“Do you think this is the right color ribbon?” asked a petite brunette, her hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, her college sweatshirt engulfing her tiny frame. “And do you think these are the right length of sections I’m cutting? I don’t want it to be all funky when we pin them on.”
“Mmm … I’m not sure,” said the guy next to her, sucking on a lollipop, his football-player physique totally evident in his tight band T-shirt.
“Looks good to me,” his roommate said without even glancing over at the ribbon or the girl.
Meet the college anti-war movement.
I just got back from a two-week campus speaking tour during which I had the privilege of hanging out in a women’s center at a Catholic college, eating bad Mexican food with Mennonite feminists, and chatting with aspiring writers and activists at a college in which half the students are the first in their families to experience higher education. I heard the stories of transgender youth in Kansas City, jocks with food addictions in Jacksonville, and student organizers who are too overwhelmed to address all the world’s problems in Connecticut.