Ethos Magazine Winter 2017

WINTER 2017 /

VOL.9, ISSUE 2 / FREE

Tiny Homes, Big Community Pg. 10

A Conversation Pg. 26 - The Band Played On Pg. 33- The Edibles Obstacle Pg. 14

SANDOW BIRK

American Qur’an January 21 – March 19, 2017

( Working Together: A Conversation Between Gallerist Catherine Clark and Artist Sandow Birk Moderated by Jill Hartz, JSMA executive director and exhibition curator Thursday, January 19, noon

( Opening Reception Friday, January 20, 6–8 p.m.

( Gallery Tour with Sandow Birk January 21, 1 p.m.

( Whose Qur’an?

Panel discussion with Sandow Birk, Rick Colby, and Angela Joy January 21, 2 p.m.

For more information, visit jsma.uoregon.edu/SandowBirk This exhibition is supported by the Coeta and Donald Barker Changing Exhibitions Endowment; The Oregon Arts Commission and the National Endowment for the Arts, a federal agency; the Harold and Arlene Schnitzer CARE Foundation; the University of Oregon Office of Academic Affairs; Oregon Humanities Center; and JSMA members.

Birk, Sandow (American b. 1962). American Qur’an, Sura 9 A and B, 2013. Ink and gouache on paper, 16 x 24 inches. Courtesy of the artist and Catharine Clark Gallery, San Francisco

jsma.uoregon.edu | 541.346.3027 EO/AA/ADA institution committed to cultural diversity EO/AA/ADA institution committed to cultural diversity jsma.uoregon.edu

2 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

| 541.346.3027

Department of

HISTORY Welcome to the University of Oregon History Department. We offer courses on the history of classical antiquity, Africa, Asia, Europe, Latin America, the Middle East, colonial North America and the United States, and the world as a whole.

The B.A. or B.S. in History is a versatile degree.

Besides paving the way to careers in government, law, journalism, business, education, writing, editing, curating, and communication, the study of history cultivates critical skills useful in all walks of life. Among these are the abilities to communicate verbally and in writing, to conduct research on virtually any topic, and to analyze, interpret, and synthesize large quantities of information. Try out one of our courses and see if our program is for you!

Have you ever been curious about how and why people acted or believed the way they did in the past? Have you ever wondered why there are inequalities, imbalances, and conflicts within and between groups, societies, organizations, and states across the world? Are you interested in the diversity of world cultures and how cultures have changed?

The study of history will give you the knowledge and perspective to understand these and other issues. History majors learn about the variety of human experience over time, gaining a breadth of understanding over numerous historical geographic, chronological, and cultural themes and dynamics. In the process, they acquire analytical, research, and writing skills that will prepare them for success all walks of life.

HIST

Department of History

541-346-4802 275 McKenzie Hall

NOW

RESERVING For Fall 2017!

Contact Us Today!

1400 High Street Suite C3 541.505.9906 agcampushousing.com

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 3

contents

ETHOS MAGAZINE /

4 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

WINTER 2017

8 Play Review: ‘The Dead’ 10 Tiny Homes Big Community 14 The Edibles Obstacle 16 Striking a Chord 20 A Refugee’s Journey Across Seas 22 Olympic Impact 26 A Conversation 29 A Global First Amendment 31 Building Nepal’s Future 33 The Band Played On 40 Finding a Voice Through Art 44 Book Review: Ted Conover’s ‘Coyotes’

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 5

I

have always felt that artists and journalists at some point in time crossed stars to become one in the same. Whether this be through striking piano keys, billowing paint on a canvas, or breaking down on a theater stage, there is something reflective in the way artists take emotions and the pieces of their world and project them to audiences as something now whole and new as do journalists.

The same empathy that creates an artist drives a journalist. As they write and photograph, they fall so personally into the parts of the people they meet that they have hidden inside themselves, drawing subjects out of their retreat and bringing the small pieces of the world they’ve found in clearer focus. This empathy is no accident. You do your work and learn, and as time goes on you allow yourself to be challenged to tell the stories that many are too afraid to tell, until one day you open your eyes to find yourself tearing up alongside a subject who has told you of their struggles.

That day you feel yourself succumb to the real heart of the story, you are an artist – you are a journalist.

Sure, the job of a journalist can be uplifting, and exciting, and can even mean playing a game of hardball sometimes. No matter what it is, the role of an empathetic journalist is not easy.

This issue of Ethos, compassion and energy illuminates every page. It is felt in the electricity of Eugene’s house show culture in our piece “The Band Played On,” or the weight of heartbreak in our story on the first Syrian refugee family to arrive to our community in “A Refugee’s Journey Across Seas.” It is a feeling of thoughtfulness for a local woman’s life in the story “Striking a Chord,” and the understanding of overwhelming international tension in the whole Ethos World section.

Compassion and comprehension of our world in a way we may have a tendency to overlook embody this issue of Ethos. The winter issue serves as a means to escape at times into things that are cold and tough to read, and on the very next page it serves to give us hope. Which, to me is not too far off from what we know as art.

I think we could all use a little more of these things: a little more empathy, a little more escapism, a little more art, and a lot more Ethos.

EDITOR’S NOTE

JORDYN BROWN EDITOR IN CHIEF

Ethos is printed on 70 percent post-consumer recycled paper Ethos thanks Campus Progress for helping support this student-run publication. Campus Progress, the youth division of the Center for American Progress, is a national progressive organization working to empower young people to make their voices heard.

Published with support from Generation Progress.

Ethos is a multicultural student publication based at the University of Oregon in Eugene, Oregon. Ethos receives support from the ASUO. All content is legal property of Ethos, except when noted. Permission is required to copy, reprint, or use any content in Ethos. All views and opinions expressed are strictly those of the respective author or interviewee. Ethos is a publication of the Emerald Media Group.

6 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

s ON THE COVER (See: Tiny Homes pp. 10)

EDITOR IN CHIEF Jordyn Brown

editorial MANAGING EDITOR Hannah Steinkopf-Frank ASSOCIATE EDITORS Junnelle Hogan Patrick Dunham Erin Carey Erin Coates COPY CHIEF Aliya Hall WRITERS Olivia Singer Sarah Hovet Morgan Krakow Mara Welty Srushti Kamat Tess Novotny Iago Bojczuk

photography PHOTO EDITOR Sierra Pedro PHOTOGRAPHERS

Kaylee Domzalski KJ Hellis Phillip Quinn Natalie Hardwicke Johnny Hammond Will Nielsen Kendra Siebert Hetta Hansen Sarah Northrop Meghan Jacinto

art CREATIVE DIRECTOR Brittney Reinholtz DESIGNERS Jason Yun Emily Harris Emily Foster ILLUSTRATOR Dorothy Hoeft Erick Wonderly

ethos world

Jordyn Brown, Aliya Hall Phillip Quinn, KJ Hellis, Will Nielsen

contact

ethosmag@gmail.com

special thanks ASUO

Congratulations to the Ethos staff, both past and present, for its award-winning work. For its previous issues, Ethos received multiple awards from the Associated Collegiate Press and Columbia Scholastic Press Association, including a 2013 ACP Pacemaker Award for a Feature Magazine, its first Digital Magazine Silver Crown and two Society of Professional Journalists Mark of Excellence Awards. Generation Progress named Ethos Best Overall Publication in 2012-2013.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 7

The Dead: Reviewed

“

James Joyce’s The Dead breathes new life on the University Stage WORDS PATRICK DUNHAM | PHOTOS PHILLIP QUINN

“Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried.”

— James Joyce, “The Dead”

Mary Jane Morkan, played by University of Oregon sophomore Ellie Jones, and Gabriel Conroy reminisce of old times during their feast of the Epiphany.

8 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

”

I

n Michael Malek Najjar’s direction of James Joyce’s The Dead (adapted by Richard Nelson and Shawn Davey), we spend an evening filled with song and dance at Misses Morkans’ annual Epiphany Feast. It is 1913. The last hurrah before the First World War and the next phase of fighting for Irish nationalism would rear their ugly heads, but everyone is in jolly spirits. The guests are a baker’s dozen of dear friends gathered for a celebration of holiday cheer, bestowed with hearty amounts of stout, pudding, and Irish jigs. Gabriel (Alex Mentzel) and his wife Mrs. Conroy (Kelsey Tidball) show up late, buffeted by the snow but glad to arrive in a warm home with all their cohort mulling about.

The staging is simple but excellent, using the play’s four settings with great depth of field. Guests chatter and exchange their peas and carrots with realistic banter that renders every scene with dynamism. Out of the sizeable cast of 14, each player is given proper characterization and quirk that feels authentic and thorough. For the Irish accents alone, it is worth the price of admission (which, for every University Theater production, is free for students). Mr. Browne (Jackson Perkins) in particular was a standout for his bemusedly drunken repartee and range of expression.

