PRIME Spring 2020 by Daily Bruin

PRIME

SPRING 2020

FROM THE DAILY BRUIN

Understaffed. Overworked. Underpaid.

The uninhibited world of UCLA Secrets Making ends meet

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PRIME CONTENTS

COMMENTARY

SPRING 2020

WORLD

6 The uninhibited world of UCLA Secrets

On the cover

written by ALI POND

Anonymity is a double-edged sword for the admin of the infamous Facebook page.

FEATURES

photo by ALEX DRISCOLL

The fundamental difference

FEATURES

Understaffed. Overworked. Underpaid.

written by GENEVIEVE FINN

written by JUSTIN HUWE

On social media, students abroad flaunt baguettes under the Eiffel Tower and tzatziki in Greece. For students of color, the experience can be very different.

Enrique Rosas is proud of his unionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work securing a contract. Still, every day working as a custodian is a struggle.

Making ends meet written by BREANNA DIAZ

Only five days after giving birth to her daughter, Gabriela Torian sat to take a final exam. As a student parent, she is used to this type of inconvenience.

PRIME FEATURES

Westwood’s hidden learning haven written by ZINNIA FINN

In a nondescript building in between a despensary and cafe, lies a hidden oasis of intellectual debate for retired Angelenos.

PERSONAL CHRONICLE

When sounds hurt written by SABRINA HUANG

For those with misophonia, public areas, like classrooms and libraries, can be excruciating.

PERSONAL CHRONICLE

The imposter written by LAUREN CAMPBELL

“As a minority, you feel pressured to do something spectacular.” - NAOMI HUMPHREY

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS

Dear reader, Thank you for picking up this magazine, and we hope you enjoy the spring issue, which includes writing from the magazine’s very first class of interns. In this issue, we take a closer look – a closer look at the indiscriminate building nestled in between restaurants that houses some of the most intellectual conversations in Westwood, at the parents who hustle from class to class while balancing the needs of their dependents and at how the AFSCME Local 3299 protests have shaped one man’s experience as a UCLA custodian. In “The uninhibited world of UCLA Secrets,” we see a different side of the Facebook page and the double-edged sword of anonymity. We also dive deeper into identity. Genevieve Finn explores how race shaped her experience studying abroad in Ghana, while Lauren Campell writes about living under the weight of imposter syndrome at UCLA. And, we get insight into a little-known disorder, misophonia, which can turn inconspicuous noises into sources of rage. As always, thanks for reading.

Teddy Rosenbluth PRIME director

Anushka Jain PRIME content editor

Nicole Anisgard Parra PRIME art director

The Uninhibited World of UCLA Secrets written by ALI POND illustrated and designed by CLAIRE SUN

t 24,000 likes, the UCLA Secrets Facebook page is more popular than that of the Daily Bruin, Undergraduate Students Association Council, UCLA Radio or any other student organization on

campus. Undergraduates, alumni and graduate students alike flock to the page to feast on their daily helpings of drama, often sending engagement rates into the thousands. Some posts are shocking – “So we decided to have an orgy like two weeks later.” Others are dismal – “If I asked you to kill me, would you?” All are anonymous. The page’s administration can’t view the sources of submissions and automatically rejects those that name another person directly. Students take the anonymity of UCLA Secrets as a rare opportunity to break from the monotony of the everyday and instead discuss the things that really matter to them. For example, sex – there’s a surprising amount of posts about it. I won’t quote them for reasons I hope you can understand. Other popular themes include social isolation – “How does anyone make friends at this school?” – and relationship problems – “I’m worried that my girlfriend is

going to find out that I’m a weeb and break up with me.” Despite its widespread allure, UCLA Secrets remains “completely unaffiliated with University of California, Los Angeles,” as stated in its Facebook About page. Perhaps that’s part of the appeal. “It feels like an untapped market,” said Alysa Wang, a fourth-year linguistics student. Wang is a “top fan” of UCLA Secrets, a title reserved for the most active page members. Wang said she understands the student body’s need for a forum that regards every opinion, no matter how graphic, with an air of complete neutrality. “There’s not really another platform that’s There’s not really UCLA-specific that lets people fulfill that another platform desire,” Wang said. that’s UCLA-specific John Suler, a professor of that lets people fulfill psychology at Rider University and an that desire. expert in online - A LY S A W A N G anonymity, attributes

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the candid nature of online interactions to what he calls withholding troubling submissions. the “online disinhibition effect.” The admin never revealed their name or face. All I heard In Suler’s book, “The Psychology of Cyberspace,” he was a voice and how firmly it articulated their passion for describes the online disinhibition effect as a phenomenon the “social volunteer work” that they do through UCLA in which people interact differently online than they Secrets. would in real life. On the internet, we experience a “It’s everyone’s page. ... I don’t want to silence anyone’s distinction between our “real” and “online” selves, allowing voice,” they said. “I still think it’s better to know what us to separate online actions from realyour peers are thinking out there, life consequences. This results in more just so we can look at it and say, ‘OK, honesty and, at times, less compassion, let’s assess this, maybe this person is I don’t want to silence especially under the guise of anonymity. uninformed.’” If you’re Generation Z or a phaseThe admin used a recent string anyone’s voice. I out millennial, you likely recall this of posts about mental illness as an still think it’s better idea from cyberbullying prevention example. In the submissions, the seminars in grade school. original poster, or OP, likened himself to know what your Myriad scientific studies discuss to Arthur Fleck, DC’s “Batman” Suler’s disinhibition effect and its many character who later becomes the peers are thinking. manifestations online. One study run by Joker. He wrote that he has been - UCLA SECRETS ADMIN researchers at the University of Central “intensely suicidal and (has) wanted Lancashire examined the Ask.fm trend to harm others with equal intensity that spread through schools in the since March of 2012.” mid-2010s and several adolescent suicides that The posts go on like this – paragraphs and paragraphs followed. describing his misery in great detail. According to the Another study conducted by researchers at admin, the OP submitted each post multiple times University of Houston studied the anonymous until they made it onto the page. When they finally did, comment section of publications, like the Los Angeles responses varied, and drastically so. I remember the visceral Times and the Houston Chronicle, and found that, for “ouch” that surged through me when I read the OP’s first articles about contentious subjects like immigration, post. A sense of hopelessness seeped through the screen; it anonymous commenters were nearly three times more was so real that I could feel it too. likely than nonanonymous commenters to post things Some commenters felt that same pain and reached out that were racist, xenophobic or generally uncivil. with offers of support and friendship in the comments. UCLA Secrets provides a platform for people to Others condemned the discuss taboo or inflammatory topics on the internet. OP, calling him an “incel,” Evidently, our students welcome that opportunity with which refers to a man who open arms. blames a woman for the “A lot of the comments there, no one would be saying a lot of that if they knew who the poster was, or knew their situation,” Wang said. UCLA Secrets shines a new light on our community, showing that we are all basically the same: equal parts distressed – “Whenever I get very sad, I drink by myself,” – vulgar – “I threw up on my roommates bed,” – confused – “Did I get ... married too early?” – and apparently really explicit – “I had sex on one of the tables in a discussion room in PubAff.” It’s unifying, right? But when does that honesty go too far? According to UCLA Secrets’ administration, which consists of just one alumnus who requested to be anonymous for this story, the answer to that question is complicated. The admin wades through around 600 submissions each month and carefully selects which ones make it on the page. As the sole administrator of UCLA Secrets, they assume personal responsibility for both the quality and the quantity of posts. In an earnest attempt to do what’s right, the admin said they often teeter between revealing and

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fact he is not having sex, and comparing him to famous serial killers. The blunt apathy of their remarks surprised me. Is this how they would have responded if his lament had occured in person? But, then again, would the OP have ever spoken these things aloud in the first place? In a later post, he said himself that UCLA Secrets was one of his only healthy outlets. The way the admin sees it, the support the so-called “Arthur” received outweighed the scrutiny. Of the 500 to 600 posts they receive a month, the admin only refuses to post those that break anonymity or overtly threaten others. “This one was really tricky for me, because Arthur was the closest I’ve seen to that,” they said. “He’s actually admitting he wants to hurt people, that’s pretty big. ... But I think it’s more dangerous to not post his secrets than it is to silence him. He’s still feeling and thinking these things. I want people to be able to help him.” Although the page remains largely uncensored, the admin, who joined the page in 2014 during their first year at UCLA, said they’ve personally experienced the repercussions of this laissez-faire approach. A student once direct-messaged the admin with a violent threat in response to a controversial post the student found offensive. The student threatened to hurt the admin if the

