Nathalia Peralta Duran, Staff Writer

Rick Grimes is one of the many main characters in The Walking Dead series. In the pilot episode, we learn he is a deputy for the King’s County Sheriff’s Department. He is also a husband and father. But before we get to learn more about Rick, he gets shot and falls into a coma. In later episodes, we get to see different characters and how they survive the zombie apocalypse before his return. It’s interesting because it shows the psychology of other characters and how each interaction changes and shapes Rick as the story progresses. 

When Rick finally wakes up from his coma, he isn’t doing so well, but he quickly gets up and manages to get out of the hospital despite feeling dizzy. He encounters zombies along the way, but gets lucky and is not infected. When he finally reunites with his family and his friend Shane, things become awkward between Lori (Rick’s wife) and Shane, as it’s later revealed in the show that they had an affair (and Rick is not aware of this yet). The falling out between him and Shane added to his grief/loss when he had to choose between killing Shane for the sake of his group, as he later became the leader of it. 

Another thing I noticed about Rick is that he is a people-pleaser, and this is very clear in the first seasons of the show. He tries to accommodate and please everyone anytime he can. However, this sometimes does more harm than good, as he will put himself in harm’s way for the betterment of the group. It’s not bad, but considering the situation they are in, he can’t afford to always dive head first to solve a problem, as he still has a family to take care of. 

I believe this adds to his anxiety and the stress that comes with being a leader in a zombie apocalypse. Much of Rick’s trauma comes from losing people he’s close with, such as Shane, Lori and, eventually, his two kids later in the show. He doesn’t have the time to properly process any of these deaths due to the role he plays as a protector and authoritative figure, but we do get to see how these deaths start to impact him through physical symptoms like sweating, paleness, dizziness and mental symptoms like hallucinations and even hearing voices. There are many times in the show when he silently begins to dissociate, adding to the overwhelming feelings he tends to fight through. 

In a sociocultural aspect, Rick’s view of the world begins in a naive sense. At the same time, he does see the situation at hand and how the world has changed because of it. He still, at times, tries to see the good that’s left in people, and that has to do with his identity of being a deputy—he has a duty with values that he follows, as his job is to make sure people are safe and follow the rules. Ultimately because of this, he views the world in black and white instead of a mix of everything. The zombies are not the only “evil” they need to protect themselves from. There are also other humans and groups of them, and at the end of the day, it comes down to survival of the fittest.

Rick tends to feel intense guilt when he can’t help everyone, even when things are out of his control or don’t have much to do with him. After watching a few more episodes and Rick’s dynamic with his group, I think he sometimes has this “savior complex” within him that could also play into his guilt when things don’t end up going as he planned. This also ties into his old role as a deputy, which is a position of trust and power, as well as safety. 

The savior complex, also known as White Knight Syndrome, is characterized by wanting to always change or improve other people’s situations without giving them room to grow. “You must realize that no matter how much you try to change someone, you won’t get your desired outcome. For people to grow, they have to want to make changes for themselves,” stresses Dr. Abraham Ford, a character from the show. Going back to people-pleasing, the savior complex makes Rick sometimes act as though he needs to make excessive personal sacrifices instead of listening to what needs to be done. This need to always want to help comes from a lack of self-esteem and confidence, but I don’t believe that’s the case when Rick tries to help others. It’s more about making sure everything is under control and reducing any attempts at the group falling apart. 

Over time, however, Rick starts to toughen up and grasp the reality of their new world. There are times when his decisions become rash or cruel to others around him, but this is just what he sees as necessary to not only survive but keep his group from avoiding unnecessary troubles. 

From a humanistic perspective, Rick Grimes would be considered the ideal partner and leader. The show’s exploration of his trauma, leadership and morality is a heartwrenching experience when viewing everything from a lawless and upside-down world. Starting as a deputy with clear moral values and responsibility and transforming into a hardened leader willing to make devastating choices, Rick’s evolution from human to survivor to leader reflects how fast he had to adjust to this new environment and get used to leading people he didn’t know, but learned to cherish as his new family. Regardless of the trauma and loss he endures, Rick consistently strives to protect others, finding purpose in upholding a sense of morality even when the world around him has long left those rules behind. His tendencies to please people and save everyone from their problems can be seen as a way to maintain a connection, belonging and sense of control all in one. 

