Workers at Amazon’s warehouse in Staten Island made history on April 1 by voting to form the first-ever Amazon labor union in the United States.

In a shocking turn of events, two Staten Island Amazon employees — Christian Smalls and Derrick Palmer — managed to successfully organize their colleagues and friends from the ground up, without support from national labor organizations, according to the New York Times.

This move exemplifies the steadily increasing power of the labor movement in the United States. Last December, Starbucks workers in Buffalo, New York also voted to unionize, creating the first Starbucks union in the country. Since then, more than 100 U.S. locations have begun to follow suit by filing for union recognition.

This isn’t just a win for U.S. unions, whose memberships have been in decline for years, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. It is, more importantly, a win for the American worker.

There’s a crucial similarity between Staten Island warehouse workers, Buffalo baristas, Minneapolis teachers (who, on March 25, reached a tentative agreement with Minneapolis Public Schools to end their weeks-long strike) and every other U.S. worker. While the job descriptions may differ, workers across the board are united in the struggle to reconcile stagnant wages with soaring costs of living and to justify even working at all when, for some, it is unclear whether present-day wages will be able to cover a home or retirement.

In this struggle, then, Amazon is a shoo-in for the role of antagonist. One only needs to recall a handful of recent controversies before this designation seems justified. Last March, Amazon came under fire for implementing delivery quotas so harsh that some drivers said they had no option other than to urinate or even defecate en route. A union-backed report published last July cited Amazon’s “obsession with speed” as one of the reasons why its warehouse workers are injured more frequently and more severely than workers in non-Amazon warehouses. That same month, as the cogs and gears of Amazon’s $1 trillion machine turned, Amazon founder Jeff Bezos took a multi-billion dollar field trip to space.

If we choose to see this metaphor through, the Amazon Labor Union is the underdog, the David to Amazon’s Goliath, whose victory represents the slowly increasing power of the worker amidst a backdrop of a reckoning over labor: the “Great Resignation.” The U.S. saw a 20-year record-high rate of job quitting in 2021, with workers citing low pay, minimal advancement opportunities and feeling disrespected at work as some of their top reasons for jumping ship.

I hope that the Amazon Labor Union’s victory is contagious. There is strength in grassroots organizing, and this win proves it. There is also strength in numbers. These days, leveraging collective bargaining power — be it through unionizing, striking or other forms of collaboration — often seems to be the only way to combat labor exploitation.

This “contagion” may be spreading already. Following the Amazon Labor Union’s win, workers at over 50 Amazon warehouse locations have contacted the organizers in the hopes of potentially forming their own unions.

“The revolution is here,” The Guardian reported Smalls as saying.

When Vanessa Bartlett unexpectedly had to return home from college last November, her mental health took a hit.

The sudden change left Bartlett, a third-year psychology student at Hamline University, feeling isolated and depressed. “I was really struggling mental health-wise,” she said.

The cure for her loneliness, at least in part, came in the form of a fuzzy, four-legged friend. That same month, Bartlett and her family adopted Echo, a three-month-old Labrador mix.

In true puppy fashion, Echo brought a boatload of energy to her new home. Training a new puppy was challenging, but worth it. “It’s exciting and fulfilling,” Bartlett said.

The new pet, Bartlett said, brought some direction back to her life.

“It’s easy to feel like you’ve lost your sense of purpose,” she said. “But I felt like I found that again with Echo.”

The emotional benefits of our furry friends don’t just exist in the abstract. Interacting with pets has been shown to reduce levels of cortisol — one of the body’s main stress hormones — as well as blood pressure, according to the National Institutes of Health.

I don’t have a medical degree, but that fact comes as little surprise to me. I’ve long been a pet person, reaping the benefits of their healing powers.

Even when I lay awake at night, unable to sleep because of my two cats’ 3:00 a.m. shenanigans, I am at least a little bit grateful. The noise, while annoying at the moment, is an indicator that I’m not alone. Even while I’m sleeping, two of my friends are close by.

