In 2012, a young woman residing in Delhi, India boarded a bus with a companion one evening after the two had watched a movie together.
She never came home.

The well-publicized rape of Jyoti Singh sparked a much-needed dialogue regarding gender rights and equity worldwide. In India, thousands took to the streets to express their outrage over the heinous act that took the life of a young woman with no remorse. What was thought to be an event that was furiously condemned by the Indian government took an unexpected turn with the ban of new documentary that examines the case and its’ aftermath. It also interviews some of the men who were behind the vicious crime, capturing in words the true essence of a rapist.

It is disappointing and disheartening to say the least that a nation in dire need of supporting their women after long battles to destroy traditions allowed their perpetual subjugation would reject a film that vehemently supports and gives voice to the cause. Concepts such as “slut-shaming” and demonizing the rape victim is gripping the world in ways that give way to incredibly horrific results. Even in the United States, a so-called democratic world power, a woman faces sexual assault every 107 seconds, according to RAINN. It will be interesting to see the issue in the context of a nation where tradition is the unapologetic root of the issue.

In all seriousness, the information presented in this article provides insight into a serious and disturbing matter. Racial inequality and a misunderstanding of cultures and subcultures have been and will continue to be a hot topic for news, primarily because it is a perpetual issue that is subject to limited resolution. This is not to say that the news accurately depicts unfair treatments–in fact, it is its’ primary breeding ground, stirring up controversies left and right and giving readers a textual and visual confirmation of the injustices that are committed towards targeted groups both domestically and worldwide.

Ferguson, Missouri has been at the center of recent talks regarding the way crimes and so-called crimes are mishandled when the perpetrator or victim (depends on how you see it) is a person of color. This can stretch even beyond ethnic backgrounds and incorporate religion, but for the purpose of this blog post, we will focus on skin color. Black people in the United States are by and far one of the most marginalized populations. They are constantly targeted, stereotyped, accused, and blamed. With the statistical evidence produced in this article that zeroes in on one city alone, it is difficult to contain scathing responses aimed at those who adamantly deny the existence of racial bias.

I began poring over this piece by highlighting the approaches that members of the Ferguson police department practiced that raised the hairs on the back of my neck and made me furiously clench my fists, until I realize that I had been doing that throughout the whole story. The Justice Department’s actions makes one consider to what extent atrocities are to be committed before any attempt at resolution is implemented. It took the deaths, nay, murders, of several African American people who are innocent in the regard that that the acts they committed to warrant aren’t nearly so dramatic as to actually call for such actions.

Let’s take a look at some of the renowned tactics that the Ferguson Police Department resorts to:

•  Internal documents showed Ferguson police officers conducting “pedestrian checks,” in which they stopped people walking down the street and demanded to see their identification without any probable cause.
• lacks in Ferguson accounted for 85 percent of traffic stops, 90 percent of tickets and 93 percent of arrests over a two-year period studied by investigators.
• A black motorist in Ferguson was twice as likely to be searched, according to the report, even though searches of whites turned up drugs and other contraband more often.
• Court fines are a major source of revenue, and internal emails show city officials pushing for more tickets and fines, then congratulating one another when revenue exceeded expectations.
• Federal investigators also found that city officials circulated racist jokes on their government email accounts without fear of punishment. One portrayed President Obama as a chimpanzee. Another included a photograph of African women dancing topless along with the caption “Michelle Obama’s High School Reunion.” A third joked that a black woman should receive a crime-prevention award for having an abortion.

The gravity of the issue at hand is to weigh in which factors contribute heavily to the root of the issue. Is it the unjust systems of power? The stereotypes that media feeds into to allow for this sort of perpetuation? The fact that it takes no effort to dismiss the long-term disastrous effects of consistently belittling minority races?