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People come to that page to start drama, people come to that page to look for drama, and they all kind of bounce off of each other. - UCLA SECRETS POST

student discovered their identity. The threats scared the admin and compelled them to take a long leave of absence from the page. After some time away, the admin returned and, in a coup of sorts, took full control of UCLA Secrets. It’s been that way ever since. They explained the other admins had conflicting visions for the page. So, for better or for worse, they nixed the interns. Since then, the admin has tried to balance offensive or troubling submissions like Arthur’s with positive submissions, like lighthearted love stories or shoutouts to strangers: “To the guy singing at Ackerman today … you should have kept singing my dude. Queen Elsa could never and those vocals slapped.” Since the admin took control of the page, UCLA Secrets has seen a surge in popularity because of more compelling and frequent uploads. The admin spends a part of every day sifting through and publishing posts, many of which deal with heavy subject matters. “It does take an emotional toll on me,” the admin said. “But I’m going to keep doing this for as long as I possibly can.” Nevertheless, some students still have issues with how UCLA Secrets operates. “I love this page, however it’s been really depressing reading about how fucked up our community is, mentally and emotionally,” read one recent post. “I wish people would stop jumping to conclusions and being so judgemental,” read another. Antonio Rodriguez, a second-year sociology student, said he has his own concerns. As a top fan of the page, he puts a lot of thought into which posts he interacts with and questions the page’s legitimacy. “How can UCLA Secrets check to see how truthful stories are?” Rodriguez said. He is skeptical, for example, of a recent post in which the OP said they fraudulently took an exam to get revenge on their roommate. He said in most on-campus exams, moderators require BruinCards to evaluate students’ identities. This would make it difficult for the OP to have taken a test for a class in which he was not enrolled. This post also detailed the graphic and intensely homophobic abuses the OP endured from his roommate. Rodriguez worries that, as an entertainment platform, UCLA Secrets exploits and fetishizes sensitive topics for the sake of comments and likes – of which the post has over 6,000. Rodriguez is not alone in his grievances – Wang agrees that anonymity can cause problems. “People come to that page to start drama, people come to that page to look for drama, and they all kind of bounce off of each other,” Wang said. “No one is really there because they have a vested interest in what’s being discussed.” Wang said she felt conversations on the page had taken a more extreme shape than they would have in person. As an example, she referenced a series of posts from last summer that dealt with obesity and fat shaming. “The debate became, ‘Obesity isn’t bad for you,’ versus ‘We

should be mean to fat people,’” Wang said. These sorts of discussions, which often occur on UCLA Secrets, miss the mark. When we interact on the internet, it’s as if any semblance of moderate opinion or common ground crumbles beneath us and cascades into the abyss of the online disinhibition effect. But what can be done? The page, after all, is unaffiliated with UCLA. And what should be done, if anything? Without platforms like UCLA Secrets, we risk leaving the extremes unsaid. As both Suler and my tech-wary mother would contend, things get warped online. One study examined the role of anonymity within the socalled “mommy blog” sphere, specifically one website called YouBeMom.com. Of over 51 million posts and comments, around 5% feature the acronym “dh,” which stands for “dear husband,” and the website is used primarily by moms to anonymously vent about their marriages. For example, one post included in the study read, “I came home from work early and caught dh having sex with the Au Pair in our wine cellar. Should I be concerned?” Another read “If dd and I wear matching halloween costumes (hosting a big party) will it be cute or will I look pathetic?” The acronym “dd” refers to “dear daughter.” Although the concerns expressed here aren’t quite as graphic as some that appear on UCLA Secrets, the study shows how people from all demographics, even moms, might find solace in anonymity. “I’d say it’s a net neutral force,” Wang said. “As long as you give people a platform to talk, there’s gonna be assholes and there’s gonna be people crying out for help.” Despite its issues, many users, including Emily Tam, a second-year nursing student and UCLA Secrets top fan, appreciate the page. “I love it, I love UCLA Secrets,” she said.

Tam said the page’s impact on UCLA student life stems from the breadth of common experiences the posts cover. For her, relatability means solidarity. She cited mental health as an example; the topic is frequently addressed on UCLA Secrets, and Tam said she feels these discussions are reducing stigma around mental illness on campus. “It shows how helpful and sympathetic people are, or can be at least,” she said. Tam’s convictions about the page prove true in real life. The top fans I spoke with have tasted the tangible fruits of the admin’s virtual labor. Rodriguez, for example, wrote a paper for an LGBTQ studies class about a submission that addressed the hypersexualization of men in the gay community. He said he used the post in his paper, on which he received an A, to further his analysis on body image disorders through an LGBTQ+ lens. “The comments I’ve made on UCLA Secrets are definitely some of my better contributions to campus culture,” Wang said. At times, her comments have reached far beyond the screen. Wang said she has offered her support to a person who reached out to her after she commented on a post in the past. Wang feels without UCLA Secrets, people might not have access to an outlet for their feelings. Even the admin has found refuge in UCLA Secrets’ enclaves of vulnerability. As an undergraduate, the admin struggled initially to find a place where they belonged, so they said they used their position at UCLA Secrets to facilitate that belonging, for both themself and others. “UCLA Secrets gives everyone that community they might be missing, at the end of the day,” they said. “I think we kind of avoid negativity a little bit too much. I say go for it. Even if it’s negative, go for it.” ♦

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Making

n D s

meet written by BREANNA DIAZ photographed by KEATON LARSON designed by INDYA DONOVAN

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Torian only allowed herself five days to recover in the hospital before returning to school to take her finals.

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ith her 9-month-old strapped onto her chest, a loaded backpack on her shoulders, a baby gobag in one hand and two midterm study guides in the other, Gabriela Torian made her way up the hill by Janss Steps to squeeze in an extra study session outdoors. “OK, we’ll go over the nature of war now,” said Torian, a second-year Middle Eastern studies student, to her daughter Mia. “First, you have to understand the theories of war.” Torian thought for a second, took a glance at her notes and recited definitions of war theories to her baby. It was a hectic morning for Torian. Mia woke up earlier than usual, and, because her husband was already at work, Torian was left to prepare her baby’s food and pack up her supplies before heading to campus, all while stressing over her upcoming exams. A little over a week before 2019 spring quarter finals, Torian was nine months pregnant and about a day away from giving birth. Torian only allowed herself five days to recover in the hospital before returning to school to take her finals. “During those days, I was in the hospital FaceTiming (in) for my lectures,” Torian said. “I was coordinating times with my professors and the (teaching assistants) on when it would be OK to dial in. I didn’t miss a beat.” Torian is also an active duty Marine at UCLA as a part of the Marine Enlisted Commissioning Education Program, a highly competitive program that allows selected participants to pursue a bachelor’s degree while remaining on active duty and participating in the Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps, or NROTC.

Torian’s days begin at 4:30 a.m., and as her baby sleeps for the next two hours, she takes advantage of this time to do housework, finish readings, do homework and prepare to head to campus with her daughter for mandatory NROTC physical fitness training. While Torian attends her NROTC functions, she said she often relies on a friend to babysit Mia before going about the rest of her day. In some cases, Torian’s husband takes over the child care, but sometimes Torian has had no other choice but to take her infant daughter with her to class. “Discussions were late in the evening and I was breastfeeding at the time still,” Torian said of fall quarter. “I didn’t want to be away from my baby from 6 (a.m.) to 6 in the evening because I was here early.” Students with dependents compose a small portion of UCLA’s overall student body. Gauging the exact number of students is difficult because there is no formal marker included in the University of California application, but, in 2018, there were about 388 enrolled undergraduates with dependents. This modest population faces significant obstacles while attending a four-year university. On average, parenting students face lower graduation rates and have higher financial needs than traditional undergraduates. In 2019, Isabel Oraha, a fourth-year history student, was elected to the Undergraduate Students Association Council as the transfer student representative. Her platform was based on expanding child care and prioritizing the needs of students with dependents. UCLA operates three Early Care and Education, or ECE, centers – two on campus and one off campus at the University Village. Of these three, only two child care

centers serve student families, while the third exclusively serves staff and faculty families. In total, the two centers that include student families only accommodate approximately 275 children for at least 388 parents with dependents, leading to exorbitant waitlist times and tuition costs between $1,650 and $2,795 per month, depending on the age of the child. “It’s very obvious that the ECE centers just were never made with students really in mind,” Oraha said. “It’s not really a matter of changing policy. It’s literally that there’s no space.” Lack of child care can be especially distressing during emergencies when the child needs their parent. Gustavo Tepetla’s 6:30 p.m. visual and performing arts education class had just begun when he received an urgent call. Tepetla, a third-year design media arts student, found out his 3-year-old daughter Kayla broke her arm. Tepetla informed his professors, who assured him they were OK with him leaving class to tend to his daughter. However, Tepetla’s family, who had been caring for Kayla when it happened, told him that by the time he fought the evening traffic and made it home to the San Fernando Valley, everything would already be under control at the hospital. “I ended up staying in class,” Tepetla said. “But again, I’m in class, I’m being told, ‘Don’t worry.’ But of course – I’m a parent, so I’m concerned the entire time.” Tepetla, a single father, also lives with a disability – a car accident over two years ago caused permanent injuries to his arms and legs, shoulder strains and difficulty walking. Although he should have been given a parking permit for this disability, Tepetla was unaware of the new online Bruin ePermit system, and the application period had passed

when he attempted to apply over the summer. He filed a special appeal, but despite being both a disabled and parenting student, Tepetla had not heard back from UCLA Transportation by the first day of fall quarter. For a disabled single father, having a parking permit is imperative. In order to sort out the issue, Tepetla was forced to risk parking tickets and appeal for a parking permit in person. Only when he physically went to the transportation office on campus was he able to verify his eligibility for a parking pass and secure the permit. Additionally, his daughter was diagnosed with autism, presenting another challenge for him as he fights to get the best treatment plan he can for Kayla. Taking care of the emergencies that arise as a parent, while also dealing with school, would be a lot easier if he knew his daughter was being taken care of somewhere nearby, Tepetla said. But being away from her for over 12 hours a day while he is at school keeps him from focusing on class work and extracurriculars. Tepetla makes the hourlong commute home to spend time with his daughter until she falls asleep. Then, he starts his school work. “If she was here and ... she broke her arm and I’m here, then I could easily walk out of class, let my professors know, walk her over to (Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center), have her treated and everything taken care of,” Tepetla said. But the lack of financial stability Tepetla and many other students with dependents face prevents him from accessing resources supposedly in place to help students with dependents, such as family housing at the University Village and child care. The University Village Apartments is the only housing offered to families. Monthly apartment rates range from

