Sometimes, I find it helps to ask ourselves how we got to where we are now.
My freshman year at Unionfest, as I was bobbing and weaving through a sea of barely-adults, I came across a table for the Sunrise Movement. I knew about the organization from its work with the Green New Deal and AOC, but I didn’t know that KU had a chapter! I scanned a QR code to join their GroupMe and eventually started showing up to meetings towards the end of my first semester.
I am now leading the charge as Treasurer of Sunrise KU to get KU administration to adopt the Green New Deal for KU, which I co-authored and presented to Student Senate, working to make campus more just and fair following the success of Solidarity Fest as the Vice President of KU YDSA, and getting involved with the efforts of several other activist organizations.
Wait, how did I get here again?
In the fog of classes and friends and family and relationships and other clubs and conferences and sports and whatnot, it is easy to forget how I became involved with the things I am involved in to the extent that I am involved in them. Here, I want to recap these experiences in a way that will hopefully be helpful to those just starting to enter the world of student activism and administrative accountability as well as to veterans who find themselves asking the same question as I have just asked myself. Specifically, I want to look at three situations I have found myself in, reflecting on how I got there and what important lessons I have learned as a result of my involvement.
“Center for Sustainability nowhere to be found”
I want to highlight three organizations I have been a part of and what my work has looked like from different angles at each of them, starting with the group I already introduced: Sunrise KU.
The first big project I worked on was restoring the then-recently-closed Center for Sustainability (CFS). When I first joined Sunrise, we had little direction, as the club had just been picked back up again in response to the closing of the CFS in 2020, ostensibly in response to COVID-related budget restraints. As such, by the fall of 2024, we were focused on finding KU administrators willing to work with us to bring back the CFS to what it once was: 4 full-time employees, multiple student interns, educational programs, and broad interdisciplinary and interdepartmental reach.
Our approach was very focused on institutional engagement. We determined that getting KU administration to act meant working with them directly. We had held a protest at Strong Hall the spring prior, but given our limited numbers and the negligible impact of that demonstration, it was not acknowledged by administration. The hope was that we could find a KU administrator or two that would push for restoring the CFS in spaces we couldn’t directly influence behind the scenes, ideally leading to a positive response among their fellow higher-ups.
We very quickly discovered that KU administration had no interest whatsoever in bringing back the CFS. It had been not so much outright demolished as fractured, with responsibilities once centralized in the Center spread across dozens of departments and offices. Moreover, as with most things not tied to sports, the business school, or engineering, administrators claimed that there was simply no money for such a thing. Some were nicer about it than others, but even the most pleasant of the bureaucrats told us what we were asking for was not feasible.
We regrouped shortly thereafter, recognizing that the CFS was not likely to be restored, at least in any meaningful way, any time soon. This forced us to confront how to move forward. After all, we had oriented most of our focus towards this question, and we now had to come to terms with the realization that we were wasting our time.
It is easy to romanticize the pursuit of a futile endeavor — raging against the overwhelming forces moving against you until you cannot move any further, even with all of your might, only faltering after a commendable show of endurance and strength. Such a vision is, however, deeply unhelpful for making tangible, material change. After all, what good does it do to press on a point that cannot be moved, even if that point is the most noble thing to pursue?
Instead of conceding defeat or purposelessly struggling to restore the CFS, we instead decided to pursue a distinct yet similarly ambitious measure: The Green New Deal for KU.
We had been formally working on this resolution since January of 2024, keeping it in the background until around September of that same year when it became our foremost focus. I reached out to the right people, revised and polished the deal, and, after nearly 3 hours of Student Senate activities prior, at the end of the session on 23 October 2024, it took all of 5 minutes to pass the resolution unanimously.
You may notice a familiar demand in the resolution, under section 7, titled “Administration”: “Create a full-time paid position to coordinate sustainability efforts on campus and support that position with student internships.”
It’s the Center for Sustainability! At least sort of. It doesn’t go by the same name, nor is it as large or wide-reaching as the old CFS, but it is a big step in the right direction. That is, if KU administration actually honors the will of the students.
