The Argus Magazine: Issue 2 by Alex Wilkinson

Editors-in-Chief Alex Wilkinson ’13 Alexander Hoyle ’13

Editor’s Note

The Argus Magazine is a student-produced publication focusing

Executive Editors Justin Pottle ’13 Olivia Horton ’14

on long-form journalism, critical essays, and nonfiction. By showcasing

Jenessa Duncombe ’14

creative, engaging pieces from a variety of fields, we seek to channel

Adam Bresgi ’14

a diverse array of student perspectives, experiences, and knowledge. Fundamental to this endeavor is an emphasis on collaboration between writers and editors, a process we feel is essential to producing polished, innovative work.

We serve as a curated forum for all student long-form journalism

and non-fiction. Thus, The Argus Magazine runs independently from The Wesleyan Argus. We are the most appropriate venue for the kind of journalism The Wesleyan Argus cannot usually print: long-form articles,

Artistic Directors Adam Forbes ’13 Emma Singer ’15

Contributing Artists Anna Shimshak ’13

interviews, and essays designed to educate and entertain a general read-

Matthew Lichtash ’13

ership.

Matthew Motta ’13

Charles Duncombe

This issue improves and expands upon our original vision for The

Argus Magazine. Our pieces span a broad range of subject matter—environmental and political science, critical and personal essays, profiles and interviews with industry experts—all unified by professional, vibrant design. We hope you enjoy this issue, and are looking forward to featuring even more student work in the years to come.

Ra Compel Citiz

Who gets to Pla

Ridin’ Derby

Contributing Writers Matthew Motta ’13 Josh Cohen ’14 Adam Keller ’14 Anna Shimshak ’13 Michael Vaughan ’16 Ross Gormley ’13 Matthew Lichtash ’13

Alex Wilkinson Editor-in-Chief Class of 2013

Alexander Hoyle Editor-in-Chief Class of 2013

A Co

Colophon This edition of 300 was printed by Boston Color Graphics. The body text of this magazine was set in Electra and the headings were set in Lato

How Apa

Contents A Place I Imagine That Is Also R 1 Jenessa Duncombe

ace for the Vote: How Politicians 5 zens to Vote Against their Interests Matthew P. Motta

Brother Ed

Alexander Hoyle

ay the Modern Action Hero?

Josh Cohen

y: Local League Plays HARD

Adam Keller

Translatio Corporis

Anna Shimshak

Down The Rabbit Hole

Michael Vaughan

The Future of Journalism: 30 onversation with Wesleyan Alumni Alex Wilkinson

Retro Future

Ross Gormley

athy Is Destroying the Planet

Matthew Lichtash

A Place I Imagine That Is Also Real Jenessa Duncombe ’14

Race for the Vote: How Politicians Compel Citizens to Vote Against their Interests Matthew Motta ’13

Brother Ed Alexander Hoyle ’13

Who Gets to Play the Modern Action Hero? Joshua Cohen ’14

Ridin’ Derby: Local League Plays HARD Adam Keller ’14

Translatio Corporis: An Examination of the Individual in Catholicism Anna Shimshak ’13

Down The Rabbit Hole Michael Vaughan ’16

The Future of Journalism: A Conversation with Wesleyan Alumni Alex Wilkinson ’13

Idyllic Futures: Past Visions of America’s Promise Ross Gormley ’13

How Apathy Is Destroying the Planet Matthew Lichtash ’13

A Place I Imagine That Is Also Real by Jenessa Duncombe

them a kiss.

We pitch our tent in a cow pasture, in

between an RV and a truck full of Canadians. There are no cows in our field—just hay barrels, cars, buses, flags, porta-potties, and thousands of people, whose ages average around twenty-something years.

Beyond the camp, in three out of four

directions, fields stretch endlessly on a plateau

Well, I been sleeping for forty days and I know / I’m sleeping ’cause this dream’s too amazing

of rolling hills. Some fields are speckled with cows; others are empty. Except for toward the east, where the fields fall away to sharp ridges, which plunge out of view to expose the Gorge

I: TO DREAM

We play the song over and over to mem-

orize the lyrics. It’s imperative we know all the songs for the show, and we only have— what, only eight hours?—in the car before we get there.

The car to our left honks. It’s full of

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The Argus Magazine

guys, old enough to be high school seniors like we are, wearing bandannas. They hold up a sign that reads, “Sasquatch Music Festival 2010: Sasquatchery Debauchery.” Someone brandishes our sign in response, an oversized cardboard cutout of an arm with a finger pointing forward and the words, “Sasquatch or Bust.” The May air is warm, so I roll down the window and blow

and the waters of the Columbia River meandering through the valley below. White wind turbines twirl on the ridges facing us, silently overlooking the Gorge. The landscape is devoid of concrete, streetlights, parking garages—aside from the turbines, all infrastructure is absent. The hills are covered with gray-green sagebrush and the ridges are tan and bare. Someone asks,

nodding their head toward the landscape,

“Where the fuck are we?”

We laugh, but they have a point. The vast-

ness of this place fills us with something we didn’t know we were missing.

“Heaven,” I answer.

***

nectar.

***

In the evening twilight,

I lie among thousands on a steep grass–covered hill that slopes down to Mainstage, the Gorge’s natural amphi-

In the morning sun, the next day, we

theater. Clouds dipped in

lounge on flat dry rocks on the banks of the

pink hover behind the stage,

Columbia. Someone strums on a guitar while

shading the Columbia Riv-

hands braid my hair. We’re not in a hurry—the

er. The white turbines on

music doesn’t start for several hours. I don’t

the ridges look like toddlers

know who’s voice begins first, but suddenly we

reaching up to touch the

are all singing that song:

clouds. My head rests on

Well, I been sleeping for forty days and I

someone’s stomach and bobs

know / I’m sleeping ‘cause this dream’s too amaz-

up and down gently. I crack

ing.

jokes, hoping to feel the vi-

When it’s over, someone asks,

brations of laughter. A voice

“What’s he talking about in the song? Any-

tells me,

one know?”

in the pit for the next set, we

“Probably coming down from a trip or

“Yo, if we want to get

something.”

need to go now.”

“For forty days?”

“I dunno.”

and

More strumming on the guitar. We throw

through lines of bodies and

Two hands grab mine we

dash

downhill,

around more ideas. “Maybe it’s about the past.

into the enclosed pit in front of Mainstage. We

Like when you look back and you can’t see

keep our hands clasped until the crowd com-

the past as a reality. It becomes dreamlike, you

presses forward and sways dangerously. We

know? Then the dreams—they sort of haunt

squeeze each others’ hands once before letting

you.”

go and allowing ourselves to be swallowed. My

We fall into silence. My hair is braided

body might explode from the pressure, but I

and I rest my head on a shoulder. The wind cre-

love it. I stick out my elbows, pick up my feet

ates waves in the river and the water laps against

and achieve weightlessness. I sing with the

the rocks. Someone says,

crowd:

“You all can say what you want, but he’s

Well, I been sleeping...

definitely tripping. And you know what?” We

I I : TO AWA K E N

look up, inquisitive. “Let’s go swimming.”

We peel off our towels and prepare to

jump. The guitar switches to “Smells like Teen Spirit.” We line up on the rocks and someone initiates a countdown: 3 ... 2 ... 1—a hand pushes me in. Underwater, I’m still laughing and consequently swallow mouthfuls of cool river water. The water tastes great, which makes sense: this is Heaven, and this river flows with

installed a heater without an off-switch in the room on the top floor of a centrally heated building. I climb over my desk to open the 2x3 foot window, that opens outward, letting in a gush of Connecticut April air.

I peel back the velcro of my arm braces

with my teeth and start my morning physical therapy: stretches for thirty minutes to release tension, followed by exercises for another thirty. I lie down parallel to my bed in the narrow corridor of floor space. The floor is dirty, but given my injury there isn’t anything I can do about it. This morning, I’m not sure if I should use

One year later, my eyes open to the sloped

weights because my forearms and hands have

ceiling of my dorm room, one foot above my

been aching (pain scale: 6/10). They have been

face. I’m sweating and my heater is making that

slowly getting worse since the Tuesday before

hissing–popping noise it makes when it tries to

last (pain scale: 3/10), when I saw my physical

roast me in my sleep. What kind of dumbass

therapist in the city like I do every Tuesday.

designed a heater without an off-switch? The

person is probably related to the dumbass that

skin, but I know these exercises are helping

The dirt on the floor sticks to my sweaty

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The Argus Magazine

me heal. If I keep it up, maybe tomorrow could be like four Tuesdays ago (pain scale:1/10), when I had my first pain-free day since October. The pain started back in my senior year of high school. Typing, writing, stress—who knows what caused a “repetitive strain injury” in my hands, wrists, and forearms. Whatever it was, the actions of my past seem to haunt me. I decide not to use the weights.

My phone rings. It’s my mom, of

course—no one else calls me. She asks me how my hands are feeling. I shake off my mood.

“It’s about a 6.”

“Oh, shoot.” She pauses. “When is

Kayla’s mom coming? I sent some of the co-op almonds with her for your stash.”

“She flew in today. She’ll come by

when Kayla’s in class, so sometime after my water resources class.”

I thank her for the almonds. I ask her

about book group. She tells me that Raffles has a rash on his stomach again even though she took him to the vet last week. I sympathize. We say I love you, and hang up the phone.

tions. Listen as professor assigns one-page paper

in the afternoon. Kayla’s mom should be here.

describing topic of choice. Grasp basic premise:

it’s got to be about water.

face flushes when she sees the state of it. I’m a neat freak, normally. But she doesn’t react.

***

Today, like every day, I play the Hands-

Free Game. It starts when I finish my morning exercises and doesn’t stop until I fall asleep.

3 ... 2 ... 1...

BEGIN: Open dorm room door with el-

bow. Turn on shower with knee. Stand underneath steaming water. Can’t wash hair or body today (pain level too high). Reenter dorm room with elbow. Select clothing with feet. Pull on jeans (almost) using only feet. Elbows to pack backpack. A notebook drops—my fingers grab at it weakly. Gravity: 1, Me: 0.

Loiter in front of building until someone

exits. Catch the door with foot. In class, resist sleep through mental note taking. Listen as professor explains final research paper expecta-

Spring 2013

***

Think water, think water. I am scrolling

down the Wikipedia page for the Columbia River using my computer mouse which resembles a spaceship joystick and makes the grip less painful. The page reads: “The Columbia River is the largest river in the Pacific Northwest region of North America.… And the fourth-largest in the US.”

Okay, it contains a fair amount of water. I

could research this and relive every savory moment that the Gorge ever gave me while I work on this project. To celebrate, I play the first track

The Argus Magazine

She follows me up to my room and my

of the mix “SasquatchCD1.”

Research Project: 0, Me: 1.

I stand up and sway to the music. I remem-

ber all the songs perfectly. I listen until it’s three

“Okay, tell me what I can do. For this after-

noon, I am your hands.”

I don’t know what to say– I feel shy asking

her to do things. She realizes this, and simply begins to work. She starts by picking up the clothing off of my floor and she doesn’t stop until my desk is organized and my laundry is folded in my drawers. I sit on the bed with my feet up, since its impossible to stand out of her way. We chat. She is the kind of mother who oozes maternal pheromones regardless of who you are. I realize I haven’t talked to anyone with this level of comfort in a long time, except for my own mother. I decide I need to find more mothers and befriend them.

When she leaves, I lie down on the floor,

the clean floor, and let my body dissolve into the wooden surface. My insides have that famil-

iar feeling of raw-

well-being of their country.

the toxins bleed outward into the surrounding

ness, as if I’ve been

Over Hanford’s 40-year lifetime, radio-

soil. The soil is a mixture of clay, silt, and san-

carved

with

active waste was generated from byproducts of

dy loam from the river valley above. The mis-

out

uselessness.

But

plutonium production. Contaminants were re-

matched particles jumble together—round and

there is something

leased into the air, water, and soil haphazardly.

gritty mix with long and thin. Air, water, and ra-

new, too. It oozes

Wikipedia proudly calls it “the most contami-

dioactive goo fill the gaps between soil particles.

from the crevices of

nated nuclear site in the US.” The contamina-

A layer of gravel covers the soil, protecting the

my folded clothing,

tion has since dissipated into the entire ecosys-

finer particles from erosion. The ground above

spills out the cracks

tem (or in one instance, when tumbleweeds

the 177 tanks is bare.

of my dresser and

grew in the toxic soil and rolled into it).

flows

downward

toward me. It fills

the air and water and dispersed widely over

me liberally, until

time, contamination of the soil remains in

I am nothing but

dangerous concentrations today. Underground

overflowing

tanks filled with waste each hold somewhere in

with

gratitude.

the ballpark of an Olympic size swimming pool worth of toxic waste –

III: TO IMAGINE The

Columbia

River Gorge had a dramatic beginning. The Missoula floods carved out the valley 20,000 years earlier with walls of water 500 feet high. The middle of its life was much more serene. The Wanapum people lived in the Gorge and fished in its waters. Then, Lewis and Clark canoed westward on the Columbia River and the Gorge lost its anonymity to the New World.

I stop reading.

Maximum time on the computer should

not exceed 10 minutes at once. It’s been at least 45. I am sweating because the heater is hissing, but I don’t climb over my desk to open the window because my hands hurt. Why is the heater on in April anyway? I’m sick of the Sasquatch playlist, so I turn it off and collapse on my newly made bed. Maybe when I awake, I muse, some of the magic motherly fairy dust will have settled on me. I will be transformed like my room, the dirty and decaying parts of me safely enclosed in the trashcan down the hall. I fall asleep knowing my heater probably eats fairy dust anyway.

In 1942, the Manhattan Project began

***

and the United States government searched for

***

But unlike contamination released into

This is a place that I imagine, but is also

I am standing underneath a steaming

shower. It’s mid-May and one year ago I was in the Gorge. It occurs to me that at this very moment, the Gorge looks exactly the same as it did one year ago. Ridges rise on either side of the Columbia River. They are rounded in places and inverted and others, carved by catastrophic floods and the pattering of rain. Perhaps at this very moment, spring rain is falling.

I visualize the tank field. It’s raining there

too, and the rain stains the gravel dark gray. The raindrops enter the open pores between the gravel and descend downwards. The water slows as it encounters soil. The open pores become minuscule and oddly shaped. The water flows haltingly, before accelerating down the slippery walls of the steel tanks. The tanks act like water freeways, providing direct routes away from the meandering streets of the soil. Along the steel walls, the water passes cracks of oozing radioactivity, picking up each toxic traveler and carrying it down into the ground below.

The water underneath the tank field per-

a place with little political relevance that they

could fuck up (not exactly their words). They

real:

evacuated the Gorge’s residents and construct-

Fifteen meters underground, there is a

inevitable. The contaminated plume joins the

ed a nuclear power plant, the Hanford Site.

pool of radioactive liquid, young and fresh. It

water of the Columbia River. The radioactive

Hanford produced plutonium for the

was created in the long flat buildings and tall

contaminants, finally free, disperse into noth-

country’s nuclear operations from 1943 to 1989.

curvaceous reactors aboveground at Hanford.

ingness.

It produced the plutonium used in the first

It’s full of strontium, uranium, iodine, techne-

atomic bomb test and the bomb dropped on Na-

tium, and chromium, all highly toxic. This is

it’s finals week (pain scale: 8/10). I crank

gasaki, Japan. Over 150,000 scientists and engi-

where these chemicals have remained for 56

up the shower temperature with my elbow

neers lived and worked there. During the Cold

years, near the banks of the Columbia River.

and close my eyes. I follow the path of the

War, workers would drive by the sign “LOOSE

water as it runs down my body and off my

TALK–a chain reaction for ESPIONAGE” and

steel tank. The steel walls are single-lined and

remember their crucial contribution to the

already tired. Cracks form along the walls and

colates through the sediment, pulled toward the

The radioactive material is buried in a

My arms hurt like hell today, since

hands.

Spring 2013

Art by Charles Duncombe

The Argus Magazine

Race for the Vote: How Politicians Compel Citizens to Vote Against their Interests by Matthew Motta

Why do non-wealthy Americans support economic policies that exclusively further the financial interests of the wealthiest? Long before the recent financial downturn, political scientists argued that the American public agrees that “the very wealthy do not pay their fair share of taxes” (Hochschild 1993) and that the wealthy “really [govern] the country” (McClosky & Zaller 1984). But despite this, somehow middle-class voters have consistently articulated their support for tax cuts reserved for individuals who make more than $250,000 in a single year. What explains so many voters’ love affair with policies that only deepen divides between rich and poor?

Despite extensive efforts to analyze and ex-

plain this paradox, social scientists cannot seem to reach a consensus. Some suggest that American citizens tend to supplant consideration of economic issues with social issues, leading them to vote for politicians who espouse their cultural values over their economic interests—or, more simply, Americans spend more time thinking about sex than they do about the sequester.

