And so, with spring approaching, students and faculty at one of America's most progressive colleges felt pressured to make an awkward judgment: whether to ally themselves with the black community or whether to ally themselves with the offended Jews.
People who choose to attend progressive colleges are already progressive-minded, just as people who want a liberal education are usually already liberal (meaning interested in knowledge for its own sake), and people who prefer vocational or pre-professional education are already headed down those roads.
The buildings themselves resembled student co-ops on progressive college campuses.
In the popular imagination, at least, parents who refuse to vaccinate their children are often politically progressive, college educated, and upper middle class.
The film is, in other words, an attempt at instilling awareness of ideology (and so can recall a formative, eye-opening conversation with a progressive college professor).
Reed — a small, progressive college known for its humanities programs and narrow student-to-teacher ratio — is about a mile away.
Hillary Rodham was 27 when she came to Fayetteville, a progressive college town tucked in the north-west corner of the state.
Not to the Soviet Union of eight decades ago, but to progressive college theater productions of the late 1970s, when breaking the fourth wall seemed like a seriously and exhilaratingly radical proposition.
Was Trump trolling progressive college students with his reference to a "safe... place," or was it yet another example of his vertiginous capacity to absorb critiques and spew them back at the critics, amplified, as he did with such devastating effect during the campaign, whereby his opponent became "unfit" to be President and the mainstream media was "dishonest"?
As someone who left high school a year early thanks to an offer from a progressive college that I didn't seek but hungrily accepted (anything to escape those hours of "study hall" that we passed by folding sheets of paper until they couldn't be folded any tighter, at which point we flicked them at one another's heads), I guess I wouldn't know.
At last, I felt in touch with my rage that race, even at my "progressive" college, mattered so much; that I could not completely be who I was, Don Terry, an integrated man, with a white mother and a black father; that I would repeatedly be lumped in a broad racial category -- black -- and treated like a caricature instead of the complicated individual I knew myself to be.