But, as Bartlett points out, there’s something about loving a pet that’s just different; you’re not just a friend, you’re its caretaker. That level of responsibility, of constantly needing to keep tabs on the health and happiness of a creature other than yourself, makes life brighter.

Many of my closest friends are also pet people, and a sentiment I hear frequently is that even on their worst days — the days when they don’t want to get out of bed, shower or do much of anything — they’ll always get up to care for their animals.

I find that it’s much easier to neglect yourself than to neglect someone else. But, once you’ve done that step of taking care of someone else — feeding the cat or walking the dog — taking care of yourself seems easier. You’re already up. Why not shower, or make yourself something to eat?

Even though Echo’s adoption was not without its psychological perks, Bartlett admitted that welcoming a new puppy into her home was challenging. “It’s like a devious baby,” she said, noting that she’s spent the last few months training the energetic pup.

However, putting in the effort to care for another being was at least part of how Echo lifted the student’s spirits. “It’s very fulfilling to have something there that needs you all the time,” Bartlett said. “I’ve learned a lot about myself and I’ve learned that I’m capable of taking care of something.”

Based on her experience, Bartlett says she’d definitely recommend adopting a pet to anyone who is struggling with their mental health, provided that they know what they’re getting into.

“I would recommend getting a pet for anyone who is struggling,” she said. “But please do your research and be prepared to take care of them.”

We accept the reality that is senioritis. For some students, their final year of study is marked by a sharp drop in motivation. What may have previously been a drive to succeed is swiftly replaced by a desire to just get it all over with.

However, as a junior, I reject the idea that this is something unique to seniors. I have never been more tired in my life than I am right now. Between classes, work, sleeping (only sometimes) and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life, I’m pretty drained.

Even as someone who has long been a little too enthusiastic about school, I find myself fantasizing about the finish line with increasing frequency — and I’m not the only one.

Jacob Engdahl is a junior studying classics at Gustavus Adolphus. Despite his passion for his area of study, he finds himself exhausted. One component of his fatigue, he said, is existential.

“My direction forward post-academia is vague at best,” Engdahl said.

He said he finds himself debating what path to take after undergrad. Does he go further into debt by pursuing a graduate degree? Or does he try to land a job?

Engdahl also noted that, while he once dreamed of becoming a college professor, he no longer finds it likely that his future career will be related to his major. It’s difficult for him, then, to motivate himself to do schoolwork when he knows that it’s unlikely to impact his future.

“It seems so pointless,” he said.

Sometimes, he said he even wonders if starting college was the right choice for him in the first place.

“The question of ‘why’ looms,” he said. “And the answer I can come up with now is because I’m so deep in debt it would be a terrible idea to stop.”

Ian Gullickson is a junior studying sociology of law, criminology and justice here at the University of Minnesota. He also works part-time at the RecWell climbing wall. His fatigue is related to academic burnout, he said.

“I did PSEO and I think part of it is I’ve been here so long,” Gullickson said. “I feel a little burnt out of the semester after semester grind.”

Remote learning also impacted his motivation, making him lose interest in many of his classes, he said. The return to campus then compounded this fatigue. The adjustment back to campus life — where walking, taking transit and waiting through long gaps between classes are just a part of the daily grind — was what dealt another blow to his energy levels.

Gullickson said that while he was initially overly zealous and spread himself too thin upon his return to campus life, he has since learned to dial back his commitments when he can, leaving him with “time to just be.”

He often spends this time rock climbing, playing guitar or just goofing off with his roommates.

Gullickson said his hobbies, especially rock climbing, grant him a welcome release from academic stress.

“I get a lot more joy from my job and rock climbing than from class,” he said. “In some ways, I feel like I’m majoring in rock climbing.”

As is the case with much of the academic process, we’re all moving at different paces. Seniors, if this is your first year feeling intensely burnt out, I’m here for you. Some of us may never experience this burnout at all. However, for others, myself included, senioritis may have come a year early.