Alternatively, a second school argues that

Americans hold opinions on economic issues without giving them much thought. Some political scientists have argued that, although citizens report that they do not give much con-

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

sideration to economic matters, they’ll still hold

opinions on them based on a principle of “un-

paign, President George W. Bush explained

enlightened self interest.” Rather than getting

the logic behind cutting taxes for the wealthy—

his facts straight, Joe Six-Pack projects his own

lighter tax burdens on top would serve “to grow

economic troubles asymmetrically as he sympa-

the economy” below. Of course, Bush did not

thizes with the rich while criticizing the poor.

hold the same economic optimism toward gov-

However, even the most complicated eco-

ernment spending programs that redistributed

nomic issues are loaded with value and imag-

capital to the poor and other non-military dis-

ery—the Welfare Queen, the 47 percent, the

cretionary spending programs (such as educa-

Fiscal Cliff. Numbers aren’t always sexy, but

tion funding, which at least in theory should

they can be dressed up with evocative rhet-

benefit most people). Even though most Ameri-

oric. As a result, some scholars suggest that

cans believe that the wealthy should contribute

politicians use economic concerns to transmit

more in tax dollars, the electorate sided with

cultural values through the emotional appeals.

Bush’s plan to ease the tax burdens of those who

A citizen can latch onto the social and cultur-

purportedly grow the economy (the rich, a dis-

al baggage of economic issues without paying

proportionately white group) than the majority

much heed to actual economics. For exam-

of Americans who were an economic burden

ple, prominent political scientists have argued

(who are disproportionately non-white).

that white Americans often hold contradictory

views on structurally similar federal spending

ing the Bush Tax Cuts deserve a second look—

programs: disliking welfare (consistent with

it stands to reason that many voters supported

Reagan’s evocative but ugly “Welfare Queen”

the Bush Tax Cuts because of their unconscious

narrative) but supporting Social Security.

identification with this unspoken racial narra-

tive.

Following from this third theory, my anal-

Throughout his 2004 Presidential cam-

Therefore, the cultural narratives underly-

ysis of public support for the extension of the

This argument bears itself out in my sta-

Bush Tax Cuts (tax breaks for the wealthiest

tistical analysis of the issue, in which I contend

Americans) reveals that racial resentment (the

that economic issues do seem to be powerful

extent to which the public exhibits disfavor to-

transmitters of cultural and social values—in

ward black people) plays an important role in

this case, values associated with racial resent-

shaping citizens’ opinions on many political is-

ment.

sues. Specifically, I find that increased levels of

self-reported resentment toward minorities tend

derpinning racialized narratives in particular

to predict support for policies that exclusively

activate racial resentment more strongly than

favor the financial interests of the wealthy.

issues that do not? Looking at the impact of

But how can we tell that issues with un-

to elect any politician to political office. Their influence, however, is tremendous. Running for federal office in the United States is a costly endeavor, requiring investments from candidates and donors that dwarf the average American’s expected annual income. As I have already shown, America’s political elites (including both politicians and their vocal donors) have been quite successful at convincing citizens to vote against their own interests by transmitting social messages through economic issues.

Thus, even though non-wealthy Ameri-

cans are far greater in number than the wealthiest, elites have convinced ordinary citizens to abandon their numerical advantage. In other words, the makers of Viagra have a better Each line indicates the increased level of opposition (with Bush Tax Cuts coded as “support”) to each of the issues listed on the left-hand side. The bars indicate the range of values in which we can expect that dot to fall 95% of the time. These exist independently of the impact of numerous demographic and political variables, though I did not display them in this graph (that type of interpretation requires a considerable amount of quantitative training).

increasingly resentful attitudes on support for

Americans may object to the Bush Tax Cuts—

issues with predictably racialized narratives

despite exhibiting high levels of racial resent-

(such as the Affordable Care Act) and those that

ment—precisely because they understand that

I expect to be less-racialized (such the repeal

doing otherwise may link their political prefer-

of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell), I find that racial re-

ences to undesirable cultural practices.

sentment more strongly predicts opposition to

Obamacare than DADT (See Figure 1 above).

tons for American political discourse, particu-

But more interestingly, the data also high-

larly given that economic issues are powerful

light the premise that racial resentment varies

transmitters of social and cultural norms. But

depending on cultural context. At the aggre-

precisely why racial resentment so strongly pre-

gate level, racial resentment predicted support

dicts citizen behavior is harder to quantify.

for the Bush Tax Cuts. But are all racists cre-

ated equal? Analyzing racial resentment in the

this out is by posing Robert Dahl’s classic ques-

South separately yields some surprising results.

tion: who really governs? In a political system

First, racial resentment—in all regions except

in which the will of non-wealthy citizens have

for the South—predicts opposition (not sup-

been transformed to reflect the financial inter-

port) to the Bush Tax Cuts. Conversely, I find

ests of the wealthiest, even flawlessly construct-

that increased racial resentment in the South is

ed democratic institutions (contact with elected

strongly associated with support for the tax cuts.

officials, free and fair elections, etc) may not

What does this all mean? Essentially,

accurately represent the needs of most people.

Southern racism appears to influence political

Thus, it is necessary to investigate how those

preferences differently than racism in other

who govern (the wealthiest Americans) con-

parts of the country. One plausible explanation

vince a critical mass of citizens to abandon their

for this is that non-Southern individuals may re-

own interests.

port high levels of racial resentment, but act on

them in different ways than Southerners. Some

tiny constituency not numerically large enough

These findings have important implica-

One particuarly interesting way to figure

America’s wealthiest citizens make up a

chance of erecting a President than the average American citizen.

This is a particularly damning description

of American politics, but I will push this argument even further. America’s political elites have done more than transmit social messages through economic issues in order to convince us to abandon our own economic interests— they have also persuaded us to abandon some of our other interests, too.

Take, for example, the issue of gun con-

trol. A recent Pew poll from February 2013 found that gun owners are significantly less likely to believe in the efficacy of gun control when compared to those who do not. Only 35 percent of gun owners (compared to 66 percent of nongun owners) believe that gun control would be “an effective way to prevent mass shootings.” This stark contrast allows me to ask the most daunting question I will pose in this article: does racial resentment encourage Americans to work against not just their economic interests, but also the public’s safety?

The answer, as I demonstrate in Figure 2

(see page 7), is yes—gun ownership is highly correlated with respondents’ self-reported levels of racial resentment. As racial resentment increases, the probability that the respondent owns a gun increases dramatically.

However, defining Americans’ “safety in-

terests” can be extremely difficult. On the one hand, gun owners may think that having a gun

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

This graph presents a similar plot to the one used previously in this article; but this time, it is analyzing the impact of racial resentment (and other controlling factors) on the probability that the respondent owns a gun. Negative numbers indicate decreased probability of owning a firearm, and I do not include control variables which are not statistically significant (such as partisan identification or education).

trends observed in the second graph.

violence. On the other hand, the media is sat-

Thus, I contend that a major explanatory

er, is that elite communication strategies have

urated with reports of tragic shootings at least

component of increased gun ownership levels

convinced Americans to abandon their own

partially caused by facile access to firearms.

in the US is white distrust of black people. As I

interests in recent years. Race and racial resent-

What is clear from my analysis is that both race

have noted, gun owners are less likely to support

ment, in relation to gun ownership in the Unit-

(being white) and racial resentment are strong-

gun control and, by extension, public safety.

ed States, seems to be yet another devastating

ly related to the probability that an individual

iteration of this trend.

owns a gun. Could white distrust of blacks be

cialized gun violence narrative is an interesting

driving this trend? Putting all of this informa-

(and intensive) task and unfortunately outside

the least desirable aspects of American political

tion together, it is interesting to speculate as to

of the scope of this article. However, one logical

behavior, hope for reasonable democratic gov-

whether or not racial resentment predicts gun

starting point might be George H.W. Bush’s in-

ernance is not lost. As I have argued throughout

ownership differently to white versus non-white

famous “Willie Horton Ad,” which attempted to

this piece, elites encourage voters to make de-

Americans.

invoke fear of Michael Dukakis’ political stanc-

cisions that do not reflect their best economic

Separating “white racial resentment” from

es on crime by picturing a black convict. More

and social interests using racialized narratives.

the variables in the above model, I find evidence

recently, Trayvon Martin’s death has sparked a

These narratives reflect not the innate flaws

to suggest that racial resentment among white

national debate on racial biases in local law en-

within most voters, but the superimposed wills

respondents predicts the chance of owning a

forcement and—more broadly—in American

of a select few.. Understanding how these sto-

gun incredibly well. In fact, it predicts gun own-

public discourse. However, because this issue

ries impact political behavior is a necessary step

ership so well that racial resentment amongst all

is evolving rapidlyidentifying the specifics of

toward eliminating their corrosive influence on

other groups loses its explanatory power. This

this narrative is not quite as simple as analyzing

public discourse.

means that white racial resentment of black

the electoral and behavioral impact of Reagan’s

people in particular is driving the gun-owning

“Welfare Queen” remarks.

in their household keeps their family safe from

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Outlining the historical elements of a ra-

What I can say with confidence, howev-

Tough these findings highlight some of

Graphs by Matthew Motta

Brother Ed by Alexander Hoyle

Growing up as an expat, you have a tenuous hold on your identity. Born to American parents but raised abroad— primarily in Paris—I never felt I belonged anywhere in particular. Constant student turnover at international schools meant that, by graduation, I’d known my closest friends for only three years. I consumed slices of Americana from the regurgitated films and TV shows that made it abroad, but otherwise my parents’ country wasn’t much more than a nametag. This lack of belonging came to a head when I first started college in the States.

that first fall at college I found myself pledging

to find a brother adjusting knobs on a speaker

a fraternity: the Xi chapter of Psi Upsilon. In

beneath a table. To his right sat the owner of the

retrospect, I suppose I was looking to entrench

cigar, who took it out of his mouth and gestured

myself in something both quintessentially male

in the brother’s direction.

and American.

To say I was from “um, America” didn’t carry

***

much weight among people who were savagely possessive of three blocks on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Soon enough, I was “from Paris,” cringing at the pretension I imagined that phrase entailed when spoken without an accent—little did they know that I’d always wanted to visit Evanston, IL! Adopting the label of Frenchman was simple enough, but it was a compromise (not to mention the vaguely feminine undertones that being French carries in the US).

Perhaps to combat this tension, during

“Turn it down a little, just a cunt-hair.

There.”

The first week of pledging, we were put

to work cleaning the main room of the house in preparation for a party. As I drove the ragged mop against the beer and butts ground into the hardwood, spreading a nice, even layer of filth across the floor, I solemnly wondered what bastard was smoking a cigar at that very moment. The cigar smoke mingled with the fumes of stale beer and cleaning liquid to form a stimulating bouquet, like someone bathing a dead dog in a spittoon. Gagging, I followed the smell

An older man, he spoke in the back of his

throat, frog-like, with what I supposed was a Connecticut accent. His ashen face was round and fat, sagging with deep, dirty wrinkles, like a broiled pork chop. The only color came from violent blue beady eyes set deep in his skull. I later learned this was Ed Dunham, our house’s property manager and, inexplicably, cook.

During that first semester, I had few con-

versations with Ed. Through the grapevine, I discovered that he had been hired in 1998 by friends in the alumni association to replace a lecherous Swedish maid. While not a brother

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The Argus Magazine

himself, his squat figure loomed constantly. He

brushing rice clumps and ketchup packets to

woman who prolly has, like, five or six cats, kids

also ran a light and sound company and provid-

the floor as Ed sat alone at the corner, silent.

don’t live with her anymore, Bible scripture on

ed his services for our concerts and events. Short

her coasters. Everyone’s applauding, and I turn

***

legs and a substantial gut meant he was usually slouched in purloined Olive Garden chairs on casters, barking orders and terse insults between puffs on the cigar as we set up the equipment. After reheating frozen food sold in bulk for dinner, he’d leave his combination kitchen/office in the basement, plod upstairs, and sit at the far end of the dining table to shoot the shit with a select few brothers (come to think of it, talk was all he did—I never saw him eat). Meanwhile, at the opposite end of the table where the pledges tended to congregate, I would try to inject myself into the larger group by means of stilted small talk with the odd fraternity member.

These conversations, like most I had that

year, would inevitably focus on the frat, and, as if he was a part of its very architecture, often Ed himself. Where did he come from? Why did he talk like one of those gangsters in a Bugs Bunny cartoon from the 40s? What was he hiding under his signature tweed golf cap? Just how old was he? Stoned Sunday arguments among brothers placed him anywhere from 50 to 80; I feared the possibility of the former. Such corrosive forces were far removed from my sheltered world. After dinner, I’d wipe a dry paper towel across the antique tables of bruised oak,

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The Argus Magazine

Even once I had been initiated as a broth-

er—and after I’d won the nickname Moulin Douche—Ed was no less a mystery. Although I was now an official member of the brotherhood, Ed had never taken the time to learn my name or talk directly to me. I resigned myself to being entertained by the oft-repeated stories about this legendary character.

One of the first I heard, and one I’ve retold

many times since, was from a brother who had the chance to work with Ed’s light and sound outfit at an annual county fair in the neighboring town. After the fair’s conclusion, a friend attended a wrap-up meeting with Ed and the other organizers:

“So Ed and I show up to this big meeting

in this huge hall, and everyone but me is, like, at least 48. The chair’s speaking up at a podium, this Prairie Home Companion-type, and he says, ‘First off, we want to give a big congratulations to Barbara. She’s been a great help

to Ed, and he’s just sitting there with that sourpuss look on his face. So I ask him ‘Ed, why aren’t you clapping?’ and he says, loud enough for the whole hall to hear, ‘Cause she’s a fuckin’ bitch! Fuck her, fuck her!’”

Ed’s ornery snarls of antiquated slang and artful cursing, none of which did him justice; like quoting a movie, we could only give poor approximations of the original impact. These impressions weren’t so much a mockery as they were a shared reference between brothers— who was this guy, right? That Ed’s bellicose nature could actually be genuine, not just some showy persona put on merely for the brotherhood’s sake, inspired heightened fascination. The man was a walking anachronism, radically unapologetic. Leaving that same meeting, Ed had overheard Barbara commenting on the full moon.

***

ing… Thank you!’ “This Barbara stands up, and she’s this

“I’ll put the man in your moon!” he’d

yelled, cackling maniacally.

putting together the meetings, doing the cook

Everybody had their own impression of

Although I had decided to live in the frat

sweet woman, salt and pepper hair up in a bun,

house my sophomore year, I had the lingering

purple sweatshirt, pink sweatpants. The kinda

impression that I still wasn’t fully part of the

brotherhood: I had not yet been elected to any

Amid a liberal arts student body steeped

would alert us to upcoming inspections. He

leadership positions, and I only had a couple of

in forced PC empathy, Ed was refreshingly cal-

kept a .32 in the glove compartment of his fad-

close friends in the fraternity. That I’d spent my

lous.

ed Buick. One time I caught him wearing a pair

childhood making new friends every few years

granted me affability at the drop of a hat, but I

your boyfriend?” he would tease when I came

prior.

hadn’t quite gained the acceptance I’d hoped

down to the kitchen. “You gotta meet the broad

for. While I was a proud Psi U Brother when

who comes in to deliver the food. Huge fuckin’

pilfered funds from the eating club, and yet he

meeting new people, my membership a prom-

tits. Every Tuesday, 9 a.m. I’ll get you in good

always charged us when we used his equipment

inent badge, it was no more self-affirming than

with her.”

for shows. Somehow, this misconduct did more

calling myself French. Being identified with a

Looking back, perhaps the reason I took

to bolster his allure than to diminish it; he fol-

larger group lets you fall back on preexisting

the effort to know him was due to more than

lowed his own rules, knowing that he’d outlast

characterizations; there’s none of that bother-

just dinner table etiquette. Maybe I’d hoped

any brother who took issue with him. I had no

some “finding yourself.” Too bad it’s so unful-

that getting closer to Ed could be a means of

idea that people like Ed actually existed in real

filling.

inclusion or validation, a way to establish my-

life. In describing him, I would unavoidably

self in the ranks of Psi U by embracing one of

resort to the pithy exclamation, “He’s such a

its central features.

character!” Here was a breathing caricature of

Despite this, I was slowly getting to know

Ed better, if only because I was now eating the

“Here she is, the belle of the ball! How’s

majority of my meals at the same table where

stolen from the school cafeteria—I was endlessly amused by his opinions of famous musicians he’d worked with.

“Coldplay, now there’s a great group of

guys. Real fuckin’ professional.”

“Oh, Paul Simon? That cocksucker’s a

real piece of work. Fuckin’ asshole, the cunt gets high off his own shit.” (It remains unfathomable that Ed could maintain a working relationship with anyone, let alone as a concert engineer for Paul Fucking Simon.)

