Some nights ago, I joined other fellow community members in front of the Chapel, banded together in somber silence. We were huddled in a circle, the only illumination coming from the candles that emanated across our faces. As I scanned the crowd, I remembered appreciating the diversity of people present. Folks of all different demographics. Students, eyes salted with tears, were still wearing backpacks because they had just come from their studies. Adults, including faculty, whose somber faces hid their anger. Community members, who felt just as much a part of Duke as everyone else present, and just as impacted by the tragedies that violence has wrung upon us. Each person clasped a little trinket in their hand.
Vigils are like tattoos: we partake in them because they help us remember something, or someone, in a fashion that gives their memory a little more permanence. I don’t intend to ever get a tattoo, and I had hoped to never have a reason to go to a vigil. But political violence disagreed.
In the past week, I attended not one vigil, but two: one in remembrance of Charlie Kirk and the other in honor of the fourteen individuals who’ve died while in ICE custody and the four individuals killed during ICE raids since November 2024. At one vigil, I was given a flag. At the other, a butterfly. These were the little trinkets clutched in every attendee’s hands as they mourned the consequences of political violence…