Prime Winter 2022

Matter of time

A beautiful something

by Devon Whalen on page 20

What’s in a name?

by Martin Sevcik on page 32

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letter from the editors

Dear reader, Needless to say, winter quarter got off to a rocky start. As the omicron variant surged, PRIME shifted its operations to be fully remote, requiring our writers to report from behind a screen instead of in the field.

Week after week, as the start of in-person instruction was delayed, we counted down the days until we were back together again.

In this issue, PRIME dives into stories for which time is of the essence. Amid changing times, we explore the recent movement to rename buildings honoring controversial historical figures and how this discussion has come to UCLA. And on the traffic-packed highways of LA, writer Rania Soetirto tells the stories of UCLA’s student commuters – including herself – and the long hours they spend on the road.

For writer Devon Whalen, enrolling at UCLA as a transgender student was a decision filled with uncertainty. Transitioning has been a yearslong journey, and feeling comfortable in college has taken time – but they have found a home.

Here at PRIME, we make it our mission to uncover the untold stories of our community, both at UCLA and in Westwood. Thank you for picking up a copy of our winter issue. We hope you find these pieces as timely as we do.

Emily Dembinski PRIME art director

Justin Huwe PRIME director

Abigail Siatkowski PRIME content editor PRIME | WINTER 2022

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PRIME

CONTENTS

CULTURE

|

WINTER 2022

FEATURE

16 A digital double-edged sword written by KATE GREEN

Experts worry remote learning limits language-building face-to-face conversations – but some multilingual and ESL students at UCLA actually prefer their coursework on Zoom.

6 Peace, love, unity & recreational drugs written by MEGAN FU

Is this community bonded by a shared love of music or pervasive drug use? Explore the reality of Los Angeles’ rave culture.

CAMPUS

11 The labor behind the landscape

PERSONAL CHRONICLE

on the cover photographed by CHRISTINE KAO

written by DYLAN TZUNG

UCLA is one of the most beautiful urban campuses in the country – but who maintains the greenery many Bruins take for granted?

20 A beautiful something written by DEVON WHALEN

“Transness can be something more than nothingness where pain used to be.”

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PRIME CONTENTS |

WINTER 2022

COMMENTARY

37 The extra mile written by RANIA SOETIRTO

More than 20,000 students commute back and forth to UCLA. What does life look like for these Bruins?

INVESTIGATION

27 By their side

written by RACHEL ROTHSCHILD

Students with service dogs are grateful for the help their companions offer, but having a canine on campus isn’t always easy.

PERSONAL CHRONICLE

CAMPUS

32 What’s in a name? written by MARTIN SEVCIK

On college campuses across the country, people are reckoning with buildings and monuments named after questionable figures – including those on UCLA’s campus.

42 Being the bystander written by IMAN BABER

Watching a loved one battle illness is never easy. Amid sadness and stress, there can be guilt, too.

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WRITTEN BY MEGAN FU

PHOTO ILLUSTRATIONS BY MEGAN FU & SETH VAN MATRE DESIGNED BY CHARVI NAGPAL

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Editor’s note: The following article mentions instances of drug use and death that may be disturbing to some readers.

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onning my Amazon LED cat ears, “Euphoria”inspired blue eyeshadow and a white skirt of questionable length, I both look and feel unrecognizable from my normal self.

“What am I doing here?” I think as I weave through a sea of unmasked, sweaty and scantily clad bodies.

It’s Dec. 31, and I’m at one of the biggest raves of the year – Countdown NYE in San Bernardino, California.

Lit up by thousands of blue, pink and green neon lights, UFOs and alien decor transform the National Orange Show Event Center into an early 2000s sci-fi movie set. Thick clouds of sickly sweet vape juice and marijuana smoke fill the air. It’s almost 40 degrees Fahrenheit, but with everyone’s combined body heat making it feel closer to 80 degrees, guys

are comfortably shirtless and girls can remove their jackets to show off their lingerie.

So how did I – someone who exclusively listens to soft indie pop and groans whenever EDM plays in the car – end up here?

After months of resistance, my friends convinced me to attend my gateway rave in November. And to my own surprise, I bought tickets to another rave soon after.

Over the past few months, I’ve fluctuated between experiencing the thrilling highs of laser lights and synthesizers and the humiliating lows of catching COVID-19 at a rave and driving a total of 20 hours to and from San Francisco for a two-hour performance. But for better or for worse, these experiences have been two of the most

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memorable weekends of my college career.

Kiara Tatsuno, a student at Pasadena City College, had a much younger start to the rave scene, attending her first rave at 16 years old. As a junior in high school, she was the youngest member of her group and was extremely nervous to go. But the rave community embraced her with open arms.

Tatsuno attributes this community atmosphere to rave culture’s philosophy of peace, love, unity and respect – commonly referred to as PLUR. Peace means radiating positive energy, love means sharing a connection with others, unity means fostering a welcoming community and respect means treating others with compassion, Tatsuno said.

Raves provided the sense of community she lacked at community college, she added. In her application to USC, Tatsuno cited the newfound belonging she feels in the rave community as the reason for her desire to attend the school, which boasts its own rave community.

She recalled how at Countdown NYE, she spontaneously bumped into a rave circle she met months prior at a different rave. It felt like no time had passed between them, Tatsuno said, and she stayed with them the entire night, dancing and screaming song lyrics.

“The people you meet during these raves – it’s life changing,” she added.

In 2021, Tatsuno spent around $3,000 on raves, she said, including outfits, tickets and travel fees. She documents her rave adventures for an audience of almost 20,000 people on TikTok. Tatsuno also recently joined a Discord server for rave content creators called the House of PLUR. Describing it as a place where fellow EDM fans can meet each other, share song

recommendations and bond over a love of the culture, Tatsuno said she finally feels like she has found the friends she was looking for in community college.

And Tatsuno is not alone in this feeling.

Student A, a fourth-year human biology and society student, said she has adopted the role of a “rave mom” in her constantly growing rave circle. According to Urban Dictionary, a rave mom is tasked with making sure everyone is enjoying themselves, staying hydrated and staying safe – especially if members are doing drugs. Because raving is inherently a group activity, she said her group is always expanding as she meets “second-degree” and “third-degree” friends at every rave.

Student A, who requested anonymity out of concern that attending raves might impact her professional opportunities, also impressed me with her academic prowess. She said people are often surprised that she’s both a raver and a premed student, but she added that it’s common at UCLA to be both academically competitive and a frequent raver.

Before joining the rave scene, I’ll admit I would have been surprised to hear ravers could be such strong students. I saw ravers as nothing more than partiers seeking cheap thrills.

This misconception was quickly proven wrong as I grew more involved in the culture and met countless people with a better work ethic than myself studying diligently to make time for raves.

Tatsuno said that despite the image she puts forth on social media, much of her time is dedicated to studying and maintaining her nearperfect GPA. She prioritizes time management and adopts a “work hard, play harder” mentality, she said, allowing her to attend raves as often as every weekend.

But raves are not solely places of peace, love, unity and

“The people you meet during these raves – it’s life changing.”

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respect – they are also rife with illicit drug use. A 2016 study found that high school rave attendees were five times more likely to use hallucinogens and 11.5 times more likely to use heroin annually than high school students who did not attend raves.

According to the Higher Education Center for Alcohol and Other Drug Abuse and Violence Prevention, MDMA, more commonly known as molly or ecstasy, has gained prevalence among college students. Because MDMA affects serotonin and dopamine levels, recreational usage, known as rolling, amplifies senory aspects of the rave experience.

The strobing laser lights become brighter and more psychedelic while the intense EDM beats and bass create louder and richer sounds.

Not only does MDMA enhance users’ vision and hearing, it also increases users’ emotional empathy and sociability, according to a study from the National Library of Medicine.

This allows strangers to quickly bond and feel exceptionally friendly toward those around them, said Charles Grob, a psychiatry and behavioral sciences professor who researches the psychopharmacology of hallucinogens and MDMA. Grob offered an alternative explanation to the tightknit atmosphere described by Tatsuno and Student A. “One facet of the MDMA experience is this sense of connectedness,” he said. “(Individuals) feel their defenses are lowered. They feel very open and feel that even complete strangers are known to them (in) a very close, if not physically intimate, but emotionally intimate manner.”

However, these euphoric effects come at a severe cost.

Grob said in a setting where there is vigorous exertion, frequent loss of body fluids and poor airflow, raves are the

perfect breeding ground for a potentially fatal outcome.

“There’s a clear-cut medical risk involved with taking MDMA at a dance event,” Grob said. “And that has to do with the risk of overheating and individuals experiencing a malignant hyperthermia, which could eventuate in death.”

Users can also experience significant depletions in serotonin in the days following a roll, Grob said. In his research, he said he came across a phenomenon known as “Blue Monday” or “Suicide Tuesday” after a weekend rave.

Individuals, especially those more susceptible to mood dysregulation, will likely experience severe bouts of depression in the days after rolling. He added that these detrimental consequences are amplified as users build tolerance to MDMA and have to increase the dosage to experience the same effects.

Moreover, due to lack of regulation, there is a significant risk that the MDMA student ravers consume is impure and laced with other lethal substances, Grob said.

“Some of these drug substitutes can be fairly innocuous, like aspirin or Benadryl,” he said. “But sometimes very dangerous drugs are substituted, like methamphetamine.”

As a result, Grob said many of the rave-related overheating deaths attributed to ecstasy are actually caused by a fatal substitute.