A senior mentioned in passing that he’d

the American lookin’ out for number one ethos,

***

he sat. Choking down his food at dinner—runny Italian bastardizations served on grimy plates

of beat-up Nikes that a friend had lost a week

Although he spent most of his time at the

house, he was still something of a loner. For one, Ed didn’t appear to have any family. He rarely mentioned his life before Psi Upsilon, but there were indications of an unscrupulous past. He knew, or claimed to know, members of the various mob families in town, hinting that such and such local business was a front. He introduced me to undercover cops, assuring me, “If you ever get into trouble, you don’t call your lawyer, you call me, got it?” Having once served in the neighboring town’s fire department, Ed

the logical conclusion of the “frat bro” mentality (he certainly looked like whatever decades of beer and tobacco would do to someone).

Some brothers felt differently, though. As

much as he was integral to Psi U, as much as many of us revered him for his obdurate candor, he was still an outsider in many ways. He had a tendency to butt heads with some of us over minor issues and hold a grudge: he wasn’t on speaking terms with several brothers, one of whom simply suggested he try cooking with fresh ingredients. To a few brothers, his behavior incited mockery and suspicion. They

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The Argus Magazine

saw his churlishness as a façade for something else. Some supposed a past drinking problem; a few figured he was closeted. The latter wasn’t entirely unwarranted—besides his unchecked homophobia, he once gave our resident teen-heartthrob a bottle of whiskey on his birthday, claiming, “Yeah, I do this for all the brothers” (he did not)—but the suggestion of his being gay had a distinctly cruel slant. Maybe they found his unbridled indelicacy threatening. I can’t say. Later in my sophomore year, however, a brother shared a minor anecdote that made me wonder about Ed’s authenticity. Once you were in Ed’s good graces, as my friend was, you’d get to spend time chatting with him in his kitchen-office. Severe fluorescent lighting, large air vents, and a network of winding pipes gave the impression of the galley on a Navy battleship. During one of these meetings, Ed was boasting to my friend how he’d thoroughly chewed out a forgetful dishwasher repairman: “I said to him, ‘You dumb fuck, if you don’t have the part next time you’re here, I’ll make sure you never work at a Best Buy again! I’ve got the mayor on speed dial!’ Boy, that shut him right up.” At that moment, the repairman in question walked through the door. “Sorry, Ed. Got the wrong part.” “…You dumb cunt! You better have it by next time, or else!” “Jesus! What’s with that tone, Ed?” He’d clearly never spoken to the man like that before; he was keeping up the act he’d started. I wasn’t sure what to take away from the story. Perhaps he cared what we thought of him more than he let on.

*** Living in the fraternity the summer after my sophomore year, I had the chance to spend a lot more time with Ed. When I came home from work on Fridays, I would find the front door open and Ed sitting on one of our couches, idly catching the breeze as his sweaty polo shirt adhered to the leather. We’d chat, mostly about the house, and I’d always promise to keep it in good shape. “You’re one of the good ones, Hoyle. Not like some of those other fuckin’

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

cocksuckers.” I was a little ashamed of the pride I took in that compliment. Here was someone who made no effort to be liked, who in fact seemed to relish being disliked, and now I’d become one of the guys who talked with him at dinner. Certainly, there’s a special appeal to gaining the approval of someone who doesn’t approve of anything or anyone. But even beyond that, Ed was, by all accounts, pretty contemptible. His opinion of you could change on a dime: when I went home at the end of the summer and forgot to take out the garbage as he’d requested, he cashed my deposit. After he explained this over the phone, I shakily exclaimed, “Well, fuck you, Ed! I mean, Jesus, I’m sorry, but…” He hung up on me. When I saw him again at the beginning of junior year, he handed me a check and apologized: “Don’t you ever say ‘fuck you’ to me again! Got it?” Maybe the reason I enjoyed his company so much wasn’t just out of curiosity, or because I felt some displaced sympathy for a cantankerous old man, but because he embodied a lot of the things I wasn’t. After my second year as a brother, I still hadn’t held a full position. As I would learn some time later, people felt that I was too agreeable: although fiercely argumentative with friends, I’ll enthusiastically go along with a stranger’s beliefs. Ed’s behavior was a foil to that tendency in me; even if he was just posturing, he was at the very least consistent. I knew by then that Ed’s support wouldn’t carry much weight among brothers, but it did cause me to reflect on how I was perceived by them. I decided, at the time, that what garnered respect was to maintain individualism – to have a strong sense of self.

*** In all, I guess I liked Ed for the same reason you like anybody: because he was funny, or interesting, or because he challenged you. In that sense, Ed was just as much a brother as any one of us, even down to his faults. Which one of us wasn’t full of bluster and empty boasts? Sure, he was greedy and pigheaded, but so was the brother who faked vegetarianism for a semester to avoid paying for our meal plan. (And for those who thought Ed was gay, well, there

were a dozen other guys they had their doubts about.) He was like family: we were stuck with him, sure, but he was one of us. When Ed started chemotherapy and had to stop working midway through the fall semester of my junior year, his friends in the alumni association continued to pay his salary and medical bills. A few months after, a brother opted to go with the University’s sound technicians for an event instead of “Ed’s guys” to save money. Ed called him up at 9 a.m., irate. “We can’t afford it, Ed.” “Don’t you tell me my business. What do you know? You fuckin’ cocksuckers just sit around with your thumbs up your asses,” he croaked. “I’m sorry, Ed.” “I’m through with you. Fuck you.” A week later, Ed called to apologize—an uncommon occurrence. “I’d gotten some bad news the other day—I was scared. Fuck. Being around you young kids so long, it...it makes me forget how old I am.” It was more than money keeping him around; our company actually meant something to him.

*** He came back to work early the next spring with a walker, but with spirits lifted. He didn’t mention what had happened; in fact, he had insisted that the alumni keep most of us in the dark. He could no longer cook or make it upstairs to meals, and so remained in the kitchen at all times. I’m not sure why, but he had stopped wearing his golf cap, revealing a pasty bald scalp that matched the grease-stained linoleum floor. Now, he watched others cook, smoking his cigar and cracking jokes; he’d rap a cane against the legs of his chair to beckon assistance. I would come down to grab dinner, and he’d stop me, midway through the door with a foil tray of lukewarm pasta in my hands, to chat. “You wanna hear the worst thing I ever said? Happened just last week.” “Sure, Ed.” “So I’m at a show, behind the sound board, see? And there are these cords leading up to the stage. So right fuck in the middle of a set, this fuckin’ drunk bitch trips over one of the cords,

spills her drink. She turns to me and says, ‘What the fuck is this shit? Fuck you!’ And I says – this is the worst thing I’ve ever said.” “Right.” “I says to her, ‘You choke on your father’s cock with that mouth!?’”

*** When I saw him before the summer following my junior year, we ended up talking for a while as we often did. He mentioned that he had a few shows planned, but that his treatments were getting in the way of business. He bragged that he had swindled his doctor into over-prescribing him Oxycontin—“That shit’ll knock you on your ass”—and boasted that he’d been dealing it on the side. I figured he just needed the money. Although he didn’t say so at the time, I discovered later that he’d first been diagnosed with cancer way back in my freshman year. As far as I’m concerned, that speaks to a certain integrity. Here was an old man who’d had to deal with over a decade’s worth of immature drunks and potheads (following a lifetime of who knows what else), and when it came down to it, he stuck with us. During his last stay at the hospital, our chapter made him an honorary brother.

*** A few weeks ago, during a warm August afternoon, a few brothers and I were sitting in those ill-gotten Olive Garden chairs on the porch of Psi Upsilon. “…and he says ‘’Cause she’s a fuckin’ bitch!’” “Christ, that’s so fucking Ed.” “You know he was only 64?” “Shit, man, really?” “I also heard he had this long lost brother he hadn’t talked to in 30 years.” Our flag stood at half mast, idly catching some of the breeze. “Is that his Buick still in the lot?” “Yeah. Apparently his shit’s all tied up in court.” “ ... Fuckin’ Cocksuckers.”

Photography by Adam Forbes Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Who gets to Play the Modern Action Hero? by Joshua Cohen

Let’s start not with a one-man wrecking crew, not with carnage and craziness, but with two men in a sepia-toned office. One is as grizzled a veteran as they come, the other, a neophyte on the precipice of opportunity. The former is Harrison Ford—whose snarling, grandstanding Branch Rickey is a far remove from the charismatic days of Han Solo and Indiana Jones, but that’s basically Ford’s flawed wheelhouse at this point. His scene partner is Chadwick Boseman, tasked with playing Jackie Robinson in the first biopic about the iconic baseball player since the civil rights trailblazer starred as himself in 1950’s The Jackie Robinson Story.

The film is Brian Helgeland’s 42, and

Boseman and Ford are reenacting a crucial scene from the Jackie Robinson mythology. “You want a player who doesn’t have the guts to fight back?” Robinson asks in his first meeting with the Brooklyn Dodgers general manager. Without missing a beat, Rickey dispels that notion entirely—the man who breaks baseball’s

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

race barrier will not do so through brash defi-

hands of white society have only sparingly ap-

ance. “No,” Rickey responds, “I want a player

peared in Hollywood. When they have, it has

who’s got the guts not to fight back.”

been without any sort of weapon in hand, the

And so 42 proceeds in line with its Rotten

fight for justice kept safely figurative. Literalize

Tomatoes summation: “An earnest, inspiration-

that conflict and people get nervous. 66 years

al, and respectfully told biography of an influen-

after Jackie Robinson played his first Major

tial American sports icon, though it might be a

League game, the black action hero is held to

little too safe and old-fashioned for some.” Both

a double standard, the problematics of which

aspects of this statement are accurate: it’s ear-

create a dynamic where audiences judge mov-

nest and inspirational for the obvious reasons; it

ie violence perpetrated by black actors more

respectfully portrays Robinson—and, by exten-

harshly. Conscious or not, it’s biased criticism,

sion, Rickey—as indomitably noble; and it’s too

the kind of discourse that ought to have been

safe and old-fashioned in how little investment

stamped out years ago.

it has in Robinson’s latent, simmering anger. Boseman has enough charisma to capably lead

***

the film, but his heroism plays out through passivity and gentlemanly burden-bearing circa 1947; Robinson’s dignity comes from putting his head down and accepting the oppression without question. In this telling of the myth, an elderly white man embodies the revolutionary moral drive of a black civil rights legend. No one wants to see any fight from the hero himself.

It’s a story of redemption that we are ac-

customed to and comfortable with, a familiar crutch against change. Black protagonists who publically challenge their treatment at the

Let’s start not by determining if Django

Unchained was a racist film—that debate has been hashed out in exhaustive and depth and it lies beyond the scope of this piece. No, let’s keep the focus on Jamie Foxx’s Django and why we’ve even had to discuss the implications of his violence.

Like any traditional movie underdog,

Django teams up with a wise mentor character to show him the ropes. In Quentin Tarantino’s auteurist hands, the racially charged tandem of

Django and Dr. King Schultz is as controversial

tation icon—competing in heretofore-restricted

he is first presented with the bounty hunting

as any odd couple in the antebellum South. The

arenas. The difference is that Robinson plays

life, and if that seems aggressively Black Pan-

twist here is that Django is an absolute prodigy

with white men to win their respect; Django

ther-esque, then you’re right—but can you re-

when it comes to bounty hunting. Schultz does

plays to beat them.

ally blame him? This is a man who has been

not teach any lesson more than once; Django

And he beats them resoundingly. Working

treated as property all his life, as something

needs but one example and he’s a master marks-

as the doctor’s apprentice (hey, at least some-

subhuman who can be forcibly separated from

man, he’s a seasoned deceiver, he’s an expert in

one found a paid internship), he guns down

the woman he loves because his happiness and

the ethics of this bloody business. Charm, sub-

the Brittle Brothers, snipes a member of the

emotional well-being are inconsequential to

version, and brute force can take him far in the

Smitty Bacall gang, and is an active and willing

those with power. These people own him, and

good doctor’s world, but there is a code, how-

participant when Schultz blows up a bumbling

these people are white. If they want to hurt

ever crude and arbitrary, that he must follow to

precursor to the Ku Klux Klan. After his mentor

Django, it is acceptable. These are facts. Schul-

succeed and survive. Once Django learns this

sacrifices himself to kill the villainous Calvin

tz is also white, but Django immediately trusts

etiquette, he uses his preternatural abilities to

Candie, Django proceeds with full franchise of

him once the doctor offers him a chance at free-

thrive in Schultz’s world.

his quest. He takes down a slew of henchman in

dom and retribution. Race inevitably colors the

Dr. King (gotta love Tarantino’s lack of

the ensuing shootout, adds some slave drivers to

violence Django must commit on his quest, but

subtlety) unchains Django. Branch Rickey

the body count, and blows the Candie’s planta-

it is not why he kills. The final, most explosive

puts a number on Jackie Robinson’s back. Both

tion estate sky high to finish it all off. Though

death of the film befalls Calvin Candie’s Uncle

white mentors teach their black disciples the

a white man bestowed upon Django the tools

Tom of a house slave, Stephen. Samuel L. Jack-

unwritten rules to their respective games. Both

to save his wife Broomhilda, the proficiency,

son is cursing Django’s name as the big house

preach restraint, but for different reasons—

showmanship, and zeal with which he makes

is blown to bits—and with it, one of the most

Rickey wants Robinson to stifle any righteous

his ruthless rescue are distinctly his own. Djan-

recognizable black actors in the history of Hol-

anger and focus on the field, whereas Schultz

go has agency because he believes in what he

lywood. At that point, Django has his wife and

shows Django the loopholes necessary to exact

is doing—the consequences of which, both for

his vengeance; with no more motivation to kill,

his vengeance within the allowances of the law.

himself and his victims, are fully justified.

the violence finally ceases and our hero rides off

They’re both black men-turned-myths—Django

into the night.

is equated with the German hero Sigfred, while

was denounced as racist, it was deemed gratu-

his beloved Broomhilda von Shaft just happens

itously violent. “Kill white people and get paid

this film is truly astounding, but it is quite clear-

to share a surname with Isaac Hayes’ Blaxploi-

for it? What’s not to like?” Django quips when

ly fake. The torture to which Django is subject-

In the same breath that Django Unchained

The amount of fake blood splattered across

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

ed is merciless and brutal, but it is still nothing

has already met with Bond producer Barbara

it will be. It’s a sad reality, but producers will

compared to the dehumanizing treatment a re-

Broccoli to discuss the role. There is no telling

have to gamble on whether audiences will ac-

alistic film about slavery would be obligated to

when the changing of the guard will happen—

cept a black man as Great Britain’s champion

depict.

Craig is signed on for two more Bonds beyond

and defender. Are we ready to drastically shift

Django Unchained is not that film. It is

Skyfall, with nothing set after that—but if our

our perception of this masculine ideal? These

an homage to the spaghetti Western—a genre

next 007 is black, it would be, as Elba understat-

questions are patently unfair to Elba, who de-

that artistically stylizes the Wild West rather

ed it in an interview with GQ, “an indication of

serves to be judged by his ability as an actor, not

than present it faithfully—and it is made with-

change.”

by the color of his skin. He should get the part

out malice or menace. The movie’s goriest

“I know Ian Fleming [the author of the

only because he is the most qualified to play the

moments are either subverted (a slave’s death

series] lived in Jamaica for a long time, didn’t

role—and if he’s not, he shouldn’t. It’s as simple

by dog mauling is mercifully depicted through

he?” Elba pointed out. “I think it’s interesting to

as that.

onlooker’s grimaces rather than the victim’s

think what he would have made of a black man

trauma) or undercut by comic relief. Even as

playing Bond.”

ticular, one that is uniquely adaptable to ratio-

Tarantino establishes the brutality of this world,

For the sake of the franchise, the name

nalizing unique casting within its world. Back

he never intends to horrify the viewer, and he

James Bond will never change, but the MI6 se-

in 1995, it was a plot point that Dame Judi

won’t apologize for the blood shed during his

cret agent’s real name is a number. 007 is the

Dench became the new M, bashing Bond in

hero’s journey. If that makes you uncomfort-

embodiment of soldierly excellence and mascu-

GoldenEye as “a sexist, misogynist dinosaur,

able, if you take issue with his excess, well, that’s

line suaveness. From Sean Connery to Craig,

a relic of the Cold War.” With so many code-

your problem.

every Bond has hit those notes, peppering in

names to go around, M can be male or female,

Why does The Atlantic slur Django’s diz-

however much chauvinism and casual stereo-

Q can be young or old, 007 can be white or

zying body count as “wanton violence,” but

typing as the role called for depending on the

black. The Lou Dobbses of the world may still

revel in the disfigurements and decapitations in

era in which the movie was produced. And of

blow gaskets over it, but unlike Marvel’s debut

Game of Thrones? Why did audiences pay over

course, he does it all for the sake of the Empire.

of a black Spiderman back in 2011, there need

$200 million to watch Liam Neeson torture Al-

not be an alternate Bond universe to substanti-

banian mobsters to save his daughter in Taken?

casting means such a drastic change would

ate the change.