A new policy went into effect March 21 that lifted requirements on wearing masks in indoor University spaces, excluding classrooms and designated “masks required” areas.

While it’s not a full lift on mask requirements, this change has invited me to imagine a return to a mask-free classroom. After a year of training my eyes to recognize half-faces, a return to normalcy in the classroom will undoubtedly be strange.

As thrilled as I would be if COVID-19 data made a full lift on mask restrictions responsible, I imagine it would take some getting used to. I’ve connected with some people over the last few semesters whom I’ve only interacted with while masked. A shift to a maskless classroom might make these people feel like strangers.

Last semester, I pulled down my mask in class for a moment to take a sip of water. My instructor paused mid-lecture to face me.

“Noor, you look so different from what I thought you’d look like!” she said.

Once I got over my embarrassment, I was able to reflect on just how weird our world has become in the past couple of years — given that the mere sight of someone’s entire face was enough to warrant shock.

Her comment wasn’t a judgment of my appearance (at least I hope it wasn’t), but rather an expression of something I find myself thinking nearly every time I catch a glimpse of a full face. It’s as if there are two versions of everybody I interact with: mask on and mask off. It’s jarring.

Interacting with the same people most days fully masked is a type of weird that perfectly exemplifies just how strange this phase of the pandemic is, this almost-normal-but-not-quite stage.

Mask requirements are easing, but not everywhere. Large events are back on, but you might need to show your vaccine card. We can go to class in person, but only see half of people’s faces. Sometimes, operating at 95% normalcy feels weirder than just being fully locked down.

The isolation of the previous school year hasn’t fully subsided, it’s simply given way to yet another form of isolation that’s odder and more subtle. We can talk to others face-to-face, which is an improvement from previous years, but there’s something missing, quite literally. Our faces are hugely expressive. It’s impossible to not feel disconnected when half of that expression is simply not visible.

Some of us, including myself, have even changed the way we emote for ease of communication while masking. I find myself doing things like exaggerating expressions so they travel up to my eyes, squinting instead of smiling, or even making a point to laugh slightly louder to compensate for my hidden mouth. Just like theater makeup looks ridiculous off-stage, these adapted expressions would look ridiculous without a mask. But they’re almost necessary, at least for me, to feel as if I’m genuinely connecting with people.

As much as I hate masks, though, I’m not sure I’m ready for them to be fully gone. As of March 31, Hennepin County’s COVID risk level is low. But, because the pandemic has thrown so many curveballs our way already, I don’t feel right relaxing quite yet.

When the day does come that masking is no longer necessary, though, I’ll be thrilled to be smiling with my entire face again.

Last August, I phased meat — with the exception of fish — out of my diet entirely. It was a decision I had been considering for years.

It was something I knew I’d end up doing eventually. I dragged my feet because it was a lifestyle shift that I imagined would be immensely difficult. Several of my favorite foods contained meat, and I didn’t want to stop eating them, despite my moral unease. I expected meal planning to be tiresome, and to feel as if I was missing out by passing on meat, especially in a culture where meat is so ubiquitous.

None of these ended up being an issue. Do I miss meat sometimes? Of course. But has eating become a chore the way I expected it to? No, it hasn’t.

Meat, honestly, doesn’t tempt me the way that I imagined it would (this would be a very difficult article, however, if I had decided to phase out something like coffee or dairy instead). After a while, I realized that I didn’t even really like meat that much. It tasted good sometimes, sure, but at the end of the day I didn’t choose to eat meat because it was meat. I ate it because it was there and the easiest option.

Granted, eight months and some change seems like an arbitrary milestone. But it has taken me until now to recognize that making this change — something I had wanted for years — was infinitely easier than I had initially expected. I can only hope that this realization will lead me in the future to not hesitate for quite so long when considering change.

To celebrate this arbitrary milestone, here are some of my favorite spots to get meatless meals on and near campus. As a bonus, these recommendations aren’t just pescatarian friendly — they’re vegetarian friendly as well.