$1,484 for a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment, and up to $1,999 for a three-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment. In the long run, it is more financially feasible to commute several hours a day and scramble to find child care than to pay thousands for either resource, Tepetla said. Alternative programs are in place, such as the Little Bruins Clubhouse at the John Wooden Center, but the weekday evening hours of 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. are often unhelpful to parenting students whose classes are usually during the mornings and afternoons. Scheduling classes at times convenient for these students has also been particularly difficult. Fortunately for Torian, her NROTC status means she falls under one of the groups with priority enrollment at UCLA, meaning she is able to plan her weeks to be as efficient as they can be. Other students with dependents, such as Tepetla, have been able to access some degree of priority enrollment through the Center for Accessible Education. Students with dependents in general, however, are not part of the groups that have priority enrollment. As a single mother of a 4-year-old daughter, third-year sociology student Adrienne Carruthers chose to attend UCLA because her options of going school were limited by location. For Carruthers, coming to UCLA was not a matter of choosing her dream school – it was simply the most practical option for her as a working mother. Carruthers finds that her selection of classes is drastically limited because she can only be on campus on select days and has to work around her daughter’s schedule, and classes fill up faster than Carruthers can get the chance to enroll. With her daughter at school from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., Carruthers has to plan accordingly. She cannot attend a class before 9 a.m. because she has to be there to drop off her daughter, but in one instance, the only option for a

discussion section was at 8 a.m. Knowing she would not be able to make it, Carruthers enrolled anyway and managed to find someone willing to switch the 8 a.m. discussion with a later one at 8 p.m. Being on campus so late then presents another challenge, forcing Carruthers to ask friends and family if they can watch her daughter while she is at school. For Carruthers, transitioning from her community college’s semester system to UCLA’s quarter system was complicated by the inability to select classes that allowed her to be there for her daughter. Carruthers’ community college also offered priority enrollment for parenting students and a variety of scheduled class times, which Carruthers said made it easier to be both a student and a parent. At her community college, classes were offered at a variety of time slots and online classes were offered, which help accommodate a working parent’s schedule. However, Carruthers found at UCLA that even classes that would be easier to take, such as online classes, fill up before her enrollment pass opens. Other UC schools, such as UC San Diego and UC Santa Barbara, provide priority enrollment passes for parenting students, but UCLA falls behind in assisting them with balancing their academics with being a parent. Priority enrollment for students with dependents has been on the table for years at UCLA. In 2016, a parenting student at a USAC meeting advocated for priority enrollment, and before that, in 2015, a proposal was sent to the Academic Senate, which, at the time, had no formal committee organized to process these demands, Oraha said. The proposal was lost in the disorganization of the USAC bureaucracy. Zuleika Bravo, a third-year Latin American studies and political science student and chair of Parenting Students

- Gustavo Tepetla

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

It's always good to be mindful around parenting students, because you don't know if they slept that night. ... You don't know if they've skipped a couple of meals already as a day has gone by.

at UCLA, took her firsthand experience as a parenting student and began advocating for a change in policy. Bravo had put off required classes for her major, either because the offered class times clashed with her responsibilities as a mother or because she was unable to secure a spot in a class that would have been convenient. Last year, Bravo struggled to enroll in an American politics class, which is required for the political science major. All the offered class times were either too early or too late for her schedule. In the early mornings, she had to drop her daughter off at school and be there in the afternoon to pick her up. Even if Bravo could have worked around these times, by the time her enrollment pass rolled around, the class was full. Bravo will have to stay at UCLA an extra year to complete her double major. When Oraha and Bravo met in mid-2019, Bravo helped Oraha organize her parenting-students-based campaign. Once Oraha was elected, they planned to officially revise the original failed proposal and push their new draft through the bureaucratic hurdles that halted the proposal for priority enrollment several years ago. In fall 2009, the Undergraduate Council of the Academic Senate cut priority enrollment numbers from 8,300 to around 1,500. Since then, very few groups have been added to the list of priority-enrollment-eligible groups, including foster youth and veterans. Athletes and regents scholars, though, maintain their priority enrollments. An ad hoc committee dedicated to processing these requests and considering if there is a significant need for priority enrollment was then established. The committee then assesses the impact of granting the request on the student body as a whole and deciding how many units

would be allocated to the priority groups if their request is granted. “It feels like a very obvious ask,” Oraha said. “And I think a lot of academic senators can relate to having children and being bound to the schedule of public school. Hopefully they really appreciate that. There’s a significant portion of students here that are trying to get an education while oftentimes raising a child or caring for a younger sibling on their own.” Oraha and Bravo began a petition to foster support for priority enrollment from UCLA’s student body while their proposal is under review and awaits a formal vote from the Academic Senate. The only way anyone would know if a student has dependents is by asking them – their struggles and needs would otherwise go unnoticed, Oraha said. There are resources available to them, such as food closets, lactation rooms and special accomodations for pregnant students, Bravo said. But many go through their undergraduate education completely unaware of most of these resources because there is no way for organizations to identify and reach out to this population en masse. The life of a parenting student is multilayered, Tepetla said. As parents and students, one cannot only focus on getting through school; parents are constantly concerned with the well-being of their children, making sure they have food, clothes, a home and that they are safe. If sacrificing mental health, sleep and forgoing other responsibilities is the only way to make ends meet, many parents – especially students – have no choice. “It’s always good to be mindful around parenting students, because you don’t know if they slept that night,” he said. “You don’t know if they’ve skipped a couple of meals already as a day has gone by.” ♦

the fundamental

DIFFERENCE

On social media, students abroad flaunt baguettes under the Eiffel Tower and tzatziki in Greece. For students of color, the experience can be very different.

showed up in Ghana cocky. I expected to touch down and adjust immediately to my semester-long University of California Education Abroad Program at the University of Ghana. But as I traveled around Accra by tro-tro, I collected instances of men following me down alleys, grabbing me in markets and yelling “Hong Kong girl” and “ching chong” from their cars. I found myself feeling jumpy, paranoid and frustrated at my inability to untwine race-based misogyny and simple cultural warmth. Many things I totaled as bad experiences were actually situations I had misunderstood. One evening, I came home to my all-girls dorm being “raided” by the boys’ dorm from up the road. The boys came into the courtyard, made a lot of noise, shot off rifle blanks, played music and some wore very little clothing. I walked into the swarm at around 9 p.m., alone. As I wove through the crowd, a gun went off beside me. I shrieked. The boys laughed and jeered. When I reached my room, I burst into tears. As I calmed down more, I realized that, though I had felt at risk of assault, I hadn’t been at all. This was their space, their home. This “raid” was a tradition of theirs, a event with dancing and cheer. I also began to doubt if I would have felt so unsafe had those been white people instead of black people. I was constantly worried I was plagued by confirmation bias, influenced by broad-stroked stereotypes of Africa.

I was going on month six of traveling – I had taken spring quarter off from UCLA to hop around Asia and spent the summer working in Australia. With these solo travel experiences under my belt, I thought I’d leave the program fading in the red dust, taking long-haul transportation to the mountains or savannah.

I slept through the comprehensive orientations our advisors prepared for us, preferring to catch up on jet lag. I didn’t bother befriending my UCEAP peers, who I assumed would slow me down as I flitted around Ghana, leaving town every weekend for a new adventure, just as I saw my peers do in Europe or South America on Instagram. I did no flitting. Instead, I crawled inside myself in a way I never had before. By the end of the program, I only left my dorm to attend my classes, grab a bite or disappear for long, undisturbed walks on the jungle-laced campus farm. I attracted male attention without fail. In Ghana, I witnessed men hit on women casually and often and was told it was a sign of friendliness.

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written by GENEVIEVE FINN illustrated by NICOLE ANISGARD PARRA designed by ELIZABETH CANNELLA

I did no flitting. Instead, I crawled inside myself in a way I never had before.

Still, I could not adjust to what I perceived as the touchier, more romantic Ghanaian culture, which, in my experience, often felt racialized. The worst incidents always happened when I was alone. Once, a Ghanaian taxi driver took me on a circuitous route home at night and started telling me all the sexual things he’d like to do to me. This was harassment. Without friends to witness, I could not gauge if I was ever in danger or if I was just suddenly visibly different for the first time, and reacting exactly like someone who has gone her entire life not knowing what that is like.

UCLA friends enjoying baguettes under the Eiffel Tower, eating tzatziki in Greece and indeed, drinking sangria in Spain. So I wondered, who gets to go where and in what capacity?

I began aggressively yelling at every man who approached me instead of utilizing humor to redirect the conversation as the UCEAP therapist advised. Irritable and paranoid, when another taxi driver later attempted to overcharge me the Ghanaian equivalent of 20 U.S. cents, I threw the money down and slammed his door. Only months before, I could never have imagined myself treating someone else like that, much less someone in a country in which I was a guest. I chose to act like an entitled American, not yet realizing that I was an entitled American – having the power of the U.S. dollar, U.S. consulate and an entire program dedicated to making my experience good. If I really hated Ghana so much, why didn’t I leave? Somewhere in the crosshairs of race, gender and nationality, I lost the will to continue exploring. I could not appreciate the bright professors I learned from and fragrant jollof and crispy fried fish I ate. I no longer noticed the gorgeous, towering cathedrals and Empire State Building-like termite hills that shot up along my path to class nor the tropical heat that warmed each day. Instead, I fixated on the limits of my mobility. Could I really go wherever I wanted? As I started speaking to my American peers in Ghana about mobility, I slowly grasped that being unable to do what I wanted whenever I wanted was not novel to many of the black and Latino people around me. Some of them expressed to me that the alienation I felt looking around my lecture halls and not seeing another face the same skin tone as mine is pretty run-of-the-mill for a student of color attending a school like UCLA or UC Berkeley, at which black or African American students make up less than 5% of the population. One of my black friends said offhandedly that he chose not to study abroad in Spain because it was “not for someone like him.” Meanwhile, on social media, I saw my

A continent away, Sue Han, a third-year linguistics and Spanish student, was grappling with similar questions in Santiago, Chile. Born in the United States, raised in Korea and now attending UCLA, Han found herself fitted into a Chilean racial calculus different than any she’d experienced. Han said in Chile, Asian immigrants make up much of the economic underclass, often doing manual labor, like working in restaurants and grocery stores. One of Han’s friend’s homestay parents once told her to leave a chore, saying “That’s work for the chinos.”