We love the fantastical violence and the valiant

cause friction. Each of Connery’s successors

rescues, and they are both expertly executed in

was selected in part because he physically fit the

Bond would still be an action hero

Django Unchained. Yet when it’s a black man

Bond mold: above-average height with a hand-

and a sex symbol in equal mea-

with the gun and white men—even the most

somely chiseled face and a muscular litheness

sure, all in the name of fighting

culpable, abhorrent white men—getting killed,

capable of making combat appear like dance—

for his country. Our heroes

it raises the question of whether it’s all too

and white, always white. Connery set the stan-

should reflect how far we’ve

much. These judgments are not based in prej-

dard for every facet of the character, and every

come. If that fight

udice, but they implicitly support a prejudiced

Bond thereafter has been graded against it. That

makes

paradigm. Recognizing that is the first step to

the few differences in appearance have been so

comfortable,

bettering the discourse in the future.

meticulously tracked—Craig is known not only

you take issue

as the first blonde Bond, but the first blue-eyed

with that casting,

one—indicates how loyal the franchise and its

well, that’s your

faithful have been to the character’s physical

problem.

***

So let’s not start with questions about race

when we look for the next James Bond. Daniel Craig isn’t going to do this forever; they already wrote his 007 performance in Skyfall as aging and uncharacteristically over-the-hill.

The most heavily rumored candidate to

next wield Bond’s Walther PPK is Idris Elba. Best known for his TV work as Stringer Bell on The Wire and DCI John Luther on Luther, Elba

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Unfortunately, the tradition behind 007’s

And it is simpler for this franchise in par-

It’s not 1947 anymore. A black

you

unif

image.

Elba has the acting chops to be

among the best to serve on Her Majesty’s secret service. He knows how to use his physicality to be both alluring and intimidating, and he can plumb the depths of the mysterious 007’s emotions—something Craig has brought to his iteration of Bond. Ideally, Elba’s race would not be factored into the decision-making process, but we all know

Art by Adam Forbes

Ridin’ Derby: Local League Plays HARD by Adam Keller

“At first, it’s a really glamorous juxtaposition. It’s kind of like being Batman. Eventually… you have no life outside of derby. There is no Bruce Wayne.”

other examples of HARD derby names: Major

two teams skating laps around a roller rink: each

Masochist, Raven Storm, Belcher Knoxxx. As

team has a “jammer,” a person who scores by

of this writing, HARD’s featured player on their

lapping the other team, and the other players

website is La Diva Loca. Her bio identifies her

are “blockers” who try to hinder the opposing

as a medicolegal death investigator and mother

jammer’s progress.

of two. Derby names aren’t just some odd lo-

cal custom: every nationally ranked player must

does not fully convey its brutally fast-paced na-

A description of the game’s rules, however,

Danielle Paine placed a weary, pro-

ture or the viciousness it can bring out in other-

longed emphasis on the last sentence. Since she

DA (Women’s Flat Track Derby Association) to

wise mild-mannered players. The derby names

founded Hartford Area Roller Derby (HARD) in

prevent duplicates. It’s serious business, a defin-

can be a little jarring at first—when my contact

2011, the fantasy of stepping into an alter ego’s

ing marker of who you are within the intense

at HARD signed an email as “Poison,” I was

shoes has become an all-consuming reality. In

competition and even more intense compassion

afraid I might be profiling some kind of cult—

the past two years, Paine has gone from fishing

of roller derby culture.

but within the derby community, the names are

for interest at her LEGO day job and holding

a gateway into the niche sport’s uniquely trans-

practices during open skating hours at the local

(or seen the movie Whip It), is a hardcore con-

formative character.

Ron-A-Roll rink to competing nationally and

tact sport played primarily by women. Once a

serving as an inspiration to HARD’s 80-plus cur-

nationally televised sport along the lines of pro-

“Turnpike Tulula”) explained the significance

rent roller girls. There’s also paperwork. In real

fessional wrestling, it’s no longer shown weekly

of derby names in encouraging roller girls to

life, superheroes have to do lots of paperwork.

on Spike TV, but it’s on the rise in athletic legit-

shed their day-to-day identities and embrace

Roller derby, if you’ve never been to a bout

Jen O’Connell (or, on the roller rink,

Most sports just give you a number, but

imacy—it’s being considered as an addition to

more bloodthirsty personalities.

roller derby gives you a name. Paine’s legal

the 2020 Olympic Games—and has a zealous

name might be badass enough to qualify, but

core community of players and spectators.

can become a different person,” she said. “I get

as a roller girl she goes by Diesel ‘N Gin. Some

to become Turnpike Tulula, I get to be a little

At its most basic, roller derby consists of

“When we put on our skates, we kind of

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

tough and rough, and fast and nasty, and that’s

tal City Liabilities, stay closer to home and let

al because I didn’t know what I was doing, and

not who I am at home. Maybe in some sports

their members keep one foot in their outside

everybody came up to me and were like, ‘Jen,

they get their game face on, but they really don’t

lives. Still, even when derby is just a hobby in-

we’ve all been there, Pike, it’s okay, you’re gon-

go as far as I think derby women do.”

stead of a lifestyle choice, it’s a demanding one.

na get it, just keep going, I’ve been there.’ Every-

“It takes a lot of support from my family to

one is good to each other, so whether you’re a

at a birthday party for one of her daughter’s

After witnessing one of HARD’s meetings

be able to rush dinner and say, ‘I gotta go to der-

Liability or a Wailer or a Bedrocker, you’re still

friends, O’Connell signed up immediately. She

by, I’ll see you later,’” O’Connell said. “Or, it’s

a derby girl at heart, and it doesn’t matter.”

picked her derby name based on her New Jer-

a late night on a Sunday, we get some practices

sey heritage (and the fact that someone else in

in at 9 o’clock, sometimes it’s the last thing you

HARD across all ages and skill levels. Shae Fitz-

HARD already had the name “Jersey Buryher”).

wanna do when you’re done for the week. But

gerald (or “Minnie B. Fierce”), a recent Tisch

Like many derby girls, she’s sustained injuries

the love of it makes you just go, ‘Okay, I gotta

drama grad who moved out to Connecticut af-

from competing: she strained both of her knees

go!’”

ter college, was initially surprised by the diverse

in October and had to take a month off. Less

than a year in, she’s already an alternate for the

nell, but it’s a close second; for most, if not all of

the group as a second home.

Bedrockers, and hopes to continue to develop

these women, HARD is a real “home away from

her skills in the coming years.

home.” As someone who practices with two of

Fitzgerald said. “I thought there would be a

Derby comes second to family for O’Con-

That seems to be a common sentiment at

crowd of women at HARD but soon came to see “I’m 23, I’m just barely out of school,”

As a substitute teacher with a family,

HARD’s three teams, O’Connell said that the

lot more people my age, actually, and when I

O’Connell can’t afford to let the sport dictate

supportive atmosphere of the league fosters

joined I turned out to be the baby. I have friends

her life in the same way that Paine and her

a spirit of exceptionally intense camaraderie

in this league who span in age from 25, 26 to

teammates can. That’s why HARD divides its

throughout the pecking order.

in their 40s, and I think it’s awesome that I can

players into three teams: the A team, the Hart-

“Everybody supports everybody here, from

relate to them on the same level and be on the

ford Wailers, tours nationally and requires more

the number 1 to number 101,” she said. “There’s

same page…So many people say, ‘This is exact-

of a lifestyle commitment, while the B and C

never ill will towards anybody. I just played a

ly what I needed for my life to get going the way

teams, the Beat City Bedrockers and the Capi-

scrimmage last week and got a little emotion-

I wanted it to, and to have an environment out-

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

side of the typical comings and goings of every-

can afford to do so. She cites HARD, and the

derby girl attends to the big picture of the

day existence.’ It’s something really special for a

close relationship she’s developed with Diesel

league in addition to their own athletic careers.

lot of people.”

‘N Gin through it, as a major inspiration for

This joint-effort structure is doing wonders for

For Fitzgerald, whose derby name comes

her artistic ambitions. Like her ideal brand of

HARD’s presence within the New England roll-

from the line in A Midsummer Night’s Dream

theater, Fitzgerald says, roller derby is not about

er derby scene.

that corresponds to her jersey number, roller

stardom or egos; it’s about a collaboration that

derby was something special long before she

makes everyone involved feel liberated.

to solicit student interest, but since then, the

stumbled upon HARD. While she was in col-

“I want to cultivate an environment where

organization has grown so large that it is not al-

lege, she frequented the bouts of the Gotham

actors feel free to do what they want, and say,

lowing new players to try out until the summer.

Girls, a famed roller derby league with teams

‘Hey, I don’t wanna act in this show, I wanna

Under the guidance of the WFTDA, HARD is

based across New York City. After leaving the

light design it,’ and explore those things as well,”

not allowed to have corporate sponsorship or ad-

city, it seemed like her days of exciting derby

Fitzgerald said. “I think a better appreciation

ministration, but as a grassroots enterprise, they

spectatorship were over; but after a chance

and understanding of theater comes from an

are nurturing a fascinating, weird, exciting ath-

meeting with another HARD derby girl, she

understanding of all of it, as a whole, and this

letic culture within Wesleyan’s own backyard.

learned about the vibrant roller derby commu-

league is very much like that. HARD has been

If they ever come back to recruit, Wesleyan stu-

nity just around the corner. Before she became

able to cultivate a lot of reminders of why [that

dents should join to consider joining to discover

a member of the Bedrockers this past season,

attitude] is so important to me, so hopefully I’ll

their own badass alter egos.

Fitzgerald started as an NSO (Non-Skating Of-

be able to use what Diesel has started and bring

ficial), whose job it is to monitor specific aspects

it into my own theater community.”

said. “There are women of all ages and different

of the game and assign penalties—roller derby

All roller girls at HARD have some kind

employments and different walks of life, and

is far too chaotic for just a few referees.

of administrative duties in addition to their ath-

they’re all coming together to do this one thing

Although she’s having fun in Connecticut,

letic commitments. Whether it’s working in

just because they really love it. I think that’s

Fitzgerald plans to move back to New York City

merchant material, PR, sponsorship, bout plan-

awesome.”

and start her own theater company when she

ning, or a number of other fields, every HARD

HARD visited Wesleyan in the fall of 2012

“It’s a really great place to be,” Fitzgerald

Photography by Adam Keller

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Translatio Corporis: an examination of the individual in Catholicism

by Anna Shimshak

My personal experience with Ca-

Spring 2013

Instead of emphasizing the impor-

tholicism has spurred me to explore

tance of the eternal heavenly existence in

religion and its effects on the devel-

Catholicism, these photographs explore

opment of the individual. I am deeply

the body in its present manifestation—the

interested in the ways in which reli-

unavoidable physicality of the temporal,

gion shapes the individual psychology,

corporeal existence and its affects on the

conception of self, and sociological

individual psychology and concept of self.

relationships

between

the

individu-

Photography is unique in that it

al and the society in which they live.

assumes a physicality by containing a

Catholicism is deeply entrenched

subject within a duration of time. Many

in an art historical of tradition rang-

of the tenets of religion, however, are

ing from the artistic subject matter it-

atemporal in that they speak to ideas of

self to patronage. In the narrative of

heaven and eternity that exist beyond

art and popular culture, the individual

our concept of space and time. There-

identity in Catholicism has been sub-

fore,

jugated to the larger doctrinal pres-

this religious subject matter, I am cre-

ence of the Church as an institution.

ating a physical manifestation of these

ethereal ideas of Catholic doctrine.

Rather than understanding Cathol-

photographically

depicting

icism in the grander context of its tenets,

as expressed through a preexisting visu-

photography appears to present a truth;

al iconographic vocabulary, this body

truth in religion, as in photography,

of work, which I have titled Translatio

is a transient reality that is subject to

Corporis, explores the development of

constant reinterpretation and subjec-

the individual identity by isolating it

tivity that shifts and evolves with time

from the formality of the religious insti-

and place. These images lay no claim

tution. The Latin “Translatio Corporis”

to presenting a documentary truth. In-

translates to “translating the body,” and

stead, these gestural renderings tran-

is conceptually founded on the inter-

scend the mimetic representation of

pretation, treatment, and transcendence

the subject and act as fictionalized

of the body in Catholicism in both the

metaphors that derive their authenticity

literal sense of its physicality as well as

from the identity of the subjects rath-

the spiritual and psychological sense.

er than the reality of their actions.

The Argus Magazine

Moreover, while this mimesis of

I dreamt about this image. It is one of the truly great occasions when a picture turned out exactly as I envisioned it. So often in religion, especially in Catholicism, I think the individual is confronted with complex ideas about eternity, heaven, and life after death. I think for a greater

part of our lives, these ideas remain somewhat abstract. However, as we near old age, they become a more concrete reality. This picture is very much a projection of my own questions about mortality and how the individual confronts death in the face of religious belief.

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Spring 2013

This image changed the body of work. I

is the most striking thing about this image;

was initially drawn to the seemingly perfect

there is a directness to her gaze that is in

beauty of this young sister. I think her youth

conflict with her youthful innocence.

The Argus Magazine

This priest was my favorite subject with whom to work. He un-

brilliant pink light coming through the stained glass. I feel that

derstood the complexities and challenges of translating concrete

this image communicates a nakedness and humility before God.

ideas about religion into a more multi-dimensional metaphor.

The light acts as a metaphorical presence of God, while the open-

The light inspired this image. It was morning, and there was a

ing of the vestments acts as a type of surrender.

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Spring 2013

In this image, I once again use the light as

to project a cross onto the torso of this nun.

a metaphor for God, though there is a great-

There is a tension between the clothespins

er harshness to this light. Moreover, I was

as symbols of domesticity grafting a religious

drawn to how the light used the clothespins

symbol onto the subject.

The Argus Magazine

This image explores how the body is represented and cloaked

in this particular setting. The body itself, in a more abstracted

in religion. In Catholicism, there is great attention paid to

form, references transubstantiation in the Catholic mass, in

the nature of religious vestments and how they function with-

which the bread and wine are turned into the Body and Blood

in ritual. I like the way in which the vestment obscures the

of Christ. For me, this is a metaphorical illustration for this

body rather than elucidating the function of the individual

transformation of the body in the mass.

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Down The Rabbit Hole

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

by Michael Vaughan

Before starting my Wesleyan career, I took a gap year. Not just to “pursue my music,” but to regain my sanity. Due to excessive usage of recreational adderall, ecstasy, and lack of sleep, I had lost my mind. I had become a frenzied maniac. The day before move-in, I thought my Dad was a robot and was convinced that the CIA had pursued me from D.C. to Connecticut in order to steal my brilliant ideas. On a golf course in Avon, CT, I had a breakdown that resulted in a one-week hospitalization for an undiagnosed mental illness. My doctor released me and I was sent home to D.C. Unwilling to take the massive dose of antipsychotics they had prescribed, my mind started to get hyperactive again. After another traumatic episode, I was once again hospitalized, this time at the Psychiatric Institute of Washington. There, I was in the company of more than a few gang members—Bloods and Crips and patients who had served jail sentences. Once released, I spent the next months of my life as a zombie, sedated beyond recognition. Eventually, and thankfully, I learned that nobody was out to kill me, be it Blood, Crip, or FBI agent. I stopped taking the goddamned meds and got re-admitted to Wesleyan.

This is my story.

***

at Avicii as beads of sweat form on my chest.

My pupils take up half my eyes and MDMA

pened to me.

is pumping through my arteries. The music

is dancing around on my skin. There are two

me wondering. What was the idea? What

weeks until move-in day at Wesleyan.

were the causes that made me go from a

4.2-GPA student to him? What exactly did The

This festival is the culmination of my past

Movement do to me?

est employee. I have spent my nights staying

up past 3 a.m. in nightclubs while my friends

enough distance from him to write this story, to

armrests of the stadium seats, hands above my head throwing up a heart

Now, for the first time in my life, I have

study for their AP exams. I have a weekly

do it justice. I am back to the old me, back

event. I have a guest list. I have walked

to how I was before anything ever happened.

on dance floors in dress shirts as exotical-

Most people are unaware of it. Sometimes, I

ly-dressed couples walk past leaving the

even forget about it myself. On good days, it’s

afterimage of chest hair and perfume.

a farcical nightmare that I keep at arm’s length.

On the occasional bad day, it’s still real.

Sleep hasn’t been a part of my schedule

lately. There are more important things to do.

There is life to live. Efficiency is prime.

steps. I want to read my panicked manifes-

The DJ, Avicii, is playing a track called

tos and my frenzied proclamations. They are

“Fade into Darkness,” and the sun now sits

the only evidence left from that time. Scraps.

barely above the horizon, magnified to five

There are things I saw that I still don’t believe.

times its size. With each chorus, the sun sits

Yet in his reality, some of the most twisted

lower and the glow of the crowd below me

events were entirely possible.

grows more brilliant. I just can’t fucking han-

dle it. It’s so beautiful. Biting my bottom lip,

things went wrong.

my face contorts into something halfway be-

tween aggression and elation.

ment?

I want to look at it again and retrace my

I’d like to find the moment where I want to know: what was The Move-

I connect with everyone. An emotional

***

orgasm. The sun sets over the horizon and the swarm of people below me flickers with the vibrancy of a thousand fireflies. Everyone seems transparent. There is a clockwork to each personality, a programmable code. I sense that if I push the right buttons, I could coerce a Movement.