Occasionally the lights fade from warm, spirited hues of orange to pensive rays of cobalt: guests freeze in place, and Gabriel launches into an aside. These digressions give context not only to the individuals surrounding him, but how this year’s party stands out from the rest in a previously unheard song shared by his wife. Out of this mysterious tune The Dead’s main conflict seeps, delving the narrative into poignant ruminations on lost love, the finiteness of knowing our beloved, and the dead whom ceaselessly integrate into our cumulative being as we live on.

Like Peter and the Starcatcher and End of the Rainbow, The Dead isn’t so much a musical as a hybrid form. It has many songs, but also ample dialogue. Every song and dance is delicately woven into the merry gathering. Gabriel’s voice and range in particular is sweepingly beautiful.

The conversion from the 39 pages of the original short story (being the last and longest chapter of Dubliners) deftly retains the spirit of Irish pride and captures what middle-class modern life was like for Dubliners. By the melancholy but righteous conclusion, both Gabriel and the audience come to realize that the world is indeed like a frozen lake: just as we never quite know what lies beneath the land we walk on, our inhabited psyches are just as mysteriously boundless.

In the words of director Michael Malek Najjar, “So many of our days, our interactions, and our goings on are spent carefully walking across the surface of this frozen lake called life. We rarely stop to think about the enormous wellspring of emotions we all have within us until a crack appears; then there is no denying that we have so much reckoning to accomplish before we finally depart this world...while we are alive, we must live.”

PHOTO Snow falls as Gretta Conroy, played by University of Oregon junior Kelsey Tidball, weeps over the death of her past lover.

PHOTO (Left to right) Bartell D’arcy (Ryan Sayegh), Mr. Browne (Jackson Perkins), Michael (Conner Criswell), Freddy Malins (Christian Mitchell), and Gabriel Conroy (Alex Mentzel) serenade their company.

PHOTO Gretta Conroy pleads for forgiveness from her husband Gabriel Conroy, played by University of Oregon senior Alex Mentzel.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 9

TINY HOMES,

BIG COMMUNITY

10 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

WORDS SARAH HOVET | PHOTOS JOHNNY HAMMOND

O

pportunity Village is situated between several pairs of railroad tracks, across from an industrial supply compound and past the Eugene’s Whiteaker neighborhood. Once inside the barbed wire-lined gates, the tiny homes contrast with the looming surroundings.

Some of the homes have curved roofs, others slanted. Occasional turquoise and mint green walls add splashes of color. A birdhouse sits on a telephone pole. Strawberry plants rise from the small garden and a wagon holds lettuce, cabbage, and tomato plants.

The interior dimensions of a tiny home range from 6 by 8 feet to 8 by 8 feet, not much larger than a king size mattress. The space accommodates a bed, shelves, and plastic bins for storage under the bed. Villagers refer to them as “walk-in closets” and the organization of their possessions in the storage bins as “tetris.” Villagers like Liz Bolter enjoy the challenge.

To reach Bolter’s bungalow, a visitor has to walk by the communal sink and food preparation area. Peppers and apples sit on the covered dining table. A radio plays the Red Hot Chili Peppers. On one end is the pantry, stocked weekly by Food For Lane County. The cramped kitchen smells of thyme.

Four large plastic containers neatly stacked on top of each other line Bolter’s front step, which is clear except for a glass jar full of rocks and a black container holding her mother’s ashes. A pile of driftwood from the Oregon coast leans against the wall.

Inside, her possessions are rigorously organized. A plastic bin holds her book collection, with titles ranging from Build and Repair With Concrete to Aquaponic Gardening. Billed hats hang from pegs in the wood beams composing the narrow loft above her bed. One reads “Chill.”

Bolter explains hats are big in Opportunity Village, where daily events are weather-dependent. Waking up in the winter tends to be a choice between the discomfort of a full bladder and a walk through the rain to one of the two toilets shared by the villagers.

The villagers also sign up for 30-minute slots in the single communal shower. Bolter describes trying to pack as much as possible into that half hour: pedicure, shave, hair trim, and yoga.

Other routines bring seasonal joy: a fresh, warm load of laundry this time of year is more inviting than in the heat of the summer. With no air conditioning or electricity for fans inside the tiny homes, Bolter advises spray bottles, buckets of water, and waking up before sunrise to conduct chores in the predawn cool.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 11

“Most of the time, I’m victorious,” Bolter says of negotiating these tasks.

Tiny house villages are found throughout the country, from Portland to Ann Arbor. They crop up as the lack of affordable housing borders on epidemic. In Seattle, the homeless rate increased by 19 percent between 2015 and 2016, with 4,500 people found sleeping outside during an annual One Night Count, where volunteers walk the streets and keep tally. The city of Eugene estimates that nearly 3,000 people in the community have no home to sleep in on any given night.

The sustainable and social philosophy of a model like Opportunity Village vitalizes these collectives “to make a small space have as many people live on it as possible and thrive as much as possible,” according to Bolter. The goal is forward momentum to a more lasting housing situation. The village application requires villagers to subscribe to “the goal of selfsufficiency.” In addition to providing a safe, stable environment while villagers seek employment and/or wait to move up on housing lists, the village features a self-managing structure.

Before applying to live in Opportunity Village, Bolter spent four months homeless in Eugene, from June to October 2014.

She navigated homelessness with camping skills from her childhood and military service.

Bolter had previously immigrated to Canada after one of the National Guard units she had been in was activated post-9/11.

She lived there as an illegal immigrant for almost five years.

Although she had moved on to another unit that was not active at the time, she describes associates who could not adjust back to daily life after spending time overseas and lost their jobs, homes, and families.

“My disgruntlement with being an American had been growing for many years, but it had finally reached disgust,” she says.

Now she is waiting for a new contract from DePaul Security, her long-time employer. During her homeless period, she relied on her work for necessities such as running water and refrigeration.

In addition to her external work, she staffs the front desk by the gate at Opportunity Village eight hours a week and

PHOTO Villager Gilbert Hayes has acted as herbalist, master gardener, and hair stylist for Opportunity Village since August 2016.

12 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

contributes to two weekly hours of beautification. In addition, she contributes $30 monthly for utilities and attends Tuesday night community meetings as a requirement to remain a villager.

The application for Opportunity Village can be found online at the SquareOne Villages website. It includes a background check and a skills inventory, asking about prior experience in areas from small engine repair to spiritual leadership. Alongside standard application questions, the form has a space for “Where did you sleep last night?” “How did you become unhoused?” and “Have you been active in houseless issues/activism?” An applicant must also sign that they understand the five basic rules: no violence to self or others, no theft, no alcohol, drugs, or paraphernalia, no persistent disruptive behavior, and the imperative to contribute to the village’s continued integrity.

Opportunity Village opened in July 2013. The site was originally an RV park, which provides benefits such as availability of outlets because the villagers do not have electricity or running water in their tiny homes.

The property currently contains 29 residential units, 20 bungalows of 8 by 10 feet and nine conestogas of 8 by 8 feet.

Opportunity Village is owned by mother company SquareOne Villages, an organization confronting the lack of affordable housing in Eugene. They also have plans to create a second site, Emerald Village.

The co-founder of Opportunity Village, Andrew Heben, lived in a homeless tent city for a month during college as a field study for his thesis project. He later wrote Tent City Urbanism to explore the overlap between tent camps and tiny housing villages. Most of the book explores different homeless communities around the country as case studies and addresses advocacy for villages.

Just as Heben gathered data from various models, housing coalitions now look to Opportunity Village as a model. In Oregon alone, Medford adopted the Opportunity Village model in November to design its forthcoming Hope Village and Cottage Grove has plans to do the same. In December, the International Code Council approved the first tiny-housespecific appendix for the 2018 International Residential Code. In other words, tiny homes residents may now receive Certificates of Occupancy if their state or local government implements the measure. SquareOne Village intends to open its second project in Eugene, Emerald Village, on an acre of land in the Whiteaker in 2017. Tiny houses are up and coming, and Heben is on the forefront.

Bolter describes Heben as someone who “became passionate about the plight of homelessness” and also had a degree in urban planning. “He’s done good on his degree. He’s a homeless advocate.”

Innovation is at the heart of Opportunity Village. Resident Gilbert Hayes characterizes himself as an “innovator of stuff.”

He arrived at Opportunity Village in August 2016 and adopted the role of master gardener and herbalist. He can name a favorite healing herb -- plantain -- and laugh about the challenge of convincing villagers to eat the mustard greens he grows.