Student Senate resolutions are powerful tools. If you write up a convincing and generally uncontroversial position on something, particularly if it is a popular position to take on a hot-button issue, you can pass a resolution pretty easily. Suddenly, the position you are advocating for becomes more than the ramblings of some rambunctious students, but the perspective of the representative body of students on campus! An endorsement on a project by Student Senate can go a long way, especially if that project involves other official bodies on campus.
It is also a key characteristic of resolutions that they are only as effective as they are followed up on, as in their value in and of themselves is often not what makes them a useful tool. If no one holds relevant parties accountable, resolutions can fall by the wayside. Of course, even if you do push for named and otherwise relevant parties to do what the resolution says, there are no real consequences for ignoring even outright refusing to honor the demands (that is, no consequences that you don’t impose on them yourselves). It is especially difficult to ensure follow-through because, even if a resolution is “on the books”, the books don’t really exist and no one cares enough to check them.
With all of this in mind, Sunrise’s strategy now is to meet with KU administrators on how their current practices align with the GND for KU, and discuss what they can do to implement recommendations in the resolution they are yet to act on. After all, this resolution being a substantial first step isn’t worth much if there aren’t steps that follow it. While we used to have a singular untenable demand, we can now discuss different aspects in the GND; some more simple, some more complex, some pretty easy, others far loftier, yet all important and relevant, when and in what manner we see best fit, supported by a popular mandate.
There are plenty of arenas one can enter to make things happen, even for those with more radical politics. There are certainly cons to institutional engagement – a ceiling of practicality on ambition and imaginative thought, slow and difficult-to-navigate bureaucracy, and little inherent leverage to name a few. – but to make things happen, particularly in your immediate, local community, it is often necessary. Finding partners, not friends, in an institution hostile towards our efforts ensures we can at least remind them we exist and, perhaps with enough meetings and discussions, we can work with them to realize our vision for a more ecologically-cognizant KU.
Go Mold Boy Go
I have spoken at length about my experience with the Kansan, reflecting on how getting canned went down, why it made no sense by both the internal and external logics used to justify it, and the Palestinian exception to protected speech.
I have since received many messages from people who appreciated the perspective I offered, a few of whom used to work for the Kansan themselves. I was even separately approached by someone at the Kansan who offered to have me back with the paper, but I declined their offer. On this subject, I think I have said all that I have to say.
As for the stories I worked on at the Kansan, however, I have more to say. Right up until I was locked out, I was locked in on mold.
For those unaware, the final piece I published with the Kansan was about the infestation of mold in KU’s dorms, especially Templin Hall. I would encourage those who have not yet done so to read the piece, but to summarize, we used two different testing methods to determine that there is visible, potentially seriously hazardous mold in Templin, which had likely led some students to suffer from health complications.
The Kansan actually followed up on a lead they said they got as a direct result of “The Kansan’s” mold piece. Former student Emma Swenson, who is considering filing a lawsuit against the University, alleges mold exposure in the dorms exacerbated her POTS and fibromyalgia. I hope that Emma finds the justice she is seeking.
I was first made aware of the mold situation in mid-August or so by KU YDSA president Sasha, who is featured at length in the Kansan piece. They detailed their experiences with move-in day mold exposure and the journey they took to find a room that was not infested. A few weeks later, I pitched the story to someone who worked in news at the Kansan, Colin, with whom I would later co-publish the piece. I spent most of the month of September researching how to best test for mold, eventually settling on the two tests featured in the article, microscopy and bleach, as the best ways to proceed. At the end of that month, I gathered my data by testing for mold in the dorm. I had a full draft, complete with student testimony, prepared by October 10th, the day before I was canned. The piece was published a few days later. It wasn’t paid journalism that made that happen; it was months of unpaid work.
Through my experience in Sunrise, I learned that it is one thing to be correct about something, but it is another to actually do something about it. With this situation, I think the lesson I learned at the Kansan has more to do with what it means to be right about something as an end in and of itself.
This piece was, by its very nature as a work of journalism, always meant to be public-facing, that is to say that it was written to expose the situation to the readership of the Kansan, rather than as a report compiled for internal use by KU Housing. It would be easy for them to ignore a report from one person, but if it’s out in the open for everyone to see, it is far harder for them to brush off.