My arms throb to the beat of the drum.

I’m falling into the trance the DJ has laid out for me. He is orchestrating everything, I know. Tears begin to form in my eyes. Through the blurriness I can see him smiling at me! He makes a heart right back at mine. He has chosen me! Out of the thousands of people between us, he could feel me! I turn to my friend Taylor and explain the

senior year, at Identity Festival in Bristow, less with my feet straddling the metal

There are certain things that still keep

six months as a promoter, Club Glow’s young-

It is August 18, 2011, the summer of my

Virginia. I’m in the audience, standing shirt-

I’m still not sure exactly what hap-

revelation,

“Dude, I am the next Avicii.”

***

Several days after the concert, I seem to

have calmed down. I’m working the register at Greenberry’s Coffee, greeting customers with a wink and a smile.

A few elderly women wander in and I

rush to the door to help them.

“Aww hon, what a fine young gentleman

you are.”

They leave moments later, chitchatting

about my manners.

The door soon opens. Three men in polo

shirts with country club logos emblazoned on their breast pockets. A few quick comments about my relevant knowledge of golf and I’ve gotten them. Boom.

When a family of three comes in, I notice

they have a son. He is about six years old and walks with a maturity beyond his years. He stands

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

nuts, or are you on acid?”

before move-in day. The wind is pushing the rain harsher than usual. It whistles at my

***

I have spoken to my closest friends and

family to try to discover specifically what The Movement was. There stories are conflicting and my writings were painfully vague.

Nevertheless, I will try to lay out The

Movement. It is a collective of youth, connected through digital media and their common passion for Quality. A global sense of “hip” tall and orders for himself. He steps back courteously to let his family continue. When his father reaches out his hand with a 20-dollar bill outstretched, the kid gently nudges it away and brandishes a 20 of his own.

Memories flash back to my childhood.

This kid is me. It’s an omen. Another sign, another testament to my impeccable character. It’s too much.

I can’t handle the rush of emotions. I

go up to the roof to take a breath and call my brother.

From my vantage point the whole town

of McLean lies before me. Memories stand in tiny lines waiting for lights to turn green . Everything is waiting for motion, for me to push it into action. But I am in the clouds, above it all. Too high. I start bawling.

My thumbs move feverishly to call my

brother. The line connects me to his rehab facility.

A man on the other end, Cameron, hears

the distress in my tone and tells me that “it’s all good, my dude.” I tell him that I’m on the cusp of something great. Something wonderful. The world around me grows smaller

will be defined by The Movement, an organization that I intended to structure after the federal government. I was to be in charge, a dictator of cool. (Jesus, Mike.)

There were supposed to be phases of

implementation, the first of which involved a selected group of trendsetters, like the Secret Service, going out into the world and labeling products they thought were “cool” with official MVMT stickers.

each person could be placed on a two dimensional graph. The Y axis is popularity or clout. It was measured by how many followers you had on Twitter, while the X axis is how many friends you have on a peer level measured by friends on sites like Facebook. I asserted that each person resides somewhere on this social map. Using it correctly, you could connect with anyone you wanted.

and unintelligible rants.

voice is like a velvet blanket. I breathe and my brother Evan’s voice slips onto the line. “Stop fucking crying dude. Jesus. Are you fucking

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Every time I come home, I find remnants

of these outbursts scrawled on Post-its crisscrossed with red sharpie. Little reminders.

***

personal puzzle. I want to tell my brother how breathe in. And breathe out. And pause. His

These were the only kernels of “coherent”

thought buried under a sandstorm of emotion

and smaller until it forms itself into my own much he means to me, but Cameron insists I

Another idea, a tool for The Movement,

was the Social Map. In essence, I argued that

Bent over the keyboard, my face illumi-

nated by the computer’s fluorescent glow, I devour my Twitter feed. Every comment makes sense! There are hidden messages that I have never seen before, but now they pop up like road signs, telling me where to look and what to look for.

I shout into the digital void,

“Hello world, it’s Michael!”

“@Avicii See you at the top!”

“The weather is great! Who wants to go

hang in THE RAIN?!”

Emotion is flowing through me at super-

human speeds. I keep rushing to my room, let-

window.

Hurricane Irene is just touching the tips

of her mangled fingers to the windowsill of my 11th-story apartment, my perch up here in the clouds. It is August 23, 2011, just under a week

ting my pen write in tongues. I pick up Alice in Wonderland and read the first page. “Down the Rabbit Hole.” With White Out, I scribble in notes about the matrix, about a digital reality the government has created for us, about how they are holding people prisoner in the digital realm. Lewis Carroll knew about it! He was writing from it!

My mom is making dinner but I’m not

hungry. Food is for the weak! No, Mom. I don’t need no fucking green beans.

I call Taylor. “We need to go to George-

town! We need to be in the storm.” “Nah, dude.”

He isn’t with me. I’m on my own.

My mom is in her own little world: put-

ting on her pajamas, watching Law &

Order. Neatly placing the dirty dishes in the

my passenger seat, making friends

sink and the clean ones in the cupboards. As

ask permission to move it

before

she always does, she comes over and kisses me

they could sit. I fervently repeated this

goodnight and heads back to her bedroom.

mantra to anyone who would hear it. It

became a legend within my own mind.

“Honey, I hope you can settle down to-

morrow. You took seven showers today. ”

***

I didn’t notice her because Twitter has

just suspended my account. “Too radical,”

Twitter said. “Trying to gain too much attention.” The FBI must have tipped them

fight to keep the torrents off. I drive in

off!

The wind is really picking up. Branches

The wind is gusting ferociously at 50

mph, and my windshield wipers have to the peak of the storm simply for the sake

friends.

of living life beyond the menial pussy-ness

clash with leaves in a battle of limbs, wind, and

Helping myself

rain.

to another Saudi cig, I suggest we watch a mov-

of those around me.

In my room, I scrawl on everything

ie. I go on, explaining how I must be related to

around me: poster-board, photographs, mom’s

William Wallace so we must watch Braveheart.

enough to rupture a mortal’s ear drum, but not

credit report, anything. I am outlining The

One of them snickers something in Arabic to

mine. This is aural cocaine. I am wearing a

Movement now. This is a night that will be

his brother and they agree to watch it.

neon yellow poncho that looks like a cape. The

written about. Everything goes out of focus.

They are being so hospitable! I can’t be-

sleeves are rolled up. Beneath it is a tight-fit-

Then I realize: there is a hurricane and I am

lieve a moment ago I walked in as a stranger

ting pink T-shirt with mock Cyrillic script that

inside, cowardly holed up. I have to see it!

and now we are all watching a movie together!

reads, “Communism: Where Dreams Come

I need to do something for them.

Trueski.” On the back, I have scribbled “Vonyx

and walk down the hallway listening for sounds

A gift!

07,” my agent name. I am on a fucking mission

of life from the other side of the hall. I want

I stand up after the first ten minutes of the

to spread The Movement.

to see the other view! There, voices in 905.

movie and tell them I will be back in just a

Knock, knock. It gets quiet and the voices die.

brief minute. Back in my room I see a book,

cob and pick up some Adderall. Driving past

After a moment, the door opens and an Arab

Alice in Wonderland. Perfect! I scrawl “From

fallen branches and trees that dip low into the

man with long black hair, dressed in a white

Michael to Dubai.” My guitar? That too! I pick

street, I race to Jacob’s place. When I pull up,

robe, appears.

it up and write “Wallace” on the front of its

several cars are already in the driveway. His

glossy black wood. Armed with two new tokens

25-year-old sister is having a “Hurricane Party,”

the view from your window?”

of friendship, I burst out through the door and

and several friends are casually sipping wine.

head for the Arabs’ apartment.

Knock, knock.

faces. Their view is unbelievable. The rain is so

thick you can barely see the parking lot below.

chatter inside. I wait. Then, nothing. I knock

driving in this?” Jacob asks. I push him aside

It is as though I am suspended in the clouds,

once more. Someone locks the door. They be-

and walk into the house. There are about 10

lost.

gin to laugh. They have rejected me. We aren’t

people arranged around a sofa. Ten potential

friends. I place the gifts as a peace offering be-

converts.

fore their door and trod off, sullen.

I throw open the door of the apartment

Manic, I ask, “Mind if I come in and see The door opens to a few more inquisitive

I turn around; everyone is staring at me.

I make sure to let them know that I appreciate

Knock, knock, knock. There is a lot of

***

self to a nice-looking pack of Saudi cigarettes most of the conversation is in Arabic. Their chatter circles around me and comments on my every move.

I am at ease. Cocky. We chat for a while and

I learn that they are from Dubai. Great. I mention an Egyptian girl I used to date, and to my surprise, they know her. We laugh. I am making

Sleep is the enemy. I need to go see Ja-

“Yo dude, what the fuck are you doing

“Hi hi, what’s your name? Oh, yeah?

Fucking great. I’m Michael.”

their letting me in. I take a seat and invite mysitting on the table in front of me. At this point,

Music pours from my car’s stereo, loud

Jacob comes over to me and gently urges

me to go smoke weed with him in the garage.

My friends tell me that during this time

He says I need to cool down for a sec. Not be-

I was obsessed with a quote from Buddha that

fore I leave them with a sample of what is to

read, “The mind is everything, what you think

come.

you become.”

I’m about to blow your fucking minds!”

A high school teacher had framed the

“I hope you guys are feeling impassioned;

quote for me as a graduation gift. Taylor tells

me that I drove around with it buckled into

change the world. Each face of surprise and

I tell them that I have an idea that will

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

doubt only fuels the fire in my brain.

Good Message all day. They are resisting. They say I’m talking in circles. They aren’t competent enough to understand something so magnificent. They lack the gift. I knew exactly what I would write in my memoir: “They said it was crazy; they said The Movement could never be real.”

Jacob’s frightened look softens up. He

tells me that if I convince James, the student at UVA, then this Movement might be a valid Idea. Great. James is my pawn. Off I go, Boom. Phase 1: the buzz, the stickers. There! Quality versus popularity. Ha! The Movement. Perfect. MV. Me.

I tell James that in the microcosm of Wes-

leyan, I will create The MVMT just as Mark Zuckerberg had spawned Facebook at Harvard. I am the indie Mark Zuckerberg! (Jesus, Mike)

Everyone is astounded. I can feel the his-

tory in the air.

Jacob agrees to sell me an Adderall on the

one condition that I don’t take it until the next day. Sure, I tell him. Sure.

***

The wind is feverous. It’s coming from all

directions and it’s getting so loud that the music inside my car can’t compete, even at full volume. Trees are bending like they’re made of rubber. Fallen branches litter the roads.

I pull into the parking lot of a church in

order to take a piss in this beautiful weather! I drive past a black SUV and think nothing of it. I park the car and step outside.

Then, the lights in the black SUV turn

on. The dashboard is loaded with gear. GPS, computers, some mirrors, some photon guns. There are blue and red lights above the drivers head. I’m fucked.

The best thing to do is to approach him

before he approaches me, so I start walking up to the driver. The wind wicks water droplets off of my yellow cape-poncho. I stick out like a neon crackhead in a universe of black.

Our eyes meet as he begins to roll down

the window. Years seem to fit in those few sec-

Now I can see him. He is a federal police of-

ficer in full uniform. His skin is a deathly pallor that wraps around his empty face and his massive neck. His eyes are flush white, punctured by black

***

My voice is hoarse from spreading the

onds. He begins to open his mouth, staring into my soul.

“It is not safe to be out here,” the officer

says with a cold assertive calculation. “You need to go home.”

He seems to allude to something else; his

words are dreadful. Pure terror. His eyes tell me that he knows.

In a front of joviality, I eke out a few

breaths of a laugh and agree to his terms. I know that he could ask to search my car and he would find 60 mg of Adderall and a gram of weed. I try to keep my composure, but my heart is thumping through my chest.

“Alright. I’m leaving,” I say. My voice

trembles.

I turn and take a few steps in the cold

standing water. Wind is still whipping into my face, and the raindrops pound at my back like strikes from a hammer.

My life, my idea, my vivid color has nev-

er seen something so black. I drive away and agree with myself not to turn the music on. His eyes follow me as I pull out of the parking lot and recede into the darkness, into the storm.

I was totally immersed in the dream

***

world of my ideas. But after a while, I began to think that maybe my ideas were too good. I

thought that the CIA was after me.

road is the reason why it reads 2016 on my

That road took over a year to travel. That

At the time, the CIA was a sensible choice

transcript and not 2015. That road came dan-

as my story’s antagonist. As a resident of Mc-

gerously close to bringing me to Wesleyan and

Lean, the CIA was literally in my friends’ back-

dumping The Movement here along with me.

yards. There are actually snipers in camoflage

who patrol the woods. For people in McLean,

me. He is still in me, somewhere, waiting to

the CIA is their Loch Ness Monster

drag me back down the rabbit hole.

I began to think, “Why wouldn’t they be

keeping tabs on me, right?”

It is hard for me to realize that he is still

At times, I wonder if I got everything

flipped. If the world we live in is really the that

fucked up one and the world he lived in was

of my phone. I thought that they could track

I became paranoid. I took the battery out

occupy the space where color should be. Ev-

pupils

the right one. Sometimes, I indulge in my

me if I were to call anyone. I told my mom she

erything about him is either optic white or a

fantasies and wonder if The Movement can

couldn’t touch me.

cold, heartless black. The corners of his mouth

still happen. Taylor tells me, “There might be

I watched my back everywhere I went.

sit at attention, showing not a trace of a smile

something in there, dude.” My brother, long

Channeling my imagined highlander ances-

or frown, only intense inquisition. He studies

out of rehab, tells me, “No, Mike. It was all

tor, I used to say, “The English are coming,

me as I walk and his head swivels robotically,

fucking crazy.”

and they are too many.”

following my steps.

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

Art by Nadav Barnhard

The Future of Journalism A Conversation with Wesleyan Alumni by Alex Wilkinson

There are many different ways to forecast the death of print journalism. You could compare the decline in print advertising revenue to Google’s rising fortunes over the past five years; you could surmise from the rise of Buzzfeed, The Huffington Post, and Mashable that paper is no longer the preferred medium for news; or, you could assume that, in the wake of the Boston bombings, everyone would rather check Twitter than their local newspaper. (You’d be wrong about that last one—according to eMarketer, only eight percent of U.S. adults log on to Twitter at least once a month, a percentage which, while likely higher during breaking stories, hardly reflects a revolution).

The languish of print seems disheartening

in theory, but should we care? To be sure, there is a certain elegance to the print journalism product, an attention to craft often lost on websites more interested in page-views than reading

experiences. However, the sheer convenience of web news products, for both publishers and readers, is impossible to deny. If we can get The New York Times on our iPhones and Androids and Kindle Fires, why go back?

Yet those who triumphantly proclaim the

end of print tend to forget that the resources of a Washington Post or San Francisco Chronicle have historically enabled the long-form journalism to which readers are accustomed. Without the extensive reporting, editing,

nalistic

and fact-checking; the expensive trips to Iraq, Tanzania, or Bosnia and Herzegovina; and the editorial accountability funded by a traditional news organization, quality long-form articles could largely vanish within the next 10 years. It’s all well and good for Arianna Huffington to nab editors from a cocktail of venerable papers to pen (or rather, type) excellent pieces, but how many HuffPo’s will there be to replace folding magazines and newspapers? Is there really enough money to support investigative or in-depth reporting in a digital era?

In order to discover whether or not the

sources,

both new and traditional. Whereas Digg collects whatever is generating “conversation”—whether long stories or short articles, slideshows or popular videos—, Longform presents curated, must-read long-form journalism in readable formats. What follows are my conversations with both entrepreneurs, who together convey a fairly rosy future: a journalistic marketplace driven by dedicated readers willing to pay for great content, regardless of its source. But will it be enough to save long-form journalism?

doomsday predictions are premature, I talked

Jake Levine - Project Leader, Digg

with two Wesleyan alumni who are invested in the future of digital journalism: Jake Levine ’08, the project leader for the re-launched

As a content aggregator, Digg collects

Digg.com, and Max Linsky ’03, the co-founder

noteworthy videos, photos, and articles from a

of Longform.org. Levine and Linksy’s startups

wide variety of sources. These include profiles

cull noteworthy content from a variety of jour-

from The Atlantic, news stories from the Times,

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

and interviews from The New Yorker. Given that

are also “porous,” meaning that they permit

revenue targets that they need to hit, or they’re

page views correspond to revenue for publish-

readers to discover content through search en-

going to fire people.”

ers, I asked Jake how he responds to concerns

gines and social media, permitting fluid con-

that Digg is redirecting page views away from

versation surrounding their content despite the

over-dependence on advertising, while lucra-

content creators. He noted the benefits of the

paywalls.

tive when newspapers were one of the only

smaller, more targeted communities cultivated

Other tactics have emerged as well. An-

methods for reaching large, quality audiences,

by Digg and other similar services in contrast to

drew Sullivan made his blog The Daily Dish,

has now become a liability. Given the rapid

the larger, more diffuse communities fostered

previously hosted by The Atlantic and then The

pace at which print advertising has diminished

by the Times and others.