One of the most notable cases was a 15-year-old who died of an ecstasy overdose a few days after sneaking into Los Angeles’ Electric Daisy Carnival in 2010. Her death led to the development of Los Angeles County’s Electronic Music Task Force, which dedicated itself to ensuring the safety of raves by establishing guidelines such as a minimum age requirement of 18 and free water stations to counter hyperthermia.

“Raves are the perfect breeding ground for a potentially fatal outcome.”

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But years later, raves are still fatal hotspots.

Since 2006, there have been at least 29 drug-related deaths among people who attended raves staged by LAbased organizers, according to the LA Times. One of these fatalities was a UCLA student who reportedly died from an ecstasy overdose at the 2015 HARD Summer music festival in Pomona, California.

Yet students continue to try and navigate the risk, with many partaking in “harm reduction” to try and limit the repercussions, Student A said.

A sevenpage Google document innocuously titled “Rolling for Dummies” details a wealth of information about MDMA use – the physical and mental side effects and an intense supplement regimen to try to soften its effects and the long-term dangers of rolling. The document advises users to take 12 different supplements, most of which I have never heard of, such as 5-HTP, NaR-ALA and CoQ10, in the days leading up to and following a roll. This comprehensive list is supposed to combat the repercussions of MDMA use by raising serotonin levels, protecting cells from damage and reducing the risk of heart failure.

Commonly circulated within USC and UCLA rave chats, the document casually switches between describing the exhilaration felt during a roll and the risk of death afterward. The first time I encountered the guide was when my close friend wanted me to look over the effects of rolling to decide if it was worth trying. But the more I read, the less I was convinced.

Despite rave venues’ strict anti-drug policy, there are multiple online threads dedicated to giving advice on how to sneak in illegal substances. These forums offer suggestions such as taping pills to the lining of socks, tucking them into underwear waistbands or stuffing them into bras. I know of students who even resorted to taping their molly to the interior lining of their masks during the pandemic.

After reading countless articles detailing the lethal risk of raves and seeing how commonplace drug use is firsthand, I questioned how I should responsibly portray the culture. On one hand, I did not want to gloss over the dangers involved.

But on the other hand, after hearing Tatsuno and Student A’s overwhelmingly positive – and sober – experiences, I wanted to demystify the stigma surrounding raves and highlight the unexpectedly warm atmosphere I felt welcomed into.

“I feel like raves aren’t only about drugs,” Tatsuno said. “It’s about the music – it’s about the community.”

For Tatsuno, who said she prides herself on her ability to enjoy raves sober, the culture contains many meaningful practices often overshadowed

by its reputation for illicit activity. One of her favorite traditions is exchanging Kandi bracelets with people she befriends at raves to symbolize their newfound connection.

The jewelry is made of colorful lettered beads reminiscent of childhood friendship bracelets but often with a twist of drugs or profanity.

My rave friends even taught me a specific ritual for this exchange following the four aspects of PLUR. First, each person must make a peace sign before touching their index and middle fingers together. Then, they form half a heart before interlocking their fingers and moving the bracelets from one person’s wrist to the other.

“The biggest part of my experience is just the social cohesion I feel with my friends when I go,” Student A said. “To be someone that they can trust and lean on if they feel like they’re anxious at raves, … I love being that person for my friends.”

Following my conversations with Tatsuno and Student A, I began to reflect on my own whirlwind experience with raves this past year.

If you had asked me six months ago what I thought about raves, I would have scoffed. In my eyes, EDM was not real music – I often likened it to the sound of an MRI machine – and raves were just a place for college students to swallow pills and grind on strangers.

But with two upcoming raves on my calendar, including one all the way in Chicago, and an entirely new set of friends to go with, I find myself slowly joining a community unlike any other – one in which a single shared interest lowers all other social boundaries and allows people to instantaneously connect and care for one another.

And on the trip to my next rave, there will definitely be some EDM infiltrating my indie pop playlists. ♦

“I feel like raves aren’t only about drugs. It’s about the music – it’s about the community.”

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THE LABOR BEHIND THE LANDSCAPE

written by DYLAN TZUNG photographed by ESTHER LI, ASHLEY KENNEY & EMILY DEMBINSKI designed by LINDSEY MURTO

PRIME PRIME| |WINTER WINTER2022 2022

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t was the last day of summer break. Hordes of students played Spikeball on the grass, relaxed in hammocks and chatted with friends while enjoying the shade of the trees. I admired the greenery around me as the sun peeked through the leaves overhead – the lush grass, the budding flowers, the immaculately trimmed hedges.

Yet, in all of my admiration, I failed to consider the work that goes into maintaining one of the most beautiful urban campuses in the country.

Who cuts the grass around Janss Steps to the perfect length? Who keeps Bruin Walk clear of leaves and trash?

Who maintains the flowers blooming in Wilson Plaza?

Grounds Supervisor Christopher Woo is one of 77 employees on UCLA’s grounds staff, which includes positions of senior superintendent, supervisor, lead groundskeeper, irrigation tech, groundskeeper and laborer, among others.

As part of UCLA Facilities Management, the grounds staff is responsible for keeping the campus free of trash and other debris, monitoring any safety hazards and maintaining the landscape, said Senior Superintendent of Grounds Greg Luna in an emailed statement.

Every day, I try to just achieve what we need to achieve.”

I spoke to Woo on a warm Tuesday afternoon in late January. Our Zoom call was a brief, 15-minute pause in the middle of Woo’s workday. He seemed busy and eager to get back to his duties, but I wasn’t surprised. I was told from the

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start that coordinating an interview time with any of the grounds staff would be a challenge because of their heavy workloads.

On a typical day, Woo checks work orders, talks with the lead groundskeepers and assigns the other groundskeepers to specific areas of campus. He said that his role includes elements of both managing his team and conducting onsite work.

“Every day, I try to just achieve what we need to achieve around campus and make sure things, the work orders and the workload, are done correctly,” he said.

Woo said that nature itself often dictates the course of his day. When the wind blows leaves all across campus, the focus of the day shifts to cleaning up. Other days, Woo will get last-minute requests for item pickups and will need to adjust his schedule to accommodate.

Woo first joined the staff as a laborer, working his way up to his current position over about 4 1/2 years. He said that working as a laborer allowed him to learn the campus before moving into the supervisor position, which requires more knowledge and greater organizational skills.

As a native Angeleno, Woo grew up mowing lawns in his neighborhood and working digging and planting jobs on his days off school.

“Working at UCLA is a little bit like the weekend jobs I had growing up, but on a much bigger scale,” Woo said in an emailed statement. “But it is still about working outdoors and getting the job done each day.”

Later in life, he found himself working in maintenance at a condominium on Wilshire Boulevard until a friend presented him with the opportunity to move to Australia.

In 2015, Woo began working for an arborist there, learning about proper tree caretaking techniques and helping with tree trimming tasks.

Woo said he has always been drawn to garden work, as he enjoys spending time in the sun and the variety each day presents. In pursuit of the same daily pleasures, he applied for a job on the UCLA Landscape and Grounds staff after returning to Los Angeles. During his time as a laborer, he became particularly fond of the Court of Sciences and now presides over South Campus groundskeeping.

“People who drive around campus or take their classes in North Campus would never know it is there, but it is a special place,” he said of his South Campus domain in the email.

Though Woo seemed to be a man of few words, his passion for the work was palpable in his discussion of the day-today obstacles and his role in ensuring work runs smoothly.

“I just enjoy the challenges that come on a daily basis, whether they do come or not,” he said. “(I’ve) always got to be attentive.”

Professor emeritus Wayne Dollase became familiar with some of the groundskeepers during his time leading plant tours and compiling a list of all the flora on campus.

Much like I noticed in my interview with Woo, the earth, planetary and space sciences professor said that in his conversations with the groundskeepers, he was struck by their dedication to the work. Luna agreed.

“They take great pride in their work, and it shows,” Luna said. “They all work well with one another in order to accomplish the main goal of keeping the campus grounds safe, clean and inviting for all to enjoy.”

But Woo’s job is not always smooth sailing.

He said that working on a college campus is unique

in that there are a lot of people concentrated in a small area throughout all hours of the workday. His staff must be particularly mindful while they are handling tools and driving their trucks across campus in order to avoid accidents.

Beyond such daily challenges, there are more deeply rooted issues. Before the COVID-19 pandemic prevented Dollase from returning to campus, Dollase heard some common complaints from the grounds staff, he said.

Overworking was a major concern, Dollase told me, because the groundskeepers were often assigned to areas that were too large for them to properly manage in a shift.

Groundskeepers were bothered by working all day in one

“They take great pride in their work, and it shows.” area and still not completing the necessary tasks, Dollase said.

“They’re professionals,” he said. “They want to do the best possible job they can.”

Chief Sustainability Officer Nurit Katz acknowledged that staffing has been particularly challenging because of the pandemic, but it was also a significant issue in prior years because the state budget has not kept up with the needs of the University of California. According to the Public Policy Institute of California, from 1967 to 2017 the state funding for higher education as a whole declined from 18% of the state budget to 12%.

Justin Wisor, Director of custodial and grounds, said in an

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emailed statement that Facilities Management makes sure the UCLA grounds staff is equipped to handle the zones of campus they are asked to take on. He added that Facilities Management has worked to increase the size of its staff to meet the maintenance needs for all existing areas of campus, as well as areas that will be created in the future.