Of course, that doesn’t mean that they didn’t try to ignore it anyway. I happened to be at the Student’s Assembly Cycle 4 meeting on October 23rd of last year when they were considering the GND for KU. For the first hour or so of that meeting they were hearing presentations from KU Dining and KU Housing on proposed rate increases for the following year. Towards the end of that hour, Senator Mia Keene asked a question about “the mold issue… in most, if not all, living spaces on campus” – an apt summary of the situation.
Grimacing in response to the question, the representative from KU Housing retorted, “just because an article was written in the Kansan doesn’t mean it’s completely true.” Of course, she said this not knowing that I, the one who wrote that article, was in the audience.
After claiming to take every report of mold “very seriously,” the representative dropped the absolute truth nuke of “do we have mold in our buildings sometimes? Yes, absolutely we do.” From what I could find, this was the first time KU Housing had openly acknowledged the mold in the dorms, certainly for this particular situation, with prior statements from them featured in my piece saying nothing about the legitimacy of the mold-related claims being made.
Moreover, she acknowledged that a rooftop unit in Templin was down during move-in weekend – the same time that Sasha and others were finding mold in every room they were moved to – but claimed that they immediately fixed it. She then, in a defensive tone, said that Housing invests “a lot of money” into this sort of thing, including duct cleanings, which Sasha critiqued in the Kansan piece as being largely ineffective and primarily cosmetic.
Then came the classic Housing playbook move of blaming students for living in germ-infested environments and not setting the thermostats correctly over the summer. Perhaps more frustrating is when she remarked that “just taking photos and calling [your] mom doesn’t help [Housing] get staff there” before patting herself on the back for being a mom herself. Of course, if reporting the situation was itself enough to get it fixed, there would be little reason for students to tell their parents about it, certainly not in great enough numbers to merit mention by the person in charge of keeping those parents’ children safe.
It was cathartic to later take credit for publishing that mold piece during my GND presentation in reference to the comments made earlier by that Housing representative, but it would have been far more satiating to see substantive action taken by housing to clean up and remove the mold. After all, in acknowledging that there is a mold problem in the dorms and that they have received information about it both through reports to them as well as through the reporting in my piece, they can’t hide that there is a problem. While they claim to be doing something about it, clearly since this is still a problem, they aren’t doing enough and/or what is necessary to actually fix the situation.
This points towards a fundamental flaw in relying on loose public pressure to expose a problem: Eventually, people move on, but that doesn’t mean the problem is solved. There is still mold in the dorms. People are still experiencing health complications as a result of the mold. The difference now is that my story from 5 months ago isn’t salient in the campus zeitgeist and thus no longer something KU Housing has to think about whatsoever.
Despite claims implying to the contrary, there was nothing in the piece that was dishonest or bent the truth, let alone anything factually incorrect. It was easy to imply that the piece was not “completely true,” but it is evidently far more difficult to identify what was untrue about it. While it was nice to make someone from Housing confront a situation they were clearly uncomfortable about, it would be far nicer if they actually addressed the problem.
We had multiple corroborating tests, macro- and micro- photographic evidence, expert and student testimony, local and non-local empirics, and factual analysis, and they still said we were wrong! What more could they ask from us! The unfortunate reality is that, no matter what evidence we could have provided to corroborate the story, they would still have blown us off.
I believe that what I achieved through the mold piece is about at the limit of what that kind of response can do for a situation like that of the mold in the dorms; people were talking about it for a time and Housing clearly didn’t like that, but there were only limited, if any, material changes. Rather than do a full deep clean of the vents to ensure mold is at least kept at bay for a time, unveil a plan to retrofit the dorms with more advanced air filters and HVAC systems, and/or destroy and rebuild those dorms entirely, Housing simply kept their heads down until the storm blew over, ending up pretty much back where they started.
Still, I don’t think that the mold piece was useless. It did force them to confront the issue to some extent, which is more than they likely would have otherwise. It also made people on campus aware of the issue, which has since inspired some to take action like Emma Swenson mentioned above. Most importantly, it put KU’s public relations at risk, which KU will do most anything to defend.