Tea House Chinese Restaurant
East Asian cuisine has been one of my saving graces throughout this entire experience. Once I developed a taste for tofu, I became unstoppable.

Tea House, a several-year winner of Minneapolis St. Paul magazine’s Best Restaurant poll, is easily my favorite Chinese restaurant. Located about a block from the Stadium Village green line stop, they’re both conveniently located and a great place to go if you love tofu.
I’ve never been disappointed by their menu, but a personal favorite of mine is the kung pao tofu. As an added bonus, their portions are generous. If you play your cards right, you can get at least a couple meals out of one entree.

Wally’s Falafel, Hummus and Bakery
I only discovered Wally’s relatively recently, but I wish I had popped in sooner. It’s owned and operated by a Palestinian family, and truly delivers on its promise of an authentic and tasty Middle Eastern dining experience.

Their falafel is fantastic, and you can order a variety of entrees in which it is the main attraction — my favorite is the falafel sandwich. Some other veggie-friendly highlights include their stuffed grape leaves, which are self-explanatory, and knafeh, a sweet pastry layered with cheese and topped with pistachios and simple syrup.

Afro Deli
I love Afro Deli. That’s it, recommendation over.

In all seriousness, Afro is another one of my favorite places to get food around campus. My favorite menu item is the falafel chapati wrap (what can I say, I’m a huge falafel fan), ideally with extra sauce. If you’re feeling particularly ambitious (or ravenous), definitely go with the side of fries — they’re great with the creole sauce. I’m also a big tea person, and their Somali spiced sweet tea is one of my favorite teas ever.

Located on the outer edge of East Bank, Afro’s food is almost as impeccable as its vibes. The combination of super friendly staff and delicious fast-casual creates a dining experience that is very enjoyable overall.

I approach school with an above-average level of zeal. I’ve long been an overly enthusiastic discussion member, a frequent hand-raiser, a “pleasure to have in class.”

But, alongside being a point of pride, academics are also a source of immense stress for me.

It doesn’t help that I live in a strange little world where an A-minus feels like a personal failure and a B like a stab to the chest. My instructors often seem bewildered when I come to their office hours, lamenting a 92% on an essay and wondering where I went wrong.

“That’s a good grade!” they often say. “Don’t worry about it.”

But I worry, alright.

I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I wasn’t really “like this” until right before high school. I was a shining star in the world of slacking off until about eighth grade, which was about when I had an epiphany that the next year — my freshman year of high school — was when things were going to begin to matter.

The next four years were kind of a blur. I had hobbies but no real interest in extracurriculars. I had friends but I wasn’t the type of person who was out every night. Or most nights. Or many nights at all.

I graduated high school at the top of my class, with something in the realm of 110 credits. The requirement to graduate was 64. If only I had spent those extraneous credit hours doing something cool and character-building like underage drinking instead. I can almost picture myself on my deathbed now, telling the tale of my life to my kin:

“No, great-grandma didn’t do anything cool in high school. But she almost filled out her credit tracker twice!”

It almost makes me wish that I had helicopter parents to blame — the kind that would constantly breathe down your neck about grades and homework. But that wasn’t the case. My anxious and overly-critical approach to schoolwork is entirely self-imposed.

The pandemic upended my life from every angle, as it did everyone else’s. I began to question parts of my life I had previously accepted as constants — including my approach to academics. The unbearable isolation and monotony of online school led me to realize just how important it is to, sometimes, prioritize everyday sources of joy over the grind to a degree.

Bit by bit, I’m working to amend my excessively stress-inducing approach to school. I’ll still aim for A’s and go above and beyond when I can. But maybe not as “beyond” as I have in the past. I’ll skip class sometimes to grab a coffee with a friend, or get an extra hour of sleep if I really need it. I try not to panic-email about grades lower than 93%. I don’t always do optional assignments anymore.

