It’s seven o’clock in the morning. It’s the day of my calculus final. I am lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. Although I am already awake for the last three hours, I don’t want to get out of bed. I force myself into the shower, put on a loose hoodie and a pair of jeans, eat my morning toast with butter and marmalade and make my way to the tram station. In the tram I try to distract myself with my phone, but suddenly the speakers sound: “Ladies and Gentlemen, due to technical problems we run 15 minutes behind schedule.” My heart starts pounding, then racing. Am I gonna fail my exam because I’m late? At my final stop, I jump down the stairs of the tram and sprint towards my high school. On the main street I bump into a man: “Hey! Watch out where you’re going!” he shouts. I keep running because there is no time for apologising. As I reach my high school, I jump up the stairs. Room 408, here it is. I rip open the door. “Brenninkmeijer, you’re five minutes late!” Professor Skrivanek shouts. I pleadingly look into his eyes and he mercifully hands my an exam paper. I sit down in the last row and look at the first math problem. Oh no, an optimisation problem! How does that work again? I stare at my paper, hoping for a miracle. Two minutes pass by, sweat drops from my forehead on the paper and my head starts spinning. I decide to take a break: I inhale and exhale. One more time, I inhale and exhale. Finally, I remember some math formulas and start working again. I finish the optimisation problem, then two linearisation problem and a derivative problem. Two hours have passed, I have barely made it to the last problem, but I have to hand in my exam. I don’t have a good feeling about half of the problems, but thank god, normal life can continue. Only three days later, I have to present my finals paper about population growth in Asia. I arrive half an hour early, set up my power point presentation and go through my text in my head for a last time. Philipp and Vincenz are the first ones to enter the room. They wish me luck for the presentation and I smile back at them. Then Professor Schmidt arrives and sits down in the front row. The room gets quiet and I stand in front of a crowd of  30 people, with my legs deeply rooted in the ground, my hands firmly holding my notes, my back upright and my chest out. I start off my presentation at nine o’clock sharp: “Today I will present to you the results of my research…” The next 20 minutes run as planned: “Knowing all these facts is also a curse because I can never see a baby again without thinking: You will have to pay for my rent one day.” The room bursts into laughter and I become even more confident and energised.

It’s seven o’clock in the morning. It’s the day of my calculus final. I am lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. Although I am already awake for the last three hours, I don’t want to get out of bed. I force myself into the shower, put on a loose hoodie and a pair of jeans, eat my morning toast with butter and marmalade and make my way to the tram station.

That’s what Patrick’s father Dr. Brian Coyne, former Deputy Chief of Staff to Rhode Island Governor, told us during a club meeting talk. A serious looking man in his 50s, with wide grey pants and black blazer, at least two sizes too big at his shoulders and two sizes too tight at his waist, resting his arms on the podium, explained his career path

When I pointed this out to him, he agreed with me that discussions with people of different opinions are important to strengthen your own opinions. Opponents help us rethink the grounds of our opinions and if we can’t defend them, although this sometimes is very painful, we need to adjust them. When I told him that from my observations at the club meetings almost all members blindly agree to the same political statements, he explained that the purpose of the club is not to question Democratic values but to strengthen them: The club wants to form a strong Democratic community of politically active students who stand up for their liberal values.

“First of all, Gonzales is going to modernize our transport system. Have you ever taken the T? It’s a disaster…”

In my politics class, Nina, one of the 22 students, particularly distinguishes herself from the rest of the group. While almost everybody quietly listens to the professor’s lecture about the last homework reading, at least three times a class Nina raises her hand: she stretches her fingers towards the black board and shakes them to become more visible and mumbles to become audible to the professor. When the professor finally relieves her from the pain of having to stay quiet, she starts to run at the mouth: “In my home state Missouri, unfortunately, a very red state, people support Donald Trump because…” Usually she spends about two minutes giving a political statement. During that time, many of the students ostentatiously roll their eyes or rest their heads on the table until Nina finishes her monologue. Frequently I hear a “Oh my god” or “Please not again” from the back of the classroom. Although sometimes I am among the groaning people, I am generally impressed by her ability to give a political statement about almost every possible political issue and to have such a deep passion for politics.

The club distinguishes itself through its outspoken unity against racism. Nevertheless, it almost seems like there is a unitary opinion about almost all political topics. At the end of the club meeting, one of the deputies, standing out from the rest of the group by wearing white socks with sandals and shorts on a cold autumn day, talked about foreign politics: “We have bad news from Europe: In Austria, the far-right candidate Sebastian Kurz won the national elections. I guess the Austrians have a thing for far-right politicians.” Many people laughed. In my view, Sebastian Kurz cannot be considered a far-right politician but much more centre-right. But what struck me far more was the reference to Adolf Hitler. As an Austrian resident, I felt deeply insulted by that cynical remark.