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Yesterday morning, in the library Starbucks, three university officials had a sit-down with an editor of The Statesman. If that sounds ridiculous and pathetic, I can assure you: it was. It was a little before 10 a.m. when Rachel Rodriguez, Sacha Kopp’s Communications Manager; Lauren Sheprow, University Media Relations Officer; and an unknown third woman sat at the table adjacent to mine. These three were sent to do damage control after the Statesman published an unflattering article about the Writing and Rhetoric department’s personnel cuts. The three came equipped with notepads and over-inflated senses of self-importance. Their performance had laughable nuances that one could only attribute to too many evenings spent watching Law and Order reruns. There was the careful staging of the seating before the editor arrived (“I want you to sit here,” Rodriguez said to Sheprow gesturing to the seat next to her), the good cop/bad cop routine when…

My mother was a victim of domestic abuse. Except she doesn’t consider herself a victim. She survived 23 years of emotional, verbal and physical abuse while single-handedly raising seven children on her own. She is a survivor. Twenty people per minute are physically abused by an intimate partner in the United States, according to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. That is 10 million men and women per year. One in three women and one in four men are reported to have been victims of some sort of physical abuse by a spouse or significant other. My mother’s story is part of an astonishingly large statistic. It deserves to be heard. When she was 17-years-old, her parents arranged for her to marry a man, as was the custom in Indian culture at that time. She had no college career or job to support herself; my father became her everything. She…