Putting in the work towards graduating is fulfilling, but it isn’t what makes us human. There is more to living than making sure the numbers on my transcript are as high as I can get them. I can only hope that when I am, in fact, on my deathbed, I’ll have more to talk about than my GPA in undergrad.

India Dinges started her college experience in fall of 2017. Today, five years later, she’s a first-year student in an unconventional degree program working toward an associate degree with a concentration in business.

“I’ve definitely had an untraditional college experience,” said Dinges.

She bounced from college to college for a few years, occasionally taking gap years and breaks between enrollments. As a student seeking specific mental health accommodations for anxiety and depression, navigating college life was nearly impossible without adequate support.

One of the colleges she attended, Dinges said, didn’t take her seriously when she approached them to discuss accommodations. They instead asked her to seek out paperwork and testing beyond what she already had. This posed both an inconvenience and a financial burden. “I was extremely overwhelmed and unsupported,” said Dinges.

This experience exemplified the many roadblocks Dinges encountered during her traditional college enrollments.

After a series of withdrawals from a handful of academic institutions for both medical and family reasons, Dinges decided to try something different.

She is now enrolled in Degree Forward, an accelerated degree program offered through Southern New Hampshire University. In lieu of exam scores, mastery is evaluated through projects that students complete over the course of the academic term. Students are also assigned an academic coach to support them throughout the process.

Dinges said that now, in this program, she feels as if she’s offered the level of support she needs to succeed — something that simply wasn’t available to her during her previous enrollments. She plans to graduate in 2024, seven years after her high school graduation, and hopes to use her degree to support her entrepreneurial ventures.

For others, the optimal route is to take less than the standard four years.

Jaron Magstadt is a genetics major in his second year at the University of Minnesota as a degree seeking student. He graduated high school in the class of 2020 and plans to meet his degree requirements by spring of 2023.

His motivation is largely financial.

Magstadt currently works three part-time jobs to pay for college. He also completed two years of PSEO at the University before his admission as an undergraduate, something that he says saved him thousands of dollars. His goal? Beyond simply getting his bachelor’s, Magstadt says he wants to do so debt-free.

Magstadt plans to attend grad school after he gets his degree, something he knows he can’t afford without loans. For now, he said, he’s trying to hold off on borrowing for as long as possible by graduating as quickly as he can.

We are often told that there is a right and wrong way to accomplish things. This seems doubly true in the realm of academics, where student value often feels as if it hinges upon a series of numbers: percentage grades, grade point averages and years in school, to name a few.

The truth is, of course, more complex than that. Students come from a variety of different backgrounds, and all move at different paces. Four years, then, could be thought of as less of a rule and more of a guideline: “Sure, you could do it this way — many have — but there are also other options.”

Why rush to get things done in four years when you’re not quite sure if traditional college is the route you want to take? Conversely, why take four years when you’re dead-set on being done in three?

Magstadt said he was happy with the academic route he chose to take.

“I’m so grateful for PSEO,” he said. It was a decision that made his academic path possible, allowing him to earn over 60 college credits as a high schooler, all for free.

Dinges expressed similar feelings. She said that while she used to wish that she had taken a more traditional approach to college, she doesn’t anymore. “I’m glad I took the time to figure out what route was best for me,” she said.

Amir Locke, a Black entrepreneur and budding musician, was killed in the early hours of Feb. 2 by an officer from the Minneapolis Police Department during a no-knock raid on an apartment unit.

Locke, who was neither a resident of the apartment nor named on the search warrant, was fatally shot around nine seconds after officers opened the door. Locke’s handgun, which he owned legally, was visible briefly on a bodycam video before he was killed — his finger on its barrel, which was pointed to the floor.

Such trigger discipline, considered to be a universal rule of safe gun handling, is practiced to avoid accidental and reflexive discharges. It’s a practice that embodies the unspoken contract associated with wielding a firearm: you’re in control of a deadly weapon, and it is imperative that you do so in a manner that is calculated and respectful.