Daily Beast, a standalone product funded by

in value, print publications are slow to adapt

“The problem is not with aggregation or

$20 yearly subscriptions from readers. Long-

not for lack of effort, but due to their legacy

write-arounds—the value there is delivered in

form charges a one-time fee of $5 for its iPad

business structures. Jake believes that publish-

the context,” Jake said. “So The New York Times

app, which provides Longform’s curated feed of

ers need to structure their businesses around us-

has an audience of 30 million people, 20 mil-

long-form journalism along with feeds from the

ers’ needs; at the end of the day, readers will pay

lion people. I’m a member of the community

original publications. The Atavist, a startup that

for good content even if they won’t pay enough

The New York Times serves. But I’m also a

produces long-form multimedia articles, allows

to support publishers’ legacy costs.

member of smaller communities, and with-

readers to either pay per article or to gain access

in the context of those smaller communities

to all articles through a subscription.

will pay for it,” Jake said. “And I don’t know how

where I’m actually engaging on a daily basis, I

Jake believes that such strategies could

much they’ll pay, and I don’t know what sort

want someone to contextualize the information

work right now, while the industry is still in

of business model that supports, or what sort of

that The New York Times is delivering; I want

flux—but eventually, advertising will evolve be-

cost structure that supports, ... [but] I think the

someone to say, ‘People who are interested in

yond its current form and serve as a more sym-

notion that somehow good journalism is under

technology who live in New York City, here’s

biotic partner for journalism.

threat is a conflation of good journalism with

why it matters to you.’”

newspaper business models.”

Sites like Digg, which are more capable of

with the way newspapers value their users,” he

catering to targeted audiences, can take advan-

said. “ ... We’re going through this weird, 10-

azines to adapt, but Jake argues that, even now,

tage of this desire for specialized “feeds” of con-

year transitional period where you’re going to

the emerging concept of “branded content”

tent. However, rather than attempting to hold

see advertising in its last throws. And that’s not

could provide the revenue journalism sorely

users on Digg, the company redirects people to

to say that advertising is going away, that’s not

needs. Whereas traditional publishers are un-

original publishers.

my point. But bad advertising is going away.”

likely to even consider combining advertising

Jake argued that traditional methods of

with journalistic content, startups like Digg are

when we send them elsewhere, so long as where

advertising have handicapped the ability of

less averse to the idea and better suited to test

we’re sending them is high quality,” Jake said. “

journalistic enterprises to work for their users.

the waters.

... This isn’t a page-view game for us. On the

Newspapers and magazines are caught between

web, we send people out to hundreds of differ-

catering to the demands of advertisers and do-

business, and that’s because of the historical re-

ent publishers every month, we send millions

ing what’s best for their readers, and this dichot-

lationship between what advertising is and what

of page views and tens of thousands of dollars

omy, according to Jake, is not resolvable unless

editorial is and because you don’t want to hawk

worth of revenue to publishers, and we think

we “decouple everything from advertising.”

Gillette razors as a journalist,” Jake explained.

that’s the right thing to do. ... The value that we

“[Advertising trends are] slowing down

“On the other hand, who’s the best person in

get from keeping them on Digg is minimal at

innovation, because advertisers are over here

the organization to help a brand explain their

this point.”

saying, ‘Wait, we have $50,000 to spend on

value to an audience? It’s the journalist; it’s the

“We know that people find it valuable

“Advertising is [currently] incongruous

In other words, the journalism industry’s

“If you deliver something of value, people

It will take time for newspapers and mag-

“No editorial person wants to touch the

Traditional publishers frequently take the

display banners, don’t you want this?’ and

editor. They know the audience, they know the

opposite approach. The Times and The Wall

then the publishers say, ‘Well yeah, I need to

voice, they know the stories [the audience is]

Street Journal are leading much of the journal-

get my numbers this quarter,’ as opposed to

going to find compelling. So here, when we

ism industry toward the adoption of paywalls,

saying ‘What do users actually want, what do

have a brand come in and say, ‘We want to do

wherein readers must pay or subscribe to read

they need?’ and investing on that basis,” Jake

something with Digg,’ the first thing I do is sit

more than a set number of articles each month.

said. “And it’s not a solvable problem. These

down with David on the editorial team. [I don’t

But both the Times and the Journal’s paywalls

[publishers] are large organizations that have

say] ‘Hey, where should we put banner ads,’ it’s

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

‘Hey, what do you want to do? What editorial

new technologies and production strategies

product do you want to build that we can get

have bypassed legacy structures, lowered costs,

this brand to pay for and sponsor and attach

and increased accessibility, it remains to be

their message to?’”

seen whether expensive long-form journalism

can survive the shift. For Jake, this is not in

In Jake’s view, college students wishing to

join the journalism industry must be ready to

question.

try out new ways of doing business, whether that

involves branded content, alternative funding

years ... there will still be high quality inves-

strategies, or radically new ways of structuring

tigative journalism,” he told me. “It might just

news organizations.

look different, and it might not exist within the

confines of the existing organizations that deliv-

“I think there’s two kinds of journalists

who come out of college,” Jake said. “Half of

“I take comfort in knowing that in 15

er that product. But we’ll get there.”

them are lamenting the end of expense accounts and the prestige of the companies they

were going to go to. And half of them say, ‘This

Max Linsky - Co-Founder, Longform

is a brand new world that I’m going to be a part of, that I’m going to take part in creating.’ And I feel I’m definitely in the latter camp. It’s much more fun to build something from scratch and have the opportunity to shape a new industry than it is to [shore up] an old existing industry.”

Although I, too, would place myself in the

latter camp, I still think about what we might be losing from the dismantling of journalism as we currently know it, what practices we can take away from the old system as we evolve into a new one. What comes foremost to my mind is the rigorous editorial oversight of traditional newspapers, especially over time-sensitive articles covering sensitive topics. In the fast-paced digital world, prudence is often sacrificed for timeliness (see: the rampant disinformation spread on social media during the Boston bombings),

and

journalistic

organizations

born and raised in this environment, however well-intentioned, may not have reservation or patience in their DNA.

However, Jake believes that our new me-

dia environment is ultimately beneficial for journalism as a whole.

“If you care about accountability and if

you care about the civic purpose behind journalism, then you will recognize that any technology that reduces the cost of creation and distribution and conversation is a net positive for the Universe,” he said.

Although it is undeniable that innovative

Max considers the journalism

industry in a slightly different light. Whereas Jake tackles the issue of maintaining quality journalism largely from a business perspective, Max is more focused on content given his experience as a journalist working for alt-weekly newspapers. Max Linsky co-founded Longform with Aaron Lammer ’03 to make it easier for readers to read long-form journalism in a digital environment previously inhospitable to the medium.

“We started the site in April 2010, and at

that point reading something that was 5,000 or 10,000 words on a web browser was a pretty terrible experience,” Max said. “ ... We were both big fans of Instapaper [a service that allows users to save articles to read later at their convenience], both had long train commutes, and the idea was, what would a site look like that would let you very quickly stock up your Instapaper, and how can we take all this ... great writing on the Web and make it very easy to move it off [onto] the device.”

The advent of high-resolution tablets and

phones fortuitously coincided with Max and Aaron’s vision, making it much easier and more natural to read long-form journalism digitally. Readers can now take as much long-form reading as they like with them, whether they are on the train or in bed on a Sunday evening, the

peak

time

for use of

the Longform app.

“The fact that you [can] take something

from the web and have it sitting in your pocket, read it at the times that it actually makes sense to read this stuff—that’s the big difference,” Max said. “ ... I think this kind of content, stuff that’s this long, that’s this in depth, that requires no distractions, is akin to when you’d want to watch a movie. That’s when people read this stuff. Sunday afternoons, and before bed, times when you don’t want to be bombarded with a bunch of other stuff.”

Similarly to Jake, Max feels that many

journalism iPad apps did not succeed because they were trying to solve revenue issues within the industry rather than focusing on creating ideal experiences for readers.

“To the extent that those apps have failed,

[it’s] in part because publishers set out to solve their own problem rather than readers’ problems,” Max explained. “Part of why [the iPad launch was] so exciting is that [publishers] thought they would be able to charge a lot. And

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

I do think that that landscape has shifted, and

make sure it’s really easy to find a bunch of great

training grounds for up-and-coming journal-

maybe shifted irrevocably to some extent. Peo-

stuff to read. That’s the goal, that’s the mission

ists. Max felt that the experience he gained at

ple are willing to pay but not willing to pay that

of the company.”

alt-weeklies was invaluable and, to some extent,

much, and they’re paying in part for delivery,

irreplaceable.

To expand upon his point, Max reflected

and ease of delivery and the expe-

on the news that The Boston Phoe-

rience.”

nix, an alt-weekly newspaper, had

ly dying is that’s where a lot of these people

Just like Digg, Longform also

“The thing that’s scary about this alt-week-

just shuttered its doors:

learned to write,” Max said. “ ... The first story

sends readers who click on articles

“I worked for two massively

that I did at an alt-weekly was about a storefront

to websites of content creators.

successful alt-weeklies. In the ’80s

church, and I spent four months going to this

“Philosophically, we are very

and ’90s, those papers were phone-

church, pretty much every day. Which was a

clear that being helpful to pub-

books—they were huge. Before

really over the top way to report that story, but

lishers is very important to our

Craigslist, before Yelp, that was the

I had the space to do it, I got to learn that that

being successful,” Max explained.

way you found where to eat, that’s

was too much. ... And I do worry about where

“And, so, that’s very clear in our

how you found an apartment, it was

people are going to learn to [conduct proper

minds. What we do now in the

even the way you found an escort

journalism].”

[Longform iPad] app is default to

for the night. They were hugely,

Nonetheless, Max praised innovative

the webpage and you can click into a reading

hugely profitable. And those profits allowed

efforts by Vox Media—the proprietor of SB

mode.”

them to develop incredible journalistic tradi-

Nation, a sports news site; The Verge, a site re-

However, like Jake, Max is skeptical of the

tions, fantastic investigative reporting, won-

porting on the intersection of technology and

notion that newspapers and magazines should

derful narrative storytelling. ... And the papers

culture; and Polygon, a video-game news site—

be preserved in their traditional forms. Al-

came to see themselves as these great journal-

to present long-form journalism in a digitally

though Max, particularly given his roots in the

istic institutions—highly moral, highly ethical.

appealing way while eschewing legacy business

journalism industry, wants Longform to help

Those were their values. But it’s easy to define

structures.

out publishers as much as possible, he doesn’t

your values when you’re flush, when revenue

feel the need to support the industry’s current

isn’t a concern. It’s much harder to define your

day-out basis—that is a beautiful presentation

business structure.

journalistic values when the business model is

of long writing on the Internet,” Max said. “And

“What Vox Media is doing on a day-in,

“Part of the reason I’m involved in this

crumbling and you’re faced with keeping a roof

that is a new web-only, digital-only operation,

project is that I really love this stuff, and I’ve

over your head or sacrificing quality and poten-

and I think that there’s a connection between

always really loved this stuff,” Max said. “I did

tially losing the trust of your readers.”

those things. If you don’t have the legacy costs

journalism because I wanted to write long sto-

Max, like Jake, is skeptical of the notion

and legacy concerns, if you don’t have to cal-

ries and I was a 10-year-old kid who picked up

that newspapers should equate maintaining

ibrate what you’re doing against the 100-years

Sports Illustrated and went to the bonus piece

business as usual—no matter how many print

worth of journalistic history and integrity,

in the back. I would still read all of these maga-

advertisements it takes—to perpetuating a tra-

you’re allowed to fuck around a little bit. And

zines if they were delivered on bricks thrown at

dition of quality journalism. If a news organi-

that’s helpful.”

my house. I love this stuff, I very much want to

zation chooses to uphold journalistic ethics by

see it continue, [and] I like the idea that [Long-

shifting business strategies even if it increases

role in traditional publications, even if they

form] in any way could help that happen. But I

the risk of bankruptcy, that is preferable to be-

want to implement innovative new ideas, are

don’t feel a moral obligation to any one partic-

coming a shadowy approximation of the origi-

inherently at a disadvantage compared to peo-

ular model. It’s important that people continue

nal product.

ple like Max and Jake, who can take more risks

to write this stuff and produce it and people

“[The Phoenix] did kind of go out before

at new ventures without esteemed histories.

continue to consume it, and I hope that there’s

they just became a shitty nightlife blog that was

a financial model that supports those things,

staffed by one kid,” he said. “And there’s some-

a real thing,” Max said. “It’s psychological. It’s

but I don’t know that it’s our place to create it.”

thing kind of to be said for that, to not become

about having to reconcile the shifting nature

a shell of your former self.”

of the place that you work. And if you are at a

Longform to serve readers.

At the same time, Max acknowledged

venerated great magazine, and you’re the editor

“Our primary responsibility is to our read-

that as newspapers like the Phoenix continue

of that venerable great magazine, a motivating

ers and to our users,” he said. “ ... We want to

to fold, the industry is losing the traditional

factor is that you don’t want it to go down on

At the end of the day, Max has created

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

In other words, people who take a leading

“Legacy cost is not a bullshit term, that’s

your watch. You know what I mean? And I think

of them [will] pay now and I don’t know how

coverage of stories not directly associated with

that’s a real concern. ... If I [were] running some

many of them are going to turn into paying

American interests. The journalism industry

magazine that has employed all of my heroes,

readers. But it does feel like there’s an opportu-

loses some of its ability to direct readers to im-

I’d be a lot more conservative about what I was

nity.”

portant stories they may not otherwise read.

doing.”

Max closed our discussion on a similar

And as fewer and fewer journalists write more

note to Jake, citing the importance for new jour-

expensive, foreign-based pieces, the quality of

But even if all-digital startups are in the

best position to experiment and plot the course

nalists to be willing to

long-form investigative jour-

for journalism’s new future, the question still

take risks and embrace

nalism may decline—the

remains: can long-form journalism be funded

the uncertain future of

opportunities for reporters

by companies with low overheads but even low-

the industry.

to learn how to write such

er margins? Of course, non-profit organizations

“You

like ProPublica can also fill the void left behind

be excited about the

As Max alluded to, long-

by defaulting publishers; it is not just up to

ride,” he said. “You re-

form pieces that do not

startups. But will it be enough? When I asked

ally don’t know when

require as much financial

Max, he argued that the affordability question

you’re going to get off,

depends on the kind of long-form journalism

or whether you’re going to end up in a good

local studies of place, long Q&A’s, musings on

being discussed.

place or a bad place. You have to be excited for

technology—will become particularly promis-

what this next piece of uncertainty is, otherwise

ing methods for producing high quality long-

it’s a terrible ride; it’s not fun.”

form journalism in a funding-deprived market-

“I think [long-form journalism] is starting

to take on several different definitions,” he ex-

have

plained. “There are [the pieces] that involve

***

stan, and it’s very expensive and it’s very time also [articles] that people aren’t leaving their houses for [in which they] are writing about their families. ... That’s a totally different thing—from a financial standpoint it’s a completely different thing. So I think the first part of answering that question is to define what we’re talking about. And if we’re talking about people in Afghanistan, I think there’s going to be less of that. There’s going to be [fewer] people going to Afghanistan. I don’t think that it’s ever going to be the case that there are no people going to Afghanistan. ... That’s somewhat of a doomsday scenario that is thrown out.”

However, like Jake, Max believes that

there will always be readers willing to purchase quality journalism. Even if traditional publishers are not capable of funding as much expensive reporting, readers will help close the financial gap.

“I believe that quality storytelling has val-

ue and will be valued ... and I think what’s exciting about what’s happening now is that there are a ton of new readers who are approaching this stuff,” Max said. “I don’t know how many

investment—family profiles,

place. What this means, though, is that even if

paying someone’s expenses to go to Afghaniconsuming and it’s very important. There are

pieces could disappear.

Despite their different backgrounds, both

Max and Jake believe that the future of longform journalism is bright. They see disruptive technologies and business models as rejuvenating for the industry, and are confident that reader will always feel compelled to pay for great content. As Jake put it, both he and Max “believe that people are good,” and it is up to innovators like them to serve the needs of their readers, to channel that “goodness” by creating engaging user experiences and providing value that advertising-dependent legacy business, on the whole, cannot.

I agree with Max and Jake that readers

will pay—they are currently paying enough for the Times to derive half of their revenue from subscriptions—but I fear that it will not be sufficient to fund quality long-form journalism in the quantities readers crave. Although Max is optimistic about the fate of long-form, his statements about foreign reporting suggest an uncertain future for long-form investigative journalism.

As resources devoted to in-depth for-

more expensive stories will still be produced, publishers in a difficult economic climate may feel financially pressured to publish less expensive journalism, or journalism they deem more profitable. If our long-form journalism were determined by these sorts of market forces, that would be a grave loss for society.