Overworking, however, was not the only problem Dollase noticed. When new buildings are constructed on campus, UCLA groundskeepers are not in charge of the initial planting work. But Dollase said the Grounds Staff sometimes feels like the construction crews have no real investment in the long-term care of the plants, and that there have been times when their planting was conducted haphazardly.

Such careless planting frustrates the groundskeepers who are then responsible for taking care of the greenery. “(The groundskeepers) say, ‘Look at the kind of planting

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that was done here. They really don’t care. They just simply want to put the plant in the ground and then go off,’” Dollase said, recalling the ground staff’s complaints.

In recent years, communication between the grounds staff and Capital Programs, the department in charge of new building construction, has increased greatly, Katz said.

Wisor added that the grounds staff now work with Capital Programs to pick plant palettes that both fit aesthetically on campus and are compatible with the skills of the groundskeepers and native environmental conditions.

Although Woo did not present specific complaints about his job, I have to assume that the presence of Director of Media Relations Bill Kisliuk had some influence on Woo’s responses.

Prior to the interview, Kisliuk requested that I avoid asking Woo about the concerns raised by Dollase. He wanted the direction of the interview to be more focused on Woo himself, and not about the underappreciation landscapers face – something frequently mentioned by Dollase.

According to Dollase, passersby on campus rarely admire the work of the grounds staff to the degree they should.

“The great majority (of people) just simply walk by and don’t really even look at what’s there,” Dollase said.

Unfortunately, I am no exception. I felt a pang of guilt as Dollase explained that he was one of the only people who showed obvious appreciation for and interest in the work of the groundskeepers.

When I asked Woo about his thoughts on the lack of appreciation, he declined to answer and passed the question to his superiors.

But according to Wisor, Facilities Management uses awards, celebrations and appreciation days to show their gratitude for the grounds staff.

“It would go a long way if anyone is on campus and sees one of our team members out trimming or raking to stop by and say, ‘Thank you for everything you do,’” he said. “I can tell you, it’s those small moments that make our team members’ days.”

Dollase echoed this sentiment. Students may not have the time to appreciate the hard work that goes into maintaining campus, he said, as they rush around to the next class or activity. But he added that the groundskeepers are always grateful when people show interest in their endeavors.

Based on the number of students who flock to outdoor study spaces anytime the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, it would be unfounded to say the student body lacks appreciation for UCLA’s beautiful campus. But the problem lies in how this beauty is viewed – as an inherent quality of the grounds rather than something that requires extensive time and effort to maintain.

However, there are ways to encourage student engagement with campus greenery and landscaping. Victoria Sork, the Director of the Mildred E. Mathias Botanical Garden and a professor of ecology and evolutionary biology, would know – she taught a Fiat Lux class designed to do just that.

In Ecology and Evolutionary Biology 19: “History of UCLA Through Eyes of Trees,” Sork took her students to different parts of campus to discuss the history of the landscaping

and to highlight connections to the existing ecosystem.

Mirroring Dollase’s view, Sork added that while most people spend their time on campus hustling from place to place, teaching this class has encouraged her to pause and appreciate the campus greenery. She now finds it impossible to walk around campus without thinking about the plants

“I can tell you, it’s those small moments that make our team members’ days.” and appreciating the landscaping work. Her students had a similar experience, she said.

“It just completely changed how they thought of the campus because we spent the whole time talking about the campus and its plants, and how the type of landscaping that was done changed over time,” she said.

By speaking with Woo, I’ve been given a similar opportunity. After learning about the work that goes into the campus landscaping and groundskeeping, I have begun to look at the beauty around me with a fresh perspective.

I no longer see just a beautiful bed of flowers or a pristine courtyard surrounded by trees. Rather, I see the hours of work that go into pruning those flowers and the labor of Woo and his staff present in every corner of campus. ♦

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A DIGITAL DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD WRITTEN BY KATE GREEN

ILLUSTRATED BY ISABELLA LEE DESIGNED BY GEORGIA SMITH

Editor’s note: The Daily Bruin uses the descriptors “multilingual” and “English as a second language” in the article interchangeably to respect sources’ preferences.

or Xiyu Xiao, arriving on time to any lecture prior to 10 a.m. has always felt like an extreme sport.

But since winter quarter kicked off with a remote start, the first-year psychology student happily said goodbye to her customary dash to campus. Like Bruins across the Hill, she simply rolled out of bed in the afternoon to watch recorded Zoom calls from the comfort of her dorm room.

However, when Xiao sits down to play recordings of her early morning lectures, the videos are more than simple conveniences that allow her to sleep in for just a few more minutes. She enjoys slowing down the audio, toggling the closed captions and replaying any confusing sections. These features allow her to understand her instructors’ fast-paced English better than ever before.

Throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, researchers and K-12 teachers have set off alarm bells about the impacts of distance education on students who are learning English as another language. Young English learners have fallen significantly behind their native English-speaking peers because of the transition to remote instruction, said associate professor of education Lucrecia Santibañez.

Despite this trend, international university students like Xiao as well as UCLA’s English as a second language specialists have observed a remarkable phenomenon taking place on the college level – Zoom learning actually helps ESL

and multilingual Bruins.

Xiao is an international ESL student from Beijing. She began learning English in school around the age of 6 and attended extracurricular English lessons during first through seventh grade. Seeking a fresh start for high school, Xiao moved to the small town of Gastonia, North Carolina, to study abroad, plunging herself into constant English immersion.

For Xiao, distance-learning methods such as recorded lectures are helping her complete her entry-level writing requirement in a way she would have been unable to do in person.

“If I don’t have recordings, I will have trouble because some teachers just speak too fast, and I can’t catch on in class,” she said. “So I have to go back and watch the recording and slow it down or pause.”

Xiao said Zoom classes not only buy her more time to sleep but also provide extra time to complete course readings.

“If other students are all native speakers, they can read passages much faster than I do and complete homework in an hour,” Xiao said. “But for me, I might take more than two hours or three hours to finish reading.”

But Zoom classes are not just convenient for ESL and multilingual students. Remote learning also facilitates a variety of helpful language-building tools.

F

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Leslie Sherwood, an ESL lecturer and member of the UCLA Writing Program’s ESL committee, said Zoom capabilities such as recording, closed captioning and the chat function are generally major advantages for English development.

She pointed to small-group breakout rooms as helpful tools for building English learners’ self-assurance, allowing them to prepare themselves for speaking in front of the larger lecture.

For Yiheng Zhao, a first-year mathematics/economics student from Beijing, small groups on Zoom ease the anxiety she typically experiences during in-person classes.

“It’s kind of scary at first to speak out in (a) language that is not your mother tongue,” Zhao said. “During seminars or lectures, maybe local students ... are very excited to join the conversations, but

It’s kind of scary at first to speak out in (a) language that is not your mother tongue. international students sometimes are not so confident in their speaking levels.”

Small groups in Zoom calls have made participation less frightening for her.

Jia Shing Wee, a first-year pre-financial actuarial mathematics student from Malacca, Malaysia, agreed that remote learning makes class participation less intimidating.

Zoom functions such as virtual hand-raising allow him to gather his thoughts before contributing to discussions.

“Currently, I’m quite comfortable speaking up in class,” he said. “I like the remote options.”

Although younger students may face difficulties with online learning, Sherwood said she believes that ESL and multilingual college students’ often more advanced English proficiency and older age allow them to succeed in a remote environment.

International students often have to take multiple English language exams before starting classes at UCLA. Prior to applying, students must score competitively on the Test of English as a Foreign Language, and upon admission, some students whose native language is not English have to take the English as a Second Language Placement Examination.

Wee, for example, tested into English Composition 3D: “English Composition, Rhetoric, and Language” by way of his SAT score and feels that growing up with English in his home life prepared him for the challenge. Sherwood said she has noticed that most ESL and multilingual Bruins don’t seem to need to take ESL courses at UCLA, Wee among them.

While online courses can help ESL and multilingual Bruins’ comprehension in class, Sherwood cautions that remote instruction is often a double-edged sword. Although

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virtual classes offer flexibility, they lack opportunities for students to make meaningful social connections with each other, Sherwood said. According to Sherwood, these social connections, such as group appointments at the Undergraduate Writing Center, can help multilingual students with their academics.

“Physically being in the classroom helps with a sense of belonging,” Sherwood said. “A sense of belonging is important for all students, but especially for students who are here trying to have the experience of studying abroad.”

Though the advantages of remote learning initially pleased her, Xiao said that as the weeks of distance learning dragged on, she felt less engaged with her coursework and classmates. She struggled to grasp the technical jargon of her psychology classes, given that she could not incorporate the new vocabulary into informal conversations with classmates. Xiao also found contributing to group conversations more stilted and less natural given the lag produced by Zoom.

“Even though I did personally participate in discussion and class conversation, it was not like in-person talking

For me, there are a lot of pros and not so many cons. when I can see you and I can feel what you are talking about,” Xiao said.

Zhao also considered making new friends difficult during distance learning, adding that the language barrier is a compounding challenge for connecting with classmates.

“English is a kind of obstacle for being open to local students,” she said. “For example, if you’re in a group of 10 students and the other nine are Chinese, you might think that it’s very awkward for you to join their community. For us, it’s the same. ... Joining groups is hard for lots of international students.”

Sherwood recommended that ESL and multilingual students seek out virtual connection spaces as a means of finding the community interactions they require.

“That social aspect is really the hardest part of replicating (teaching) online,” Sherwood said. “Virtual events as a place for people to connect and really speak up and have small group discussions, I think that would be useful.”