“The Justice Department’s analysis found that these disparities could not be explained even when correcting for crime rates and demographics. “These disparities occur, at least in part, because Ferguson law enforcement practices are directly shaped and perpetuated by racial bias,” the Justice Department concluded.”  NYT)

With this revelation, we should be inspired to draw parallels between a small scale police force and the racial bias in its’ tactics and observe similar approaches on a macroeconomic scale. Perhaps in doing so, we will be taking one large step for mankind.

On Tuesday morning, I arrived five minutes late to my English lecture, having prioritized grabbing a bite to eat ahead of attending a class that I was paying nearly $1,400 for. As I snuck into the back row, I caught snatches of my professor’s discourse, lamenting on his students’ inability to spell their TA’s names right. Pulling out my laptop, I frantically tried to recall whether my TA’s last name contained the ‘M” that I had written it as, or was it an “N”? To my horror, upon checking my last email from him, I saw that it was neither M nor N; it was a D. D, the precarious letter that stood for the disaster that my generation appears to be on the brink of falling into.

Midway through his speech, my professor was interrupted by a student who raised his hand to object to a question that was on our last exam. The student maintained that although he completely understood the importance of names, in both knowing them and spelling them, he failed to understand the significance of remembering the name of Amadou Diallou, who was the basis of one of the texts we were required to read for the exam, in a particular chapter of “Blink” by Malcolm Gladwell.

I cringed inwardly; I could see my professor struggling to respond in a manner that was devoid of sarcasm. Fortunately, a student came to his rescue, pointing out that the professor had in fact highlighted the significance of that man during one particular lecture, something that the inquisitor would have known had he paid attention.

The focus of the beginning of the day’s lecture was dedicated to those students who were complaining about the difficulty of the exam. The number of people who found the four-part exam consisting of defining terms, passage identification and analysis, fill-in-the-blanks, and a relatively short essay was, to quote a former New York mayoral candidate, “too damn high”.

I could easily detect the note of distress my professor’s voice as he struggled to impress upon us an explanation as to why he couldn’t make the exam any easier: because it was already too easy.

Is this what being a college student has come to mean? Urging your professor to adjust your exam to make it easier than it already is? In this day where a focus on STEM majors and future business leaders leave liberal arts majors to be on the receiving end of unwarranted flak, I felt humiliated that the students who participate in the major that I so enjoy are providing material evidence to support the stereotypes.

This isn’t an issue that only students who major in liberal arts deal with. My professor went on to read aloud an op-ed published in 2011 by the L.A. Times on the declining status of college students, and how the focus of college evolved to solely marketing the university and bending to the will of students rather than actually educating them. However, the point of this article that he chose to emphasize is that the responsibility of this issue is not entirely carried by the institutions themselves; a large portion is to be blamed on us students.

These statements do, of course, hold the traits of a generalization, but the article acknowledges this:

To be sure, there were many exceptions to this dismal portrait of the state of undergraduate learning. Some academic programs and colleges are quite rigorous, and some students we followed pushed themselves and excelled. In general, traditional arts and science fields (math, science, humanities and the social sciences) tended to be more demanding, and students who majored in those subjects studied more and showed higher gains. So too did students attending more selective colleges. In addition, at every college and university examined, we found some students who were applying themselves and learning at impressive levels.

These real accomplishments do not, however, exonerate the colleges and universities that are happy to collect annual tuition dollars but then fail to provide many students with a high-quality education.

I am choosing to discourse on this matter simply because this is a truth that I have been struggling with for some time now. The proof of this fact surrounds me. Whenever I see a fellow peer stressing over an upcoming exam or an impending paper, it is often because they have left it for the last minute. The difficulty of the task in question is debatable; I don’t believe for a second that, outside of the exceptions of a barking-mad professor or a particularly challenging chapter, achieving high marks is impossible. Outside of class, many students seem disinterested in real-life situations. I can practically count on one hand the number of conversations I have had with other students regarding war, poverty, class and race issues: in other words, meaningful conversations that involve legitimate debating and fact-based arguments. Most of these kinds of dialogues involved uncomfortable aversions, a simple tsk-tsk at the occurring issue, and then the conversation moves on to a more superficial topic. I think Cherry puts it well in S.E. Hinton’s book “The Outsiders”, when she describes these kinds of conversations:

“You know, sometimes I’ll catch myself talking to a girl-friend, and realize I don’t mean half of what I’m saying. I don’t really think a beer blast on the river bottom is super-cool, but I’ll rave about one to a girl-friend just to be saying something.”