Locke was not shown this respect by Mark Hanneman, the officer that killed him. Hanneman’s firing couldn’t be described as anything other than knee-jerk, given that it took him less than 10 seconds after the door was opened to shoot a man nearly point-blank three times.

This deadly encounter is indicative of a greater trend of police officers acting at a standard below what is considered acceptable for civilians. It seems that often, in high stress police encounters, officers are given more slack than the public they are meant to serve.

Daunte Wright, who was killed by former Brooklyn Center police officer Kim Potter in April, died because Potter said she pulled her gun instead of her taser.

Psychologist Laurence Miller testified during Potter’s trial that high-stress and “extremely high arousal” circumstances can result in deadly mistakes, according to the Associated Press. The most typical example of “weapon confusion,” Miller said, is when a police officer confuses their gun and their Taser.

This justification is not unlike the Police Officers Federation of Minneapolis union’s comment on Locke’s killing: “Policing, particularly with a SWAT team, is a dangerous, high-stress profession, where officers are forced to make important split-second decisions in defense of themselves and fellow officers, especially when weapons are involved,” WCCO 830 reported the federation as saying.

Why is it that Locke, who handled his weapon correctly, wasn’t granted this same grace? Was he not, also, in a high-stress situation, given that he was roused from sleep by a gang of loud, armed men? Locke maintained his composure, despite his lack of police training. He gave the officers the benefit of the doubt. He left his finger off the trigger, and his barrel to the ground. He died, regardless.

This botched encounter exposed the ethical and practical failings of not only the police but also of our elected leaders. No-knock warrants, which grant police officers the right to enter a residence without immediate prior notice (like a knock on the door), were previously said to have been banned in the city of Minneapolis on Mayor Jacob Frey’s campaign website.

No-knocks, however, had effectively remained in practice. The policy, which was certainly not a ban, required that officers announce their purpose for entry even when executing a no-knock warrant. It wasn’t until Feb. 4 that Frey imposed a moratorium on the request and execution of no-knock warrants except in the case of imminent harm.

“Language became more casual, including my own, which did not reflect the necessary precision or nuance,” Frey said about this contradiction in an address to the city council on Feb. 7.

Why did we need to wait for one of our neighbors to die before we made a crucial change to our approach to public safety? The danger of no-knock warrants is nothing new. Breonna Taylor was also killed by police executing a no-knock warrant.

As was the case with George Floyd, Amir Locke’s death demonstrated that the only language that our leaders will heed in talks of changing our approach to public safety is the death of Black Minnesotans. It took the death of a Black father to tangibly shift the conversation surrounding Black lives and public safety. It took the death of a Black creative who had barely entered adulthood for our leaders to take action on no-knock warrants.

One can only hope that, in the future, we can be more proactive.

In the overwhelmingly car-dominated landscape of the urban United States, there is one shining star in the realm of transportation: the city bus and train.

You’ll frequently hear complaints about buses and trains that are superficial in nature. They smell bad, can be a few minutes late or are sometimes used as temporary shelter by the houseless (god forbid!).

Less attention is paid, however, to the immense convenience and accessibility of public transportation. Car-owning city-dwellers may be less inclined to appreciate public transportation.  For those of us who don’t own cars, however, the bus makes a tremendous difference in our quality of life.

Three years ago, I was a PSEO student commuting to the University from Fridley. I didn’t have regular access to a car, and, even if I did, parking was expensive and hard to come by. I lived too far away to reasonably walk or bike, and Ubering every day would have been obscenely expensive. 

Enter the route 10 bus: a convenient and affordable option. It was made especially affordable by the U-Pass, the transit pass offered by the University that grants students unlimited rides on Metro Transit buses and trains for $114 most semesters. I hadn’t ridden the city bus since I was a very young child, and the idea of making it a part of my everyday routine was a bit intimidating. 

However, once I became more accustomed to the bus system and its quirks, I was thankful for it. I’m not sure how I could’ve gotten to class that year without it, save for dropping thousands as a high-schooler on a car, a parking spot, gas and inevitable maintenance.