When weighing remote learning’s flexibility versus its social drawbacks, Wee and Zhao still prefer Zoom classes.

“For me, there are a lot of pros and not so many cons,” Wee said.

Given the apparent success of distance learning, UCLA’s ESL experts hope to carry over virtual innovations as classes move back in person.

Alison Bailey, a professor of human development and psychology and the director of the UCLA Language and Literacy Research Group, believes all UCLA instructors should prioritize the accessibility of their coursework for ESL and multilingual students.

“We have to ... think very flexibly so that students can participate in the ways that they feel most comfortable,” Bailey said.

Bailey said she recommends instructors continue to embrace combining communication channels as many have done during the turn to remote learning. Overlapping opportunities to speak, type in a Zoom chat and interact with visual aids exemplify a technique known as multisemiotic teaching, she said. Bailey added that this teaching style not only helps students for whom English is an additional language but also benefits the comprehension of all Bruins.

“I think once we’re back in the classroom, ... personally, I will be more attuned in to thinking of if there are other ways to convey information,” Bailey said. “(Multi-semiotic teaching) would be something to take back into our inperson classrooms.”

This type of adaptation on the part of instructors would help imbue in-person classes with the flexibility that multilingual students, such as Zhao and Wee, have appreciated in remote learning.

But Xiao said she feels conflicted about UCLA’s recent pivot back to in-person classes and hopes her instructors continue to show compassion to ESL and multilingual students by keeping aspects of remote learning.

“Understanding. ... That’s what I need,” she said. “I want (professors) to know that I have this trouble and (for them) to want to help me. That’s all.” ♦

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A BEAUTIFUL SOMETHING Written by DEVON WHALEN Photographed by CHRISTINE KAO Designed by TYLER CHO

I

spent my college search digging through schools’ dirty laundry. Not all of it, or even most of it. Just whatever had dropped into the transphobia hamper.

While my friends looked up the campuses and dorms of every school on their list, my Google search history was filled with page after page of “(school) transphobia” and “What is it like to be trans at (school).”

In April 2020, after hours of investigating, I committed to a small Midwestern college with comforting search results for both.

In May 2020, I got into UCLA, a school that returned results like NBC’s “Controversy Over UCLA Students’ AntiTransgender Bathroom Signs.” I found good stuff too – sites

like Trans @ UCLA from the LGBTQ Campus Resource Center. But nothing I found put me at ease. After all, when I made the same searches about my high school, I found nothing worrying; yet, it was my experience there that had driven me to such vigilance.

In fact, what had me worried about UCLA wasn’t even what I had found – it was what I hadn’t. I hadn’t found anything written by trans UCLA students about being trans UCLA students.

At the college I had already committed to, I had talked to a trans guy about his experience. If I chose to attend, I knew I’d be safe, even happy. I couldn’t say the same for UCLA.

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And yet, I write this from Westwood. That spring, my mom sat me down and made a spreadsheet comparing the two schools in all the typical areas: academics, location, history of transphobia, housing, et cetera. UCLA won out.

Now that I’m here, I know it always should have.

Having become a trans UCLA student myself, I owe it to trans UCLA applicants to share my experience – and the experiences of other trans students while I’m at it.

That’s why I reached out to G and Y, two members of Transgender UCLA Pride.

It’s a bit of a running joke in the nonbinary community that we choose odd names for ourselves, but “G” and “Y” aren’t examples of that – they’re last initials. G and Y requested anonymity because they aren’t fully out to or accepted by their respective families.

I spent an hour with G and Y on Zoom; they called from separate rooms of the apartment they share.

G is genderfluid and a third-year psychology student.

They’re an out-of-stater, like me. They’re nonbinary but tend to lean towards masculinity, like me. They let their shoulders fall into a hunch in their little Zoom window, like me.

“What are both your pronouns?” I asked, addressing both G and Y, but neither in particular. The call had only just started; we were still in that uncomfortable hushed beginning.

“They/them,” G said after a beat. Their answer was soft; it felt almost automatic.

I started to move on to Y. “Oh, wait!” G said, interrupting. “Actually, I totally forgot.

It’s they/he.”

I smiled.

“I feel that,” I said.

I did; it had taken a solid few months to get used to “he” meaning me.

“I made that switch like a year ago,” I said, laughing.

G and Y both gave small soundless smiles, but their microphone icons remained unblinkingly red.

“She/they,” Y said, quietly rescuing us all from Zoom silence.

Y is a third-year student too. They’re a nonbinary trans woman studying education and psychology. She described herself as about 80% of the way along in her transition, a number I’m frankly still in awe of, since she came out as trans her freshman year at UCLA. God, if only 15-year old me knew I’d end up somewhere you could progress so much in just two years.

I began publicly presenting as trans my freshman year, too, just not my freshman year of college. And two years into my transition, I was far from 80%.

I’d only just started dressing masculinely full-time; I wouldn’t make it off the waitlist for a hormone therapy consultation for at least another year and getting misgendered was less a daily occurrence and more an hourly one. I knew where I was headed, though. I knew the end goal.

“

22

“I hope, one day, to forget. To forget the pain, sure, but to forget that I am transgender altogether. Not to stop being trans, or deny it – I am not so unkind to myself as to erase my identity. I would just like to forget for a moment.”

I wrote that in winter 2019. I probably typed those words from my bed, slouching into my gray checkered comforter.

I’d have been ignoring the mess I’d have to answer for come Sunday room inspection, ignoring voices outside my door, maybe – a dorm full of 40 teenage girls is rarely a quiet place.

That little written wish was for a class colloquially called Nonfictions – the only non-elective English class at my high school centered on writing. One time, my classmates gushed about another student’s 4,000 word feature on the acceptability of offensiveness in standup comedy, lauding the visceral effectiveness of the transphobic jokes she provided as examples. They gushed about my memoir, too, particularly touched by the passage the above excerpt came from. I don’t know if they understood that hearing them praise transphobia was part of the pain I wanted to forget.

I didn’t make a stand or educate them; I’d long since learned those conversations drained and hurt me far more than they helped anyone else. I left and did nothing.

For someone whose reputation consisted mostly of their transness, I did that a lot. I’d go back to the girls’ dorm and do nothing, listen to the student body president announce my deadname and do nothing, be misgendered and mocked and do nothing. Nothing is an exhausting thing to do.

The fear of doing nothing for four more years defined my college search from the start.

This was not the case for everyone, though; G and Y certainly had different experiences. Before they became Bruins, they hadn’t looked into UCLA’s resources for trans people, they said. They were only fierce allies at the time, like so many trans people are just before the realization hits.

Once on campus, Y said she began thinking about her identity in earnest and grew more and more eager to start exploring it with others like her. But fear and uncertainty got the better of them for a while.

“I remember being absolutely terrified to walk

I hadn’t found anything written by trans UCLA students about being trans UCLA students.

“

I don’t know if they under hearing them praise trans part of the pain I wanted to fo

rstood that sphobia was orget.

“

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into the LGBTQ center,” Y said. “I knew they had drop-in therapy hours, and I knew I needed it. But I remember walking in there multiple times during those hours and trying to get myself to go to that door – and then just not being able to.”

Eventually they made it there, and they said they found a supportive group of friends on the other side – G among them. At the time, G said, he was in the midst of what he described as his “hot girl era,” a high-femme phase that once took hold of me in just the same way. Y said she began spending more and more time in the Gender, Sexuality and Society Living Learning Community where G lived.

“When I visited the GSS floor … I was able to try on a dress for the first time or put on makeup,” Y told me. “It really felt like a safe space for me to exist and explore.”

Y soon turned from visitor to resident, moving into G’s room during winter quarter. That same winter, she came out as trans, first in the form of a final paper turned into a philosophy professor, whom she said was probably very confused by the admission, but then to friends – and to G. “She came out as trans, … and I was thinking about gender, but I was scared,” G told me, small laughter breaking up their sentences. “I was kind of like, ‘But it’s (Y’s) turn to be trans! I need to wait my turn; it’s her moment!’”

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, G and Y spent hours upon hours lying in their beds during quarantine, exchanging DMs on Instagram. G said that with little else to do but consider their identity, they began moving towards the closet door.

“I had my fun little ‘gender dysphoria, thinking about gender’ times constantly during quarantine. Eventually I came out to my friends, and to (Y),” G said. “I was scared, because I was like, ‘(Y) is like, a legit trans person, and I’m just confused.’

But it was really great.”

I heard their voice brighten.

“And then we started calling more and talking about gender,” they said. “I was able to explore my gender and really relate to her. That helped a lot. I felt very validated.”

Talking about gender turned to talking, G and Y said, just plain talking for hours each night until the sleeplessness hurt.

I can’t say I was surprised when G said that the two had been dating ever since.

But I was happy. I was happy to see two trans people happy, happy to hear how Y drew G into TransUP soon after and happy

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to realize they saw the club as a light in their lives rather than a target on their backs.

But I was sad to be faced with the happiness I’ve missed out on.

My first quarter on campus, I strode past the LGBTQ+ booths at the activities fair with such speed and disdain that it could well have been mistaken for homophobia. I’d done my time in similar clubs in high school; I knew what membership meant – a scrawled note reading “Pigeonhole me!” slapped on my back. Scorning my spot in that community felt so easy, so right.