Perhaps if people began publicly sharing photos and tests of the mold in their dorms in addition to privately reporting it, KU would feel more motivated to address the problem. However, what I fear will be the impetus for greater action is either a wave of lawsuits from affected students or a student will suffer from a severe complication so clearly tied to the mold that the University simply cannot ignore it further. My piece was perhaps a wake-up tap, but perhaps the real blaring wake-up call KU needs is to feel the pressure where it matters most to them – in the purse and the public eye.
Socialism is when
Every year, the KU Honors program hosts their Common Cause Symposium, where groups of honors students present about a topic under the umbrella of that year’s focus as it relates to human rights. In 2024, which was about meeting people’s basic needs, my group presented about housing insecurity in Lawrence and how we dehumanize the unhoused through language, policy, and neglect. There are some things I might go back and change about that presentation, but I was generally pretty proud of it.
After the first round of presentations, attendees participated in what Honors dubbed the “marketplace of ideas”, an interactive session in which groups would discuss a problem, propose a solution, and then go around the room to comment on and learn from the problems and solutions of others. There is plenty to say about the implications of this activity, its name, and the neoliberal orientations of KU Honors, but I will digress here no further.
At this particular marketplace of ideas, I happened to be in a group with the aforementioned Sasha – someone who, odd as it is to think about, I had not formally met prior. Our group decided to make our “idea board” about the Center for Sustainability and what it meant for KU to lose that institution. I mentioned I was a part of Sunrise KU, which seemed to spark Sasha’s attention. I still have the picture of that idea board on my phone.
From there, Sasha and I stayed loosely in touch, with them occasionally coming to Sunrise meetings or reaching out to me about campus goings-on. One of their messages, sent August 14th of last year, ended up marking a departure from that rhythm I had come to expect. They asked me if they could “list [me] temporarily in [an officer] position just so [KU YDSA] goes through [on Rock Chalk Central],” to which I replied “go right ahead.” I was actually initially listed as the treasurer, but as we began to pick up the pace on getting the club going, I became the de facto second-in-command.
And that’s how I became the VP of KU YDSA. That, and being elected at the first meeting.
The exchange seems so simple looking back on it, because it was simple! Soon after Sasha listed me, YDSA was approved as an official club and we tabled together at Union Fest where the only supplies we had were flyers for our first meeting and some rocks they grabbed to hold the flyers down. I learned then about Sasha’s prior efforts to restart KU YDSA from the ashes of its past iterations, trying and failing to get things going the year prior. Their initiative to just start scheduling meetings and telling people to show up finally got us past the initial membership threshold together. After that, things began to fall into place.
Once the club started to pick up some steam, a freshman member by the name of Daniel decided to start writing a basic weekly summary of the news and club activities in what he called “The Weekly Rose”. After a while, he began writing original content and essays for the newsletter, eventually enlisting our Treasurer Jaiden as the editor. Within about a month and a half, we had the Blogspot up and running, which now features roughly 3 dozen posts and counting.
Daniel was the source of another good idea-turned-project when, during a club visit from representatives of the United Academics of KU (UAKU) faculty and academic staff union, he asked what students could do to support their organizing efforts. The representatives expressed that they didn’t want to impose a mandate on student expression and suggested that we should feel free to show our solidarity in whatever way we see best fit. It was then that Daniel pitched a sort of Solidarity Fest where YDSA could share its support for the union and its efforts.
As we stewed on the idea more, we realized we should probably loop in the Graduate Teaching Assistants Coalition (GTAC) as the other major academic union on campus. We also decided we should include KU Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP), given the saliency and importance of their efforts. We also realized it would be easy to loop Sunrise into this event as well, as all I had to do was get the other club leaders to show up. From there, we realized that we might as well look to invite other student organizations and unions. It only made sense from there to invite non-student groups from the area who do the kind of work we like to see.
