On campus, I’ve been known as the “map guy.” Since middle school, I’ve been obsessed with gerrymandering, which is the manipulation of electoral district boundaries to favor a specific party. The obsession has followed me to the College, where classmates have found me simulating elections at Goodrich while waiting for my bagel or tracing district lines on napkins at Paresky after dinner.

So when Texas Governor Greg Abbott signed HB 4 into law this past August, redrawing the state’s congressional districts years ahead of schedule under pressure from President Trump to squeeze out extra Republican seats, I was paying close attention. The move triggered a wave of retaliatory redistricting, with Democratic-leaning states like California following suit. And with the Supreme Court’s recent decision in Louisiana v. Callais now opening the door for states like Tennessee and Florida to eliminate not just Democratic-leaning seats but districts explicitly designed to protect Black voter representation, gerrymandering has become an even more pressing issue.

But zooming in from U.S. states to our own campus, as a former JA and community member, I’ve noticed a recurring pattern at the College. In spaces like frosh quad, where one has to physically go through connecting common rooms, I watched and was sometimes guilty of avoiding acknowledging people in passing. While I understand some simply aren’t interested in small talk with strangers, this awkwardness, repeated enough, can harden into a habit. Students stop expecting acknowledgement, then stop offering it, and eventually the silence becomes the norm. This silence can drive informal districts at the College: common rooms, academic buildings, sports fields, and other spaces. The lines are invisible but no less real, with the effect of keeping us strangers to many who could’ve changed our life trajectories.

With the College drawing students from across the world, I’m grateful to have made memories with people whose lives look different from mine. From bringing friends to my U.S. citizenship naturalization, to inviting them to cross Route 2 for my thesis presentation, I’ve watched connections form between people who might never have otherwise met. As meaningful as those memories are, one person’s smiles and waves won’t break campus gerrymanders. These moments matter, but they are small steps toward dismantling the silence that lets students pass each other daily without recognition. Larger change will come from collaborations like those already pushed by the Minority Coalition, and that are already happening when groups co-host Shabbat dinners.

In some of my final words as a student at the College, I want to issue a challenge. Help break these campus gerrymanders. Open up and invite others. Whether you’re waiting for a drink at Goodrich, sharing doubles in badminton, or passing through Hollander for a lounge, choose to be welcoming. We cannot have a village without being villagers, and belonging has a cost. Belonging requires us to reach across hallways and divisions to make others feel like they have a place here.

We can’t move populations across states to counter political gerrymanders. But we can redraw the lines on campus, one invitation at a time. Thank you to everyone at the College who helped me break mine.

Chris Flores ‘26 is majoring in chemistry and biology from Tucson, Arizona.