When he arrived, the village was having trouble watering its crops of blue corn, beets, carrots, basil, and other culinary herbs.

So he designed a drip system to hydrate the gardens.

In addition to the drip system, Hayes has conceptualized

PHOTO Eugene’s wet weather requires carefully timed visits to the communal toilets, shower, or kitchen.

Smartphone apps, crafted pipes out of scrap rock, and acted as the village hair stylist. He plans to move to Emerald Village when it opens to continue his goal of creating and consulting micro-businesses that work with co-ops and companies like SquareOne Villages.

Sitting on a couch in the yurt where the weekly community

“

WHEN YOU’RE OUT THERE, IT’S A HUSTLE TO SURVIVE. IT’S WORK.

”

meetings take place, Hayes pulls up news articles about Emerald Village on a communal computer. A small dog with a patch of dyed fur drowses on the cushion next to him. He pulls up a YouTube video of the groundbreaking at the Emerald site. Once there, he envisions a “farmacy” of supplements and tinctures.

“I want to help heal people and create jobs,” he says.

After two years in the village, Bolter says the pressure to move on is mounting. She intends to maintain a nomadic lifestyle by purchasing an RV or a truck with a trailer. Once she gets her wheels, she will pursue seasonal work, such as trimming marijuana by the coast. A “rockhound wannabe” with a glass jar of Oregon sunstones in her bungalow, Bolter also wants to gold pan.

She describes Sharp’s Creek and Bryce Creek south of Cottage Grove, where she hopes to explore the bedrock and identify the replenishing sites. At first her sister demanded,

“You want to be a hermit?” But after Bolter explained that she hoped to return to the hotspots for years to come, her sister approved of gold panning the riverbeds as Bolter’s version of a “retirement plan.”

Although a grateful recipient, Bolter says she hopes to move on from Opportunity Village in spring 2017. In such close quarters, politics are always in the air. Heated disputes can develop over issues such as what constitutes a valid excuse for missing a community meeting, how to go about collecting emergency contact info, and how to regulate villagers’ assistance animals.

Bolter says that people who suffer from rage issues or a of lack self-control will not last at Opportunity Village. As villagers learn about the rules, they recommend the community to acquaintances with these qualifications in mind, resulting in an elevated quality of villager applicants over the years.

Despite holiday dinners and a new Wednesday game night, Bolter admits the average villager is antisocial, and an individual who has been chronically homeless for 20 years would most likely be too antisocial to be part of the village. Accountability and reliability can be issues, but Bolter contends that the homeless are not lazy.

“When you’re out there, it’s a hustle to survive. It’s work,” she says. “The American dream doesn’t work for us and there’s a thousand and one reasons why it doesn’t.”

After living in Canada, she calls the disparity between homeless resources in Canada and the United States “night and day.” Eugene, however, ranked ahead of the other cities in the country, with resources like the mission. Still, she lived without housing for four months, had her bike stolen, and dealt with the pressure of an approaching winter. Opportunity Village provided her with a space where she could safely set down her possessions, take shelter from the elements, and have a space similar to the centered place she reaches when she practices yoga: “sanctuary.”

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 13

The Edibles Obstacle: Marijuana Bakeries Face New Challenges WORDS TESS NOVOTNY PHOTOS SARAH NORTHROP

E

normous ovens, silver basin sinks, and an extraordinary collection of baking mixers and utensils sat dismally still for a month at Elbe’s Edibles, a recreational marijuana bakery in Portland, Oregon that produces cannabutter-based food. The kitchen was supposed to be full of bustling activity and mingling scents of cannabis and sweet confections; cake balls, lemon bars, and sugar cookies are a few of the items listed in multicolored handwriting on Elbe’s menu that hangs in the kitchen.

Elbe’s Edibles was out of business for a month following the implementation of new, strict lab testing rules for marijuana and marijuana products in Oregon on October 1, 2016.

On this date, new rules for transferring, labeling, concentration limits, packaging, and testing of marijuana and marijuana products set by the Oregon Health

14 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

Authority (OHA) went into effect. Processors had to pass lab tests administered by a lab accredited by the Oregon Environmental Lab Accreditation Program (ORELAP), overseen by the OHA, to continue selling products after that deadline.

At that point, less than five labs in Oregon were accredited to administer all necessary tests for processors, and there were no labs offering tests for butter-based food. This meant that Elbe’s Edibles could not sell their products.

“The state insisted that companies comply with the new rules, but there was no avenue to do so, for many of us,” said Gretchen Palmer, Chief Administrative Officer at Elbe’s Edibles.

After a month out of work, Elbe’s Edibles passed lab tests and was approved to sell in the first week of November 2016.

There are now 19 labs accredited for testing, but only four can test butter-based products. Some businesses are still waiting on lab openings to get products approved to sell.

Palmer maintains concerns about lab tests. Some results can take up to three weeks to get back. For food, Palmer says, this is unreasonable, as the tested product would expire.

According to Laura Brannan, Chief Creative Officer at Elbe’s Edibles, OHA did not take action to push the October 1 deadline back for businesses to sell under old rules despite knowledge that ORELAP could not accredit enough labs for businesses to get lab work done and stay open after October 1.

“It was legal July 1, 2015, and we still have not been able to get products on the shelf because of delays, obstacles, and poor decisions made by the organizations that oversee us,” says Brannan.

Jonathan Modie, Lead Communications Director for the

“

IT WAS LEGAL JULY 1, 2015, AND WE STILL HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO GET PRODUCTS ON THE SHELF

”

Oregon Health Authority, says they had no concerns about businesses’ ability to get lab work done before October 1. “We were told by labs at that time that they were able to handle the volume of product that needed to be tested,” he says.

However, on December 2, the OHA issued a press release outlining temporary changes to testing rules to “provide relief for [the] industry.”

“OHA understood the difficult situation that cannabis producers and growers were in with regard to the authority’s Oct 1. testing regulations,” manager of the Oregon Medical Marijuana Program at OHA, Andre Ourso, stated in the release. ​In 2014, Measure 91 legalized recreational marijuana in Oregon, creating an industry that promised increased funding for schools and mental health through cannabis taxation. The measure has changed since its passage.

The original language of Measure 91 stipulated that processors in Oregon pay the state an initial $500 licensing fee and then $1,000 in yearly fees. The measure also stated that businesses would pay lab-testing fees – an unspecified amount that business owners estimated would be in the hundreds or low thousands – for product quality-check. Now, businesses will pay almost $20,000 in yearly fees, most going to extensive lab work.

In this first version of the measure, recreational marijuana business owners had to be Oregon residents. This was to protect Oregon’s small-business owners from domination by outside investors. This requirement has been dropped and, according to Brannan, there has been a surge in wealthy, non-Oregonian participation in the legal marijuana market.

Mark Pettinger, the Public Affairs and Media Relations representative for the OLCC, says the state dropped the residency requirement to help businesses. “Because of the difficulty of accessing capital in particular, there was an interest in being able to have folks outside of Oregon be able to invest in the industry,” he says.

With marijuana still illegal on the federal level, many banks refuse to participate in the marijuana industry because they could face federal punishment for doing so. This means that cannabis business owners and workers cannot have businessrelated bank accounts, which Brannan says leads to businesses getting hurt by shady investors, landlords, and business deals. To combat this, Elbe’s Edibles and most marijuana businesses are self-invested.

Brannan says many rules for processors are unnecessary.

There is a new OLCC rule banning production of food in her bakery that does not contain cannabis. Brannan is allowed seven visitors in her bakery per week, and she cannot give employees Elbe’s Edibles’ products. If her employees have medical marijuana cards they can only consume cannabis edibles (their medicine) if they are alone in a room.

Pettinger attributes these rules to the federal illegality of marijuana. He says that there is little precedent for current legal marijuana rules. “Marijuana is still a Schedule I drug in the eyes of the federal government,” Pettinger says. Schedule I is the highest classification of federally illegal substances with no medical use like heroin, LSD, and ecstasy. People who grow marijuana for dispensaries and processors must pass extensive pesticide tests on their crop, and restrictions for pesticides on marijuana crops are higher than restrictions set for food crops by the FDA. Looking at the distribution side, the rules for cannabis businesses are much stricter than rules for bars in Oregon.

In Oregon, bars can stay open until 2 a.m. and there are no restrictions for how close one bar can be to another.

Dispensaries, however, must stop selling by 10 p.m. and must be at least 1,000 feet from another dispensary. Pettinger says this discrepancy also stems from little precedent for legal marijuana.

For the industry to reach its potential in generating money for education and mental health, says Brannan, Oregon residents must pressure their politicians and leaders to implement policy for cannabis businesses to easily sell products.

