Letters to the editors – Palatinate

On By Rgal Nv

Smoking is environmental hypocrisy

To the editors,

Having been raised by a mother who was a chest radiology professor, the chances of me becoming a smoker were always slim. From a young age, we were all taught that “smoking kills” and many of us children, myself included, enjoyed the thrill of coughing dramatically as we passed smokers. However, despite knowledge of the dangers of smoking, it still attracts thousands of students each year.

What is less publicized, however, is its devastating impact on the environment.

Our generation is rightly outraged by the threats of climate change. We are quick to criticize companies and public figures for ignoring or downplaying the problem. Yet how often do we take the time to reflect on the environmental hypocrisy of starting to smoke? Are our green principles so easily abandoned in the pursuit of aesthetics?

It’s time for students to realize that smoking is not just a personal choice: it is a threat to the planet we are fighting so hard to protect.

Cigarette butts are the most common form of litter in the world. Around 4.5 trillion filters are thrown away every year, polluting our streets, oceans and rivers. Made from cellulose acetate, a plastic that takes up to 14 years to decompose, these cigarette butts release more than 7,000 toxic chemicals into the environment.

The negative impact of smoking extends far beyond personal health. It harms biodiversity, poisons wildlife and contributes to plastic pollution. It’s time for students to realize that smoking is not just a personal choice: it is a threat to the planet we are fighting so hard to protect.

By Lily Van Der Gaag

Are university mascots doing enough?

To the editors,

I don’t even remember the last time I saw my university’s mascot. The week of freshness perhaps? Butler Mole’s costume is probably sitting in a dusty storage closet as we speak. Butler Mole… it doesn’t even have its own name! It’s hardly a mascot.

Mascots are meant to be the face of an organization, so they should play a key role in representing our colleges. But where are they? Each college chose their own animal for a reason and no doubt spent considerable sums of money to have these costumes custom made. Outside of my own college, I barely remember what any of them look like.

As it stands, these mascots aren’t mascots at all – just abandoned, lifeless costumes.

There are many ways to use these mascots. As celebrity culture and online presence become more and more important in our daily lives, it would be foolish not to use this to our advantage. Take a look at the Duolingo Bird – it’s proven. There should be a social media page for each mascot, such as Instagram or TikTok. Hundreds of companies do it, so why not mascots too? The pages can be used to interact with current and prospective students in a way that is both informative and entertaining. Sharing photos of the mascot in iconic locations could really boost a college’s reputation if done correctly. Various volunteers from each college in Durham could collaborate with each other to create an image of the animals as their own characters. At least give them some sort of personality!

The presence of mascots needs to be improved. A five-minute annual appearance is really not enough. As it stands, these mascots aren’t mascots at all – just abandoned, lifeless costumes.

By Amelia Brown

We don’t need to make food perform

To the editors,

A famous Hollywood actor once said that “all great change in America begins at the dinner table.” So, tomorrow evening, in the kitchen, I hope the discussion will begin. This unpretentious conclusion from a playwright, perhaps best known for his residence on Pennsylvania Avenue, reinforces, in my opinion, the concept of preserving meal times for human relationships. Ronald Reagan’s farewell speech reinforces my aversion to the modern world’s obsession with aesthetics which has now infected areas of necessity like meals, with the creation of “culinary theater”, one of my pet peeves which, I think, threatens the fundamental human connection created over a meal. . I am not referring to Noël Coward who serves up delights of comic genius in Hay feverbut rather the inappropriate dramatization of preparing meals as simple as bangers and mash. It ruins the dining experience, robbing it of its potential as a breeding ground for curiosity, while still being incredibly cringe-worthy.

So-called revolutionary chefs are exploring the idea of ​​multisensory eating, and I can’t help but think: why on earth would I want to do anything other than taste my food? The stylized presentation of consumable goods is simply annoying. This delays eating, encourages phone use at the table, and – unfortunately – robs meals of their warm atmosphere, forcing eaters to expend energy rather than receive it. Heston Blumenthal’s designs for liquid nitrogen ice cream, gravity-defying desserts, or over-the-top tableware simply make me nauseous. Meals now focus on a “wow factor,” and the Mediterranean philosophy of sharing a plate with friends and family is replaced by second-hand embarrassment. I cannot express my misery when, for lunch at The Alchemist, they served me a drink in a test tube or – worse – watched the melting sauce from the chocolate spheres pierce my lava bomb at The Ivy. Even the name makes my stomach flip.

The effort to make food efficient is simply unnecessary – the real beauty of meals lies in donating three points per day for community bonding.

The effort to make food perform is simply unnecessary – the real beauty of meals lies in donating three points per day for community connection. We must cherish them. Culinary shows remove the connection, seduce the eye of the individual, and highlight those who may want to show off by ordering a “spectacular” meal. Some of my best meals have been served straight from the frying pan during a morning hangover debrief, from a sand-filled transformed ice cream tray containing soggy beach sandwiches, or from poorly colored school plates containing the remains of the dish from the day before, as I laugh with friends around a table that doesn’t hold up quite well. They’re certainly not the most glamorous or tastiest meals, but what they lack in looks they make up for in feeling; we fed our souls, not our eyes. Culinary theater is a threat to the sanctity of meals and, in my opinion, excessive experimentation in the kitchen must stop.

If a first date involved any of this nonsense, there wouldn’t be a second date. A metaphorical and philosophical mantra is born; what matters is not what is on the table, but who is around it. As Reagan reminded us, change comes from speaking: if we get caught up in theatrics, we miss out on connecting with those sitting next to us.

By Amélie Lambie-Proctor

Image: Suzy Hazelwood via Pexels