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I slowly grasped that being unable to do what I wanted whenever I wanted was not novel to many of the black and Latino people around me.

She said her appearance sometimes attracted sexual exoticization and prolonged looks as she moved around Santiago, a lively Andean city in a tiara of snowcaps. Then the protests broke out. According to The Guardian, in October 2019, protests over a rise in subway prices escalated into a national uprising demanding structural political and economic changes. Tear gas spread. The metro burned down. Several people died, countless more were arrested. Han had to orient herself within a rapidly evolving social movement – as an American, but also as an Asian American, and as an Asian American only in the country for a matter of months at that. What was a foreigner’s place within the protests? At the

time, Han told herself it was to learn as much about what was going on as possible, raise awareness and add to the count of protesters. At the same time, she realized her limitations as a visitor. She looked different from the rest of the crowd. When the protests grew dangerous and nationalistic, Han said people around her would see her and her friends and tell them to “Leave right now,” almost as if they were saying “This isn’t your place.” Maybe it wasn’t her place among body-armored military and college students trying to ease a boa-constrictor-tight government. Han still doesn’t know.

therapist. I had capable and kind advisors who took students sick with malaria to the hospital in the middle of the night without complaint. There was a UCEAPdesignated van. There were special information sessions about culture shock with snacks. But that does not invalidate the unique difficulties students of color face going abroad, who make up nearly 64% of the more than 2,000 Bruins who go each year, even though some of those students certainly have advantages because of their American citizenship. What – if anything – could be done by UCEAP to prepare them for the realities of traveling as a minority?

Studying abroad – dipping into another country’s educational system for only a few months – is wrapped in privilege. “Traveling isn’t something my family really does, like that’s a really white thing to do, a really rich thing to do,” said Maripau Paz, a Latina fourth-year political science and global studies student. That’s why she felt so lucky to fund her study abroad program through scholarships and aid, she said. She spent the summer traveling around Shanghai on a bullet train and eating soup dumplings. Though 50% of UCEAP students were on some kind of financial aid last year, studying abroad can tend to attract financially privileged students who can afford to go in the first place. While in China, Paz could only afford to splurge on one short trip to the Great Wall of China, while others in her program went somewhere splashy each weekend. “You’re most likely with people in a high-income tax bracket who have traveled before,” she said. “Whereas for me, it was my first time leaving the country.” For some, a Western passport and study-abroad program create a very specific type of travel experience. In Ghana, I had an insurance-covered UCEAP-approved

Mia Glionna, a third-year African American studies and American literature and culture student, studied abroad in Europe two summers ago. Traveling in Spain for her program and later Italy afterward, Glionna, a half African American, half white student, said, because of her appearance, she was not subject to overt racism. However, she still felt she was susceptible to racial microaggressions.

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Studying abroad – dipping into another country’s educational system for only a few months – is wrapped in privilege.

For example, in Italy, people would tell her she takes more after her black mother than her Italian father. Glionna said from the looks on their faces she knew

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She began to understand that the reality is that most of the world may greet her with some preconceived notions, but she has the power to shift these notions through her own actions.

this remark had negative connotations. Glionna did, however, want to be clear that just because she primarily experienced microaggressions does not mean that more virulent racism cannot happen to other people of color in Europe. These racial microaggressions were sometimes second fiddle to Europeans’ overall reaction to her as an American. “When you’re an American there, period, they have a certain image of you,” she said. The stereotype, according to Glionna, is that Americans are loud, kind of careless and sometimes dumb. Though she said nationality often took precedence over race in people’s treatment of her, Glionna still would have liked for her professors to bring up race in her orientations or have had more guidance counselors on-site. “They don’t prepare you for the minority experience of studying abroad,” Glionna said. “And I think they should.” Mauricio Cobian, associate director of UCEAP programs, said he would love to discuss with students how their identities might manifest abroad, but this is often stymied by the fact that students rarely give feedback when they return to UCLA. “I’m going to say nine out of 10 times, ... once a student returns, they don’t come back and talk to us,” Cobian said.

“It’s rare that we even hear any kind of story, whether it’s good or bad.” Further, each society is accordion-folded with nuanced histories of colonialism and immigration. For example, being of mixed-race descent is different in Brazil than it is in Britain than it is in Westwood – how could study abroad advisors know which future students to give a warning to? “I can’t sit in an advising session and go, ‘You kind of look like a student of color, you might want to consider these things,’” Cobian said. “It’s ultimately up to the student to engage.” UCEAP cannot control every factor of every students’ abroad experiences, but Cobian said he immediately put conversations about this topic into motion in his office after our interview.

I wish I had known more about what Ghana might be like for me, how deep unwanted sexual attention might cut into my mental state. Maybe UCEAP could have foreseen that, maybe not. Despite this, I miss Ghana now, especially the friends who helped me when I was most upset about the worst incidents of harassment. Glionna, too, used community to round a corner. She said she and other students of color made it their mission to seek out black neighborhoods in each new city. In Madrid, her professor offhandedly mentioned that one neighborhood they visited on an excursion was in the flux of gentrification. The enclave’s Senegalese restaurants, beauty salons stocked with black hair products and the higher number of people who looked like her helped Glionna grow more confident and comfortable in Spain. Han found her own way of moving through Chile as an Asian American. She couldn’t imagine the people coming up to her with wide smiles but racially off-color words actually meant to offend her. She said she knew each interaction was in the context of good-natured curiosity. But Han still needed some pointers on how to react best. So she looked online. “I ended up researching by myself after a month or so of being in Chile how to deal with subtle racism in Latin America – and there were actually a lot of YouTube videos,” she said. Han learned to take seemingly racist comments as opportunities for a good conversation about race or friendship. Soon, she stopped getting angry at every single interaction. She began to understand that the reality is that most of the world may greet her with some preconceived notions, but she has the power to shift these notions through her own actions. Han is beamingly glad she chose Chile as her study abroad location. “It taught me more than I lost.” For students of color who might be thinking about studying abroad: I say go. Go, but be aware of how your identity may manifest in your semester-long home. ♦

Understaffed. Overworked. Underpaid.

written by JUSTIN HUWE

photographed by ALEX DRISCOLL designed by NICOLE ANISGARD PARRA

23 23 23

PRIME | FALL 2019

ressed in a white-and-blue pinstripe uniform and armed with a portable speaker, Enrique Rosas started his eight-hour shift, which would last until 2 a.m. I followed Rosas, a senior UCLA custodian, through Knudsen Hall as he moved from bathroom to bathroom. He quickly sprayed down the two stalls and the sinks in the women’s room with soapy water, glossing over them again with a damp rag. The surfaces were left shining as the smell of chemicals filled the air before we moved on to the men’s room. Rosas balances three jobs: cleaning bathrooms at UCLA, working at a print shop and raising his 11-year-old daughter as a single father.

After he gets off his shift, he sleeps for three hours before he has to drive his daughter to school. Then it’s off to his second job, and, after that, he has a couple of hours to answer his daughter’s questions – some about homework and some about why he’s not around at night. By 6 a.m., he’s at the university again. Despite the near-constant exhaustion, Rosas says he loves working for UCLA. “I’m humbled to scrub toilets,” he said. “Service workers are the backbone of this institution.” But Rosas said every day is a struggle – the custodians are understaffed, underpaid and overworked. Rosas is a fierce leader of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees Local 3299

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I remember the first time I encountered lines of people marching up Janss Steps, chanting loudly and carrying signs proclaiming injustice. In all caps and bright green, each sign read, “On strike for unfair labor practice.” Beyond catching the attention of students, the protesters also wanted to catch On a normal night, the attention Rosas is paid to clean of the UC eight bathrooms. When he administration. swings, he is responsible On strike days, students were for 12 or more, with no met with closed additional compensation. dining halls. Only four of the usual eight dining options were available, serving limited menus of food that could be easily prepared and wouldn’t perish quickly. As a sort of apology in advance, the dining halls each served a “best of the best” menu the previous night. Many students opted to trade in a swipe for a meal voucher at an on-campus restaurant. I watched how quickly the luxuries of UCLA had been traded in for burgers from Carl’s Jr. While the strikes inconvenience students living in the dorms, it’s easy to forget the workers behind this fight.

union, which represents over 27,000 workers throughout the University of California system. Union members can range from dining hall workers to care specialists at the hospitals. Union strikes have rocked the UCLA campus for over two years. On six different occasions, service workers and patient-care technicians employed by the university have gone on strike, bringing UCLA to a virtual standstill. High-profile figures, like actress Mayim Bialik and U.S. Rep. Ted Lieu, canceled their graduation appearances in solidarity with the union. The December Democratic presidential debate was moved from Royce Hall to Loyola Marymount University. Presidential candidate Sen. Bernie Sanders even spoke at a union rally in March 2019.