As the story progresses, we get to see how Rick Grimes changes over time, becoming a shell of a man, taken to his limits and tested to the brink of no return, only to return stronger and with a desire to create a better and safer world for future generations. This shows his belief in growth, resilience and the enduring capacity of his compassion. 

Rick Grimes’ journey in The Walking Dead is a powerful exploration of how trauma, leadership and morality intertwine in a world turned upside down. From his initial role as a deputy with a clear moral code, to becoming a hardened leader willing to make devastating choices, Rick’s evolution reflects the brutal reality of surviving in a world where the dead aren’t the only threat. His people-pleasing tendencies, savior complex and intense sense of responsibility often put him at odds with his well-being, pushing him to the edge both mentally and emotionally. Yet, it’s these very struggles that make him such a compelling

character—flawed, human and deeply shaped by the world around him. As the apocalypse continues to strip away the old world’s structure, Rick’s transformation reminds us that to lead, one must sometimes sacrifice certainty, comfort and even parts of oneself.

Jack Wagner, Editor

Funnily enough, I would say I became an editor for the Collegian almost by accident.

Journalism has always been a part of my life. My mother worked as a journalist for years (admittedly before I was born), and my family has always had a subscription to at least one newspaper. Though it took me years to grow my own readership beyond the funny pages, I’ve always loved news and its storytelling aspects. But before the Collegian, I’d never been properly involved as a writer.

My high school had a newspaper, Silverchips. It was a big deal, had apparently won awards for student journalism frequently in years past, and the interview process was intense. I applied, but found my interests trended more towards media production and ended up joining the student-run TV station instead. I took a journalism class in high school, enjoyed it, and moved on. That seemed to be how my relationship with journalism went, most times. I’d be interested, then I’d be busy, and then I would do something else. I thought that was how it would be in college as well. I was wrong, and I’m glad I was.

I entered La Salle as an undecided liberal arts major, which really meant I knew I would be a communication major but wasn’t ready to admit it yet. It didn’t take long. I declared my major in early November of my freshman year, and added a philosophy major the semester after. I chose  media & journalism for my concentration mostly because I loved films, TV and production, and mentally registered journalism as an afterthought. And for the first couple semesters, it was. I signed interest sheets for the Collegian, but then got busy with La Salle TV, or The Masque of La Salle (our theater organization) or my on campus job, and I didn’t go to many meetings or write many articles. Until my junior year, when I, having taken a couple journalism classes for my major and gained some experience, checked “yes” that I would be interested in working as an editor for one of a few sections.

To my surprise, the Co-Editors-in-Chief at the time, Maya Martin and Emily Allgair, offered me the position as editor for the arts & entertainment section. Journalism could no longer be something I was vaguely interested in–I had responsibilities, now. So I blocked out my Wednesday time slots. I started coming to all of the meetings, held in one of the coolest secret rooms on campus that I would have never visited before, and I didn’t look back.

Writing articles was fun. I loved the research, I loved the stories, and I could do it about things that genuinely interested me, since arts & entertainment was chock-full of incredible drama and stories about the media I enjoy. I even discovered that I enjoyed editing articles, cleaning them up and tidying the little details that would make the story shine (and conform to AP style, in all its idiosyncrasies). I was working with a staff of people who wanted to write, to bounce ideas off each other and could joke and have fun while crafting our stories, and there was something special there.

There are a lot of things I like at La Salle. I like the people, and have made many close friends. I like the professors, and love that I go to a small enough school that they know my name. I love the clubs and organizations because I’m part of too many and wouldn’t give a single one of them up. And I love the Collegian, which gave me the chance to explore and pursue an interest I’ve had for most of my life but never did anything with until now.

I’ve tried to get internships at newspapers, which hasn’t worked out. Now that I’m graduating, I might look for jobs or freelance work on the side in journalism. I may have thought it something of an accident that I ended up as involved in the Collegian as I have, but I can say for certain that it was a happy one.

Cole Welsh, Editor

It is with a mix of emotions that I say goodbye to La Salle. 

While I am excited for the future, saying goodbye to a school that has given me so much isn’t easy.

Not that long ago, I remember stepping foot on 20th & Olney for my first day of class. Coming in, I had no clue what I wanted to study or pursue. To say I was “undecided” would be an understatement.

However, a lot has changed since then. After four years here, I am immensely grateful for the plethora of opportunities afforded to me by La Salle.

In particular, there are many people here that I would like to thank.

First, I would like to thank my family. With their support and sacrifice, I would not be where I am today. Going back to grade school, they were the ones who gave me the gift of Catholic education and taught me the importance of a strong work ethic.