In the end, we had roughly 3 dozen organizations, groups, and community leaders who tabled and/or spoke at the event. Over 300 people showed up to be in community with us, far from the originally envisioned gathering of the Unions and a few clubs on campus. As our ambition had grown, so did our investment in the event, proportionally and necessarily; I was putting in a few hours a week each week in the months leading up to February 1st making sure things would be ready for the big day. As a result, what could have stayed a small-scale glorified pizza party or simple, ineffectual rally, or what could have been a squandered opportunity to build community across like-minded groups, became the defining event for our organization and a massive success. We put in the work such that the questions we left with were not “what could we have done to prevent this failure”, but instead “how can we better prepare for a massive turnout next year” and “who feels like uploading the transcriptions of peoples’ speeches to the Rose?”
It seems happenstantial that I stumbled across YDSA (and Sunrise for that matter). However, the fact that I put myself in positions to find and be found by those groups is not a coincidence. As such, I’ve come to think it is prudent to suggest that, by putting yourself in positions to get involved, you will become involved. There’s always work to be done, and there are always people looking for others to help them do it. The thing stopping you from being counted among them is a lack of exploration and follow-through. A great idea can stay a great idea, or it can become something more.
One of the most important things I have learned during my time in leadership roles in activist spaces is how things get done. Sure, sometimes you have to delegate work out, especially for a project as large as Solidarity Fest, but the real secret to how things get done is as simple as this: someone does it.
Sasha reached out to me about being a placeholder officer for KU YDSA, we followed through with it, and now we have KU YDSA. Daniel felt compelled to make a club newsletter, he followed through with it, and now we have The Weekly Rose. Daniel had a good idea for Solidarity Fest, we followed through with it, and now we have direction and positive recognition as an organization. Whether it be designing a poster, organizing a movie night, writing a resolution, or even writing this Rose piece, the strongest impetus for action is an internal desire to do it.
What it takes to make something happen
Throughout this piece, I have framed my experiences around not just the sequence of events that led me from one point to another, but also the key takeaways from the experiences I’ve highlighted here, hopefully in a way that will be useful as reference for those trying to get involved in social activism, on campus and otherwise. Now, however, I want to close by looking at the process of getting involved more abstractly and what all it entails in most every situation.
First, you need to do research
When most people hear that phrase, “do research”, they think of formal observations and analysis. That’s all well and good, but as it is used here, “research” is a term that is far more wide-ranging. Zach Madison, a mentor of mine and a leading member of GTAC, explained research to me as an “existential question”, in that it can take the form of working in a lab, just as much as it can be leading a club or writing a piece like this. When I say “do research” here, I mean something similar: explore, from all angles, what exists and, from there, what could be.
When looking to get involved on campus, research can take the form of finding out what clubs, organizations, groups, etc. exist in your area that do the kind of work you want to be doing. Chances are, if there is a clear and present need, someone is already addressing it, and if they aren’t, you should. For instance, while researching potential invitees for Solidarity Fest, I discovered that KU had a Pan-African Vanguard, a Black Creatives Collective, and a disability advocacy group in AbilityKU. Unfortunately, none of those groups responded to our invites, but the fact that they exist is still worth noting.
When looking at how to address a problem, research can take the form of looking at the theoretical and practical histories of how that problem has been addressed prior, in your community and otherwise.
On the theoretical side of things, you don’t need to be a theory-pilled enlightened Marxist to study activist traditions, but understanding how the same questions you may be having have been addressed before can give you answers as to how you can address them now. Theoretical and practical questions are never “settled matters”, but sometimes extensive discourse on them exists in texts published a hundred years ago with insights that can both save you time and effort now as well as make you more adaptable to similar situations in the future. For instance, it may be worth your time to read about how past communist parties addressed particular problematic members, what worked about those models, and what didn’t before addressing similar challenges within your own party or pre-party organization. A strong theoretical base can not only lend direction to both your and your organization's philosophies, but it can give pointers to how to conduct your affairs most effectively.
On the practical side, knowing what attempts have already been made to address the problem you’ve identified can suggest to you what may work and what may not in the context in which you are operating. For instance, section 5 point d of our GND suggests KU invest in bikes that could be rented out to students for extended periods of time, rather than short-term rental systems like Lime escooters. The reason for not advocating for a bikeshare program is that KU already attempted a similar program before, perhaps twice, for a limited time before rescinding it at the start of the pandemic. As it turns out, people don’t like riding bikes up hills, so people would ride the bikes down the hill, leave them at the bottom where they would accumulate, and no one would ride them up, meaning someone contracted by KU had to manually move the bikes up the hill at great expense. While our GND proposal has been met with some hesitancy by those who would be in charge of implementing it, they agreed that there was more potential in this idea than those tried previously, putting us a step closer to making it happen than if we had failed to research what prior attempts at bike access had looked like on campus.
