of the reasons why Hawking maintained a fierce advocate for the rights of people across the world, arguing to maintain comprehensive NHS services in his native U.K. and pushing back against U.S. politicians’ attempts to impoverish the Affordable Care Act and neuter the Americans With Disabilities Act. 

We take comfort in believing that disabled people struggle because their canes and hearing aids “hold them back,” perhaps because it is too painful to acknowledge that our own communities have failed to accommodate their needs. If we continue to insist that physical and mental disabilities are the problem—rather than our own lethargic, stubborn refusal to create a more accessible world—then we’re just trying to let ourselves off the hook. Disabilities don’t let people down. We do.

Stephen Hawking wasn’t a “mind over matter” superhero. He showed us just how much our matter can, well, matter. If you truly want to honor Hawking’s legacy, value people for what they can do, rather than pitying them for what they cannot. Stop being amazed that people with disabilities can make amazing discoveries. Start asking why more of them don’t.

Carina is a senior majoring in writing and communication. 

As we head into February break, returning home to visit family and friends, it won’t be long before each of us hear that dreaded question. It comes in many forms, from a family member or an old high-school buddy, and it’s usually one of the first things they ask. “So, are you dating anyone at that school of yours?”

It’s interesting that this question is sometimes higher in priority than things like “What do you want to do after graduation?” and “How was your last semester?” It seems to matter so much whether or not someone is in a relationship. For me, fortunately, the answer is yes, and then we can move on with the conversation, but for many the answer is not so simple. My friend Brenna has spent countless Christmas parties and family vacations explaining her continuing singlehood to relatives, and whenever I see her she expresses that she’s quite sick of it. This focus on relationship status can be a source of constant anxiety for some and an idol to others. Not only is this uncomfortable, it’s really not the most important question. There’s a topic missing from the set that shapes the worldview, values, and entire personality of each one of us. Why do we never ask “What are your friends like?”

However wholesome and fulfilling a romantic relationship could be, it is not and cannot be the only relationship you have. Our friendships have at least as great an impact on who we become, and they can bring us just as much joy and sorrow. Society seems to place such a high value on romantic relationships, and this is never more apparent than on the holiday which occurred just about a week ago, Valentine’s Day.

The stores and commercials go crazy over love, with neon pink hearts crowding the shelves as early as mid-January. But romantic love is far from the most important form, and Valentine’s Day can bring up all sorts of negative feelings. People in relationships can feel pressured to express their love in unrealistic ways, and single people can feel lonely, neglected, and unloveable. Because romantic love is so emphasized, friends are viewed as poor substitutes for a romantic partner. In the wise words of Joe Miner on his YouTube channel, Cuppa Joe, “We don’t get enough opportunities to just celebrate our friends.”

I personally feel that any relationship, whether professional, romantic, or familial, is stronger when based in a deep friendship. Friends can impact our morals, our political views, and our mental health, and can change who we are at the core. This is something we often forget, especially as we grow older and our focus shifts toward our future and who we will be spending it with. But we don’t spend the future with just one person. Yes, as we graduate and move to all corners of the earth to do good work, we will make more friends who play important roles in our lives, and the best friend we make will hopefully be the person we marry. That doesn’t mean that the friends we have now will fade from our lives, nor should they. All relationships take work, including friendships, but they are worth equal effort and should receive an equal amount of acknowledgement as romantic relationships.

Sydney is a sophomore majoring in Spanish and intercultural studies.

As churchgoers, we are always encouraged to invite friends to church. We are urged to spread Christ in our workplaces, our schools, and our neighborhoods. It’s not a bad thing to pursue, and there is legitimate scriptural emphasis on making followers of Christ. However, I am deeply struggling with the exact nature of this command, and I am often disturbed by the way it plays out.

I think that in many cases, church promotion goes too far. I see a trend in today’s churches: we promote friendship Sundays, and have special youth group days where we bring school friends. At these events, we make pitches about why our church is great and welcoming. I don’t have an issue with bringing friends to church—I think it’s a perfectly acceptable thing to do—but to make it into a sort of promotion is sick. People are not number generators, nor are they tools to build a ministry.

I am tired of big holiday productions, when churches know visitors will attend and use events as a hook to bring new people in. I am tired of over-the-top visitor centers that give out free T-shirts promoting the “brand” of the church. I am tired of testimonials about a church’s programs being pasted all over its websites in an effort to attract congregants. I know these examples seem, and in many ways are, extreme, but I have honestly witnessed way too many of them. I see the well-meaning nature behind these events, but I cringe at how fake and contrived they are. Frankly, non-Christians can easily see how cheesy and obvious these efforts are, which may end up having the opposite effect that these churches intend.

I see it happen in subtle ways everywhere. It’s the little pamphlet you make sure the visitor gets on their way out, or the free Bible, or the pen with the church’s name on it. It’s the little mental game we play, where we ask, “We’ll see you next week, right?” and the visitor sort of feels guilty if they don’t show up.  It’s our desperation not to ‘lose’ the person, which replaces genuinely love, care and friendship.

Think about it: it should not matter to us if this is the first and last time someone enters our church. We should treat them the same as if we knew that they would become a full-fledged member, even if they are just passing through. If we do “lose” that person, they may still become a Christian. Maybe they weren’t comfortable here, but will be at another church. We should meet people where they are at and work with them to grow their own faith, not to accept our denomination’s faith. We should stop trying to reel them in, and start treating them just like we treat everyone else. We should stop obsessing over people until we “got ‘em,” and we should stop losing interest in them if we gain their membership.

We need to actually invest in people. We should stop asking “Where have you been?” after a person’s long absence and start asking “How have you been?” We should start looking at humans as God’s work instead of as potential demographics that we use a formula to capture. Instead of using community events to benefit our numbers, we should use them to benefit the community. When we use daycares to get the desperate single mother into a seat on Sunday, we have stopped caring about the real work of Christ because we’ve clouded our mission with self-serving practices that we see as kingdom-building.

I hate to go on such a rant and not give a solution to my own disgruntlement. I suppose the biggest solution is to be relational in our everyday life. Be a person who anyone can approach. Be a person that thinks only “I bet this a really cool person I’d love to get to know” when a visitor does walk through the door. We need to stop thinking about getting people to join, and start just being hospitable without strings attached. God wants followers and disciples, not satellite sites and sales pitches.

Alanna is a senior majoring in Spanish and intercultural studies.