It will likely take more than journalists

“excited about the ride” to ensure the continued quality of long-form journalism. We will need solutions from entrepreneurs who are passionate about the medium and willing to develop mechanisms for closing the funding gap. Low overhead, small profit margin startups, while invaluable to readers, are not going to be enough to stanch the hemorrhaging of funds from the journalism industry, especially when they are not the ones creating content.

There is certainly hope. Readers’ will-

ingness to pay fair prices for content indicates a path toward sustainability for most forms of journalism. But if we want to ensure that services like Longform and Digg will continue to receive high-quality investigative journalism, we need to recognize that disruptive technology will only take us so far.

eign-affairs pieces dwindle, so too does our

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

ready above the small nub of her nose as she stares out from “The House of the Future.” In

Idyllic Futures: Past Visions of America’s Promise by Ross Gormley

the background, on the left side of the frame— through the glass, past the house, and out of Tomorrowland—is Cinderella’s castle. The castle appears as a bundle of marbled forms, layered on top of each other—a lone tower surges upward above the mass. She pictures herself at the top of the castle.She starts to feel woozy.

Cutting down the middle of the frame is

a vertical black strip that holds together the two slabs of glass. Her hand, once again, slides down the window, buffered by the laminate, until her hand is closed. The air conditioner is cold, and her bare knuckles feel delicate against the glass surface. Outside, beads of sweat cling to the brows of eager tourists waiting in line for their

In 1957, Walt Disney commissioned the Monsanto Chemical Company and a team at MIT to design “The House of the Future.” The house would sit in Tomorrowland, an expanse of imagined things, conjured up by “visioneers”—“tomorrow…built on today.” Vinyl wire coating, styrene light diffusion, vinyl floor coverings, melamine countertops, styrene tiling, plastic based paints; the synthetic future struggles to gleam through the grainy images of the Disney documentary detailing the house. A kaleidoscope of lacquered surfaces brags of a future fine to the touch. The fresh enamel breathes of hope, of alacrity.

In the 13-minute documentary film, a

husband, wife, and their 10-year-old daughter navigate the house, walking from room to room, one fantasy to another. The wife is magically transposed into the kitchen, where she slides her hand over the melamine countertop. Staring at the kitchen—functional, beautiful—she affirms, “Would I like it? What a dream!”

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

She takes a step forward, and her black dress

turns.

and golden handbag are replaced with a denim

“Just imagine!” she says.

skirt and a white apron. She adjusts the apron,

***

exclaiming, “I’d be getting dinner in this kitchen. Just imagine!”

In a later scene in the dining room, her

blackened silhouette walks into the right side of the frame, where she rests her body against the floor-to-ceiling window. The thermal pane glass is obscured by a matrix of dots—the plastic safety laminate stretches its entire expanse. She lifts her left arm and rests her open hand against the glass. Her other hand rests under her left breast, her right shoulder leans in. A tuft of hair hangs

I used to wake up to watch the Jetsons

and the Flintstones back to back. On those Saturday mornings, I was taken from a floating city tethered to the clouds to a life in the dirt. Sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal, I always figured that I was right there between the two worlds—grounded, but going places.

In the early 20th century, people thought

that the future would be anywhere but on the

ground. Cities of tomorrow would be vast, gi-

gantic, gargantuan, mammoth, monumental,

as fact. Years before my dad was born

overwhelming, happy, feather-light, frenetic,

in 1943, my grandfather heard Orson

streamlined, big. Buildings would be cities

Welles’ radio drama, War of the Worlds.

themselves, sustained with supplies from an

It’s hard to imagine how so many fami-

efficient distribution system built below the

lies, my own included, could be stirred

city grid. Urbanites would live and work in

into such a panic at the thought of oth-

the same building, never having to set foot

erworldly invaders. Today, our news

on the ground, and when travel was neces-

channels warn us of Franken-storms and

sary they would be taken in pods below the

impending snow-pocalypses, conjured

earth’s crust. The vehicles, shaped like tear

up by the most arcane of conditions.

drops, would flow effortlessly through worm-

hole tunnels. The alternative would be a

believe the news stories broadcast-

simple walk where dwellers could stroll out

ed today: “Superstorm Sandy?” he

on a series of tapered corridors, stretching in

would ask, admitting skepticism. Yet,

slopes and slow arches between each building.

aliens invading the earth, ray guns

Hugh Ferris, famous for his 1920s paint-

“pew, pewwing,” insectoidal machines

ings depicting future cities, theorized that in

machinating the takedown of city sys-

the future, people “might actually feel clos-

tems—he accepted that account as if

er to nature.” Rather than visit the trite farm-

it were happening in his own back-

steads and sullied paths of forgotten forests,

yard. For my grandfather, the radio,

New Yorkers will visit “aerial gardens and sky

that newly disembodied voice—head-

golf courses…people will go ‘up’ for country

less,

air.” He described the future as “electrifying,”

“flamboyant.” Amazing Stories, an American

Norwalk, Connecticut, was a Launchpad set

science fiction magazine, bragged that “smoke

to carry him into the future in comfort, and

will be eliminated, noise will be conquered,

all he had to do was sit and listen to the radio.

Americans have long taken fiction

I wonder if my grandfather would

detached,

prophetic—was

would become a city park for recreation. reality.

His house, a two story Dutch colonial in

and impurity will be eliminated from the air.”

***

During the great depression, a few re-

The iconic trylon and perisphere sat in

the center of the fair. The trylon was a tall triangular pylon, extending upwards into a point, similar to an obelisk. The perisphere was a giant dome structure that was 200 feet in diameter and sat at about one-third the height of the adjacent tower. A winding escalator, which at that time was the longest in the world, gently delivered visitors to the dome’s entrance.

tired New York City policemen thought they

Once inside, visitors would gaze down at

might like to plan a world’s fair to bolster the

“Democracity,” a planned, utopian communi-

city’s spirits. Four years later, in 1939, the

ty for the year 2039. The city was influenced

New York World’s Fair opened on a sunny

by Ebenezer Howard’s book Garden Cities of

April day to long lines and speeches by FDR

To-Morrow. In it, Howard outlines a planned

and Einstein. In its two seasons, an estimated

“garden city,” where people live harmonious-

44 million people walked through the area.

ly with nature in perfect, pre-planned pro-

Robert Moses, the NYC parks commis-

portions around circles of forests, residences,

sioner at the time, gladly accepted the coming

industry, and agriculture. The key to human

of the exposition. The site selected in Queens

happiness, she conceived, was in the right

was an old ash dump. (In The Great Gatsby,

proportion of trees and steel, laid out in a se-

F. Scott Fitzgerald referred to the area as a

ries of concentric circles. Democracity would

“valley of ashes”.) With Moses’ permission,

house around 30,000 residents enclosed with-

the fair’s organizing committee would re-

in the concentric circles. Commerce and arti-

move the heaps of trash and begin construc-

san shops would occupy the center realm, and

tion on the park. Afterwards, when everyone

residents in their houses would surround it.

and everything packed up and left, the site

In the outermost circle there would be parks

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The Argus Magazine

“It’s the brains of the world done

a culture 5000 years past? The invaluable

up in a small package. It’s the most per-

archeological find of priceless relics com-

manent exhibit of the fair. It will still be

parable to King Tut and the great Egyptian

here when the rest of this place is nothing

civilization? Among other things: Einstein’s

but dust.” - Quotation from The Middle-

writings, a few Life magazines, a Sears cat-

ton Family at the New York World’s Fair

alog, Camel cigarettes, a Mickey Mouse

watch, a Gillette razor, and some seeds.

Another famous spectacle at the

fair was the Westinghouse time capsule.

***

Its body looks like a missile without the wings—one that touched down and buried itself in the ground without ever exploding. Shaped like a bullet, it’s made of cupaloy, a mixture of copper, silver, and chromium designed to resist 5000 years; we are waiting until 6939 AD to retrieve its contents.

A plaque where the capsule is bur-

ied reads: “5000 years from now the peoples of the future will look back on us as we look back to the Egyptians and and farmland, as if to protect residents from an outside that wasn’t as circular and perfect, but rather random, patchy, and chaotic.

Having just taken the world’s lon-

Babylonians. The time capsule down there is actually a message from our time to theirs. Those who open and study it will know more about us than any man today.”

gest escalator to the perisphere, visitors

would stand idly on a moving platform that

whether those in attendance at the burial

would take them around a circular walk-

tried to imagine what 5000 years into the fu-

way. As they slowly revolved, they would look

ture would look like. Within a mile radius,

down over the railing to see the model city.

there was Nylon, color photography, moving

Symphonic music played in the back-

escalators, air conditioners, and smell-o-vi-

ground, creating the sense of flight, as if the

sion—a revolutionary device that released

viewers were circling a miniature globe. A man,

odors appropriate to a movie’s scene. Giv-

boldly pronouncing over the music, told tales of

en the flying cars and the mega-structures,

the future city. His voice was prophetic and pa-

I’d imagine they were fast out of ideas as

triarchal. He gently reassured the viewers, “Yes!

to what things might look like in 6939 A.D.

It will all be yours! You don’t even have to wait!”

ten, printed books with instructions on how to

The Trylon and Perisphere—the exhi-

bition’s focal points—were built as temporary structures. The two objects were made of steel frames covered with white plaster board facades. After two seasons the grand symbols of the fair—which were featured on all promotional merchandise for the event, on pens, stamps, hats, shirts, posters, and Hughes’ plane—were scrapped, melted down, and used for WWII armaments. Six years later, science won the war.

*** 37

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The Argus Magazine

As they buried the capsule, I wonder

To assure that the capsule is not forgot-

find the capsule were made and distributed all over the world to the places that would best preserve them. Today, they sit on the shelves of temples, mosques, libraries, and monasteries. And if the very framework of time is to change in the next 5000 years, The Book of Record, as it was called, has instructions to determine the appropriate time to unearth the capsule.

So what did society put into this tor-

pedo-sized capsule? The Rosetta stone of

My mom would always bribe me with

new Lego sets. She would buy educational posters with math problems and challenging words to spell; she would then pin them to the walls in my room and demand that I memorize them. The Lego came in small cardboard boxes, some so small that they could fit into my school lunchbox. On more than one occasion, my mom attempted to hide a set in my lunch. I’d always find it, though, and have it constructed before my first period class.

Over time, I amassed so much Lego

that I eventually threw it all into a large plastic tub stowed away under my bed. My friends and I would dig through the piles with our fingers stretched out like combs to find just the right pieces for our projects.

This was until my dad bought me a

Lego table, the surface of which had an array of tiny circles that snapped in with each Lego piece, anchoring any object to the plastic base. After finishing a project, I would secure it to the table. Soon I had streets, volcanoes, airports, police stations—a small city began to spring up in my own vision.

Things

got

complicated

when

grandma bought me a moon base for Christmas with a space shuttle and a few planes. I couldn’t just put it on the table next to the airport—it was a moon base after all—, so I had my dad hang a square wooden piece from the ceiling, a few feet above, and a little bit to the right of my Lego city where it was suspended by four wires attached to four hooks. I brought up a step ladder from the basement and was able to begin construction.

After piecing together airplanes, one

of which was the size of my forearm, my

Wars Lego clashed with my ancient egyptian

we—the viewers—are standing in “Tomorrow-

dad took fishing line and once again sus-

Lego, or medieval kingdom Lego. Pharaohs

land,” perhaps still waiting in line.

pended them so they hung in mid-air. If I

would fly to the moon with cavemen sitting in

tipped one just right it would spin in cir-

the cargo bay of their space shuttle. Astronauts

cheese with a quarter section cut out, eaten by

cles between the volcano and the airport.

would climb to the top of pyramids. Though in

the engineers at Monsanto or MIT. In place of

And then, things got more confusing. For

the end, with those little interlocking circles,

the eaten quarter, the designers installed floor-

being able to spell a challenging set of words—

they all held together despite their incongru-

to-ceiling windows, framed by the moldy, white

“cat, dog, hippopotamus”—I received an oce-

ities.

rind. The house is elevated, resting on a rectan-

anic scuba diving set with submarines, spear guns, and an underwater cave for divers to hide inside. Not knowing where to turn, I simply let the cave rest on the carpet and, sitting crosslegged underneath my table—my Lego city just above—, I began to build an underwater world.

The model Lego city grew with me as I

learned more and more. A multiplication table would mean a new racecar or a Star Wars machine. A division table spelled Antarctic explorers or alien invaders. I was the grand master, the omniscient, omnipotent, Lego despot who could move an entire city with the pinch of two fingers. I was constantly shifting things around—the hardware store, the race

my Lego planes until the fishing lines suspending them in mid-air snapped. The clear nylon lines curled upward with the sudden release of weight and consequent lack of tension. Piece by piece, I disassembled my model city, putting all the separate parts—pharaohs, rocket ships, medieval knights, racecars—into that one large plastic tub where all the pieces, once belonging to their respective thematic sets, would become indistinguishable. When I moved from Norwalk, CT to Wilton, CT, the Lego sat in the garage with my sister’s American girl dolls and miniature pink house.

track, the volcano. They all moved on a whim,

***

or after the arrival of some new Lego set that squeezed another object for room or relegated it to the limbo that was the plastic tub.

But even with the close attention I gave

my collection, nothing really fit together. Star

When my parents divorced, I pulled on

At the end of the 13-minute documenta-

ry film showcasing Disney’s “House of the Fu-

The house looks like a wheel of brie

gular foundation positioned in the center. Lit from below with spotlights, the plastic exterior has a glossy, white sheen.

Outside, the sky is dark—half of the frame

is black. In the top right corner, there are gray clouds. Gnarled and condensed, they taper to the outline of the house and extend—in the opposite direction—to the black sky above.

To the left of the “House of the Future,” in

the background, there is Cinderella’s castle. Its lines are hazy and indistinguishable—appearing more like a power plant than a princesses’ palace. In the center of the frame is the quarter section of window. The inside of the house is uniformly illuminated and bright. Vertical black strips, positioned at fixed intervals, support the stretch of window. The black lines—in contrast with the sky, clouds and castle—glow straight and clear.

ture,” we are taken outside. It is nighttime, and

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The Argus Magazine

How Apathy Is Destroying the Planet by Matthew Lichtash

You’ve probably heard environmental advocacy organizations repeat the following narrative ad nauseam: fossil fuel corporations pour seemingly infinite sums of cash into the political system to create uncertainty over climate science and impede clean energy development. But

participation among a large percentage of sup-

D.C. underwater. Couldn’t we simply adapt

posedly climate-conscious Americans. It is not

to these effects given that melting of the Ant-

always easy to actively support the environment.

arctic Ice Sheet would take over 300 years to

Many hard-working Americans are working ex-

unfold? Well, maybe, but that’s not the point.

tra hours just to make ends meet. But there are

Society would suffer immense economic costs

so many small ways to make a difference that,

from moving capital to higher ground, but

particularly for college students like us, being a

the real tragedy would stem from the extinc-

“busy citizen” is not a good enough excuse.

tion of low-lying cultural heritage around the

is this what is really standing in the way of direct

to identify why many people have trouble com-

action to mitigate climate change? Are there in-

prehending the implications of a warmer world.

visible variables in the climate equation that, if

Many interpret future uncertainty as a reason

identified, could help fight the climate crisis?

for inaction—some argue that we can’t possibly

Upon closer review, the root cause of the stag-

justify spending trillions of dollars given the vast

nation of climate action can be traced down to

array of possible future states of the environ-

one fatal human flaw: apathy.

ment. The field of welfare economics informs

Am I suggesting that corporate influence

us, though, that risk averse individuals will not

in politics is not a major cause of inaction? Ab-

engage in “fair bets,” games where on average

solutely not. It’s undeniable that oil industry

the player, at the very least, breaks even. Con-

money has influenced the political process, and

sider this simplified example of a high-stakes

therefore indirectly affected public opinion.

coin flip: heads, you win one million dollars;

Exxonmobil alone has poured in $22 million

tails, you lose the million. Most people, except

into organizations hell bent on denying climate

for Bill Gates and Warren Buffett, would find

change, according to Greenpeace. However, an

this gamble absurd. Now, let’s apply this analo-

examination of the large contingent of people

gy to climate change.

who understand climate science and yet still

fail to change their behavior sheds light on

now known about the natural environment, sci-

the root cause of society’s inertia. According to

entists still have much to learn, and accordingly

Gallup, of the 55% of people who either worry

cannot pinpoint the magnitude of important

“a great deal” or “a fair amount” about climate

future climatic events such as the rise in sea

change, how many of them have limited their

levels. The latest science tells us that if we keep

animal product consumption? How many have

emitting greenhouse gases at current rates, the

written letters to their legislators urging climate

likelihood of the collapse of either the Green-

action?

land or West Antarctic ice sheets is greater than

The number of public comments on the

50% (the upper bound is actually a pretty scary

EPA’s most recent carbon pollution rule clocked

97%). Researchers from the University of To-

in at 2.1 million, the largest in history. Consid-

ronto in 2009 estimated that the resulting 6.3

ering the minimal time commitment now re-

meter rise in sea level, assuming meltwater from

quired to post a public comment, this number,

the ice sheets were to spread evenly throughout

while heartening, still indicates a broad lack of

the oceans, would leave most of Washington

Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

world.