As we made our way down the hall, his cart leading the way, Rosas meticulously checked and emptied every trash can as he described the night ahead. This night, like most nights, he’d be “swinging,” which meant that, after his shift in Knudsen, he had to cover a shift in Schoenberg Hall as well. Although he is technically only responsible for cleaning Knudsen, his bosses regularly ask him to clean another building because of understaffing, he said. On a normal night, Rosas is paid to clean eight bathrooms. When he swings, he is responsible for 12 or more, with no additional compensation. Fitting two men’s workloads into a single eight-hour shift takes its toll on his body, Rosas said. Continuously bending down to pick up trash and wipe down toilets led to a lower back injury that forced him to take time off work. This creates a cycle, Rosas said, of injured employees missing their shifts, other employees picking up the workload and more workers becoming injured. “Work smarter, not harder,” Rosas said his bosses tell him. I asked him what would happen if he didn’t get the work done. “You have to get it done,” he said. A system of punishment is in place for those who don’t complete the work, he said. First, there’s a verbal warning. Next time, you get written up. A paper trail of negative evaluations can leave employees feeling like they have targets on their backs.

alone. To AFSCME Local 3299 members, it seems like all the money is going to management, while service workers are suffering, Rosas said. Additionally, AFSCME Local 3299 workers were pursuing an end to subcontracting, which poses a threat to union members as the university fills jobs with outsourced private workers who are paid less and do not receive health benefits. Job security issues are nothing new to the UCLA campus – AFSCME Local 3299 protests are the result of over 20 years of unresolved negotiations between the union and the UC. Although students have complained about the inconveniences the protests introduce, such as loud noises disrupting their sleep and hair in uncleaned showers, service employees at UCLA have been enduring less than ideal work conditions for decades. On Jan. 21, AFSCME Local 3299 and the UC finally reached a tentative four-year agreement that addressed longstanding issues including low wages and outsourcing. Still, Rosas said there’s more work to be done.

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Rosas puffed out his chest and pressed his face right up to mine. That’s what it feels like when management “keeps an eye on you,” he said. He has even seen matters escalate to the point of suspension. Rosas said the UC never wanted to bargain, or even listen and acknowledge there was a problem. He wanted a seat at the table, but felt like the UC was walking away every time he got close. “You start to feel like a second-class citizen,” he said. “I work for this great university, but I’m not considered part of the family here at UCLA.” After more than two years, the union finally secured its contract. The strikes were meant to demand fair wages, guaranteed pay increases every year and additional health benefits. UC administration has come under fire in recent years – those making over $500,000 per year saw a salary increase of 14% from 2014 to 2015, and the size of administration has grown by over 60% in the last decade

You start to feel like a second-class citizen. ... I

work for this great university, but I’m not considered part of the family here at UCLA. - ENRIQUE ROSAS

Rosas has also been working to pass Assembly Constitutional Amendment 14, which would discourage the UC from hiring contract workers. In 2019, Rosas went to Sacramento to support the legislation and even met Gov. Gavin Newsom to discuss the bill, although it ended up losing by four votes. Rosas said he and his fellow AFSCME Local 3299 board members are working hard to get the bill reintroduced at the state capital in 2022.

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We had an uphill fight with two flat tires. - ROSAS

Once Rosas and I reached the men’s room, he repeated the same cleaning routine, spraying down all the surfaces and then following up with a cloth. By this time, the music had been switched off, so we filled the silence with conversation about our personal backgrounds: the families we love and our aspirations. Born and raised in East Los Angeles, Rosas is the proud son of Mexican immigrants, and a first-generation college student. He graduated from San Diego State University in 2000 with a degree in graphic design. He said his strong work ethic comes from his parents, who used toys to instill the value of hard work in him at a young age. “We earned a toy a month,” he said. “When you’re a kid, a toy is everything – so you made sure to really work for it.” Rosas was inspired to pursue graphic design because of his father. However, he encountered difficulties establishing a stable art career following graduation. After working as an independent inspector at an insurance company, he found himself applying to UCLA as a custodian. “I’d heard it was a good job,” he said. It took two and a half years, but eventually Rosas was hired to work the night shift, and he’s now in the middle of his fifth year at UCLA. In that time, he’s risen up the ranks of AFSCME Local 3299 and now serves on the executive board, political board and immigration board, through which he represents his fellow workers. Rosas acts as a liaison between his colleagues and the union, and he emphasized the importance of making sure his fellow employees know their rights. Spanish-speaking employees often go to him for help with issues such as disciplinary action from management or securing workers’ compensation. All this time, he said he has never stopped making art, taking on freelance graphic design jobs in his spare time. Rosas’ face lit up with a smile the entire time he talked about his union’s role securing the historic contract. “We had an uphill fight with two flat tires,” Rosas said. “But I am so proud to be a part of AFSCME (Local) 3299. We got 99% of our contract.” The fight was personal, and it truly was a family matter, he said. Not only is the union its own type of family, he said, but Rosas even brought his daughter to the strike line to protest alongside his fellow workers.

Almost an hour had passed and my talk with Rosas was coming to an end. While we were saying our goodbyes, the sound of metal clanging interrupted us. I moved to the side, assuming my backpack was hitting a stall door. “That’s not you,” he said, and then pointed upward. “It’s the pipes. Knudsen is 80 years old. First time I was down here, I thought it was a ghost.” Rosas let out a laugh as he touched his forehead, chest and shoulders, making the sign of the cross for emphasis. Then he shook my hand with both of his, looked me in the eyes and sent me on my way. He would be cleaning bathrooms for another seven hours. ♦

WESTWOOD'S HIDDEN LEARNING HAVEN written by ZINNIA FINN photographed by CHRISTINE KAO designed by CLAIRE SHEN

year after Jack Samet retired in 2004, his wife was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. The prognosis was terminal and he immediately became her primary caregiver. “It was clear what was happening,” Samet said. “And what would happen and when it would happen, and we just lived with that for a while.” Years later, Samet found that he was losing himself in the act of caregiving. He knew he needed to do something to save himself – a way to “put his oxygen mask on first” before he could continue helping his wife. Having retired from his career as a lawyer – during which he argued and unanimously won a business case, Holmes v. Securities Investor Protection Corporation, in front of the U.S. Supreme Court – Samet went on to dabble in acting and stand-up comedy. But finding humor in light of his wife’s illness proved difficult, so he began his search for a new passion. It started out rocky, until one day a letter arrived in the mail from the Partners in Learning Actively Teaching Ourselves Society. Hidden next to The Farmacy Westwood lies the entrance to the PLATO Society of Los Angeles. The exterior of the beige building is remarkably nondescript, but the office inside is filled with vibrant oranges and blues. The lifelong learning program – whose members are

on average 74 years old, according to Sam Pryor, the current PLATO president – was founded in 1980 and first called this building home in collaboration with UCLA Extension. PLATO is centered around its hallmark studydiscussion groups, or SDGs, which are peer-led, in-depth explorations of topics ranging from history to music to science. The focus is determined by PLATO’s members, many of whom are retired lawyers, doctors and teachers and 80% of whom have postgraduate degrees. After receiving his letter, Samet applied, interviewed and joined PLATO. At first, he wasn’t interested in socializing with the other members. “I just wanted to go to the course, get a break, come back home and do my duties. That was how it started,” he said. He attended an SDG titled “Wealth and Democracy,” which was the first time he saw Beverly Grabell. At the time, his wife was still ill, and Grabell’s husband had recently died. “It was not love at first sight,” Samet said. A mother of two children, Grabell said she has always had a passion for learning. She returned to school at the age of 28 to receive her registered nurse degree and went on to work in oncology, the neonatal intensive care unit and as a courier for the National Marrow Donor Program. After her husband died, she found herself searching for a new way to spend her time.

Enter PLATO. Grabell heard about the program from a stranger while sitting on a porch of a retreat in Ojai, California. She was in between leases and staying with her friend at the time, who said they should check out the mysterious organization. Like Samet, “Wealth and Democracy” was the first SDG she signed up for in September 2011. The first time Samet and Grabell really spoke was seven months after their “Wealth and Democracy” SDG, in the hallway of PLATO right after Samet’s wife died, when Grabell offered her condolences. They went on a couple of dates, took a break, and then reunited a year later and have been a couple ever since. “There’s a certain – comradery doesn’t seem like the correct word – understanding,” Grabell said. “I mean, I had just gone through this process myself, so I had a certain feeling of sadness for him. It’s hard to lose someone and then go on on your own.” The couple’s relationship sparked Samet’s involvement in PLATO, which was furthered by becoming the hub for members’ concerns and complaints during his role as ombudsman for three years. Now he’s the society’s vice president and latest president-elect, set to begin his term July 1.

