Clara Jane Hendrickson

When I arrived in Philadelphia, the airline lost my luggage. I remember the first time I made my way down Woodland Walk (before construction began on the new dorm).

“This is good. These girls always think it will help to talk to the press, and every time they come off looking cheap.” This line from “Confirmation,” a docudrama about the Clarence Thomas-Anita Hill hearings has stuck with me for days.

This past week, I attended Bernie Sanders’ rally in Philadelphia, marking my first time attending a presidential campaign rally.

As I waited for my bus to Maine, I readied myself to spend three weeks off the grid by mindlessly scrolling through my Instagram feed.

On Feb.

Writer Ta-Nehisi Coates recently criticized Bernie Sanders’ class-first policies in a piece in The Atlantic.

This week’s issue of The Nation featured two cover articles. “Why this Socialist Feminist is for Hillary,” by Suzanna Danuta Walters and “Why this Socialist Feminist is not Voting for Hillary,” by Liza Featherstone.

Last week, I enjoyed a Thanksgiving meal with my family. Every year, I find myself dissecting what exactly it is I’m supposed to be celebrating on this holiday.

It seems like every Locust Walk encounter with a friend, acquaintance or classmate brings another instance of a Penn student bemoaning their own misfortune for being swamped, under-socialized, under-slept and overworked.

The term political correctness, which is usually applied as a pejorative phrase, entered mainstream usage after the publication of a series of New York Times articles written by Richard Bernstein in the late 80s and early 90s.