Nowadays, even when I do have access to a car, I’ll often choose to take the bus instead. It’s easier than driving, especially as a student with a U-Pass. On top of the convenience, I also feel like I’m making an environmentally conscious decision.

On top of being convenient, accessible and affordable, public transportation is much more environmentally friendly than cars. Transportation was the second-highest source of greenhouse gas emissions in the United States in 2019, a figure largely contributed to by SUVs and other cars, according to data from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency and Federal Transit Administration. 

Choosing public transportation is one of the single most effective actions individuals can take to reduce their carbon footprint, according to a 2010 report from the FTA. Heavy rail transit (subways, for example) produces 76% less in greenhouse gas emissions than the average single-occupancy vehicle. Light rail transit produces 62% less, and buses 32%, according to the FTA report.

Another perk: Metro Transit also offers the Transit Assistance Program, which provides $1 bus and train fares to lower income passengers, a discount of 50% off the base fare. Seniors are also eligible for reduced fares on buses and trains during non-rush hours.

What’s more, it’s now easier than ever to navigate the often complicated world of public transportation with the internet. The transit option on Google Maps is an invaluable tool for planning bus and train routes. Another useful tool for riders: at bus stops where expected times aren’t displayed (which is most of them), riders can text the letters “MT” followed by the five-digit stop number to the number 272-99 for live updates on arrival times.

So, if you’re someone who is intimidated by public transportation for one reason or another, I encourage you to give it a chance. Buses and trains are some of the most useful public goods offered in the Twin Cities area, and it would be a shame for anyone to miss out on them.

As omicron cases begin to decline nationwide, many of us feel, if tentatively, optimistic.

“Things are looking good,” Anthony Fauci said on ABC Jan. 23. “We don’t want to get overconfident, but they look like they’re going in the right direction right now.”

A best-case scenario is that COVID-19 becomes endemic. Omicron’s recent surge has left many of us with hybrid immunity — elevated levels of antibodies supplied by both vaccination and prior COVID infection — which makes it more difficult for the virus to ravage our communities. Endemicity would mean that, while not eradicated entirely, the virus would become a more manageable part of life, similar to the flu.

This, of course, is not the only possible scenario. We could also end up with a new variant that is more likely to evade existing immunity.

For some, this uncertainty is too much to contend with while pursuing a degree. On top of making adjustments to daily life to deal with immediate ramifications of the virus — upgrading masks, being vigilant about hand washing and sanitizing, among other things — some students are also aware of the possibility of a potential return to online instruction.

Ian Rodriguez was a first-year student in his second semester at the University of Minnesota when classes shifted online. The transition was difficult, and his grades dropped. He failed a class.

“I had never failed basically any class before, in or out of college,” Rodriguez said. Online instruction, he said, was much more difficult for him than in-person instruction.

Rodriguez held out for another three semesters, some of which with a reduced credit load. He decided over winter break to take a leave of absence for spring 2022, citing COVID uncertainty.

“On one hand I’d love to have in person classes,” Rodriguez said. “On the other hand, I don’t know if I trust the general human population right now.”

Rodriguez’s comment comes at a time when, despite widespread free vaccine availability, less than two-thirds of Americans are fully vaccinated. Vaccines and masks continue to be points of contention, despite being some of the most effective methods to prevent infection according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

Something that the University should have considered in order to reduce students’ COVID anxieties, Rodriguez said, was making remote options available. In fall 2021, several of his courses had given students the option to attend online. Many of these options, he said, have since been phased out.

“At the very minimum, I think the U of M should have provided a way more robust set of online options,” Rodriguez said. “Because there are people where it’s not their own health they’re putting at risk by coming to campus. It’s family members; it’s grandparents and kids.”

At the end of the day, there wasn’t really a plausible scenario in which Rodriguez said he would have been comfortable returning to campus, given the pandemic’s effect on his mental health. Worrying about COVID, he said, is exhausting.

“It feels like 20% of my brain power is devoted to the plague,” he said.