Since its inception, PLATO has also always been memberdriven. With only one paid employee, members must be willing to facilitate discussions, place people in classes and even man the front desk, said Alice Lewis, PLATO’s UCLA Honors Program liaison. Members must apply, attend an interview and pay a $530 annual membership fee to be accepted to PLATO. But Marjane Frane, the chair of the membership committee, said members basically choose themselves. “We tell them what PLATO is about, ask what they want out of it and, for the most part, they decide for themselves whether or not they are appropriate,” she said. The SDGs are offered in segments of seven, 10 or 14 weeks and are based on a range of topics that are all member-recommended. Any member can propose a topic and plan for an SDG, even if they aren’t up for the task of facilitating it. Successfully proposed SDG topics have included France during World War II and the history of marriage. Each member takes turns leading the weekly discussions, which can require anywhere from eight to 40 hours of prep in the form of research and formulating questions. The SDGs take place in one of the building’s three classrooms, which are each equipped with a television for slideshows and long tables surrounded by grey plastic chairs padded with woven fabric. All the rooms are white with a single bright accent wall. Shortly after members file in, the discussions begin. In the “American Imperialism” SDG, led by Pryor and Paul Markowitz, 20 members sat around the folding tables, filling the small room nearly to capacity. Books were

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Each member takes turns leading the weekly discussions which can require anywhere from eight to 40 hours of prep in the form of research and formulating questions.

accompanied by legal notepads with scrawled notes or printed packets of additional research. Each person’s place was marked with a nametag, some decorated with stickers and others stained with coffee. When I sat in on this particular SDG, Pryor and I walked in and most discussions trailed off in anticipation for the meeting’s start. “Everyone has to be on their best behavior,” Pryor said, indicating my presence as we sat down. He looked sharply at his co-coordinator across the table,

which garnered laughs from the group. This duo was so well-known for its lively interactions, leading some members to join the SDG simply for entertainment. The group began by asking questions and calling on members with raised hands. What started as a Q&A gradually became a “question and question,” as the group delved into divergent topics and launched into longwinded speeches. An hour later, we broke for 10 minutes. But while some filed into the lounge, others stayed behind, too engaged in

conversation to leave their seats. This thirst for learning is a common trend in every PLATO meeting, particularly following conversations that introduce topics that connect readings between disciplines or compare them across centuries. In a discussion on Charles Darwin, the group debated whether the tree of life was more than just an ancient poetic image. In another SDG, “Our Inner Ape,” there was an extended conversation about how the behavior of bonobos and chimps can impact the interpretations of

statements made by Thomas Hobbes and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Although opinions diverge, members are always respectful. They are never afraid to voice their opinions on anything from the Panama Canal to the meeting’s snack choices. “You have to go to the right cookie store,” Pryor said. “What’s it called again?” Samet asked. “Diddy Riese,” Pryor said. “Ah, right. They only accept Diddy Riese cookies,” Samet said.

PLATO has been, and will always be, a part of the Westwood community. The organization was affiliated

with UCLA until 2013, when it split from the university because of funding issues. Since an alliance with the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at UCLA, a program for older adults based more on lectures and classes, was established in 2010, UCLA needed a certain amount of members to gain funding, and the only way to do this would have been to merge the programs into a PLATO-Osher combined society. This decision would have changed the organization’s name, overridden PLATO’s membership process, forced PLATO to split its meeting spaces across the UCLA campus and given the university control over its class enrollment. So, PLATO decided to leave UCLA. However, UCLA Honors students are still able to join SDGs to receive pass/no pass credit. After the financials were ironed out – which took nearly

two years – the group became known as the PLATO Society of Los Angeles. Michael Lima-Sabatini, a second-year public affairs and statistics student, attended PLATO’s “American Imperialism” SDG because he wanted to learn more beyond his classes at UCLA. “It’s just about discussion and interacting with these people rather than being taught at,” Lima-Sabatini said. “You get to be an equal part of the process.” Despite the heavy intellectual component of PLATO, many members appreciate the sense of community. Cecelia Lam, who has been a member of PLATO for the past four years, said she loves PLATO’s extracurriculars, particularly its annual retreat. The program features hikes, back-to-back mini SDGs, dancing and happy hours. “When I first retired, I was very lost because, suddenly, I

did not have a structure for my daily activities, and, being a single person, I don’t have a family to occupy the rest of my time,” Lam said. “I was actually looking for something that was stimulating, as well as giving me a social network, and I have found that I got them both in PLATO.”

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Samet says he thinks their meeting was a sum of tremendously wonderful random occurrences. Grabell thinks it might be more than that.

I met Samet and Grabell in the Daily Bruin office on Valentine’s Day. They walked from the outskirts of campus to Kerckhoff Hall hand-in-hand as he helped her down the uneven steps

of Bruin Walk. Complete strangers sometimes approach them and say they look like they belong together. I can’t say I disagree. Today, even their outfits were coordinated shades of pastels. Although PLATO does not consume all aspects of their lives, Samet can’t deny what drew them to PLATO is nearly identical to what drew them to each other. Raised in different backgrounds, they carry opposite pasts. Samet lived in New York City, while Grabell grew up on a mountain in rural South Carolina. Still, their current trajectory is bound by a similar “love of learning” – the same as PLATO’s motto. “We learn from each other. We grow as a couple, and it’s a case of two plus two equals five,” he said. “She brings what she brings, and I bring what I bring, and together we both kind of rise to a higher level benefiting from each other.” Samet says he thinks their meeting was a sum of tremendously wonderful random occurrences. Grabell thinks it might be more than that. Regardless, Samet knows one thing for sure. “I really like PLATO, and I love Beverly,” he said. ♦

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I really like PLATO, and I love Beverly. - JACK SAMET

written by SABRINA HUANG

illustrated by BRIDGETTE BARON

atalie Finander was 10 years old when she realized there was something wrong with the way she reacted to chewing sounds. For one, she felt uncontrollably angry. Feelings of rage permeated her consciousness and an uncomfortable pulsing began between her legs. Finander was at a loss for words. She didn’t understand why she felt this way. At first, she thought it was because people chewed with their mouths open. But when she tried ignoring the sounds, she found it was impossible. Over the next six years, public areas, like classrooms and libraries, became excruciating. Finander found it hard to concentrate in class after lunch when kids were finishing their food. When her mom would ask her how her day was, she would list all of the times she heard something triggering, because it was all she could remember. She tried telling people about it – but when she did, no one believed her. Some would go out of their way to exacerbate her symptoms. Once, in dance class, Finander,

a third-year English student, said she asked a classmate to move to a different location to eat. This individual not only refused to stop but began to chew even more loudly. When she told her family, they didn’t believe her. They didn’t seem to care. After all, how could a sound as unremarkable as chewing cause that much pain? In 2001, former Emory University researchers Margaret and Pawel Jastreboff attempted to answer this very question from patients who reported feeling a disproportionately strong aversion to sound. No established medical conditions seemed to encapsulate the symptoms these individuals described. So, the Jastreboffs decided to coin a new term for this mysterious condition that transcended the once-indestructible barriers between the auditory and psychological – misophonia. Derived from the Greek words “misos,” hatred, and “phon,” sound, misophonia translates literally into “hatred of sound.” Some have come to refer to misophonia as selective sound sensitivity syndrome, but for those who have it,

PRIME | FALL 2019

“sensitivity” cannot always fully describe the unexplainable, and, at times uncontrollable, emotional reaction a particular sound may elicit. These noises, referred to as “triggers” or “misophonic sounds,” can range anywhere from the sound of chewing to the tapping of a pen. While trigger sounds vary depending on the individual and the environment they are in, previous case reports have shown a large percentage of these sounds are those generated by other people, particularly with their mouths. These include sounds such as chewing, smacking lips, slurping, coughing and, in some cases, breathing. Although common responses to these sounds include feelings of anger, irritability, disgust and general anxiety, Finander said reactions are not limited to general feelings of aversion or hatred. “When I hear a trigger, the first thing that happens is my whole body kind of jolts, like my muscles all tense up at once,” Finander said. “Immediately following that is feelings of rage. My chest tightens up, I can’t breathe (and), if the trigger sound continues or if it takes me a long time to be able to protect myself from it, I’ll have images of violence against the person just to make them stop.” People with misophonia can also develop a strong reaction to visual stimuli, such as fidgeting or shaking legs. Finander, for example, said she experiences feelings of sexual arousal if she sees someone crossing their legs. The sight of someone’s jaws moving up and down can also be as triggering as the sound of chewing.

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When I hear a trigger, the first thing that happens is my whole body kind of jolts, like my muscles all tense up at once. - N AT A L I E F I N A N D E R

But Finander would have to wait six years before receiving an official diagnosis for misophonia at the age of 16. Her therapist, whom she had been seeing for anxiety, formally diagnosed her with misophonia. Finander had never even heard of the condition before, a perhaps unsurprising fact considering misophonia is categorized as a rare condition by the Mayo Clinic. The long wait for a viable explanation of symptoms and ensuing feelings of confusion in the meantime appear to be common struggles for those who have misophonia. As someone who has the neurological condition myself, it took me five years to discover that the reactions I experienced to the sounds of chewing, swallowing and smacking lips were not a byproduct of puberty or a hormone-addled mind. For myself and Finander, knowing the name of the demon that planted itself in our brains and claimed stake over our sanity did not help. Despite the official diagnosis, Finander’s parents still had trouble believing these symptoms were