Brannan says that Oregon House Representative Earl Blumenauer is one of the only politicians doing work for cannabis businesses. Blumenauer has supported efforts for banks to back cannabis businesses. “Truly, until banks get behind us, we’ll never be legitimized or respected as an industry,” Brannan says.

Until then, other cannabutter-based bakeries may find themselves faced with these roadblocks, forced to let their kitchen sit untouched another day.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 15

Striking a chord:

16 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

a life with

multiple

S

sclerosis

itting in a wheelchair, Judy Clements holds her ukulele close to her body as she strums out a 1940s tune. She doesn’t always remember the lyrics to the verses, but when it’s time for the chorus, her voice steadily and softly intertwines with the tender plucking of the strings. Clements relies on her memory and ears for the chord progressions, as she has lost her eyesight due to the progression of multiple sclerosis, a disease she has been living with for 50 years.

Diagnosed when she was 28 years old, Clements describes MS as “debilitating.” The disease is unpredictable and targets the central nervous system, disrupting the informational flow between the brain and the body, according to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. While the cause of MS is still unknown, the Society says scientists believe it is triggered by an “unidentified environmental factor” within a person who is “genetically predisposed to respond.”

Clements has heard the disease referred to as the “Disease of Young Adults” because it typically affects people within their 20s and 30s.

For Clements, MS impacts her optic nerves and spinal columns, which led to her blindness and the demobilization of her legs.

However, the disease was slow going. Her vision would come and go throughout weeks, and her leg would experience a numbness that would also leave and return. When the doctors didn’t have an answer for Clements about what was happening to her, she went to a neurologist who diagnosed her.

“It was awful when they gave me the diagnosis,” she says.

She was told about the crippling effects that MS can have, but that it could depended on how she took care of herself. She was advised to stay out of the sunlight, but she said she didn’t heed his warnings, and it got worse. While Clements has gone to support groups before and described some as being “helpful and uplifting,” she initially turned down invitations upon discovering they only talked about the disease; she thought it “sounded too depressing,” and therefore didn’t want to go.

“I went to school instead, and it was much more what I needed to be doing,” she says.

WORDS ALIYA HALL PHOTO KJ HELLIS PHOTO (left) Clements holds her ukulele fondly as she soaks in the sun on the patio at Sherwood Pines.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 17

Clements was working until she received her diagnosis, along with raising three children. When she lost her eyesight completely in her 30s and had to stop driving, she had to quit working as well. As it became clear that her life was going to dramatically change, her first husband left because he “couldn’t handle taking care of someone who needed a lot of help.”

After the divorce, Clements moved her family next door to her mother in Southern California who helped with transportation. “She was our support network,” Clements says. “She worked but she always had time for us.”

However, after a few years Clements made a change in her life and decided to move up to the Bay Area close to Pacific College.

Clements didn’t know what to do next with her life, until her sister brought up the prospect of taking classes at the local college. “I thought, ‘How could I do that?’ She said I could get a degree in five years,” says Clements. “I said, ‘Five years? I’ll be in my 40s!’ She said, ‘How old will you be in five years if you don’t go back to school?’”

Clements started off taking ceramics and gym because she was “scared to take anything with a textbook” due to her disability, but then she learned the school provided readers and offered books on tape.

“I thought I was smarter than some of these 18-yearolds, and so I did it for a couple of years,” she says.

Clements transferred to San Francisco after finishing

up her general education credits, and received a degree in psychology. She discovered she liked counseling and went to graduate school for her master’s, and got her license as a social worker. “[I] loved it,” she says. “Loved going back to school.

Both of my sisters had gone to college and I knew I wasn’t quite as smart as they were, but I knew I was persistent.” Her persistence helped her achieve her next mission: getting hired.

“No one really wanted to hire me because they didn’t know if I could do anything,” she says. “I had no job experience as a blind person.”

Clements started with volunteer work before bouncing around jobs. She worked for over 18 years at various places, including at a family counseling agency and a women’s clinic. However, when she began to lose mobility in her legs, she had to stop.

“Blindness wasn’t a problem, but getting to work with the wheelchair was more of an issue,” she says. She equated losing mobility to a leg falling asleep. She woke up one day and couldn’t feel it, and then it never woke up.

At that point, Clements had married her second husband, a “wonderful” man who “didn’t care if [she] was blind at all.” She was married to him for 25 years until he died. After his passing she moved to Oregon to be with her three children. One of her daughters, Karen, now owns the assisted living facility, Sherwood Pines in Veneta, where Clements has been living.

“

“FOR ANYONE WITH A DISABILITY, REMEMBER THAT THEY DON’T NEED PITY.”

”

PHOTO (left) Judy Clements eats split pea soup and a green salad for lunch at her care facility, Sherwood Pines.

18 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

PHOTO Clements plays her ukulele with a visitor on the patio at Sherwood Pines. Playing ukulele is one of her favorite activities.

Besides visits and telephone calls with her family, Clements keeps busy with audio books and the activities that Sherwood Pines hosts such as music groups. Music has a special place in Clement’s life, as she spends a lot of her free time playing ukulele — one of which is a new acoustic electric that she is proud of. She started to play again eight years ago when her daughter in Springfield bought her an ukulele.

“She knew I used to play guitar, but I had to stop because I couldn’t hold it anymore,” she says, “It was just too big.” She has since taken to the ukulele and has learned chord progressions and songs. She describes herself as being “stuck on the 1940s” and the music of George Gershwin and Cole Porter.

“I have a good ear,” she says. “I can hear something and figure out the chords.” Clements has even written a couple of songs that are now being put on CDs for her family by a recording artist in Springfield. For her, it’s important to “live your life” and not let MS affect it.

“For anyone with a disability, remember that they don’t need pity,” she said.

For Clements, MS isn’t and has never been a death sentence for her. She says that it doesn’t have to be a “terrible thing.”

“I have had a good, long, and interesting life.”

PHOTO Clements strums one of her original songs on her ukulele.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 19

A Refugee’s Journey

ACROSS SEAS

A

li Turki Ali, a Syrian refugee, stands in front of Lane Community College. His eyes gleam as he spots his brother and two nephews turn the corner on the darkened, moonlit street. The two small boys, bundled in puffy green jackets that shield them from the crisp fall air, appear almost turtle-like, their hoods covering their stark black hair.

As they approach, Ali outstretches his arms as the boys, two and four years old, fling themselves into his chest, large smiles stretching across their faces. The older one, Jan, wears a vast universe of freckles on his face — a trait that deems him a 'moon child' by his family. As they wait for Ali's sister-in-law to arrive for an English class, the two boys shyly engage in their surroundings, observing those who pass by with large eyes as their feet dangle from a grated bench.

In early September, Ali's brother, accompanied by his wife and sons, arrived in Eugene after a two-day journey from Gaziantep, Turkey, a city roughly 40 miles from the Syrian border. From there, the family bussed 16 hours to Istanbul where they boarded a flight to the United States.

In 2013, Ali's family fled to Turkey, seeking asylum two years following the outbreak of civil war in Syria. The conflict arose from political unrest following the Arab Spring, when protesters demanding President Bashar al-Assad's removal were violently smothered by the government's regime. Religious tensions and a belief that Bashar al-Assad had failed to deliver a long promised democratic reform prompted the violence.

The Assad family has ruled Syria since 1971, replacing a long reign of Sunni power. As a result, the Assad family, who are practicing Alawites, were met with religious contempt by the Sunni majority. Alawites are an obscure and marginalized branch of Shi'a Islam socially equivalent to Dalits, or “the untouchables in Indian society. Consequently, the Assad's rise to power was met with both shock and rage, provoking a series of armed revolts by Sunni Islamists.

At the time of the outbreak, Ali was a high school math teacher in Aleppo. He stayed for three years after the war began, not wishing to abandon his students during a time of dangerous social upheaval. He finally made the decision to flee to Turkey illegally when the military asked him to fight.

It was in Turkey that Ali met Mark Ward, an American diplomat who connected him to the United Nations for refugee resettlement. After a series of demanding interviews and intensive background checks, Ali received news that he was to

20 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

be placed in the United States, but he would be going alone, thousands of miles from the familiarity of home or family.

"I was shocked and upset,” Ali says. “I wanted to go to the United Kingdom or Europe because that’s where my family was."

In June 2015, Ali became the first Syrian refugee to arrive in Eugene. In the months following his arrival, Ali took English classes and found a job specializing in retirement plans at Summit Benefits & Actuarial Services in central Eugene.

A soft-spoken man with eager and kind eyes, Ali slowly began to call Eugene home. He speaks about his sponsor — a man who provided Ali with food stamps, registered Ali for school, and searched for job openings — with admiration, now calling his sponsor’s family his own “second family.”