Where, along our paths to greatness, have we lost the desire to learn? Why are we opposed to pushing our limits, our boundaries, and challenging ourselves? Why are we now concerned with setting the bar lower, with making things easier for ourselves? Why have we lost the want to become more intelligent beings, to remain inquisitive and eager and thirsty for knowledge?

My professor continued to express the problem further, describing how students who came to meet with him during office hours were unable to withstand checking their cell phones for more than a minute. This last statement unintentionally exacerbated my personal struggle, because I was could not honestly consider myself separate from this group. Much of my own potential and that of my peers are going to waste simply because we are cannot detach ourselves from digital devices, be it cell phones or laptops or gaming consoles. The worst part about this is the way we seem to dismiss this as a trivial matter, under the pretense that we will somehow “catch up” to what we are depriving ourselves of. The truth is, there is no catching up when the list of procrastinated tasks grows longer and attributing it to the trials of youth. We pay little mind to our dismissal things like how much we truly understand our homework, how little attention we pay to international news.

Sadly, I have no concluding statement to these sentiments. The problem has been expressed, but the trouble is, how do we extract the solution?  I remembered Amadou Diallou’s name because I faintly recalled picking it up from the nightly news years ago. I happened to grow up and still currently live near that section of the South Bronx, and by the end of the recollection of the shooting experience, I was in tears. We should be searching for meaning this way in the material that we consume, not consider it an arduous to-do task. This, I think, is the first step to helping us students change our perspective on our education. This goes towards the academia as well, who would rather capitalize on the process of education rather than further it. For the students who simply don’t give a damn, here’s hoping these words from a fellow peer make any dent in your day.

INCOMPLETE****

This is my first time writing a version of an op-ed, but after viewing the multitudes of reactions on Facebook regarding a certain topic I have debated countless times in the past, I felt compelled to express my own feelings. I was flabbergasted by the general consensus of my peers regarding this subject, and therefore believe that my two cents on the matter is required.

Earlier this week, a news article released by NY1 stated that the NAACP Legal Defense Fund was filing a civil rights complaint against the city in regards to a long contested issue-the fact finding a needle in a haystack would be an easier task than finding a black or Hispanic student in any of the specialized high schools in New York City.

Stuyvesant, Bronx Science, and Brooklyn Technical High Schools are almost universally considered the jewels of the city. Nearly 30,000 students, with numbers steadily increasing yearly, take the Specialized High School Exam, or SHSAT, every October or November. I myself can easily recall the years I spent dashing to SHSI (the Specialized High School Institute) every Tuesday afternoon when school ended and waking up early Saturday mornings to attend the program, grueling over practice exams while secretly pining for the comfort of my bed. My parents even managed to find the means, like many other Bengali families, to pay for private tutoring at the infamous Khan’s Tutorial, where (at that time) a $70 a class fee was bartered in exchange for a teacher, who was usually a student at one of these specialized high schools, who drilled skills into our heads, the knowledge of which were mandatory in order to succeed in achieving a high score on the exam. The day came when I got my results; I was both anxious and fearful as I ripped apart the envelope that my guidance counselor handed me.

“Congratulations! You are being offered one of a small number of seats to one or more of the Specialized High Schools to which you applied and/or auditioned to.”

I had gotten into the Bronx High School of Science.

After a momentary celebration which involved jumping up and down and excitedly thrusting the paper to any teacher that cared to look, I was given a cell phone to inform my parents with. I called my dad, ecstatic, and told him the news.