The Coin Flip

The first step toward eliminating apathy is

Despite the vast amount of information

We then must ask ourselves: are we willing

to flip the proverbial climate coin and gamble with our low-lying ecosystems? I should hope not; the risk-averse option then is for society to sufficiently minimize this risk. After all, if the risk-averse shy away from fair gambles such as coin flips, they should also detest negative expectation “games” such as climate change. There is something profoundly twisted about the fossil fuel industry’s hijacking of the principle of uncertainty; just the mere possibility of extreme climate damage, even if we are unsure of its extent, should motivate us to fight for a livable planet.

T h e Po w e r o f M e d i a With perfect information, climate science will overcome skepticism: while there are countless examples of climate change skeptics becoming convinced of the evidence, there are few climate-change believers who are suddenly transformed into deniers. That the conversion arrow only points in one direction speaks to the power of truth. But this perfect information will only get us so far. The data tell us that the model of the “rational consumer” acting under perfect information is flawed: apathy reigns while greenhouse gases accumulate to record levels in the atmosphere. We must recognize that oil companies represent merely the first barrier to climate-change mitigation; unless we look past oil companies and work to counteract societal apathy, the planet will continue to be commit-

This is a cash flow diagram from a hypothetical 3.36kW solar PV system in Middletown, CT. Each year, the investor saves a fixed amount of money from avoided electricity payments. The upfront cost, represented by the bar at time 0, is paid back in 8 years without considering the value of abated carbon emissions (represented by the brown bars). When considering carbon (the blue bars), payback time decreases by 2 years and total investment value increases 42.8% due to savings from avoided carbon emissions.

ted to disastrous warming. So how do we motivate people to act in our increasingly short-term-oriented society? The documentary Chasing Ice is a perfect example of a powerful motivating force. Marc Balog, the protagonist, takes time-lapse photographs of glaciers around the world in order to demonstrate global warming’s effect on these massive ice structures. Essentially, the documentary compresses a gradual, long term process down to a number of seconds, more clearly communicating the danger of climate change to audiences used to our fast-paced world. A remarkable video demonstrates the power of this media: a former skeptic emerges from the theater on the verge of tears, proclaiming that she now believes in climate change and must do everything in her power to rectify her previous environmental wrongdoings. This sense of self-empowerment is essential for motivating lifestyle changes such as eating less meat, driving fewer miles, and consuming energy more efficiently. A strong sense of personal responsibility is precisely what is needed to overcome apathy.

Some might argue that such representations might deter, or at the very least not inspire, individual action; Chasing Ice may not resonate with everyone. But this misses the point of art. Not even the most prolific artists of the past millennium please everyone, yet their visions are commonly accepted by critics as important and visionary. The same principle applies here, whether or not you consider James Balog to be a great photographer, each environmental artist conveys a certain image or video to an audience that will hopefully be inspired to take action. Rather than claiming that a single representation lacks motivational power, we should realize the entire field’s potential for inspiration. Examples of important motivational media include The Cove, Erin Brockovich, Gasland, Silent Spring, National Geographic’s photography, TedTalks, An Inconvenient Truth, and the work of musician Pete Seeger—and the list goes on. Presentations of long-term climactic processes through media must be complemented with equally illuminating images of present-day weather events made worse by climate change. As sea level increases, storm surges

have become exponentially more damaging during hurricanes, according to meteorologist Scott Mandia. We saw the devastating impact of sea level rise (15 inches since 1980 in the New York Harbor) during Hurricane Sandy, on both the Jersey Shore and in Lower Manhattan. We also know that the Southwestern United States is projected in most models to become dryer, measured by increases in evaporation and decreases in precipitation, by the year 2100. While statistical models cannot attribute the most recent drought in the summer of 2011 to climate change, we can interpret such events as random weather patterns today that will become increasingly more likely over the coming century.

S a v i n g M o n e y, Saving the Planet A second, and equally crucial, technique for tackling apathy would be to better explain environmentally friendly alternatives to carbon intensive products. True, there will be costs associated with such alternatives, both monetarily and behaviorally; but to get the

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The Argus Magazine

Many energy sources have different costs depending on where and how they are deployed. Overlapping uncertainty bars across different power types demonstrates potential for cost-competition. Yellow, orange, and red bars represent the inclusion of carbon costs for each power source. These costs are real, are not factored into today’s market prices, yet still will inflict damages on future generations.

ball rolling, there are a number of decisions a consumer can make in the near term for the climate that involve zero upfront costs. For example, shifting away from burgers and steaks toward chicken and vegetables holds massive potential to reduce emissions. Power-purchase agreements with utility companies allow homeowners to go solar for no upfront cost and a fixed monthly fee cheaper than their current electricity bills. This saves money in the short term while hedging against rising energy prices in the long term. There are countless other low-cost steps consumers can take to mitigate climate change, yet admittedly there are higher cost changes we need to make as well. In the short term, however, it makes the most sense to take the easy steps first and cross the high-cost bridge when we come to it. By realizing that fossil fuel companies do not make up the only obstacle in mitigating climate change, we can begin to empower individuals to take responsibility for preserving the environment. By communicating what will happen should global warming occur and emphasizing easy steps to prevent it, we can empower consumers to make environmentally friendly choices that will save money while also saving the planet.

E x a m i n i n g “ Ve g a n i s m ” 41

Conserving energy and driving fewer Spring 2013

The Argus Magazine

miles are two of the most widely known ways to reduce carbon emissions. Rarely talked about by mainstream NGOs, however, is the potential for reducing carbon emissions through one’s diet, and the best way to accomplish this from a climate perspective is to become a vegan. Advocating for veganism itself, though, which is (and I say this with all due respect) an absolutist doctrine that prohibits any animal product consumption, will not motivate people to reduce dietary emissions. However, the principles that comprise the vegan lifestyle are essential in the battle to stop global warming. What do I mean by this? The abrupt adoption of a major lifestyle choice such as giving up meat, dairy, or eggs all at once is hard for people to come to terms with. So, the emphasis should be placed on gradual adoption of vegan cooking to replace the most climate-unfriendly foods, without the emphasis on abandoning animal products altogether. Many vegans would disagree with this last statement, so I’d like to address a couple of possible arguments against my position, and also preface the following rebuttals with the fact that I am putting aside other moral reasons to become vegan, such as animal rights, in order to focus on veganism’s climatic benefits. 1. If people don’t completely eliminate animal products from their diets, there will still be too much pollution that will doom the climate. Response: We must distinguish between

potentially sustainable and unsustainable products. Meat from cows or sheep are essentially unsustainable due to methane emissions that are exceedingly hard to mitigate (Can you imagine a device that would strap on to every cow and sheep’s butt and mouth to capture methane? And even if you could capture the methane, what would we do with it?). Chicken, pigs, and turkey do not emit any methane. Thus, their fossil fuel emissions are no different qualitatively from any other non-methane producing industry. Thus, an economy-wide incentive structure such as a price on carbon would lead to the greening of the chicken, pork, and turkey industry through the development of emissions-free vehicles to plow fields and green electricity sources to run processing plants. This information runs contrary to what one prominent author from the University of Texas, James McWilliams, asserts in his recent Freakonomics piece, “Agnostic Carnivores and Global Warming: Why Enviros Go After Coal and Not Cows.” McWilliams argues, “Many consumers think they can substitute chicken for beef and make a meaningful difference in their dietary footprint.” Not so. According to a 2010 study, such a substitution would achieve a ‘net reduction in environmental impact’ of 5 to 13 percent.” Readers are supposed to infer from this that swapping chicken for beef will result in a minimal climatic impact. However, this is a wild mischaracterization of the study, which looks at this substitution effect only for marginal beef production from 2000-2050, or an increase from 60 million metric tonnes in 2000 to 90 million metric tonnes in 2050. Therefore, substituting all beef for chicken would realize 15% to 39% reduction in dietary emissions (if we simply extrapolate upwards). I will give Mr. McWilliams the benefit of the doubt that his interpretation of the study was an honest mistake; however, the fact remains that if everyone in the world were to refrain from eating beef, it would make a substantial dent in dietary greenhouse gas emissions. 2. Eating animal products is biologically inefficient because of energy losses through the food chain. Response: This is an undeniably true state-

ment, and provides a great reason for people to consume fewer animal products in their daily lives. However, it fails to explain why people should avoid animal products altogether. Why should people give up utility (and yes, I am arguing that reducing meat consumption from a small amount down to zero would make many people worse off) by giving up meat rather than, say, moving out of a more suburban area, which is far more unsustainable than living in a city? Or any other relatively inefficient activity for that matter? My point is that to be consistent, vegans must also argue more people should urbanize or live in smaller, densely packed housing units. In summary, there are a number of takeaways from this: we have to eat fewer animal products if we want to get serious about climate change, but we should focus greater attention on the most unsustainable ones: lamb, beef, and cheese. Finally, absolutism can hinder progress given many people’s knee-jerk reactions, but embracing the underlying principles of veganism is an excellent path toward maintaining a healthy climate.

Addressing Financial Barriers to Mitigating Climate Change Today, many companies have noticed that “going green” is profitable. What a wishy-washy line, right? Are we supposed to assume that most corporations will eventually create eco-friendly products that solve climate change? That all large companies will feel motivated to market green products to consumers? Don’t get me wrong—the current profitability in sustainable building, retail, energy, and other sectors is vital in our path to a clean energy future. However, that first sentence—many companies today see that going green is profitable—obscures the more important issue: the market has failed to put a cost on carbon because its damages are far in the future, preventing a large-scale movement of our economy toward clean energy. Miscomprehension of the market’s failure to take the “true” price of carbon into account contributes to underinvestment in sustainable technology and provides justification for continued

global warming apathy and inaction. Here’s a good example of this. A recent New York Times article by Elisabeth Rosenthal shows that America’s potential for renewable energy is greater than we once thought. This essentially means that any government policy to wean us off fossil fuels would incur fewer costs to the economy than many analysts would have us believe. However, the article furthers the notion that traditional fossil energy sources are “cheaper” than renewables and that switching over will require “higher energy costs.” With just one throwaway sentence, Rosenthal hints at the crux of our energy dilemma: we (meaning current producers and consumers) don’t pay for the cost of carbon. In other words, the total cost of fossil energy sources is greater than the market price we observe. The chart to your left illustrates this concept by displaying electricity costs for new energy sources in 2015. Without considering carbon, it may appear that Pulverized Coal is cheaper than Biomass, but taking this externality into account shows us that Pulverized Coal is in fact more expensive than Biomass without government incentives. Of course, in today’s market there exist no such prices on carbon. But whether or not we slap a carbon tax onto fossil energy sources doesn’t change the fact that future generations are paying for the costs of climate change (which are theoretically approximated by the tax). So how are we to interpret this discrepancy between costs that investors see in the market and these seemingly invisible costs incurred years from now? The distinction lies merely in the equitability of the distribution of costs. So whenever you hear an energy analyst say that coal is “cheaper than renewables,” realize the implications of that statement—the analyst places the burden of the external costs onto future generations not responsible for this pollution, while the polluters (and the beneficiaries of these lower prices) get off scot-free. Does that sound like a fair deal to you? So, the question of whether or not to impose a carbon tax is not about the existence of said costs but rather about their distribution. Ignoring this disparity leads to overconsumption of dirty energy sources and continued re-

luctance to accept cleaner energy sources with higher market prices today but with lower total costs in the future. Given the magnitude of the cost of failing to mitigate climate change, we must ask ourselves whether we are willing to take a small slice off of our GDP (incurring slightly higher market prices today) in order to save future generations from paying costs far greater (abating external carbon costs).

How Government Can Intervene in the Market for Energy Equitably Let’s say the vast majority of Americans have finally overcome apathy and are ready to take climate action. What should they do, or more importantly, what policies should they demand that their Congressmen support? The simple answer is a carbon tax, which enjoys support across political divides. Environmental policies often alienate conservatives due to their perceived government overreach. This sentiment was exemplified by New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s attempt to ban sugary drinks in excess of 16 ounces. One writer in the LSU Reveille, Louisiana State University’s daily paper, encapsulates this reaction: “The government has no right to impose on its citizens what they can and cannot consume.” Given the United States’ more liberal position on government intervention in free markets (for better or for worse), this statement makes sense at face value, but in actuality contains little substance. Everyone has a different definition of “impose.” Though the Federal Government’s mandate of seat-belts in every car was controversial in 1928, few people now would claim that it is “imposing” or somehow infringing on the right of every American to buy a seatbelt-less vehicle. More people would likely label state cigarette taxes as an imposition, although 67 percent of voters favor a $1 increase in their state tobacco tax rates, according to a 2010 survey from the Campaign for Tobacco-Free Kids. The soda ban, which polled last summer at between 53% and 60% opposition, seemed to cross a line. That line, essentially, was the government explicitly controlling what consumers could purchase. Spring 2013

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This table shows the monetary value of carbon emissions for items in each food group. The takeaway here is not just to realize that these foods “should be more expensive,” but also to illustrate monetary savings from eating lower-carbon foods. Emissions here are separated into pre-farmgate (before it leaves the farm) and post-farmgate (from the point of shipment to a consumer’s plate). I further separated pre-farmgate emissions into CO2 and nonCO2 categories because non-CO2 emissions (like those from cows’ stomachs) are near-impossible to mitigate, whereas CO2 emissions (from electricity consumption) can be easily reduced. Thus, not only should we aim to eat lower carbon, we should also aim to eat lower methane and nitrous.

This differs from the seatbelt example, in which consumers could buy the exact same product (with a slightly higher cost), and the cigarette example, in which anyone can still buy as many cigarettes as he or she pleases. The same principle must be applied to lowering carbon emissions. The government must not give precedence for individual energy types over others but rather hold each power source accountable for global warming pollution. Outside of the partisan gridlock that has consumed Washington, parties on both sides embrace this ideal. The Energy and Enterprise Initiative, headed by the former Republican Senator from South Carolina Bob Woodward, proposes free-market solutions to climate change such as a carbon tax, in which total revenue collected would be put back into the pockets of every American equally. This system has potential to be progressive, as the rebate would transfer the tax burden from the poor to the rich. Prominent conservative supporters include Greg Mankiw (Mitt Romney’s economic advisor), Arthur Laffer (Economics adviser to Ronald Reagan), and George Shutlz (Secretary of State under the Reagan Administration). The conservative principle of individual accountability, rather 43

Spring 2013

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than government imposition, must be used as a crucial tool to fight climate change.

But What Can I Do? So what’s the takeaway of all this, especially for a member of the Wesleyan community? It’s easy to get frustrated with the lack of topdown progress on environmental issues. President Obama has shown little indication that a climate bill is on his short-term political agenda. Frustration, however, must not beget apathy. It must not prevent us from doing everything we can as individuals to help the climate and, more importantly, show our elected officials that we’re serious about the environment. Democracy is a mutually reinforcing process. Social movements easily fizzle out without continued participation. If our government doesn’t act, the logic goes, then why should we? On the other side of the fence, Senators and Representatives see no popular support for the climate and accordingly put such environmental initiatives on the back burner. Regardless of who’s responsible for the absence of a national climate conversation, we must get the

ball rolling again and demand our legislators to take action. That’s where you come in: Send comments to the EPA. Post on Facebook. Talk to your friends and family. Call Washington until their phones are off the hook. Demand a carbon tax that protects low-income families from disproportionate harm. By acting as if all citizens would support your position, legislators will be forced to hear your voice. It takes two parties to achieve progress, and progress starts with dialogue. For more concrete suggestions on how to make more informed choices, consider this: you’re driving up to McDonald’s with your friends. You want to make an effort to conserve the environment, but are not aware of any relevant information. It turns out that substituting a McChicken for a McDouble would realize savings of 13 cents. How? Or maybe the question that should be asked is, who? Who is getting this benefit? The answer is future generations. The production of a McDouble releases enough greenhouse gases into the atmosphere to cause 17 cents of damage to future generations, based on scientific estimates of lifecycle carbon emissions and economic estimates of the damages of carbon dioxide. The McChicken, however, causes only 4 cents of damage. Let me reiterate: You pay $1 for both of these sandwiches. But by choosing a low-carbon alternative, you save future generations 13 cents. With more than 550 million big macs sold each year, McDonalds customers could prevent $70 million dollars of damage to their children. This example indicates how much money you can save future generations by switching to low-carbon products and selecting more energy-efficient alternatives. However, it is important to recognize the limitations of the carbon price I used in calculating costs for McDonalds sandwiches. Due to the difficulty in predicting the full range of climate impacts because of uncertainty, most values of the SCC are conservative. Nevertheless, an understated number is superior to no number at all, and the more information we have, the more we can manage our carbon emissions. While individual switches may seem small, they all add up. Let’s save some carbon. Let’s save some money. But more importantly, let’s eliminate apathy.

Graphs by Matthew Lichtash

The Argus Magazine Spring 2013 Issue 2

The Argus Magazine

Spring 2013

SPINE not for print

Issue 2