One year later, Ali received notice that his brother's family would be coming to the United States, but were unable to come to Eugene, as the city lacked a program to facilitate their resettlement within Lane County. Instead, they were to live in Portland, over 100 miles from Ali. So, Ali and his sponsor spearheaded the Refugee Resettlement Coalition of Lane County — a program run by a group of community members and coordinated by the Catholic Community Services of Lane County (CCS). According to Tom Mulhern, executive director of the CCS, the group maintains regular contact with the families while they assimilate into American society. The organization now accepts up to 35 refugees a year, one of whom Ali hopes will be his younger brother who still remains in Turkey.

Yet, a return to Syria still remains an option for Ali. “I would like to return to Syria if it’s safer than before,” Ali says. “Or better.”

But now as the wind blows in Eugene, Ali grasps his youngest nephew closely to him, speaking to him in a hushed murmur as the boy listens intently before his attention is broken and his eyes dart wildly down the street. With a rustle and a sudden leap, the boy escapes from his uncle’s arms, racing down the sidewalk towards a shadowed figure. He returns to the group clasping her hand. The child and his mother approach with an eagerness, greeting Ali’s brother and oldest nephew with hugs and kisses.

Ali looks on silently, a grin forming below his calm eyes.

“I came here alone,” says Ali. “But for [my family] it was different. They have this group to help them here, along with my friends and my second family. They don’t have to feel alone.”

WORDS MARA WELTY | PHOTO NATALIE HARDWICKE

IN JUNE 2015, ALI BECAME THE FIRST SYRIAN REFUGEE TO ARRIVE IN EUGENE.

welcome back to ETHOS WORLD Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 21

Olympic Impact

WORDS IAGO BOJCZUK ILLUSTRATIONS ERICK WONDERLY

Brazil’s cultural legacy following the Games in Rio

F

rom the top of Corcovado hill, Christ the Redeemer towered over Rio de Janeiro as athletes from around the world arrived in Brazil for the event that has been regarded by some as a “renovation of the Brazilian spirit” while by others as an “unnatural catastrophe.”

In August 2016, as the world watched the rainbow-colored opening ceremony of South America’s first Olympic Games, there were songs of celebration and national history. However, there was also a strong feeling of apprehension among cariocas — the Portuguese word for Rio natives.

For some, the Olympics represented a unique chance for socioeconomic and structural renovation in the city in the midst of the impeachment of Brazil’s first woman president Dilma Rousseff. For others, the significance of the event was merely another temporary distraction as entertaining as soccer. After all, common problems such as transportation, education, and access to culture would still remain part of their harsh everyday realities in Brazil’s most well-known city.

Regardless of the impact on the lives of cariocas, the Olympic Games in Rio represented an opportunity to acknowledge Brazil’s cultural legacy in the world, but more importantly in Brazilians themselves. “Our culture is extremely rich and has a transformative power to any Brazilian,” says Marina Aragão, a senior studying economics at San Diego State University. She visited her family in Rio de Janeiro during the Games.

Rio is certainly a city of contrast. The former capital of Brazil has blended architectural styles since the country’s discovery by the Portuguese in the 16th century. In 1908, the Brazilian writer Coelho Neto referred to it as “cidade maravilhosa” (the wonderful city). However, it was not until the mid-1960s that the city became familiar to people outside of Brazil due to the worldwide hit bossa nova song “Garota de Ipanema” (The Girl From Ipanema) by Vinícius de Moraes e Tom Jobim. Along with the Christ the Redeemer, Ipanema Beach is one of Brazil’s mustsee places.

Before the Games, the statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio was probably the most famous image of Brazil around the world.

To Aragão and many other cariocas, Christ the Redeemer is a representation of peace. However, Rio de Janeiro’s hallmark also watches over those unable of living the Olympic passion — those

22 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

who faced humiliating situations caused by issues of housing, urban mobility, job access, and the environment, as reported by the Popular Committee of the World Cup and Olympic Games in Rio. For those who are not from Rio, these issues are rarely understood.

According to the World Bank, between 2003 and 2014, Brazil improved its socioeconomic conditions dramatically which allowed over 29 million people to overcome poverty and therefore reduced inequality. However, since 2015 the country has been facing issues related to a high unemployment rate and an economic recession. Additionally, the political instability that has emerged around the impeachment process made things more complex for Brazilians. Many of the protests that happened across the city of Rio de Janeiro against the Olympic Games demonstrated the challenges of the disadvantaged communities are greater than economic indicators show.

Reni Lira, who owns a construction startup in Rio de Janeiro, was not supportive of the Games at first, but changed her mind afterwards and now hopes that the generation who experienced the event will be able to advance the Olympics’ legacies.

“Maybe we have acquired the self-confidence that we are capable of doing the right thing if we really want,” says Lira. “I don’t know whether sports are going to have more representation in the lives of children who experienced the Olympics, but I’m hoping so.”

In fact, Rio de Janeiro’s vision for the Games was developed around the “Live Your Passion” theme, based on celebration and transformation. The vision of “Live Your Passion,” however, is not as accessible as it seems in a country that has been in recent decades among the most unequal countries in the world according to the World Bank’s GINI index, which measures inequality by analyzing income distribution in a country.

For example, a 2015 report from the Institute of Applied Economic Research in Brazil indicates that the richest one percent of the adult population accounts for more than a quarter of all income in the country. The richest five percent hold almost half of the income. The concentration is such that 1 millionth of the people accumulate more income than half of the population together.

Matheus Marlinson, a 21-year-old student originally from

the outskirts of the neighboring city of Nova Friburgo, worked inequality, aggravated since 2009 when Rio was picked over as an assistant producer for an international TV channel during Chicago, Madrid, and Tokyo to host the Games. the Games covering the social and political impact in Rio. “Brazil, which has never been much internationalized, had “For me, the greatest legacy of the Olympics is the development an enormous cultural shock while welcoming many languages of infrastructure of the city of Rio de Janeiro,” he says. “It is [and] different ways of thinking and being all at once,” says remarkable that the city, in regards to its public transportation Marlinson. system, became more connected, allowing people to get around In total, Brazil won 19 medals in the Olympics and 72 medals more easily. The biggest problem is the price of tickets. That in the Paralympic Games. However, from the comfort of their is a complete nonsense.” Since April, Rio’s subway system has homes Brazilians realized the worst in Brazilian media on their become the most expensive one in own TVs: the lack of representation.

Brazil.

“It was absurd the kind of Hailing from the south of Brazil negligence with the Paralympic to study medicine at the Federal Games,” says Ravaneda. “There was University of the State of Rio de very little media coverage besides the WE ARE A PEOPLE WHO Janeiro, João Victor Ravaneda opening and closing ceremonies.”

CONSTANTLY NEGLECT shares the same opinion that the The ongoing crisis in Brazil might THE POLITICAL PROBLEMS development of infrastructure is be blurring the Olympic positive already benefiting the lives of many legacy on cariocas and the city of IN EXCHANGE FOR SOCCER. people.

Rio de Janeiro, which may represent However, Ravaneda is not as an opportunity for change in which positive as Lira when it comes to the youth can actively fuel discussions on legacies brought by the Games. According to him, public works topics such as democracy, education, and culture. During the projects, a lot of money, long time to deliver the projects to the closing ceremony, International Olympic Committee President city, and an international spectacle are the perfect combination Thomas Bach said: “History will talk about a Rio de Janeiro for misappropriation of funds. before and a much better Rio de Janeiro after the Olympic “I think the world has learned that Brazil is indeed a competent Games.” country, capable of holding a global event,” says Ravaneda. “I Taking into account the wins and losses that Brazil faced even think that this can be a benefit to the Olympic legacy itself, in the Rio Olympic Games, the most important outcome is not but I also think that this has confirmed that we live based on measured in gold medals, but rather in a renewed sense of what false impressions of happiness, the sunshine, and carnival; that it is to be Brazilian and a strengthened belief in Brazil’s future. we are a people who constantly neglect the political problems in “I cried during the closing ceremony not because of the end exchange for soccer.” of the Games or because I was about to return to the U.S. that From the captivating beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema week, but because I was moved…” says Marina. “I was moved for to the colorful favelas scattered across the city’s hills, the impacts loving my country and for acknowledging the collective struggle of the 2016 Olympic Games on cariocas reflect the country’s in the only place in the world where I feel home: my Rio.”

“ ”

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 23

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A Conversation WORDS SRUSHTI KAMAT | PHOTOS KAYLEE DOMZALSKI ILLUSTRATIONS DOROTHY HOEFT

T

ake a moment to sit by Columbia Hall on 13th Avenue.

