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. 

Nyr’e Jones, Staff Writer

The true effect and emotional depth of heartbreak is rarely spoken about. The silent shift after betrayal is held personally as life continues to go on, but you often stay in the same position. Your voice softens. Your trust shortens. Perception smothers passion. Love becomes dangerous rather than comforting. The innocent view of love you once held becomes distorted through the actions of a person from the past. 

Before betrayal or heartbreak, love stays as an image. Safe to believe in and reasonable to want. The idea of a person or love allows for innocent daydreaming and fantasizing, long talks with girl-friends about how smitten you are, and then the romance once you enter the relationship. When trust is broken and the person you fell in love with doesn’t remain the same, loss isn’t just between the connection you two shared, but the childlike view of the love you carried before. 

For a self-proclaimed lover girl–the ones who love loudly, blindly, deeply and wholeheartedly–heartbreak changes your entire perspective on love and human connection. It’s more than just a silly breakup or life experience. When entering relationships, they don’t come guarded or closed off. Instead, they bring hope and belief. When that trust and hope is torn down, it reconstructs the heart, not just breaks it. 

The shift after that belief in steady and safe love is stolen and isn’t shown with anger or mistreatment. It’s not angry and loud–it’s subtle and quiet. It settles into the way you respond to affection; the openness you now conceal and the fear of letting someone have too much access becomes the reason for distance. You analyze tone and delivery; everything seems as if it’s a lie or has an unspoken motive. What once felt natural and led to passion transitions into surveillance. The same heart that once loved without calculation is forced to move with caution and fear, protecting itself from a pain it didn’t believe in once before. 

What makes this process of a lovergirl losing herself to heartbreak harder is the reoccurring idea that the other person is unaffected. The concept of one life being affected and the other perfectly okay. For them, it can be written off as poor timing, misunderstanding or something that “didn’t work out.” But for the lovergirl, it becomes a turning point. While they return to normalcy, she is faced with a version of herself she never knew could appear. The world continues unchanged, yet internally, everything feels rearranged. 

This feeling is not unfamiliar but was portrayed almost perfectly in the TV show “Sex and the City.” Charlotte, a once hopeless romantic, on the journey of a divorce confesses in a heavy scene the damage her partner left her with. Confused with navigating her new way of thinking and feeling, she says, “I’m afraid that he took away my ability to believe. I always believed before, but now I just feel lost.”

This is significant because it shows the distinction of belief in love being stolen rather than the desire for it. It highlights the deeper meaning; it wasn’t just about the marriage ending but the mutilation of the certainty she once had in love. For women who love with optimism and intention, betrayal does not simply end a relationship. It disrupts belief. 

This uncertainty changes everything. It follows you into new conversations, ruins potential connections with good prospects, steals the joy from the romance–like the excitement of first dates, and challenges the old idea of love you once held in your heart. Excitement becomes restraint. The lover girl is still present, but she now is submerged in fear and caution.  

Maybe to another person, it seems insignificant–just life, just disappointment. But for her everything is different. Love is no longer what it was, instead of something to fear. The innocence that once came naturally has been reshaped, but the ability to feel deeply and love hard remains. If heartbreak can reshape the way we love, can we ever return to believing in love as purely as we did once before?

Nyr’e Jones, Staff Writer

While having a movie night with my friend Jordy – something we often do as a way of bonding and expanding her movie intake – I left with much more than our post-movie debriefs. Jordy typically chooses the movie from a curated list that I create – one that highlights films rooted in Black American culture, along with a few other random options I’ve wanted to see her reactions to. That night, she chose the film “Higher Learning.”

I had seen the film twice before, once around the age of thirteen with my mom and again at eighteen, just before moving into college. Each time, my perspective on the movie evolved. The first time, I took it as my mom being overly cautious as usual, wanting to expose me to the dangers of the world. The second time, the film became more significant as I prepared for college. It represented the importance of education and spoke on difficult topics like racism, identity and sexual assault. However, during the third viewing, I recognized a newfound perspective, which became the foundation for this article. 

In John Singleton’s “Higher Learning,” there is a heavy scene in which a character, Remy, pulls out a gun and invokes the name of God, and uses it to justify racist violence while declaring white supremacy. The use of God’s name slipping by me the first two times I watched the movie made the scene even more unsettling. Not only does it display active violence and racism, but it also shows faith being distorted in the process. The use of God’s name was spoken, yet the actions of the very person who spoke it were the opposite of Christ’s teachings. Influenced by and a part of Neo-Nazi ideologies, Remy allowed hatred and extreme nationalism to be masked with Christianity.