His response: “Not Stuyvesant?”

The aforementioned SHSI

Two weeks ago, the class was greeted by several UAlbany alumni who have progressed in the field that many of us in the class hope to enter, and succeeded. Ian Pickus, Katie Roberts, and Nick Reisman sat in a row at the front of the lecture room, smiles pasted onto their faces as the hordes of college freshman came into the classroom and proceeded to gawk at the guests. I was greatly interested in hearing what they had to say, mainly because these were young people who had achieved what I aspire to excel in one day.

Professor Bass introduced the three adults, and I leaned forward as the first person began to speak. Nick Reisman was part of the graduating class of 2007, a mere four years ago. He divulged information on his career, beginning with his participation in writing activities in high school, to gradually writing for the Albany Student Press when he got here. Writing for the ASP was one of the first goals I had upon entering the school as well, so I was relieved to hear that I was on the right track. However, his life took a turn when he realized that instead of print media, where he had spent time writing a local paper called Gazette, he yearned for the spotlight. He turned to television, and now works for Capital Tonight as a reporter. Reisman let us know that journalism skills come with time and experience, letting on that he developed a nose for interesting news after covering stories time after time; seeking a lead becomes almost instinctual.

My ears perked up when Katie Roberts informed us that she transferred from SUNY Albany to Syracuse University’s  Newhouse School of Communication; I had also applied to the school during my senior year, and did not get in-however, I had plans to reapply. She explained how she initially had a penchant for writing fictional stories, but later discovered that, after taking an intro to journalism course, that she was also fond of writing “real” stories, or news stories. By then I was sitting up so straight in my seat that my spine nearly cracked: this woman was voicing my own reality, for I preferred fiction writing as well. She voiced some of my main concerns, such as journalism becoming a dead career, but reassured us that online journalism was alive and kicking. Fortunately, I had been using the internet since I was six and blogging since ten, so the internet better be ready for the professional Tania.

Ian Picchus was on the quieter side, with a shy, boyish grin that didn’t match the loud writing style one needs to write the sports section of the paper that he engages in. His story involves growing up in the peaceful town of Saratoga Springs, which is nearby Albany, and pursuing both English and Journalism  degrees while studying at UAlbany. His interest in writing about sports initially began when he wrote for ASP, and later continued to do so, among other writings.

What fascinated me the most about these young pictures of success was precisely that-how young they were. They were only in their late twenties to early thirties, but had already reached high points in their careers. It raised my spirits a bit because these people were once just as normal a student as I am now, and gave hope to my somewhat irrational fears that I would not make it.

Before the class ended, the three young professionals gave us parting advice: Roberts told us to practice various types of writing, such as investigative and political; Picchus advised us to pay attention to government and politics, as citizens must be informed in order to avoid being deceived. Reisman had to leave early because duty called, but said to set aside time to write enterprise stories.

Far from being dull, as I had initially expected, the session with the graduates turned out to be informative and helpful, and I plan to utilize everything I learned.

The OccupyWallStreet movement gained recognition in early September as common citizens, the bourgeoisie of today, protested the continued rise of income and greed that the wealthiest people in the country have come to enjoy. This one percent of the US is represented by corporate America, the epitome of which is found with the six hundred dollar suit-and-tie businessmen in Wall Street in the Lower East Side of NY. The other 99 percent represent the voice of the majority of America, who are fueled with anger by the lack of hand-outs given to them by the government, and abundance of said to the thriving one percent; their experience with the aftermath of all the reckless activities and trouble Wall Street businessmen had gotten themselves into over the years, only to be pulled out with their shoulders dusted off, while the less fortunate had to clean up the mess. Their rage has influenced people in many other regions, initiating an influx of Occupy movements in other regions, such as OccupyAlbany. The movements have also set off a domino effect in implementing other Occupy movements for various other causes.

