I’m thankful for every bit of Mac 113—the navy-blue couches we inherited from Will’s childhood home, the bulky printer that malfunctions more often than not, and the string lights that Laboy hung up during our sophomore year. More importantly, I’m thankful for the office-goers I’ve spent hundreds of hours editing, arguing, and laughing with over the past three years.

For as long as I’ve known how to, I’ve loved reading. In middle school, I always joined my school’s annual competition to see who could read the most books over the summer. The last week of school, I would roam the Barnes and Nobles in my neighborhood, accumulating a pile of books taller than I was and paying for them with the B&N gift cards I received every Christmas from my relatives. In September, after a long summer of reading, I was always crowned one of the winners.

This morning, I started to write a radically different article. After a painful U.S. election, I wanted to issue a call to action and a plea for hope in the face of what seemed like utter hopelessness. The first paragraph quoted Emma Lazarus and the second lamented Arizona’s passage of Proposition 314. Frustration poured onto the page. Then I got an email. My friend died this afternoon.

The Boston College Republicans' recent statement to the community shows a disappointing misunderstanding of how politics works on a college campus. Half-baked or unpopular opinions have circulated this campus in every era—often by way of this very publication. The community hashes out the merits and flaws in dining halls, dormitories, and classrooms.