Research can also mean knowing who to talk to. That can look like mean power-mapping and learning names of who does what where, how, when, and how well. For instance, as a part of meeting with administrators about the GND, I have learned a great deal not only about what they think of the GND, but also of how they operate and what their responsibilities entail. Now, if you reference Margretta Devries or Jill Hummels, I can tell you about their role, not just because I have researched what they do, but because I have spoken with them personally and gained insights from them directly. Simply going to scheduled meetings and loosely-promoted University events when possible can put you in a position to understand the power dynamics and goings-on behind the scenes of the University.
As a side note, however, for more aggressively-promoted events, it is often better to steer clear. If they are this desperate to get you to show up, chances are they care more about you counting towards a nice big number of students who showed up that they can wave around as proof of their engagement with their constituents rather than about what you have to say about the crumbling stairs at Wescoe or the roaches in Haworth.
Research is often grounded in experiences like these, but soon, both Sasha and I will have graduated. Sure, much of our membership will still be there, but after a few more years, should KU YDSA still be going strong, there will be an entirely new set of students leading the charge. As is the nature of a student organization, turnover is always high. The key, then, is not to lose all the knowledge held by those graduating. It is one thing to learn from your own experiences to do better the next time, but it is another thing to leave notes, messages, advice, records, logs, and so on for your posterity, immediate and distant. If someone is reading this in 5 or so years time, perhaps you will find these insights into how these organizations functioned back in ancient times useful, such that you can run them better in your modern day.
To underscore this philosophy of philosophy, neither the approaches of Sunrise KU nor KU YDSA are particularly revolutionary. This is not to say that our goals are not ‘revolutionary’, but on its face, institutional engagement may seem contrary to that notion. Here, I want to draw a distinction between incrementalism and chipping away at a problem. Incrementalism is a political philosophy which prioritizes change with immediate progress, often without a particular end in mind. Chipping away, however, focuses on ultimate ends and takes measures necessary to get there, so long as they do not contradict our principles. The difference is between focusing on process for process’ sake versus taking a practical approach towards loftier goals, doing what we can where we can. Being principled and informed about both past collaborationist and opportunist approaches as well as the field of play we operate on enables us to act in ways that are both at once geared towards getting things done while still encompassing the more ultimate goals of our socialist organization. It is better to be 90 feet underground instead of 100, but the goal is to be up in the clouds, and we must never forget that, nor bury ourselves further to reach it.
Second, you need to take the time to do things
I say this as a double-major, double-minor, multi-certificate student in charge of two organizations, a member of multiple others, a worker, and of course, a person with interests outside of the broader university sphere, knowing full well that I am not the most busy person I know. I avoid cliches wherever possible (and when I cannot avoid them, I at least try to give them a unique spin), but I cannot help but to insist here that you not forget to take time for yourself. This subsection offers some arguments as to why, but this is also not a point that one should need to prove practically.
I refer to “time” here in two senses of the term. First, I mean it in the medium-term, as in you need room in your schedule to take action on things. This is also a personal sense of the term, as in it pertains to your own ability to do things. There are a dozen organizations I would like to be involved with on campus that I simply do not have the time nor the energy to engage with beyond being in their group chat and liking their Instagram posts. In this sense, perhaps the best means of addressing it is regular self-reflection and honesty with yourself in what you find. If you need to take a step back from your organization for a time while you deal with other matters, do so. If that community is worth being a part of, they will support you.