As a Christian, the scene prompted me to reflect not only on the movie but also on reality. When those who claim the name of Christ act in ways that contradict his teachings, it challenges the faith. Not just it being a personal failure, but a failure for the mission Christ set out – ultimately becoming the reason non-believers view religion and inevitably reject Christ. Provoking the thought of: how often does Christ’s image pay for the corruption of people who claim to follow him?

One of the most common ways Christ becomes misinterpreted is through hypocritical behavior. Many people who claim Christianity are quick to recite Scripture and assert moral authority, yet their personal life and behavior have no relation to Christ. The practice of loving others as we love ourselves becomes forgotten while judgment prevails. Non-believers began to take the actions of these people and attach them to Jesus, seeing the religion as performativity and a display of power rather than passion. If a Christian’s choice in following Christ becomes based on public recognition or self-praise, they lose the aspect of true connection and devotion to God. Without authenticity and relationship, there will be no love or rightful reflection of Jesus. As Matthew 7:16 reminds us, “By their fruit you will recognize them.” When a supposed Christian bears the fruit of self-righteousness and unlovingness, the fruit of the spirit is immediately misrepresented. 

This pattern is not new. Historical events like slavery show how easily God’s word was manipulated by corrupt individuals. By selectively twisting God’s voice, taking Scripture out of context and ignoring passages that reject oppression, they distorted God, using Him as a tool to justify cruelty. This misuse of Scripture later became a major reason many Black people left Christianity–a pattern that continued through segregation and Jim Crow.

Now, as these conversations resurface, many Black people are labeling Christianity as the “white man’s religion,” rather than the faith for all that Christ taught. Years of discrimination and torment carried out in the name of Christianity pushed many away from Christ. If the people inflicting hatred and pain claim God while doing so, how can that invite anyone into His presence?

The hypocrisy of claiming to be Christian while weaponizing Scripture and disobeying God’s law undermines the mission of spreading the gospel. It not only distorts the image of God, but also harms the reputation of believers who are genuinely committed to doing His work.

This distortion of Christianity continues today as faith is used to support nationalism rather than the teachings of Jesus. When Christianity becomes tied to national identity and beliefs, dedication to the country can overshadow dedication to the will of God. This becomes dangerous, as it prioritizes government and political beliefs over the love and unity that we all share under Christ. This combination of ‘God and Country’ causes the idea of exclusion and separation while defining belonging to borders or cultural differences. 

Eventually, masking this personal belief of exclusion behind Christianity. We see this becoming more popular with political leaders who make Christianity their identity but use the religion to outwardly spew hatred. Modern Christian nationalism can be seen in political leadership where religious language is used to reinforce national identity and power, as evidenced by figures such as Donald Trump in the United States and Viktor Orbán in Hungary—leaders often criticized for prioritizing nationalism while invoking Christianity. This isn’t only limited to political leaders who claim Christianity, but also to others who claim to be Christians as well. Their loyalty to nationalism causes the disassociation from the duties of Christ we are to uphold. This is seen now as ICE is separating families, killing innocents and dehumanizing immigrants. At a time in history where Christians should gather with prayers and love as a protest against oppression, loyalty to government and country supersedes. In these situations, nationalism is masked as righteousness, while legality is mistaken for morality. In choosing nationalism over compassion, Christ is once again removed from Christianity; not by those outside the faith, but by those claiming to represent Him.

In writing this article, I wish not to condemn my brothers and sisters in Christ, but righteously call out deeds that are not of God. To represent Christ correctly when corrupting it has become normal. The misrepresentation of Jesus—whether through hypocrisy, historical injustice, or modern nationalism—does not negate the truth of who He is. It reveals the consequences of people placing power over our calling to love. Using Christ’s name in a context that doesn’t relate to who he is, ruins the image of him and us Christians as a whole. 

Christ didn’t call his followers to abuse power, corrupt his name or exclude people. He called them to serve as he has served us, to stand up for the oppressed and the poor, to adapt to the likeliness and personality of him. We as humans and Christians will always fall short because we are not perfect, but righteous judgment amongst one another should always be appreciated and an obligation. To represent Jesus rightfully, we must strip our ego and desire for personal gain and replace it with the desire of God’s heart. We must make sure our foundation is built on love, humility, and authenticity. 

For those who have been pushed away from Christ by the actions of his followers, this is not a reason to overlook harm, but a reminder that Jesus is not defined by those who misuse His name. He is defined by a true relationship. To those who claim Christianity, this is a call to reevaluate behavior that might be done mistakenly or purposefully: not on how loudly faith is declared, but on how faithfully it is lived. Only then can Christ be the center of Christianity as he always should be. As scripture reminds us in Matthew 5:14-16, “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead, they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Let us fulfill that mission sincerely and faithfully.