Second, I would be remiss if I didn’t thank the outstanding faculty and staff. From helping me navigate difficult courses to connecting me with opportunities outside of the classroom, such as an internship with the ATF, my professors have been a tremendous resource that I could always rely upon. As a political science and criminal justice double-major, I have been blessed to take a wide variety of courses that have not just expanded my knowledge but also made me a better-informed citizen. Likewise, the staff have been tremendous as well. From the administrators to the cleaners, each one of them is truly what makes La Salle so great.

Last but certainly not least, I would like to thank my friends and those who I had the privilege of meeting here at La Salle. At the end of the day, it was the people who made my four years here so enjoyable. There was never a dull moment, and I will certainly miss the humor and good vibes all of you brought.

In closing, I want to congratulate my fellow graduates and their families. I wish all of you success in whatever you do.

May God bless you all, may God bless La Salle, and may God bless America.

Nyr’e Jones, Staff Writer

In recent years, social media and online spaces have created more division than community, especially in terms of bringing different demographics together. One side of this hostile gender battleground centers around red pill content. Red pill content frames women as less than men or manipulative, while men see red pill content as an “enlightenment.” Through this content, men come to the “realization” that women are the enemy and men should step into their rightful roles. 

On the other hand, there is the rising “I hate men” trend that paints men as inherently harmful or disposable. While these movements may seem contrary to one another, they’re more connected than separate. Both are fueled by frustration and personal experiences, amplified by social media and sustained through harmful generalizations. 

Rather than solving real issues between men and women, these extremes deepen the divide, erode trust and make healthy relationships harder to build. To move forward, society must reject dehumanization in favor of accountability, understanding and mutual respect–not adding more fuel to the fire. Each movement threatens society, even if one is made in response to the other. 

Red pill content and the “I hate men” rhetoric do not exist in isolation–they actively reinforce one another. Each side uses the most extreme examples of the other as justification for its own beliefs. A woman expressing her hatred toward men becomes evidence for red pill communities that women are irrational or hostile. Likewise, misogynistic content is used to validate the idea that men are inherently dangerous or unworthy of respect. This creates a self-sustaining cycle: hurt leads to anger, anger leads to generalization and generalization leads to more hurt. Instead of addressing the root causes of frustration, both movements grow stronger by feeding off of each other’s worst narratives.

Although both men and women might believe these movements or beliefs are natural or completely self-decided, the rapid spread of these ideas is not accidental. Social media platforms are designed to prioritize engagement, and nothing captures attention more effectively than outrage. Extreme, emotionally charged content is far more likely to be shared, liked and promoted than balanced or thoughtful perspectives. As a result, users, especially younger audiences, are repeatedly exposed to the most polarizing views. Over time, this creates echo chambers where individuals see only content that reinforces and strengthens their existing beliefs. 

The issue is not necessarily that people have become more hateful, but that they are constantly exposed to content that magnifies conflict and minimizes understanding, causing hateful behavior or attitudes. This is harmful enough when left as beliefs or random thoughts on TikTok; however, it evolves into something extremely harmful and detrimental when it becomes an attack on people’s behavior. 

This dangerous dynamic is reflected in media portrayals such as the show Adolescence, where a young boy becomes increasingly influenced by the harmful and extreme content he is consuming. The harsh and undeniably wrong content exemplifies the “right” that men had over women, and how important it was for them to sustain their power, especially in the face of women. The boy had adopted this idea and in a moment of rejection between him and a young girl, he took her life. While fictional, the story highlights a real concern: constant exposure to toxic, one-sided narratives can distort perception, especially for those who are still developing their sense of identity and understanding of others. The issue is not simply that people are becoming more hateful, but that they are immersed in environments where anger is normalized and repeatedly reinforced.

At the core of both movements is a reliance on sweeping generalizations. Phrases like “all men are…” or “all women are…” reduce complex individuals into simplistic stereotypes. This kind of thinking strips people of their individuality and encourages distrust in everyday interactions. In relationships, it can create defensiveness and fear; in workplaces and communities, it can lead to division and resentment. While criticism of harmful behavior is necessary, it becomes dangerous when it shifts from addressing actions to condemning entire groups. A functioning society depends on the ability to see people as individuals, not as representatives of a category.