Become immersed in the ebb and flow of student life. Now pause. Zoom in. Two students share a unique connection.

They grew up 40 minutes from each other. 40 minutes of rugged, dry landscape that separated two stark realities. Yaara Taal was born in a Kibbutz, a collective agriculture community, in the southern part of Israel. Mohammed Astal was born in Gaza Strip, Palestine.

Taal and Astal met at the University of Oregon just over a month ago.

Brimming with curiosity, they were both keen to share and understand each other’s experiences. What followed is a conversation about parents and siblings, border police and bombing, remorse and resolution.

The baffling fact about their connection is that it took over 20 years for either to meet a person from the other side of the border. A fact that, once considered with the circumstances, should not baffle anyone at all.

For a Palestinian to come to Israel, they would need a special permit, one which is difficult to obtain if not completely unheard of. On the other hand, it is illegal for an Israeli to cross over to Gaza.

26 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

PHOTO Yaara Tal, who is from Kibbutz, Israel, is a student at the University of Oregon.

Astal explains what crossing the border meant to him, what value it had, and continues to hold.

“Crossing over means opening your world,” he replies.

“You see, in Gaza Strip, it’s like a big cage or an open prison.”

The Gaza Strip is Hamas-controlled territory. The Hamas are a political party who are considered by many to be a terrorist organization.

In the midst of dusty borders, flying rockets, and war, both Taal and Astal find life in the United States to be easier. In Israel, every 18-year-old has to enroll in military service. Taal was a part of the field intelligence division and was posted at the Gaza border. She stayed up for nights on end, keeping close watch on the fringed edges of her country. The slow pace of Eugene is a big shift from this former lifestyle.

Since coming from such different countries, they describe what it has been like living in this town and being at the UO. More than anything, it is the opportunities that are so readily available for Americans that stand out to the both of them. “I used to play soccer, and I only played with the boys because there was no girls team,” says Taal, adding, “If you play soccer, then you are labeled masculine and a lesbian.” But Taal was more than just an avid soccer fan. She also played on the Under 17 National Women’s soccer team. Gear, equipment, and team

PHOTO Mohammed Astal, who is from the Gaza Strip, Palestine, is a student at the University of Oregon.

spirit are words that resonate with her. She recalls a time when getting to a regional game was a journey: a bus would pick her up at 4 a.m. and drive all over the country to get her teammates.

Her soul would be filled with excitement. She fought to be there, and fighting, she would stay. It is that fighting spirit that pulses her every move. It brings her closer to people who echo the same sentiment. It brings her closer to people like Astal.

But having grown up in places where the media perpetuates their own agenda, it is an anomaly for the two of them to have this curiosity, and led to thinking about where it stems from.

“I had support from my family,” says Taal. Before the war, Palestinians were allowed to work in Israel and many worked at her Kibbutz. “I didn’t grow up to hate Arabs and think that they are all terrorists,” she says. “After Hamas took control, they couldn’t come back to Israel, so we all collected money and sent it to them. They were like family for us.”

Astal shakes his head. “See, I never heard those stories,” he says. “Yeah, that’s because the media doesn’t show it,” replies Taal, shrugging her shoulders.

During the course of this story, the 2016 election changed the opinion of many international students living in the U.S. There was an uncertainty about the future. A restlessness and questioning of whether those who were here would want to stay.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 27

This uncertainty grew when faced with the recent U.S. election, both for them and their families back home.

“My dad called me, and it’s interesting. See in this case, I have a privilege to be able to go home,” says Taal. She points at Astal. “But other people can’t.”

“Yeah, my dad is giving me mixed messages,” Astal responds. “I know he wants me to stay. Thousands of people graduate and don’t have jobs or a future, and I wouldn’t be as accepted in my culture as before. Before two years ago, when I came to the States, it was not okay to express my thoughts. I was called a traitor; I was called weird.

You carry the responsibility of being different. The last place I would go to is home. Not just because it’s a war zone and dangerous, but my social life is better here.”

The conversation shifts to be between just them two, as Taal turns to Astal.

“Do people back in Gaza criticize you for being in the States?” she asks.

“Yes of course,” Astal says, “but it depends on what types of people. My parents said ‘no, you’re not going.’ But I took the first test of the scholarship. Then I was a finalist for a scholarship. It was the day before going to Jerusalem to sign my visa that I told them.

That changed their mind, I guess. My real friends supported me. But people who I see in the mosque, people who are my neighbors, they will say no. Literally, before leaving Gaza, there was a Hamas crossing point guard who sat me down and said ‘This is brainwashing. You should stay here. You will lose your values.’”

Somewhere in the midst of propaganda and war, two individuals found themselves thinking differently. Some people’s realities are shocking: They are complex and sometimes impossible to explain. But they exist and change can occur if seeds of peace and positivity are sown from an early stage. A purpose drives us all. At the end of the day, we set out into the big, bad world to fulfill that purpose. So Taal and Astal were posed one last question:

At the end of it all, what do you want the world to know?

“That people just want to live in peace,” says Astal. “What I meant by being locked in a cage is that people in Gaza have developed the ideal that all Jews are Zionists, and that is not true.

They have been fed that information. So they go to Israel and target citizens, thinking they are doing something for their country.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think anyone should die just because of their religion,” says Taal. “What the media portrays about our country is that it is full of hate. And it’s really not the people’s choice you know, it’s the system.”

“We experienced both wars and we see a bigger picture that not everyone does,” Astal says.

The 40 minutes that separated Taal and Astal now acts as a conversation starter. A bridge to a divide. A place to build a new future. Where they go and what they make of this strange world may be unknown but, filled with an eagerness to learn, it is without question that a path to a brighter future will form.

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A Global

FIRST AMENDMENT

A

s Endalk Chala walks down the street, he can’t shake the feeling that someone is following him.

Every turn, every alleyway, someone could grab him. He could be arrested for what he’s written.

But the 32-year-old graduate student has to remind himself: this isn’t Ethiopia. It’s Eugene, Oregon. He can write and publish what he wants on the internet without fear of retribution. This paranoia has taken Chala over four years to move past since moving here to the United States.

Chala is part of a community of storytellers and media consumers whose home countries have censored or banned certain forms of social media. While the United States has always been a hub for freedom of expression protected by the First Amendment to the constitution, today’s globalized media is helping this freedom cross borders and oceans. By using the freedoms available to anyone on United States soil, foreign nationals like Chala and others are able to not only find and develop their voices here, but also send information back home.

In the United States, social media can feel insignificant.

Between the flow of snarky memes on Twitter, a great uncle’s political rants on Facebook, and high speed videos of nachos on Instagram, it’s hard to find anything meaningful in the feeds.

But what could come off as unimportant to an average american media consumer has led to revolutions and regime change across the globe, and foreign governments do not take that lightly.

In 2007, Chala started using Twitter as a tool to demonstrate injustices in his own country. By 2012 he had found a community of Ethiopian storytellers who were trying to engage the public online. Chala and nine others decided to form a blogging group called Zone 9. They started by visiting journalists imprisoned by the government. They wanted to tell the stories of unfair treatment the journalists had experienced and the illegitimate grounds that led to their incarceration in the first place. “[It was] a new beginning for Ethiopia, especially [for] young people,” said Chala. “Because until we started to use social media for serious stuff that has a political impact, like mobilization or reaching out, no one has taken social media seriously.”

After publishing these stories online and gaining readership, the government started recognizing the threat and shut the website down. The bloggers changed their URL, but it wasn’t long before the site was shut down again.

“We were playing hide and seek with the Ethiopian government,” said Chala.

And so they changed it again, and again. According to Chala, they changed the site as many as 14 times before

WORDS MORGAN KRAKOW | PHOTO MEGHAN JACINTO

PHOTO Cathy Dong is one of many students who face a barrier when communicating with family outside of the United States.

switching over to a Facebook page. At the time, the government was unable to shut down or access individual Facebook pages. They later blocked all social media in July, 2016. While publishing these stories online was revolutionary, it wasn’t meant to be radical. Since Chala grew up under the current Ethiopian regime he made clear that this blogging was not meant to tear down the government, but rather to open up the community to a new level of free speech and knowledge.

“When you have information, when you have knowledge you know you realize you can achieve whatever you want to achieve,” said Chala.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 29

“

WHEN YOU HAVE INFORMATION, WHEN YOU HAVE KNOWLEDGE YOU KNOW YOU REALIZE YOU CAN ACHIEVE WHATEVER YOU WANT TO ACHIEVE.

”

From then on Chala decided to further his education here in Oregon, and one of his colleagues went to a meeting outside of Ethiopia. While they were out of the country, a remaining six members of their team were arrested and imprisoned. The group began smuggling letters out of the prison and Chala started writing online about the unfair treatment of his own colleagues. He helped the word of their struggle get out to news agencies, non-profits and governments across the globe.