legitimate. A name simply did not translate into a solution. “I think they didn’t want to believe that something they had been doing had been causing me so much pain,” Finander said. No matter where those with misophonia go, a trigger is only minutes away. That’s exactly what makes misophonia so challenging to deal with. Researchers do not know why particular stimuli become triggers. However, brain imagery has provided some insight into how misophonia impacts the underlying neurological and psychophysiological mechanisms of patients who have the condition. A group of researchers used functional magnetic resonance imaging, or fMRI, which measures levels of blood oxygenation and flow in the brain, to study the brains of people with misophonia in 2017. The researchers discovered increased activity in the bilateral anterior insular cortex in subjects with the condition after exposure to a trigger sound, while the brain activity of subjects who did not have the condition was largely unchanged. This led researchers to believe those with misophonia may be biologically predisposed to pay greater attention to sounds they consider triggering, one of the first insights into how misophonia works. Researchers also found that neurons in certain regions of brains of those with misophonia have a greater degree of myelin – a layer of fat and protein surrounding nerve cells – that aids in the efficient transmission of signals throughout the nervous system. As misophonic reactions are involuntary, this finding may explain why researchers observed an abnormal degree of functional connectivity between the anterior insular cortex of people with misophonia and the part of the brain responsible for memory. Ultimately, researchers still don’t know exactly what causes misophonia. Researchers prefer to think of misophonia as the product of a confluence of factors. Monica Wu, a clinical researcher in the Division of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry at the UCLA Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior, said these factors can include a genetic predisposition to the condition or the presence of existing psychiatric disorders. Wu, who also works with the Child OCD, Anxiety, and Tic Disorders Program Clinic at UCLA, conducted her own research on misophonia when she was a doctoral student in clinical psychology. In her first experiment, which studied undergraduate students, Wu found a strong association between misophonia symptoms and those of general sensory sensitivities. Most strikingly, however, Wu also found misophonia symptoms were moderately associated with symptoms exhibited by patients who have obsessive compulsive disorder, anxiety or depression. Anxiety, specifically, may play an important role in inducing anger outbursts among subjects with misophonia. But little research has been done on misophonia. Few studies have examined the relationship between the

condition and psychiatric disorders, and Wu said that misophonia can coexist with a variety of mental disorders, such as post-traumatic stress disorder, OCD and anxiety. However, it is still not known if those who have misophonia are more likely to have a preexisting mental condition. But for Finander, her anxiety is deeply tied to her misophonia. If she is feeling particularly anxious, she said her reactions tend to be more severe. The coexistence of misophonia and other recognized psychiatric disorders has prompted researchers to consider classifying misophonia – which currently does not have an official medical classification – under the umbrella of obsessive- and compulsive-related disorders in the fifth edition of the “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.” Some, however, believe misophonia should be classified as its own psychiatric disorder. To make the situation even more complicated, there are people who do not believe misophonia is a mental disorder. Instead, they claim it is a form of synesthesia, a condition in which stimuli perceived by one sense simultaneously affect other senses. At the moment, misophonia has no standardized

classification. While this may not seem like a big deal, the lack of consensus on how to understand misophonia presents problems for medical professionals who seek to provide treatment for patients with the condition. Without a set library of information on misophonia, doctors may have difficulty recognizing and diagnosing patients who have it.

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You start to hate yourself for the reaction that you’re having. ... We are not blind to the fact that this is weird. - FINANDER

Wu said a formal classification of misophonia may also help patients feel more comfortable with their daily realities. Misophonia is a condition few people, including medical professionals, have heard of. My parents, for example, who have both practiced medicine for more than 20 years now, did not know the condition even existed until I brought it to their attention three years ago. This lack of knowledge, while characteristic of recently recognized conditions, can suggest to people with misophonia the emotions they experience are not valid – that is, their experiences are not legitimate enough to be recognized or acknowledged by the greater medical community. “I think that (formally classifying misophonia would) really validate people with misophonia (because) you have a formal diagnosis (and) a formal set of criteria,” Wu said. But at the end of the day, classification is only one piece of the puzzle. Even with a formal classification, living with misophonia can be an endless cycle of unanswerable questions, unexplainable rage and self-loathing. “You start to hate yourself for the reaction that you’re having,” Finander said. “We are not blind to the fact that this is weird.” For people with misophonia, coping strategies are essential to remain in public spaces, where trigger sounds and sights are not just widely anticipated but expected. Whenever I hear the crinkle of wrappers or the opening of a water bottle, I quickly stick my fingers in my ears to prevent the sound from reaching my ears. And when I cannot prepare myself beforehand, I typically

imitate the sound I hear. For some reason, in my delirious mind, this helps to ward off feelings of rage by allowing me the ability to reclaim power over my sanity. But this coping strategy is painful and largely ineffective. Finander, who has learned to develop preventative and coping measures to better handle her misophonia, always has a pair of noisecanceling headphones draped around her neck. She also has a jacket, which she calls her “horse-blinder jacket” because of its large hood, that can help to block out visual stimuli. In lecture halls, she always sits in the front to block out the noises of people eating and the sight of moving jaws. For smaller classroom settings, Finander, who is registered at the Center for Accessible Education for her misophonia, often asks the instructor to establish a no-eating policy. When that doesn’t work, she will ask people if they can stop eating. But Finander said she will try to avoid this at all costs because it makes people uncomfortable. When I asked her why she believes this, Finander said her mom, who has since come around to accepting her misophonia, thinks it’s equivalent to insulting their manners. “(It) makes them feel like a child, and they don’t like that,” Finander said. “Also, eating is normal. All the things that they’re doing that are causing me pain are normal human things, accepted things, things that people have to do.” Treatments do exist to help patients who have misophonia. However, because the condition lacks an official classification, people with misophonia receive different forms of treatment based on what kind of medical professional they see. Wu, a psychologist, offers cognitive behavioral

therapy to her patients with misophonia. Additionally, audiologists can prescribe sound therapy, in which patients are presented with a trigger sound, mixed in with another sound like background noise, but are given control over its volume. Finander has also sought treatments, but she said they have not been very successful. Shortly after receiving an official diagnosis, her therapist attempted to treat her misophonia with exposure therapy. During therapy sessions, Finander’s therapist would chew almonds in what she described as a “very quiet” room and attempt to engage in conversation. It wasn’t long before

â&#x20AC;&#x153; Finander said she broke down and decided to stop the treatment. Finander also tried sequent repatterning therapy in the summer after her first year at UCLA. As part of the treatment, she was put to sleep for 40 minutes at a time by a hypnotherapist in England. Although her mom noticed a difference in her symptoms, Finander said she did not find it to be effective. The Misophonia Institute, the nonprofit that connected Finander to her hypnotherapist, disseminates information on effective symptom-management techniques and treatment options for patients who have misophonia. In addition, it promotes research into the condition. Tom Dozier, a behavior analyst and president of the Misophonia Institute, also owns the Misophonia Treatment Institute. Dozier, who has been studying misophonia since 2012, considers the condition to be both an emotional and physical reflex. Common

treatments provided by his organization include the neural repatterning technique, which Dozier himself developed, and progressive muscle relaxation. The Misophonia Treatment Institute offers services both virtually and in person. While its website contains testimonials from patients who say treatments have been effective, a 50-minute session alone can cost $100. One unlikely source of comfort for people with misophonia is the internet. From numerous support groups on Facebook to websites that aim to increase awareness of the condition, people with misophonia are working to forge their own communities in a world they do not feel they belong in. And Finander is one of them. She created Misophonia Support and Awareness at UCLA a little over a year ago. A support group for students who have misophonia, MSA provides a safe, triggerfree space for people with misophonia to share their experiences with people who

Misophonia is more than the suffocating and, at times, cruelly comical wave of fear we experience when the sound of crinkling food wrappers reaches our ears.

understand their condition. “Finding someone else with misophonia is really incredible because I’m not scared that you’re going to yell at me when I explain,” Finander said. “I wanted a place for people to be able to complain (and) not be ashamed of having it.” Finander currently leads MSA alongside third-year English student Cami Miceli and third-year microbiology, immunology and molecular genetics student Izabel Comandante. Before meeting Finander, both Miceli and Comandante had never heard of misophonia. “I didn’t really understand it at first, but then once I did, it wasn’t a big deal,” Miceli said. “It didn’t change my opinion of (Finander). It just sort of changed the way that I had to accommodate her when we were together, and that was really early on in our friendship.” Accommodating Finander’s misophonia wasn’t difficult, they said. Miceli and Comandante have learned to cover their mouths when they eat with Finander. Both have a tendency to fidget – another visual trigger for Finander – and have also learned to play with toys or hairbands instead. In addition, they typically ask for permission before eating or doing something in Finander’s presence. MSA also aims to increase public awareness of misophonia. Finander, Miceli and Comandante have tabled at events, such the Enormous Activities Fair and Bruin Day. In addition, the three regularly make misophoniarelated memes for MSA’s official Instagram page. Finander showed me some of the memes she thought were especially relevant to her experiences in handling triggers. One was an image of a cartoon character sweating over whether to “Leave a trigger situation and make a scene” or “Explain your misophonia and make a scene.” Another had images of a human brain and a popped kernel with the question of “Who would win?” emblazoned at the top. Public attention has been growing around misophonia. A quick internet search will yield numerous news articles published by NPR, The Washington Post and The Wall Street Journal on misophonia. But the lack of research on misophonia is a problem clinical researchers are still grappling with. Wu, for instance, is currently applying for a research grant to conduct a study on the brain activity of adolescents and college-aged people with misophonia. Using neuroimaging, she and a colleague at the Semel Institute hope to study potential similarities and differences in the neurological

and psychophysiological processes of individuals who have misophonia and those who exhibit sensory overresponsivity. In the meantime, the only thing people with misophonia can do is wait. After years of waiting for our initial diagnoses, it’s something we’ve grown accustomed to do. Finander has accepted that her daily reality will be difficult, that living with misophonia, as she describes, sucks. But for her and myself, misophonia is more than the suffocating and, at times, cruelly comical wave of fear we experience when the sound of crinkling food wrappers reaches our ears. It is more than the triggers we see or hear. And it is more than the anger we feel at the world and ourselves. It is the ironically deafening beat to which we reluctantly, but compliantly, march. It is the canvas upon which the contours of our lives are painted, and it is a fact we need to grapple with every minute of every day, whether we like it or not. Finander, perhaps, explains it best. “Misophonia means hatred of sound, but it’s not really about those things,” she said. “It’s about being lonely.” ♦