Second, I mean “time” in the long-term, as in you need to be fully aware of the time it will take to accomplish anything practical. This is also a less personal, less organization sense of the term, as in it is less about what you can get done and more about what we can get done together. As discussed above, your posterity play a key role in an organization, in that they will be responsible for carrying through or dropping the larger projects you are working on now. With the GND, we have worked since fall of 2023 to get it written, passed, and implemented. Even after two years, however, we still have years of progress to go to achieve even some of our more moderate asks. In all likelihood, I will have graduated long before we see significant divestment by KU from fossil fuels or the creation of a sustainability coordinator position in administration. I will have played a significant role in making that happen, yes, but I will very likely not be here to see it. Change takes time, sometimes more than we have. As long as you set those who will carry the torch after you up with the skills to follow through, though, that change will come.
Third, you need to make connections
As simple as it sounds to meet people and get to know them, it nevertheless remains crucial for growing as an organizer. For me, a large part of why KU YDSA has been so focused on building community and creating a space that both does serious organizing and also does fun things like movie nights and fascism bingo is that this sort of space is exactly where engaged people can begin to make a difference, as well as connect with others like them in that sense. Making friends in these spaces can take you far, though I would caution against making them more-than-friends.
It was perhaps a coincidence that Sasha and I met at an honors event and then again at Common Cause, but after that point, it was anything but coincidental that we made a connection with each other. It was perhaps coincidental that I came across the Sunrise KU table at Union Fest, but it was decidedly intentional on my part to engage with the club and make friends along the way. This idea goes beyond just the people in the same kinds of spaces as you, as with the meetings with administrators discussed above. Still, with some due respect to these bureaucrats, no administrator has ever asked me to come to a protest against genocide or a forum discussing how to bring every cool person within 50 miles together in the same place at the same time.
Get to know people, talk to them, find out what they’re working on, see if you can contribute, build community, and soon enough, you’ll find yourself in a position to facilitate those experiences in others as well. Being passionate and active in activist spaces can go a long way. Be a comrade and other comrades will find you.
Fourth, it helps to be a bit obsessed
I’ve never liked it when people tell me I’m “obsessed” with something. Particularly in childhood, I would latch onto something for months on end and learn all about it, leading some to call me “obsessed” with that thing. I would not go so far as to call it a “special interest”, nor would those with authority I have spoken to about this, but I was nevertheless focused heavily on things I'm interested in, moving from one to the next. I, both then and now, consider this use of the term “obsessed” to have a negative connotation. In this context, I want to redefine its intention.
If you have ever checked the agendas document only to find 3 pages of points listing out, in great detail, everything we should talk about at our upcoming meeting, if you have ever wanted (or have actually) muted the Discord because I was spamming too many articles in the #off-topic channel, or if you saw me updating the Solidarity Fest spreadsheets every few hours with the tiniest of additions, that’s what I mean here.
A large part of the reason I emphasize people taking ownership of projects is that someone taking charge of something they are passionate about is, I think, the best way to make sure that thing gets done and gets done well. Sometimes, doing something on a whim can turn out to be a great strategy for making good things happen. Even with something like the GND, which is a project that cannot be completed on a whim, the drive I feel to follow through on the recommendations of that resolution comes largely from the authoritative role I have taken on that project. If you care enough to make something happen, chances are something is going to happen.
Unlike the other three points I have listed in this section, I don’t think this is outright necessary for success, but I feel that it certainly helps. To channel your passions and interests through this work can mean, to a moderate and healthy extent, obsessing over it, as it is the natural consequence of caring deeply about what you do. If this meaningful work occupies a large but not overincumbering part of your headspace, chances are that is not a coincidence. Activism is self-selecting; those who choose to be here are here because they are passionate. It is only a matter of taking the next step in channeling that passion into work towards your cause.
Where I go from here
I am projected to graduate in May of 2026, after which point I will, in all likelihood, go on to grad school somewhere that is not KU. Regardless of where I end up, I will not be a member of KU YDSA, Sunrise KU, KU SJP, or any other student organization on this campus thereafter. More than a time capsule, I hope these reflections here serve as both my message for my posterity as well as inspiration for those here now, especially those looking to take on bigger and more active roles in activist spaces. I will no doubt have more experiences in these spaces worth reflecting on during my last 2 ½ semesters here, but with my next stage beginning to peak over the horizon, I must confront that my time here is limited, as will be my reach and impact. However I got here, I am ready for where I go next.
But don’t get me wrong. I’m not through here just yet.
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