After international and diplomatic pressures, members of the group were finally released before President Obama’s visit to the country in July, 2015, and the remaining members were released in October of 2015.

The story of censorship doesn’t end in Ethiopia, and has different repercussions and levels around the globe. Cathy Dong is a second year student studying broadcast journalism. Growing up in Beijing, China she started using social media platforms like WeChat and Weibo – the Chinese versions of Facebook and Twitter. The two sites act as domestic stand-ins for the American versions which are blocked in China, along with Instagram and YouTube. Even in the United States. she continues to use her home country’s social media platforms. It helps her connect with friends back home, and according to Dong there is a community of students who use WeChat daily here as well.

For Dong, the culture of censorship is challenging. If she wants to see what’s happening at home, especially something controversial like the Hong Kong protests in 2015, nothing comes up on Weibo. Her relationship with censorship is complex because she values her Chinese heritage and culture, but also enjoys the broader opportunities for expression in the United States. According to her, there’s the idea in China that by watching American television and engaging with American social media the context is lost. People take it all in, and try to mirror it. If she wants to Snapchat or Instagram something, she has to purchase a circumvention service that goes around 30 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

the government blocks and allows users to connect to servers overseas.

However, American culture is making its way to China through their domestic social media as well. In order to connect to Chinese fans, American celebrities have started engaging on WeChat. Since American social media is blocked, this is a way for a globalized popular culture to circumvent the Chinese firewalls. Dong loves talk shows and decided to try her hand at her own version of performance. She has started creating face makeup videos to post on YouTube. The only trouble is that when she visits home, she can’t show the videos to her friends.

Dong says sometimes she’s even fearful of posting here, because of the strictness of the Chinese government.

“I feel like if I’m in China I will feel more like I am being watched, because I know wherever I am, whether I’m here or back in China there will be government monitoring whatever I’m doing with my phone,” Dong says.

She wants to create videos and blogs when she goes back home to China. She envisions eating and travelling with her friends. But Dong has to wait to post any of it until she’s back on the other side of the globe.

Chala knows this perspective, but in Ethiopia he says that the government banning social media in order to preserve culture is a “sugar-coated” framework for protection of the dictatorial regime. Ethiopia is the only African nation that has never been colonized. And according to Chala, the citizens of his home country are proud of their history. The government takes this pride and tries to say that American and Western media is an imperialist force and could lead to an unwanted shift in culture.

“They try to build and co-opt this proud history and try to prevent people from freedom, and social media is one which is easy to be blamed for this,” said Chala.

But to Chala, this is just a way to suppress the voice of the Ethiopian people by the regime. Even more extreme than China, Ethiopia is stifling ideas and information by banning all social media – domestic and other – under the guise that it is a protection of national heritage.

“That is being hypocritical because the government is receiving money from the United States government,” said Chala. “They also let this culture be practiced by their own children, by people who are running the government. They live the way the Americans live.”

And these views have not left Chala’s life unchanged. He takes pride in his culture, and takes even more pride in his people. He has taken an extreme risk by publishing truth and fact online. While his fears of retribution for his words here have long since diminished, the situation in Ethiopia is not the same.

Someday, he will go back. But right now it’s clear it would be unsafe.

Building Nepal’s Future WORDS ERIN COATES PHOTOS HETTA HANSEN

M

oving across the world to pursue a master’s degree in sustainable architecture was not an easy decision for Dristi Manandhar. A 7.8 magnitude earthquake had just shaken her country of Nepal, and the graduate student was not prepared for how badly she would miss home, and the questions she would be asked by her peers.

“People who knew about Nepal just knew about the earthquake,” Manandhar says. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I understand their curiosity, and the more they would talk, the more I felt like crying because I missed home so bad. My stomach was churning.”

The universities in Nepal do not offer master’s programs for architecture because most people work in the field with just a bachelor’s degree. The earthquake that hit Nepal on April 25, 2015 encouraged Manandhar to continue pursuing her studies of sustainable architecture and working with communities to figure out what architectural designs fit their needs. In the past, the Nepalese had built with steel and concrete and are now slowly shifting to a more modern and sustainable approach to their buildings. According to Manandhar, they can use wood, mud, and bamboo to create stronger infrastructure.

“All the buildings we were designing were wrong,” she says.

“That’s why they collapsed. It wasn’t the disaster that killed people, it was the buildings that killed them. And I felt partly responsible for it because I am an architect. I don’t want to build such buildings.”

According to the global humanitarian aid agency Mercy

Corps, the earthquake occurred less than 50 miles from Nepal’s capital Kathmandu, but there were hundreds of aftershocks. This was the worst earthquake since an 8.2 magnitude earthquake in 1932 and killed around 8,700 people and affected 8 million others. Forty percent of the country’s land and infrastructure was impacted, with more than 505,000 homes destroyed and 279,000 damaged. After the earthquake, Manandhar left her job at Siddharth Gopalan Designs, where she worked in the interior and architecture firm, and created a non-governmental organization in affiliation with her university and seven other alumni. In three months, Manandhar and the other volunteers built 20,000 temporary shelters for people living on the street.

“We had a lot of help from Nepalese people here [in the United States],” she says. “One dollar is about 115 Nepalese rupees.

With just $100 you can build two temporary shelters.”

While helping her community, Manandhar realized how important it was for her to go to graduate school and learn about sustainable architecture so she could bring what she learns back with her to Nepal. The transition to the University of Oregon, however, was not easy.

“The notion of America is that you watch movies and you expect America to be like the movies,” she says. “You left basically everything, and you imagined America to be this different country, and you come here, and it’s different than what you imagined.”

Manandhar expected America and college to be like the movie “Mean Girls.” Adjusting to life at the University of Oregon was

PHOTO Dristi Manandhar, a University of Oregon architecture student from Kathmandu, Nepal, sits down at her studio desk in the University of Oregon’s architecture building, Lawrence Hall.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 31

difficult both socially and climatically with all of the rain. Her host mother and father helped her around for the first week, but after that she was on her own. She was the only Nepalese in her department, and she felt very out of place.

“It made me realize who I actually was,” she says. “People would ask ‘are you from India?

Is Nepal in China?’ You guys need to learn geography. Nepal isn’t an Asian country.”

Constantly defending who she was gave Manandhar a stronger sense of identity, but also made her miss home and feel even worse about leaving her recovering country. “It was really hard for the first few months,” she says. “I didn’t want them to see me in a sympathetic way because I wasn’t here for that. I was here to learn and experience stuff.”

Currently, Manandhar is doing research on sustainable architecture and working in her architecture studio as well as taking classes. She received a Nepalese student scholarship this year, which allows her to take part in the International Cultural Service Program (ICSP) made up of students from different countries around the world. ICSP meets once a week and the students talk about their cultures and lives at the University of Oregon.

“The thing was Nepal is a small country, and we don’t have a lot of access to many things. We don’t see how big the world is,” she says. “It’s only after I came here, I realized how big the world is. I meet people from everywhere, and I talk to them and know what their cultures are like. There are so many similarities. It’s amazing.”

Manandhar plans on graduating this year and taking part in optional practical training so she can gain more experience in the sustainable architecture world. Ideally, she would work in a community somewhere where she can do sustainable design and help people build low cost houses. However, after working for a year, she wants to go back home and be a professor at her old university.

“I feel like there are so many things that I learned wrong and I want to make it right,” she says. “Many of the people don’t get to be here like I did. I think it’s essential for me to go back and share whatever I have learned.”

Luckily for Manandhar, she doesn’t have to wait much longer before revisiting the country in shambles she left. From working in New York this past summer, she earned enough money to buy a ticket home so she can make new memories.

“I am tired of looking back into my memories and seeing sad people and faces,” she says. “This is something I had to do for myself. I can’t remember my country. The only thing I can remember is super sad: people are dying and buildings are collapsed. I’m eager to go back and see smiling faces for a change.”

“

I FEEL LIKE THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS THAT I LEARNED WRONG AND I WANT TO MAKE IT RIGHT.

”

PHOTO Manandhar records her ideas into her many journals, which she applies when designing plans.

32 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

THE BAND

PLAYED ON: Inside Eugene’s flourishing house show culture WORDS HANNAH STEINKOPF-FRANK | PHOTOS WILL NIELSEN Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 33

N

ick Richardson and Calvin Pollard have spent weeks planning the perfect house show with their roommates. Black tarp covers the floor of their Fairmount Neighborhood house, and all the furniture has been moved out of the living room. Christmas lights have been strung up, and they’ve blocked off the bathroom because of a septic issue. But there’s tension with the five bands playing that night over set times. The first band doesn’t want to start while no one is there, but the roommates don’t want the music to go too late.