Beneath the surface of these movements is not simply hatred, but unresolved pain. Much of red pill content is rooted in experiences of rejection, loneliness, insecurities or a loss of purpose, which inevitably gets projected onto women as a whole. Similarly, the “I hate men” rhetoric often emerges from encounters with sexism, trauma and personal relations with men. Women who often support the “I hate men” movement have experienced bad relationships or might be estranged from their fathers. These reactions, while understandable, become harmful when they are turned into broad ideologies that target entire groups. In this sense, both movements are symptoms of deeper social and emotional issues. Addressing them requires empathy and honesty, not further division.

Society functions through cooperation–not competition between genders. Both men and women contribute in ways that are emotional, social and practical, and strong communities rely on these combined efforts. Healthy relationships, families and social structures are built on mutual respect and understanding, not dominance or resentment. Recognizing this interdependence does not require enforcing traditional roles; rather, it requires acknowledging that both genders bring value that cannot be replaced by hostility or division. Moving forward requires a shift away from dehumanization and toward accountability. It is possible to call out harmful behavior without reducing individuals to stereotypes. Honest conversations about gender issues must replace reactionary content that prioritizes blame over understanding. Encouraging critical thinking can help individuals resist the pull of extreme narratives, while promoting healthier models of masculinity and femininity. Ultimately, progress depends on rebuilding respect and recognizing that while men and women may have differences, they are not enemies but partners in shaping a functional and balanced society.

Sean Musial, Editor

The vernacular that one must learn and understand as they start the daunting task of writing their first novel requires persistence, patience and perseverance. Most importantly, it entails taking the ups and downs of the process on the chin, and keeping the ball rolling until that final draft is in your hands. It’s hard. I am by no means a published author, but I learned quickly the weight I chose to carry while writing manuscripts; it is a workout, both mentally and physically.

After spending weeks or months devoted to writing a first draft, your initial instinct is that it’ll be your final project, especially when you’ve never done something like this before. 

That’s far from the case. 

You yourself still need to edit and change the glaring flaws that will help the narrative flow better. The first draft is usually labeled your “puke draft”  because you let all of those creative juices flow out of you, unfiltered. 

Micheal Lee, a children’s and historical fiction author, once said, “The first draft reveals the art; revision reveals the artist.” I read that a while ago and didn’t yet understand the full meaning.

I began to understand when I got into editing. Stephen King, a critically acclaimed best-selling author, waits about six weeks to go back to a finished manuscript so he can have a new perspective on it. Being brutally honest about the quality of a narrative structure is not a bad thing; if anything, it’s the best thing you can do. I decided to do the same thing that King does with his manuscripts because it gave, and is still giving me, a chance to look at it with fresh eyes. 

It’s a clear punch in the face when I’m told I’m not writing The Great Gatsby as my first novel, but maybe there is potential after multiple drafts. Writing is a continuous journey towards not necessarily perfection, but an acceptance towards the project you hold in your hand that has been months, years even, in the making. It’s difficult fighting the frustration of wanting your project finished while also letting it marinate so nothing is rushed and poorly written. 

It often feels, for me at least, that I’m walking across a tight rope with a balancing beam—one side of the beam being college and the other side being my writing ventures. The challenge lies in trying to balance your college studies while continuing to study writing books/screenplays and writing your own work. 

It’s hard, but what isn’t? 

I yearn for it. A couple hours a day devoted to this self-proclaimed, lifelong mission that asks to crawl its way through my fingertips and tap feverishly at a keyboard. 

But, the draining sets in. It’s a brain workout trying to coherently express the stories and abstract thoughts I want my reader to eventually have the grace of reading–at least the game plan, the overall goal, or the self-expression I hope to accomplish. That’s where the imposter syndrome sets in and starts to scratch at you. “There’s no way in hell someone like you can do something like this,” you start to say to yourself. But negative self-talk isn’t bad as long as it shows you care about what you’re doing; if anything, it just adds fuel to the fire. The moment behind the goal is when it becomes a less desirable tool in an arsenal of writing abilities. 