High school taught me that to be trans is to face transphobia and do nothing in response. UCLA took out of my daily life the vast majority of the transphobia I’d faced before, so responding with nothing was a natural occurrence rather than a forced concession. That natural nothing felt so dear. But joining trans organizations and seeking out trans friends, that isn’t doing nothing. That is real action, and I could not bring myself to take it. I treasured nothing too much to let it go.

I wake up each day to nothing. I don’t live in a girls’ dorm here; girls’ dorms don’t exist. I selected a little box labeled “gender inclusive housing” when I submitted my housing application, and that was that. Saying I live in Sproul Cove does not advertise femininity the way saying I lived in

Millet House did. It’s one less thought crossing my mind when I meet someone and one less way the world outs me – one more precious piece of nothing.

For G and Y, dorm life was more than nothing. They told me that on the GSS floor, they found community; they found acceptance. They found a space filled with queer people, something that’s absurdly rare in this world, and they found that they belonged among them. They described how G found gender euphoria in his first button-down, Y in her first dress. I can’t help but think the floor gave them a beautiful something.

When I need health care, I’m met with nothing in the way. I don’t have to take the bus to Ashmont, the red line to South Station and the sidewalk to the big gold building on Kneeland Street with

“

the little youth clinic on the second floor. I miss that trek sometimes: the independence of pushing through the Boston cold alone.

But here it’s a sun-soaked seven minute walk from the Hill to my doctor at Ashe, and a 40-second skip from Ashe to the pharmacy in Ackerman. Here, healthcare is getting to take my hormones as scheduled rather than rationing between refills.

It’s UCSHIP-covered fertility preservation and voice training, and it’s having the right name on my medical records. It’s the presence of my friends down the hall who I know will press the blue plastic button on my autoinjector when I’m scared.

I’ve been forced to fight for gender-affirming care countless times, spending hours on hold and months on waitlists. I’m battle-hardened with the documentation to prove it. At UCLA, there is nothing

They saw the club as a light in their lives rather than a target on their backs.

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to fight. At UCLA, I lay my weapons down.

I haven’t sparred with any transphobic classmates here, either. I came ready to; I thought it was coming when my roommate learned I was trans in November.

It didn’t. How much energy I wasted in the fall, looking around corners for the transphobic boogeyman, finding nothing.

I came to UCLA determined not to be known first and foremost as a trans person. I didn’t hate being trans, and I didn’t want to change, but I knew transness was the root of so many unnecessary problems the world created for me. I came to Westwood ready to put identity on the back burner. If transphobia was no longer part of my daily life, I thought, then transness wouldn’t be either. It could, at best, be something I forgot.

I do forget. For 17-year-old Devon, sitting in that girls’ dorm and dreaming of forgetting, I am happy to. But my dreams have changed; I don’t have to shun transness to be free of transphobia or dysphoria.

I jumped at the chance to shun it coming to UCLA because the world had never let me. But I was wrong – transness can be something more than nothingness

26

where pain used to be. I’ve seen that in G and Y. Transmasculinity still isn’t all of me, and I don’t want it to be. But I want trans friends; I want a trans community.

I want, for the first time, to choose transness for myself, to approach it with love and let it settle comfortably down.

“If you had known that you were trans when you were making your college decision, would you still have chosen to come to UCLA – knowing how the experience has been here?” I asked over Zoom, my time with G and Y quickly running out.

“Yeah,” G said, not a trace of hesitation in their voice.

“Absolutely.”

I would too.

Despite the negative Google search results, despite the rare instances of transphobia that still find me, despite every con my mother put on that spreadsheet two years ago – I would. ♦

By their

side written by RACHEL ROTHSCHILD photographed by SAKSHI JOGLEKAR designed by CLAIRE SHEN

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C

arissa Liu started her freshman year at UCLA with her best friend already by her side.

Coby is Liu’s service dog, an Australian shepherdpoodle mix who has been with her for over three years. After arriving on campus, their first order of business was training Coby to guide Liu to her new home on the Hill.

“If he senses that I’m not feeling well, he knows that over time my room has become the safe area that he goes back to,” said Liu, a first-year microbiology, immunology and molecular genetics student.

They share a single room in Hedrick Summit, where Coby has quickly gained many fans on their floor.

“My suitemates are really nice and let him run around in the halls. ... They love Coby,” Liu said. “They always stop by my room to say hi.”

Besides being a favorite among her dormmates, Coby helps Liu navigate campus with her medical condition, which requires her to be careful about overexerting herself.

UCLA policy defines a service animal as “any dog or miniature horse that is individually trained to do work or perform a task for an individual with a disability, including physical, sensory, psychiatric, intellectual, or other mental disability.”

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However, there is no record of the number of service animals at UCLA, said Norma Kehdi, director of the Center for Accessible Education. According to Kehdi, service animals are not required to be registered through the CAE. But Kehdi said students in the dorms are highly encouraged to register their service animals so the CAE can provide students with resources, such as access to a disability specialist and classroom accommodations, as well as have a record of the animal’s presence for safety and emergency purposes.

Overall, Liu said she has found the atmosphere at UCLA to be welcoming to her and Coby.

“A lot of people also living on the Hill are either first-years or second-years being away from home for the first time, so when they see (Coby), they really miss their pets. I feel (it) creates a connection immediately,” Liu said.

But for third-year education and social transformation and psychology student Kat Sharp, navigating campus with their service dog, a black Labrador named Scooter, has had its share of challenges. Some UCLA faculty and staff have been unaware of Sharp’s rights as a service-dog owner, they said.

During their freshman year, Sharp worked at the

admissions department of the UCLA Anderson School of Management. When Sharp informed their supervisors about Scooter, Sharp said their workplace did not welcome him because another employee was allergic to dogs.

When Sharp pressed the issue with supervisors and human resources, Sharp said they felt they did not receive adequate help and eventually gave up following conversation after conversation with higher-ups.

“It just seemed like a losing battle,” Sharp said. “I didn’t have the time, energy or money to pursue it and also don’t have the resources now.”

According to an emailed statement from UCLA Environment, Health and Safety, individuals should be mindful of potential hazards their service animal may pose to others and that accommodations can be made for employees who have an allergic reaction to a service dog.

Sharp said the incident at the management school was not the only time Scooter’s presence was unwelcome on campus.

While Sharp was studying for finals at a UCLA library last quarter, they said an employee asked to see Scooter’s identification card. According to the Americans with Disabilities Act, however, service animal owners are not required to provide any form of identification for their animals. Upon hearing a group of employees discuss what to do when Sharp said they did not need to show an ID, Sharp printed out the specific ADA guidelines on service dog registration and handed it to the employee. Another library

employee later admitted that they had received no training on how to address visitors with service dogs, Sharp said.

“It is really uncomfortable when you’re hanging out with your friends and someone asks what disability you have or why you need (a service dog),” Sharp said.

They added that such instances reflect the general lack of knowledge many people have about communicating with people who use service animals.

“It was not their fault per se,” Sharp said. “(The employees) were just ignorant, and in my opinion, that ignorance falls on UCLA.” In response to this incident, UCLA spokesperson Katherine Alvarado said in an emailed statement that

“It is really uncomfortable when you’re hanging out with your friends and someone asks what disability you have or why you need (a service dog).” students should contact the CAE as soon as possible if they encounter any obstacles with their service dogs while on campus.

Sharp pointed to a lack of staff and faculty training at UCLA on proper conduct when interacting with service dogs and their owners.

The UCLA Committee on Disability, an advisory committee to Chancellor Gene Block, planned to implement a training module on disabilities for staff, faculty and students before the COVID-19 pandemic caused the committee to shift their focus to online instruction, said Laura Sencion-Mendoza, an academic counselor for the Academic Advancement Program who currently serves as the committee’s chair.

While there have been no updates on the training module, Sharp is still navigating day-to-day life with Scooter by their side. His presence benefits Sharp in ways people may not notice at first glance.

Not long ago, Sharp had a panic attack while walking

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home through Westwood to their apartment. They were sitting on the sidewalk overwhelmed and unable to move, they said. In order to calm Sharp, Scooter walked in a circle around them and put pressure on their chest until they could stand up. He guided Sharp back home, allowing them to keep their eyes closed so they did not have to take in additional stimulation.

“If I don’t have him with me and a situation comes up where I would need him, then (it can be) dangerous,” Sharp said. “He never causes an issue in my life, so I don’t see why I wouldn’t have him when all he does is help.”

Aside from dealing with uninformed staff, students with service animals have faced confusion about whether they need to register their animals with the CAE. Both Liu and Sharp believed they were required to

register their dogs even though there is no such rule.

While the CAE housing accommodations application process webpage mentions that registering a service dog is optional though encouraged, this is not stated on the housing accommodations request form.

Although registration is voluntary, students who do so gain access to the CAE’s disability specialists, who can provide resources based on someone’s disability and advocate for accomodations, Kehdi said. But Sharp said they had difficulty connecting with a disability specialist.

“Interacting with CAE is a horrible experience,” Sharp said.

“It’s incredibly hard to get a meeting with your disability specialist. I’ve met with mine a total of two times.”

Concerns about the CAE among the student body have

“(The employees) were just ignorant and in my opinion that ignorance falls on UCLA.”

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led to recent protests by the Disabled Student Union, which has highlighted accessibility issues on campus. Members have sought to fill the ADA compliance officer position, which works with Student Affairs and the Office of Equity, Diversity and Inclusion to ensure campus policies fall in line with ADA guidelines. Vice Chancellor of Student Affairs Monroe Gorden Jr. is currently responsible for the job until the university finds a more permanent officer. Sharp learned about this vacancy last quarter after searching for resources to resolve an issue regarding discrimination from a professor. UCLA has since promised to hire a new ADA compliance officer.