written by LAUREN CAMPBELL illustrations by CLAIRE SUN designed by BENNY ZHANG

In spring 2019, I walked onto my high school campus feeling the greatest sense of security I had experienced in the three and a half years I had attended. I was beaming. I had just been accepted to UCLA, a school I had scoffed at only a year earlier for being overly selective. Yet, here I was, ecstatic and relieved I had been granted admission to the university that, after learning more about the school, I had come to admire. For months, I had overheard conversations about applying to UCLA – students anxiously reviewed one another’s essays for the application. Now, I was excited to learn who Some of my in my senior class I might be classmates’ theories attending UCLA circulated back to with. But when I me: I was granted walked into admission because I calculus class, conversations happen to be black. about the university had quieted. The usually rowdy class felt small and oppressively quiet. My classmates and friends stared at their notebooks intently like they were afraid of what would happen if they looked up. As the day continued, people began to talk, but not in the way I expected. They were angry. They felt snubbed. They felt overlooked. People passed around Brownies decorated with explicit comments about UCLA in class. As news of my admission to the university broke, some of my classmates’ theories circulated back to me: I was granted admission because I happen to be black. Friends told me how hard they worked on their applications and how none of it seemed to matter once they had received that Friday’s admissions decisions. I listened to each and every complaint carefully and empathetically, trying to push down an emotion I had not dreamed would have overcome me so greatly on that day – guilt. I didn’t disagree with them – they did work hard and perhaps they were snubbed. I was granted a spot that just as easily could have gone to them. But why me? From their perspective, since universities felt pressured to diversify their student bodies, they had to choose minorities. Minorities had an easier time getting into prestigious universities. This was the only way they could reconcile why, despite all their hard work, I was given a spot and not them. Imposter phenomenon was first introduced in a 1978 journal article titled “The Imposter Phenomenon in High Achieving Women: Dynamics and Therapeutic Intervention” by Pauline Rose Clance and Suzanne Imes,

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psychologists at Georgia State University at the time. The article, which conducted a study using a sample of 95 undergraduate women and 10 women with doctorates at a private university, found that ambitious and successful women felt they were not intelligent enough to occupy the positions they held and that they owed their success to either luck or to convincing others they were more intelligent than they were. Following its introduction, imposter phenomenon was largely applied to groups other than women, most notably university students. Students were overcome by a sense of incompetence, fraud and intellectual inferiority that persisted despite evidence of accomplishments or success. Since the release of Clance and Imes’ findings, myriad articles addressed the feelings of inadequacy that have plagued university students who credit their admissions to prestigious institutions to luck or other factors, carrying insecurity and fear stemming from the belief that they are intellectual frauds.

Of the more than 31,000 undergraduate students enrolled at UCLA, only 3% are African American. My high school classmates were certainly right about one thing: There are not a lot of people at UCLA that look like me. Though on some level I knew that my hard work and abysmal sleeping habits during high school were likely the cause of my UCLA acceptance, I could not say that being admitted as a diversity token never crossed my mind. Almost immediately after my acceptance into UCLA, members of my senior class planted a seed of uncertainty and fostered the fear that I was an imposter.

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Minorities had an easier time getting into prestigious universities. This was the only way they could reconcile why, despire all their hard work, I was given a spot and not them.

The systemic exclusion of minorities from education and employment led to laws such as affirmative action, which promotes the inclusion of historically marginalized groups, including people of color and women, in education and employment through preferential selection of these groups. Since affirmative action was created, stereotypes that minorities are accepted to prestigious universities as

Many college students, regardless of race, have experienced imposter syndrome. Every year, members of the new class of the Stanford Graduate School of Business are asked whether they believe their admissions to the university were the single mistake the admissions committee made. Every year,

more than half of the class raises its hands. Jacqueline Penn, a second-year psychobiology student, said she had experienced imposter syndrome on some level, as she assumed most students had. At about 7 p.m., we sat in a quiet space in the Covel Commons Residential Restaurant. “I think imposter syndrome is based on the judgment of others,” she said. “It is entirely based on what other people believe and how that makes us feel.” When Penn first arrived at UCLA, she said the hierarchy in STEM was a rude awakening. The psychobiology major was perfect for someone like her, who was interested in science and medicine, but, as the daughter of a psychologist, also held a strong curiosity about the biological processes of the brain, she said.

Our fear can extend into almost every one of our accomplishments, making us question whether our race is the basis of our success. I faced a double-edged sword.

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diversity tokens have surfaced. The assumption is that universities accept students because the law requires them to do so, rather than on the basis of their merit. In his Kentucky Law Journal article, “The Smug Assumption of Reverse Discrimination: Abigail Fisher and Fisher v. University of Texas at Austin,” attorney R. Nicholas Rabold referred to this phenomenon as the “merit objection” to affirmative action: Disappointed college applicants feel cheated out of their acceptance to universities because affirmative action policies disregard merit when it comes to minorities. This belief system has persisted and made college minorities like me experience imposter syndrome on another level. Our fear can extend into almost every one of our accomplishments, making us question whether our race is the basis of our success. I faced a double-edged sword. If a member of a minority group faced discrimination in education and employment because of their race, it was a shame, but when they had success, it was also a shame because that success was only granted because of their race.

She soon learned, however, that psychobiology was often discredited within the STEM community at UCLA, looked down upon as being the “easy way out” among pre-medical students. This criticism instilled a sense of imposter syndrome in Penn, who struggled to filter out the

dismissive commentary about her major. this, but you’re here as a diversity token,” Humphrey said. “Something like imposter syndrome still exists “It’s just hard to distinguish whether you got in because because of people who feel the need to discount others’ you are actually good or because of someone else’s agenda.” accomplishments in order to feel better about themselves,” When she imagined going to a university, she had come Penn said. “It is imposed by people who feel that they to terms with the fact that there would not be a lot of don’t belong themselves and then take it out on others.” people who looked like her. She did not expect there to be As our conversation came to a close, I realized that, on more than a 10% black student population. some level, I envied Penn. She did not foresee she would experience persistent Her imposter syndrome stemmed feelings of inadequacy and intellectual from criticism that she recognized inferiority at UCLA. came from the insecurities of her “As a minority, you feel a little lost critics. Once she realized this, it was and alone,” she said. “You don’t feel like something she was able to move past. everyone else at school experiences the Despite the criticism of her major, same things that you do.” She counts how many she knew she belonged here. She Among these experiences were chose psychobiology because it was differences in education and resources. black students she the best fit and she was going to stick Humphrey went to a high school in sees. She said she never South LA with a predominantly black with it. She knew she could change her student body. In her school, there were counts more than 15. major if she wanted to or could have no Advanced Placement or International chosen a different pre-medical major Baccalaureate courses, textbooks were in her application. outdated, and SAT and ACT tutors were I could not have chosen not to be black. unheard of. For minorities, imposter syndrome can be exacerbated. “I can only speak from my own experience as part of Every time Naomi Humphrey, a second-year African my own community,” Humphrey said. “But a lot of black American studies student, walks to class at UCLA, she students feel like they are pretending to be scholars and counts how many black students she sees. She said she that they are just not at the level of those who learned never counts more than 15. more in their high school.” As a black UCLA student and resident of South Los The educational disparity because of a lack of resources Angeles, Humphrey said imposter syndrome has isolated fueled her insecurities over her academic experiences, her at UCLA. which fueled her imposter syndrome, she said. “It can be isolating to feel like you don’t deserve any of “People would come up to me and say that I got in

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because they needed diversity,” Humphrey said. “It was upsetting, but it’s understandable because the thought honestly crossed my mind as well.” Even fellow black students in her high school insinuated she got into UCLA because of her race. “Honestly, as a minority, you feel pressured to do something spectacular,” she said. “If you have to represent your community, you have to do something great.” Though she was uninterested in STEM, Humphrey said she first enrolled at UCLA as a pre-medical psychobiology student. She said it was difficult to come to a university like this and choose a major she was passionate about like African American studies, which she later switched to. It had to be something her community would be proud of. “I know that there are not a lot of us here,” Humphrey said. “We are what, 3%? So when I see a black student on campus, I just think just how hard they had to work to make it here and be a part of that 3%. ... It made me think differently.”

Ultimately, my high school peers’ theories about my admission were not only insensitive but impossible. Though federal law allows universities to use race as a factor in admissions, California abolished the use of race, ethnicity and gender as criteria for admission to public schools like UCLA in 1996.

Despite the laws in place, the stereotypes surrounding college admissions can make minority students feel misplaced. Not a single University of California school has an undergraduate black or African American student population of over 5%. UCLA has an African American student population of 3%.

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Ultimately, my high school peers’ theories about my admission were not only insensitive but impossible.

I was one of four people in my senior class to be admitted to UCLA. For a while, I felt as though I had to answer for my acceptance differently than the others. In truth, I might never know what the ultimate deciding factor for my admission to UCLA was – it could have been the personal essays I pored over, the resume that reflected my interests or the academic record I worked very hard to build. Though I do find some solace in the fact that it was not because of my race, when I walk into a 400-person lecture and can count the number of black students on one hand, the feeling of being an imposter creeps in. But imposter syndrome is an attitude that people can overcome. Marking my race was a small aspect of a holistic application – and my admission to UCLA was not contingent on whichever box I checked. ♦

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