Sleep becomes difficult for me. Three pages turns into six as you still try to edit six pages of a finished manuscript. You set a goal that you try to finish by 10 p.m., but it bleeds over to 4 a.m. because you get hurtled into the creative and revision processes. On top of that, you have to rewind so your brain calms down to eventually fall asleep, and then get up to shower at 9:30 a.m.. On top of that, you go to the gym and then work three times a week when jobs start flying in. And then the college assignments. Don’t forget time for family and friends. A lot to do on a weekly basis, but I manage…mostly. That’s what I chose. A mental beatdown towards a goal that I can nearly reach out and grab. Putting one foot on each side of the line is already giving yourself a backup. Having yourself walk along one side of the line that you wholeheartedly know is your endgame, trusting in the cards you were dealt, and going all in. The pursuit of being that eventually can be a “mental beatdown” at times, but it’s also fulfilling. When you write a perfect line, when a character in your story is doing something different, when the story does a complete 180 from your initial plot and still works–that’s when it’s rewarding. It’s the little and grand things that outshine the need to fight through the work. It’s a personal challenge and a gift all wrapped in your work and imagination.

Nyr’e Jones, Staff Writer 

When words weren’t enough—or weren’t allowed—music became the language for Black expression. In Black culture, music has long served as a voice for the unheard, a source of strength in struggling times and a way of preserving/protecting our history, faith and generational identity. It carries emotions that cannot always be spoken and provides a sense of connection in moments of pain, joy and uncertainty. I’ve witnessed this power firsthand in my own life. In moments of stress or struggle, my mother turns to worship. She doesn’t engage in conversation or venting. Instead, she sings old hymns that have been passed down to her. When she isn’t strong enough for prayer, she murmurs worship songs that plead for God’s mercy and provision. Songs fill the room, her voice humming along mainly. The songs serve as a source of comfort, strength and faith. In these moments, music becomes more than entertainment and sound— it becomes a symbol of hope.  

Times like these are not isolated but are surrounded by much deeper and longer historical moments. Music has filled many tough environments for Black people, being a tool for survival during the darkest period in Black history. During slavery, songs were more than simple melodies, but a tactic to survive in a world that was designed to kill our people. Through them, Black people expressed grief, faith and hope, while holding onto a sense of identity that was trying to be stripped away. Many of these songs carried hidden meanings: guiding each other to freedom or speaking to one another in code. In a world where voices were forced to be controlled, music gave power to reclaim their voices. It transformed suffering into strength, creating a lasting sense of unity, resilience and cultural identity that continues to shape Black life today. 

As time went on, this deep connection to music continued to grow, especially within the Black church. For many African Americans, church hymns and gospel music became central to both spiritual life and community identity. These songs were not just about religion, they were about healing, hope and perseverance. In spaces where people gathered to worship, music created a powerful emotional release, allowing individuals to express joy, sorrow, gratitude and faith all at once. Gospel music, rooted in the traditions of spirituals, carried forward the same themes of resilience and strength, but in a way that brought people together in shared belief and experience. Whether through choir harmonies or solo praise, these songs reinforced a sense of unity and reminded people that they were not alone in their struggles. 

In modern times, music continues to play a powerful role in Black culture, evolving with each generation while still carrying its core purpose. Genres like hip hop and R&B have become modern outlets for expression, allowing artists to speak on their personal struggles, social issues and still hold onto cultural identity. Vulnerability and creativity flow through the music, allowing for connection to be shared. Artists like Kenrick Lamar have performed at the Super Bowl while referencing the supposed reparations, “40 acres and a Mule” and Beyonce with her song “Black Parade,” that praises the culture of Black Americans. Still producing great music, these artists also include perseverance of Black culture and history.  

The power of music in Black culture was also represented profoundly in Ryan Coogler’s Oscar award winning film, “Sinners.” While Coogler used the movie to represent many different themes, music was presented clearly. He uses music not as just background sound, but as a storytelling device that reflects the inner lives of his characters. In moments of grief, tension or reflection, characters often turn to music rather than dialogue, reinforcing the idea that some emotions cannot be fully expressed through words alone. The scene where Slim breaks into song while mourning his friend is especially significant, as it mirrors a long-standing tradition within African American culture—using music to process pain and find release. By incorporating these moments, Coogler highlights how deeply embedded music is within Black identity, showing that it is not just something people listen to, but something they live through. 

Music has always been more than just sound within African American culture—it has been a source of strength, a form of expression and a way to preserve identity through generations of struggle and change. From the songs sung during slavery, to the powerful presence of gospel in the Black church, to the influence of modern music and its representation in film, music continues to reflect the realities, emotions and resilience of the community. Whether in moments of hardship or joy, it remains a constant way to be heard when words fall short and the world tries to silence Black voices. As seen in both personal experiences and broader cultural expressions, music does not simply accompany life; for many African Americans, it helps define and sustain it. Making more out of what has been given to us, letting freedom and unity outshine rejection and control.