While Liu did not mention trouble contacting disability specialists, she has faced challenges when maneuvering through crowded classrooms and dining facilities, requiring her to plan ahead of time how to best keep Coby and herself safe.

Recently, Liu said she was denied entry into Bruin Plate after an employee informed her of a supposed new rule that prohibits service dogs from entering the dining halls.

A second employee, whom Liu said she believed to be a supervisor, came over and repeated the message.

In a joint statement, UCLA Housing and the CAE said

service dogs are allowed to enter dining halls as long as the animal is under the control of their owner. Liu has since received an email from her disability specialist that this issue has been addressed with UCLA Dining Services.

Sharp said the university should be more aware of the needs of students with service dogs. On top of adequate training for university employees, they said administration could better address the everyday needs of people with service dogs by making small changes to campus facilities.

Creating more automatic doors could be beneficial for people juggling dog leashes and books, and designating more places on the Hill for service animals to use the bathroom would make UCLA’s residential spaces more accommodating, Sharp said.

Ultimately, there is still work to be done, they said, in order to make UCLA more accessible to students with service animals.

“I don’t feel like UCLA pays attention to it enough because there’s not enough people with service dogs here,” Sharp said. “Why aren’t there? Maybe it’s because it’s so damn hard to have one here.” ♦

“If I don’t have him with me and a situation comes up where I would need him then (it can be) dangerous.”

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W H AT ’S I N A

NAME? W

illiam Andrews Clark was a cheater.

An industrialist in the late 19th century, Clark became known across the United States because of an election scandal. After securing a seat in the 1899 U.S. Senate, a Senate committee determined that he had bribed Montana state officials to get elected, declaring his election void.

Clark’s career and political aspirations survived the scandal – he would earn a legitimate Senate seat just two years later. But some of Clark’s contemporaries held him in contempt long after the incident. “(Clark) is as rotten a human being as can be found anywhere under the flag; he is a shame to the American nation,” author Mark Twain wrote in a 1907 essay. “To my mind he is the most disgusting creature that the republic has produced.”

UCLA has a building named after this man – the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library.

Clark’s son built the library in Los Angeles’ West Adams neighborhood in 1926, deciding to name the building after his father. The library was acquired by the University of California in 1934 as per an agreement with Clark’s son. To this day, the library continues to memorialize the senator.

But does UCLA have a responsibility to rename a building that preserves such a legacy?

Over the past few years, the campus community has become part of a larger national movement to rename buildings honoring contentious historical figures. While renaming efforts already existed for decades, Americans renamed hundreds of buildings across the U.S. as a direct result of the surge of activism after the murder of George Floyd in May 2020.

Students involved UCLA in this historical reckoning when a petition to rename Janss Steps gained over 2,000 signatures in July 2020. Activists argued that the Janss brothers, memorialized by the stairway, practiced racial discrimination as they developed Westwood with their real estate business. By late July 2020, the Undergraduate Students Association Council created a resolution to rename the stairway “Tongva Steps” and later revised it to “Kuruvungna Steps,” in honor of LA’s Indigenous population.

“More and more Americans are looking around their cities, their campuses and their environments, and they’re realizing that the people who are enshrined in

written by Martin Sevcik photo illustrations by David Rimer, Joseph Jimenez & Emily Dembinski designed by Emily Tang

these monuments do not necessarily reflect the diversity of the society that they live in,” said Eric Avila, a history, urban planning and Chicana/o and Central American studies professor.

Chancellor Gene Block commissioned the Campus Honorary Naming Advisory Committee in September 2020, announcing it as part of UCLA’s response to the influence of social justice movements during the summer. The policies created by the new committee, comprised of UCLA faculty, students and administrators, would ensure that building names on campus reflected the values and diversity of the university, Block said in a 2020 statement.

According to UCLA Policy 112, the UCLA chancellor and UC president have ultimate authority over any building name on campus, and UCLA administrators can rescind any name if it could compromise public trust or the university’s reputation.

So should UCLA use this authority to rename buildings honoring controversial historical figures?

One building community members have pushed to rename is the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center. The former UCLA medical center adopted this name in 2000, after a $150 million donation from the politician’s friends and supporters – the largest the university had ever seen.

“

The renaming of Reagan hospital at UCLA, which is an entity meant to save lives, is long overdue.

The decision was controversial when it was announced.

Some critics highlighted Reagan’s policies attacking federal funding for health care. Others discussed the HIV/AIDS epidemic, which Reagan did not publicly recognize until 1985, four years after health officials became aware of the virus and at least 12,000 patients were killed.

Contemporary opponents of the name, including the Pediatric AIDS Coalition at UCLA, use many of these same arguments.

“The renaming of Reagan hospital at UCLA, which is an entity meant to save lives, is long overdue,” the coalition said in an emailed statement. “Reagan did not act to save lives during

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his presidency, instead he watched while people died and Carnesale said. “A very popular and successful president did neglected to lift a finger as more lives were lost.” not at all seem inappropriate.”

Alonso Bautista, a local licensed therapist with expertise However, Carnesale said UCLA would not name a building in HIV care, said he agrees with these students’ sentiments. after just anyone who put forth money.

In his formative years as a young gay man, he feared his “If somebody wanted to name the political science own sexuality because of the heated discourse surrounding department after Adolf Hitler and offered you $200 million the HIV/AIDS crisis, Bautista said. He said he saw the Reagan to do that, the answer would be no,” Carnesale said. “A gift administration’s inaction as a demonstration of how little it alone does not make for naming – you have to be happy cared about him. with naming it after that person.”

“It’s an ongoing erasure and silencing of a community,” The medical center underwent the same processes used Bautista said. “When I think for any other name associated of this type of silence, I think with a gift, Carnesale said. of it as being a violent attack Shortly after, the university If somebody wanted to name the against a community.” named its medical school The $150 million donation political science department after after David Geffen, a film does not justify the executive and Democrat who Adolf Hitler and offered you $200 was openly gay, he added. memorialization of Reagan, Bautista said. If anything, Carnesale spent almost a million to do that, the answer the donation represents decade approving building how wealthy benefactors names as UCLA chancellor – would be no. are buying silence on these his tenure would eventually issues, celebrating Reagan earn him a building of without acknowledging his unfavorable actions, he added. his own. UCLA named Carnesale Commons in honor of But Albert Carnesale, the former UCLA chancellor who Carnesale and his wife Robin Carnesale in 2013. But the oversaw the renaming of the hospital, said the decision naming was not without controversy. Members of the was not political. Reagan was a successful public servant, Afrikan Student Union held a protest objecting to the Carnesale added, earning two terms as governor and two as naming on the same day as the dedication ceremony, president. highlighting Carnesale’s alleged opposition to affirmative “People disagreed with some of his policies, that’s for action. sure – including some of the people that made the decision Some UCLA history faculty share students’ misgivings to name the hospital after him – but simply disagreeing about naming. But these historians believe the issue is with some of his policies was not adequate reason by itself,” indicative of larger societal trends, far removed from the

“

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decisions of any given administrator.

History professor Robin D.G. Kelley said he acknowledges that public universities are reliant on donors as a source of revenue and have grown even more so as public funding has decreased.

“For these public institutions to exist, they need private money,” Kelley said. “It’s the need for private money, the need for additional funds, that has opened the door for anyone willing to donate or any corporation to put their name on (a building) as a kind of advertising.”

Where public buildings once honored Founding Fathers such as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson or Alexander Hamilton, they now honor donors like Geffen, Kelley said.

Private individuals – “big money,” as Kelley calls them – are a growing presence on university campuses, he added.

The university’s faculty appreciates the financial support this philanthropy provides, and donors’ desires to be recognized are understandable, said Tobias Higbie, a professor of history and labor studies. However, the community should be questioning whether this donor influence over naming is always positive, Higbie said.

Naming is inherently political because the names chosen for UCLA’s campus help illuminate the values of the university, and granting donors these naming opportunities gives them political influence, he added.

So what about the aforementioned Clark Library, donated to the university and memorializing a politician?

The library is aware of Clark’s controversial legacy, including his election scandal, Clark library staff said in an

emailed statement.

The scandal was just one contentious element of Clark’s legacy, Clark Library staff said. When he was 62, Clark’s second marriage to a 23-year-old woman was heavily publicized by contemporary newspapers, library director Bronwen Wilson said. Additionally, Clark’s mining practices contributed to the environmental degradation of the Western U.S., archive librarian Rebecca Fenning Marshall said.

“

For these public institutions to exist, they need private money.

But when library staff were asked about whether a UCLA building should honor someone like Clark, they said that the Campus Honorary Naming Advisory Committee would be better equipped to answer the question.

The committee is currently developing guidelines to evaluate honorific names on campus and determine whether those namesakes represent UCLA’s values, said Vice Chancellor for Strategic Communications Mary Osako, who is also chair of the Campus Honorary Naming Advisory Committee, in an emailed statement. The committee expects to share progress on these guidelines as well as naming policies for new buildings, in the spring.

Community members should have some influence over the naming process, Kelley and Higbie said. If that were

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the case, then building names on campus might look quite different.

“If students and activists and faculty are the ones deciding on what to name a building, they’re not going to go for the donor,” Kelley said. “(Students) are thinking more symbolically.”