The problem is that that particular one percent of America also happens to own the country, and therefore decides what information can be shared with the general public. The activists in Wall Street are standing up for those of us who suffer, but are also subject to false accusations, ridicule, humiliation, and misrepresentation. The sad truth is that most people believe the mainstream media conveys the truth, which is not the case. The only thing that can settle the dispute on whether or not the occupiers are in the right or wrong, or the one percent are actually not as villainous as they appear, are stone cold facts.

So what exactly are the facts? Let’s take a look at a recent New York Times article:

The total population of America is about 307 million.

The top .01% of the US make an average of about 31 million dollars a year-these include people like fashion designers [Ralph Lauren] and bank CEOs [Jamie Dimon of JP Morgan Chase]

The top .90$ average about 1.35 million dollars a year, by people such as Vikram Pandit, of Citigroup-yet another banking company.

The top ten percent of the country average about $167,000 yearly-such people are Jay H. Walder, formerly of the MTA, and Raymond Kelly, NYPD police commissioner, who makes over two hundred grand a year.

What does that leave? The bottom ninety percent. Important careers such as school teachers, police officers, sanitation workers-their annual salaries average only $36,000 a year.

These are facts.

Sure, the protestors on Wall Street may have stretched the truth-they present the 90 percent after all, instead of the 99 percent. That still leaves 276,300,000 Americans to be accounted for.

In Wall Street’s defense, they make a good point in that during their golden era, everyone can rejoice. When the business was booming, they claim everyone profited: “we left 35 percent tips at our business dinners.” Representatives say that they run the market, and while it flourished, the economy thrived, but the second it crashes, the government runs around looking for a scapegoat, and its’ eye lands on Wall Street-as do the eyes of the rest of the country. They work their behinds off with no breaks, no pensions, no unions, yet the people disregard all that, the so-called common people with their four month breaks, pensions at the age of fifty, 9-5 jobs.

However, in a rush to victimize themselves, they neglect to mention the benefits they reap from all their hard work. In addition to making big bucks, they save a lot too: for instance, it was discovered that General Electric avoided paying taxes in the last year, and in fact gained a 3.2 BILLION dollar tax benefit.

I feel I am not alone when I say that many of the ninety percent would give up their unions and pensions any day for that kind of benefit.

In a bizarre scenario, let us say that the Occupiers were actually wrong, and they were in fact behaving like angry little kids who had their toys taken away. If we reap the benefits while the top ten percent thrive, where are our benefits now? The economy did collapse, but according to your salaries, it seems like it was simply a bump in the road. Meanwhile, the unemployment rate continues to decline, and the average salary in the US decreased by nearly two percent.

Corporations shall prosper at the fate of the common people. We are merely the cogs in an ever running engine controlled by the rich and powerful.

I recently read Rosemary Armao’s blog on the Times Union website. Her writing proves to be opinionated and straightforward, a rather refreshing take on things.  One of her blogs caught my eye: it was a review of her recent high school reunion. She posed many interesting sentiments, such as the success of the class victim, the everlasting beauty of the girl that stole everyone’s heart, the lack of diversity in her old class. She comments on how remarkably easy Facebook made it for planning the event, and recovering all her long lost classmates.  Armao mentions at some point when she recalls the group arguing, that “We remain, after all, children of the 60s and 70s, individualistic and hard to reign in.” It struck me as an interestingly proud statement and made me wonder: would my graduating class and I reflect traits only visible in teens of the 21^st century? What in particular would stand out, besides the advances in technology? Sadly, I feel as if the kids from the past have covered all the grounds in change and individuality-all we are doing is bringing back the past.

Another sentence in her blog stood out to me that isn’t particularly relevant, but I found amusing anyway: “I enlisted my mom, the Reunion Queen, to help cook and organize. Reunion Day began with her running in from the backyard about 8:30 with a panicky edge to her voice: “Ro, Ro, who is this in my driveway?” Outside, walking in from the street where a yellow taxi was parked we found a middle-aged, long-haired woman in a sari. She could have been a classmate — except she wasn’t.” I was a little confused as to why her mother would be panicked, but moreover, I absolutely cannot understand a world without diversity. Living in NYC all my life has spoiled me, and all I know is a world with different people and different things and lives and places and everything. No one in NYC would panic at the sight of an old Indian woman on their front stoop. They would be more likely to ask if she would like some tea.