Recommendations for new names from students often seek to represent overlooked groups. The PAC at UCLA said it recommends renaming the medical center after Henrietta Lacks, a Black woman whose cells were used in scientific research for decades without consent or compensation.

The Campus Honorary Naming Advisory Committee is striving to incorporate student input, holding eight hearing sessions with faculty, students and other members of the community throughout 2021, Osako said. The released policies will draw from this community guidance, Osako added.

The university should strive to contextualize the controversial legacies presented on campus, Higbie said. Using the campus’ public spaces to educate visitors about the university’s history

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“

If students and activists and faculty are the ones deciding on what to name a building, they’re not going to go for the donor. through the use of plaques and other markers would be a welcome change, he added.

The desires of historians to see monuments and building names changed are not an attempt to erase history, Kelley said. The history surrounding the honored individual needs to be explored.

“It’s not about eliminating and making a nice history,” he said. “It’s about really understanding our past, our present and our future.” ♦

The Extra Mile written by Rania Soetirto photographed by Finn Chitwood designed by Lauren Jai

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I

’ll admit it. I breathed a sigh of relief when UCLA announced it would be returning to remote instruction in January.

Of course I was worried about the threat of the omicron variant, but there was also another reason: It takes me more than an hour to get to UCLA on a typical day. I’m a student commuter.

I definitely missed being on campus, but the thought of not waking up at 4 a.m. to prepare for my commute felt like a luxury. Instead of squinting at my phone’s GPS for the best routes or taking naps in my car between classes, I was able to devote more time to school and my wishful goal of getting eight hours of sleep per night.

“

Sometimes, when I drive to campus early in the mornings, the normally buzzing streets of Los Angeles can start to feel lonely.”

Sometimes when I drive to campus early in the mornings, the normally buzzing streets of Los Angeles can start to feel lonely. But I’m not alone in my commute.

There are more than 20,000 student commuters at UCLA, Joreen Oller being one of them.

I spoke with Oller, a social sciences graduate student and intern for the Commuter Support & Programs office of UCLA Bruin Commuters, on a Thursday afternoon during the time when I would normally be mentally preparing for my long drive home. But with winter quarter off to a virtual start, I was at home learning remotely.

Oller commutes from the Santa Clarita Valley, approximately 30 miles away from UCLA. A typical school day for her can begin at 6:15 a.m. and not end until 10 p.m. With the time and distance it takes her to drive back and forth from school, Oller can’t afford to go home between classes and opts to spend the entire day on campus.

A commuter for her entire college career, Oller has driven to school since her undergraduate days at California State University, Northridge. However, while her drive to CSUN only took 20 to 40 minutes, her commute to UCLA can take up to an hour and 20 minutes during rush hour. Oller said she often extends her stay on campus to avoid traffic.

Oller’s story created a sense of understanding between us as we chatted. Like her, I sometimes spend an entire day on campus in order to avoid commuting through LA’s infamous rush-hour traffic. As tired as I am after a long day of classes, it feels better to go home late than

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battle other stressed and exhausted drivers on a jammed freeway.

Maria Zaki, a fourth-year chemistry student, also leaves her home early in the morning to avoid driving through heavy traffic. On average, Zaki spends two to three hours of her day on the road. The commute can cause her to lose sleep, she said, because she has to factor in her long drive on top of the hours she spends studying and doing homework.

“It just amazes me that (I) spend a lot of time sitting in a car rather than studying and doing other things,” she told me.

I nodded in agreement.

Zaki drives to campus from Monday to Friday, an impressive feat considering she has to navigate 25 miles through LA traffic to reach campus. As a commuter myself, I know how challenging it can be to drive even just two or three days a week to campus.

At the beginning of fall quarter, UCLA waitlisted Zaki for a parking permit, adding another inconvenience on top of her commute. Daily parking fees at UCLA can cost up to $20 depending on the parking structure a driver uses. Meanwhile, a permit would only cost Zaki $258 for

the whole quarter. Although UCLA eventually granted Zaki a permit, she didn’t expect applying for one would be extremely competitive.

“Nothing that you can do can make you more likely to

photograph courtesy of Maria Zaki get a permit,” she said. “Honestly, I was terrified.”

Lizette Garcia, a third-year sociology student, also finds parking at UCLA to be challenging. When she attended Cypress College, Garcia said all students could purchase a parking permit without an application. However, at UCLA, students not only have to endure the application process but they can only park in designated spots on campus.

Failure to comply could result in receiving tickets or fines, she said.

“There’s so many different parking structures (at

“

They first carpooled on the day of Garcia’s first midterm after UCLA resumed in-person instruction in early February.

The drive from Orange County to UCLA takes them an hour, Garcia said, although traffic usually gets difficult – and even dangerous – once they get closer to LA. Recently, she purchased an automobile insurance plan with more coverage out of concern for the frequency of traffic accidents in LA. Whereas she used to pay an annual $500 fee, now she pays $1,200 per year. Other

It feels better to go home late than battle with other stressed and exhausted drivers on a jammed freeway.”

UCLA), and you have to park exactly where you’re told,” she said. “I feel like that’s kind of a hassle.”

Luckily, Garcia crossed paths with a fellow commuter who attended the same junior high school as her. I saw the encounter sparked excitement in Garcia, and she said the two of them decided to drive to campus together.

drivers can get very impatient on the road, Garcia said, leading to dangerous freeway conditions.

“It’s kind of scary because since there are so many accidents, you’d never know what’s going to happen,” she said.

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To anticipate the long route to school, Garcia plans ahead for every commute, which involves a timeconsuming routine of checking for traffic and calculating the duration of the commute.

Aside from school and her long commute, she juggles working at an optometrist’s office. When I asked Garcia why she chose to live far from campus, she said it was cheaper for her to stay at home and commute rather than live in Westwood because of the area’s high rent costs. Zaki agreed.

“I can’t afford to pay my own rent,” Zaki said. “I could barely handle tuition, so driving was my best choice.”

Although difficult, Oller said her commuting experience has taught her how to be more responsible because it gives her less time to be idle, which boosts her time management skills.

“I have to plan basically my entire day around the commute,” she said. “I can’t just decide, ‘Oh, I’ll finish this assignment in the morning’ because I have to leave and go.”

But a downside to Oller’s commute is that it often leaves her feeling disconnected from campus. Few UCLA resources and events are catered toward commuters, she

said. It’s also generally harder for student commuters to make friends compared to students living on the Hill or in Westwood.

“Because (of) commuting plus the pandemic, I feel like I’m missing out on a lot,” Oller said.

Personally, whenever I scroll through Instagram, I’m

40

reminded of events that I have missed: sports games, volunteering opportunities, club socials. Oller feels the same. As a commuter, she said she only hears about campus events through social media and stories from friends who live in Westwood.

However, these challenges inspired Oller to become an intern for Commuter Support and Programs, a program that aims to support student commuters. Oller said she aspires to create an environment on campus where commuters can find a sense of community, letting them know that they are more than temporary visitors.

“If I can help (student commuters) make friendships

“

It’s kind of scary because since there are so many accidents, you’d never know what’s going to happen.”

on campus, or even if one person makes a friend or a contact, I think that’s what’s going to make (the experience) worth it,” she added.

Oller’s team at Commuter Support and Programs is made up of other student commuters who are all working to spread awareness about the campus resources available to other students like them. Since fall quarter, they have aimed to share information about BruinHub, a new space at the John Wooden Center that provides a place for commuters to rest and build community. Oller said she is particularly excited about BruinHub’s ability to provide a home for student commuters.

“I always thought it was so cool that there’s just a space for us,” Oller said.

Oller’s passion project as an intern is the Commuter Buddy Program, which pairs student commuters with each other in order to open doors for carpooling and peer-mentoring opportunities.

Amid attempts to support student commuters and distinguish the number of students who identify as such, different definitions of the term have arisen.

The Commuter Support and Programs office defines student commuters as those who reside five or more miles from the university, said Assistant Director in Campus Life Carmen Garcia-Shushtari in an emailed statement. She said her office based their definition of “student commuters” on students’ distance from campus in order to focus more efforts on those who would feel the most isolated. Establishing an exact number for the student commuter population at UCLA can be challenging, she added.

According to university data, approximately 14,000 students live in the residence halls on campus.

UCLA considers the remaining 31,000 students to be commuters, including graduate and professional students. However, based on the Commuter Support

and Programs office’s definition and Garcia-Shushtari’s experience working with students, she estimates that the number of student commuters at UCLA is closer to 20,000 to 24,000 – a smaller number than the university estimate but still a large demographic nonetheless.

Garcia-Shushtari said their program has developed a number of resources to meet the needs of student commuters and strengthen their sense of belonging on campus, such as a weekly commuter newsletter and a strong online presence via the Bruin Commuters Instagram page.

Zaki said remote learning during the COVID-19 pandemic actually offered her more opportunities to be involved at UCLA than in-person instruction.

As many clubs turned to Zoom to host meetings, Zaki had the chance to be involved in multiple organizations during her first year at UCLA. However, when students finally returned to inperson instruction during fall quarter, Zaki struggled to stay active in all the clubs she had joined. Her commute forced her to prioritize which organizations she could

“

continue participating in, and ultimately, she sacrificed several of her activities.

Yet Zaki said she does not hate her commute, as it gives her the much-needed time alone that she can’t afford at home or school. Garcia shared a similar sentiment.

Despite the long hours and incessant traffic, both of them handle the stress of their commutes in the same way – with a love of driving.

Garcia finds it peaceful when she drives with music playing and her car windows down. Meanwhile, Oller is a frequent listener of podcasts.

“When I listen to those podcasts, it feels like there’s someone else talking to me. I’m not just by myself in my car,” she said.

Although Oller might be alone in her car, she’s not alone in her commute.

After talking with Oller, Garcia and Zaki, I felt relieved knowing that among the people driving alongside me in the mornings, there are students like them who are also weaving through endless lanes of highways – all of us taking the extra mile to get to our destination. ♦

I have to plan basically my entire day around the commute.”

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41

Being the

bystander written by IMAN BABER illustrated by CAT NORDSTROM designed by VICTORIA LI

42

H

ospitals are cold. Very cold.

The doctors and nurses try their best to make it feel warmer. But I quickly learned that no matter how many encouraging words or comforting voices fill the air, they can never get rid of the solemn chill that hangs – a silence, a quiet suffering, a reckoning of pain and mortality that no one mentions yet everyone feels.

The emergency room waiting area was dark and quiet.

Other than the receptionist filing paperwork at the front desk, I was the only person there. I shrank into the hard plastic seat, pulling my jacket closer to me to keep out the early October morning air.

I was only 9 years old.

The events of hours earlier replayed in my mind, over and over again. I remember waking up to choking sounds that were very, very close. I saw my little sister, her eyes rolled back and limbs flailing as if fighting off an invisible attacker. Sprinting to my parents’ room, I screamed that something had happened to Noor. My ears filled with the heavy thumps of paramedic boots. Mama held my arm, telling me to pack my bag because we’d take our car to the hospital, while Baba rode with Noor in the ambulance. I grabbed Noor’s favorite Rapunzel doll.

I’ll never forget the icy fear that filled my body.

“My little sister is dying. She’s dying. She’s dying,” I thought.

“I need to help her. I need to help her. But what do I do?” … y little sister was diagnosed with epilepsy in 2012 after experiencing a nocturnal grand mal seizure, a type of seizure consisting of loss of consciousness and extreme muscle contractions.

Since her birth, my little sister’s life has been marked by hospital visits and doctors’ appointments – after the seizure, they increased tenfold. But the diagnosis of epilepsy was still not enough to explain all of the other symptoms she had experienced throughout her life.

Every hospital trip resulted in a referral that added a new specialist to our list: pediatrician, neurologist,

M

“We know so much about this and hospitals, we might as well be doctors ourselves.” rheumatologist, radiologist, pathologist, endocrinologist and geneticist. Each specialist ordered a new test: MRI, CT scan, electroencephalogram, sleep study, biopsy, genetic test and more. And each test would bring no answers or clarity. I don’t know which we feared more – the lack of answers or eventually getting one.

An additional diagnosis was eventually added alongside epilepsy, detected during genetic analysis – Noor had Cowden syndrome, a gene mutation that increased her susceptibility to cancer.

The syndrome is exceedingly rare, so much so that many of the doctors we were referred to didn’t even know it existed. My parents spent hours searching online, poring over each page and discussion forum for information to share with the specialists. My mother was an especially dedicated researcher and eventually could recite every symptom, term and statistic – information forever burned into her mind.

“We know so much about this and hospitals, we might as well be doctors ourselves,” we joked morbidly. … hen my parents finally brought me from that cold emergency room to see my sister, I was met with the sight of her in a hospital bed, pale with IVs in her skin and monitors beeping around her. Of course, that room was cold too.

I went to Noor and tucked Rapunzel into the bed right next to her, afraid to hug her lest I disturb the needles protruding from her arms. The nurses smiled and told my sister she would be OK because Rapunzel was there to do the tests with her.

That moment established my role in all this – one I would soon understand very well. If I couldn’t be the one researching her condition or talking to specialist after specialist, then the best I could do was be there for my sister.

Over the next few years, Noor took countless tests and sat through countless appointments. She needed several biopsies and a thyroidectomy after doctors discovered a cancerous tumor in the gland.

Thankfully, they caught it early.

I spent long hours in waiting rooms with my parents, watching families like ours go in and out. I acquainted myself with different hospitals, getting to know the artwork hanging on the walls, the beds shaped like firetrucks, and the little bumblebee toys nurses gave kids before their surgeries to calm them down. I knew to bring dolls for when my sister would wake up – Rapunzel, Merida or Pinkie Pie, because those were her favorites. I reminded myself to go to

W

PRIME | WINTER 2022

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Noor’s teachers to get the homework she would be missing and go to the attendance office to excuse my own absence.

I am grateful to say that, now, those days feel far away.

Noor’s health has improved, and she no longer needs medication for her epilepsy. She hasn’t had a seizure in years. But I would be lying if I said those years didn’t change my family and me.

When you’re a bystander to a family member with illness, you feel a sense of helpless guilt. You see your loved ones go through the worst of pain, and you feel there’s nothing

“I don’t want to be just the bystander again.” you can do about it. It hurts. It really hurts, but you tell yourself you’re not allowed to be hurt. You are not the one constantly cut open with scalpels or prodded with needles or placed in dark, cold machines.

You feel your sadness is nothing next to what your loved one goes through every day.

But you are still affected by everything that happens.

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I remember crying in the school counselor’s office every time she asked how my sister was doing. I remember the terror of waking up to one of my sister’s many seizures.

I remember working on a science report about Cowden syndrome and stumbling across the Google inquiry, “Life expectancy for patients with Cowden syndrome.” My heart jumped into my throat, and I closed the browser, running to Mama sobbing.

I don’t tell my family the real reason I sleep with nightlights on is because sometimes, when it’s 3 a.m., and I can’t fall asleep, and I can hear every creak of the house and every gust of wind and it echoes in my ears, I have to convince myself that, no, those sounds aren’t coming from my sister’s room.

I don’t tell my family that some days, after a particularly bad nightmare, I just sit in bed grateful I still have Noor with me.

My family knows I want to pursue medicine because I want to help people like us. But what I don’t tell them is the debilitating sense of dread I feel about losing patients. I’m afraid of being unable to heal their pain.

I don’t want to be just the bystander again. … n the summer of 2020, during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, sickness

I

struck my family once more.

Inexplicably, Mama fell very ill. Her fever remained for a month. She felt fatigued easily and couldn’t talk much. An ache traveled from her throat to every limb, leaving her bedridden and nearly voiceless. Every week, she said she would only go to the ER as a last resort.

She went to the ER three times over the course of two weeks.

I felt like I was reliving a bad nightmare: Again began the cycle of referrals to specialists and orders for tests. Only this time, tests never brought answers. Every COVID-19 test came back negative. There was no climactic diagnosis that could explain my mother’s pain. I thought the universe was playing a cruel joke.

Mama recalled that when she went to doctors for Noor before the seizures began, they turned her away and said her concerns were unwarranted.

“They said I was being a paranoid mother,” Mama told me.

“But I knew something was happening.”

And now, doctor after doctor told my mother her symptoms were just in her head.

“It’s all stress,” they said. “It’s all stress, it’s all in your head, and you need to relax.”

But the psychiatrist said stress doesn’t cause the symptoms my mother was feeling.

What was already a trying time for the world became even more so for my family. With now two immunocompromised family members, any trip outside came with debilitating anxiety. My sister became extremely vigilant about safety protocols, developing a calculated rage against those who flouted the restrictions. She angrily condemned them, wondering why some people would willingly put themselves and others at risk of being hospitalized.

“I’ve been there,” she said. “Not fun.”

The reality of the pandemic faded into a tense routine.

My days began with my 7 a.m. Zoom class then washing dishes and making breakfast for the family. Time between homework assignments went toward making meals and cleaning. News updates remained ever present – headlines trailing on the TV until the same stories eventually played again. My sister and I reminded my mother to take her medication because it would make her feel better. Every day, my father told us we needed to be strong because it was our job to help Mama.

I felt lost in the fragile monotony – the world had turned upside down. My mother’s previously pragmatic demeanor had now broken down into hopelessness. She remained confined to the bed and couch. Any physical exertion left her in pain.

When Noor was sick, I tended to remain hopeful and cheery. With my mother, I cried every day. The pandemic and the increased risk it posed to my family coupled with

the academic stress of applying to colleges and now my mom’s illness, pushed me to a breaking point. I developed a new routine – disappearing to the bathroom to let out a strangled sob then washing my face to hide the evidence.

I was plagued by guilt. In my mind, my tears were unwarranted compared to the pain my mother and sister were enduring. What was I doing? Being there for them? I was trying, but it seemed that there was nothing I could do to help them feel better. … ama is doing better now, her symptoms less severe. Noor is doing well too. Of course, there are always bad days, but we’ve learned as a family that the best thing we can do is be patient.

Despite their improvements, writing this story was still difficult. It took a long time for me to acknowledge I even had one to tell.

Even now, sitting here having written thousands of words about my experiences, there is a nagging voice in my conscience. I find myself questioning my own memories and feelings, scolding myself for having the audacity to write this at all.

Because when you’re the bystander, it isn’t your story to tell, you say to yourself. You’ll never feel that those experiences are rightfully yours, even if you were there for every moment, every second along the way. But no matter how much you deny it, those events affected you and left their scars.

You can’t see those scars, though.

My sister has a real, physical scar sealing the place they removed the organ from her neck. Not me. So how could this story possibly be mine? ♦

M

“I find myself questioning my own memories and feelings, scolding myself for having the audacity to write this at all.”

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