At any rate, Rosemary’s blog intrigues me, as does her expansive knowledge of almost everything, so I have officially bookmarked her page on my web browser.

The tangy aroma of sizzling shish kebabs, delicious chicken curry, freshly made mango lassi, and chestnuts roasting on an open fire (just kidding about that last) filled my slowly dilating nostrils as I finally discovered the crowded street where the mela was being held this week. Most people look forward to beach activities and things of that sort when the summer draws nearer, but Bengali residents in New York City share another joy: melas, or Bengali cultural fairs, that take place throughout the boroughs for as long as the sun beams, glowing upon and warming our naturally tanned skins. For some, the excitement lies in the large gathering and celebrations of our minority group, although the latter term has been questionable over the years as our population grew in our fair city. For others, like myself, joining in the events are our guilty pleasures, especially that of the modern Americanized South Asians.

I had not experienced a mela in recent years due to the gradual distance that I maintained between myself and my heritage. After outgrowing my rebellious teen years, I decided that it would be best to return to my roots, and where better to start than a mela? I nostalgically remembered past summers where, upon receiving word of an upcoming mela, my friends and I would chatter nonstop about the event that would likely complete our entire summer. It always did.

Now a self-declared “wise” young adult, I wondered what exactly about melas I once found alluring; filled to the brim with conservative Bangladeshis, especially the older generations, we would not even be able to enter in our normal clothes without being scowled at, and god forbid we try to arrive with a member of the opposite sex who isn’t our father-the rumor mill begins. There would always be some sort of drama going on at these fairs, because wherever there is Bengali people, drama will follow. However, the thought of mouth-watering Indian food was tempting, and so I sought one out. I convinced my childhood friends to accompany me for old time’s sake.

This particular mela was held in late August in the Jackson Heights part of Queens, also known as Little Bangladesh. This was because the neighborhood was overpopulated with Bengali families, stores, tutoring centers, meat markets and such. They usually begin late in the morning, and continue on into the evening. Of course, we arrived fashionably late. I’m not quite sure how we were unable to find it to begin with, considering the decibels at which the foreign music was blaring, but we did eventually. Once beyond the road blocks, I spotted a stand selling polaow and chicken masala-I made a beeline for it. After buying an overpriced plateful, my friends and I wandered down the street, occasionally greeting a familiar face here and there. It occurred to me that that was one of the perks of melas for us: we ran into friends, more often old ones who we hadn’t seen in a while, which was always a thrill. Nowadays however, with online social networks, it made it easier to keep in touch with these old friends, and wore away the excitement of seeing a familiar face.

There was a crowd forming at the stage set at the end of the street. There were planned dance performances, Bengali singers, and speeches to be made throughout the day. We stayed long enough to watch a friend of mine, who is a member of a popular [among the Bengali community] dance group perform, and an elderly woman serenade the audience in a rather wobbly voice. It wasn’t exactly impressive, and the crowd gave very little feedback-I guess no one told them about the “clap when the performance ends” rule; common courtesy people.

In the next couple of hours, we amused ourselves by pausing at every stand that lined the streets, talking to strangers, avoiding Bengali mothers staring at us, and buying more food. I was saddened that something that once brought me so much joy and excitement now bored me. I was too young to have become jaded, so I believe that it wasn’t that melas now lacked the fun that it was once known for-this particular mela was simply poorly planned. We never had to end up finding entertainment for ourselves in the past-entertainment came to the people.

In hindsight, I suppose I did bear a sort of cynical view of melas upon my last experience, and this may have influenced the mediocrity that I felt.