Soon, though, fans start filing in, escaping the cold November night. It’s 9:00 p.m. and everything is going right. The show is a benefit for the Standing Rock protesters demonstrating against the construction of the Dakota Access pipeline (DAPL), and partygoers put donations in a toy safe. The first band, an experimental duo called Trampolines, is finishing its set. Sam Mendoza moves with his bass like it’s his dance partner while drummer Alistair Gardner partially hides his face with a red bandana.

Suddenly, blue and red lights break through the curtained windows. It’s the Eugene police. One of the neighbors has filed a noise complaint and to avoid any fines or police action, the music has to end. Now. As quickly as the room was packed, it disperses, with around 30 people leaving the house in a matter of minutes, their bottles of beer and wine in tow.

But it isn’t time for the music to end. Daniel Bromfield of the band Punisher, which was set to play later that night, decides to bring the show to his house, which is just a block away. In just 30 minutes, the couches and tables that filled Bromfield’s living room are replaced with instruments, cables, and about 50 people jamming to Quinn Wise and the Heads Up, a band of University of Oregon students. The cops never come back, and the hosts raise over $200, with bands playing until after midnight.

This sort of DIY passion is what’s behind the regrowth of Eugene’s house show scene. Live music has always been a part of the city’s artistic culture. But since the passing of the 2013 Ordinance on Unruly Gatherings, commonly known as the Social Host Ordinance, — which holds hosts of events criminally responsible if parties become out of control — many students and community members have been nervous about turning their living spaces into concert venues. While there have been several high profile busts of house shows, individuals and groups like the Campbell Club and the Oregon Voice are increasingly bringing musicians and their fans into their houses.

Despite the warning, Calvin Pollard says they still plan on putting on more events. For many who host house shows, the possibility of police action is a risk they are willing to take.

Violating the Social Host Ordinance comes with a $375 fine, and while the Eugene Police normally give a warning with a first noise complaint, further complaints can result in arrests.

For the Eugene Police Department, this presents a unique problem, as they have to address both a rise in party-related offences while retaining trust in the community. According to the police, from 2014 to 2016, there was a 28 percent increase

34 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

PHOTO Quin Wise and The Heads Up perform after Punisher band in the small basement environment.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 35

in noise complaints in the neighborhoods surrounding the University of Oregon. Lt. Doug Mozan, who regularly runs the Department’s Party Patrol, says that due to a lack of resources, it’s often a guessing game whether the police will come to a party. If there hasn’t been a noise complaint and the police don’t see any of the signs that could lead to a violation of the Social Host Ordinance, it can go on.

“It's not any different then when I go fishing,” says Lt. Mozan. “Sometimes you pick the right spot, and sometimes you don't.”

This year, the police didn’t come when the Campbell Club hosted its annual Halloween show. Outside, members of the co-op, one dressed in a neon green full body suit and another as Franzia boxed wine, took donations that went towards maintenance of the house and paying the bands. People relaxed on the porch, smoking and talking in chairs and a hammock.

Inside, couches were moved out of the spacious living room and Punisher performed to a small crowd on the plywood stage.

The crowd moshed and sang along when Bromfield played the poppy “I Don’t Give a Shit,” banging on the piano while screaming, “I don’t give a shit about the Ducks!” Elsewhere, attendees played pool and talked in the designated safe space, where there was water and zines about social justice issues.

It was a calm night compared to one evening in Feb. 2013, when the Eugene police responded to a noise complaint at a Club show and arrested 23 people. According to the police, people were not complying with their requests and resisted arrest, but house members says they were worried about the officers coming inside. According to Waldo Przekop, a Club member who used to serve as the social chair and party planner, this fear continues today.

“

THE BAND CAN BE ABSOLUTELY HORRENDOUS, AND PEOPLE WILL STILL DANCE THEIR ASSES OFF AND HAVE SMILES ON THEIR FACES.

” 36 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

“Police are pretty terrifying, and they have always been, but now more than ever, we're a safe space,” says Przekop. Even for those who don’t live at the Campbell Club, many say the 2013 raid discouraged people from putting on house shows.

For Lt. Mozan, the way police deal with parties has changed.

“There was a time in history when we would surround the place and card everyone on the way out and write lots of tickets,” he says. “And we're really not in that place. That's not the way that we do business anymore.” Now, police are focused more on educating students, giving out warnings for first time party offenders.

Even with the threat of noise complaints, students are still putting on shows. Senior Artesia Apbdard has turned her home, known as “Narnia,” into a landmark for the growing house show culture. She says, though, that every single concert has been shut down by the police. She covered a wall of her house with the noise ordinances she has received and has no plans to stop throwing shows because she says going to them is like being around family.

"No matter how big the space is, there will be 30 to 50 people shoved in the corner, head banging and not giving a shit how hot it is or how sweaty it is,” she says. “And that’s what I love about house shows: the band can be absolutely horrendous, and people will still dance their asses off and have smiles on their faces.”

Lt. Mozan, though, says that overcrowding people into homes is one of the police’s concerns. Many students advertise their shows on social media, and it’s impossible to know how many people will come. In addition, he says that with all parties, police focus is on preventing sexual assault, alcohol and drug overdoses, and property damage.

For Miles Shepard, a junior, his decision to start putting on house shows this year was about creating a place for all students to feel comfortable. “I would actually argue that house shows are safer than most large gatherings of that size in Eugene,” says Shepard. “I think it's just the nature of the fact that it is kind of an art happening, that people are interested in the music. They aren't just trying to get destructively intoxicated.”

As the multimedia director for the Oregon Voice, Shepard has brought the magazine’s goal of highlighting local culture to his living room. On a recent Friday, Portland musician Jimmy Curry rapped about everything from internet surveillance to “Scooby-Doo” to his own insecurities. The audience, who danced with the high-energy musician, applauded when he rapped, “The cops won’t save you. The cops have guns.”

Three house shows in, Shepard hasn’t had any problems with the police, and he plans to host more. He believes the Oregon Voice is filling a gap in Eugene, which he says lacks enough venues to host the city’s bands. For Shepard, seeing his living room lit up with candles and crammed with musicians, equipment, and fans is surreal. “It’s honestly hard to believe that it's even happening sometimes,” he says. “Watching kids find out

about music that they might not know about also is really really cool. And just feeling like you're making something happen is just in general really special.”

Many local bands have developed their sound and gained an audience through house shows, such as Spiller, which is made up of University of Oregon students. “At a house show, it's more about the energy, ultimately,” says Spiller guitarist Sam Mendoza, who also plays in Trampolines. “It's more about having that face-to-face connection, people just literally pressed up to you. Maybe you have a shitty, sloppy set, but you've had fun.” The group estimates it has played upwards of 50 house shows since forming in 2014, something that has shaped its music.

The trudging drumbeat on the band’s song “Happy Songs Sound Sad” was inspired by the long improvisations they often experiment with at house shows. While Mendoza says the group’s self-described “emo jazz sound” doesn’t seem like it would fit at parties, he and the rest of the band love performing at them.

This is a feeling that Lt. Mozan can relate to. He has played jazz piano since “before [he] could stand” and uses music to

decompress. He says, “The bottom line is that nothing feels more awesome than playing music live.” Still, he highlights that it comes down to being a good neighbor and respecting the wider community.

For many hosts, despite the possibility of police intervention, putting on a show is still worth it. Performing in his own house after the Standing Rock event had moved there, Daniel Bromfield of Punisher wore a pale blue dress reminiscent of Little Bo Peep that only stayed on for half the set. In-between songs, over sloshing beer cans and buzzing amps, he preached the importance of creating art and having safe places for music.

“Maybe people feel like they’re part of a scene too,” he says.

“People feel like they’re connected to something because a lot of the times, great music scenes start in basements and houses and DIY spaces. I’d like to dream that someday, this will be a legendary Northwest indie (music) scene and people can write books about it.”

PHOTO Punisher band sets up for the night for their hour performance.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 37

PHOTO Singer of Punisher sings his heart out to the crowd.

38 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

AUDIENCE AND BAND PUNISHER ROCK OUT TOGETHER.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 39

Finding

a voice through WORDS ERIN CAREY PHOTOS KENDRA SIEBERT

M

Art

ary-Minn Sirag wants people to know something very simple: “Autism isn’t hopeless.”

As president for the Eugene nonprofit KindTree - Autism Rocks, Sirag has dedicated herself to helping those who, like her, are on the autism spectrum. Autism is a neurodevelopmental disorder that affects everything from the individual’s social skills to their digestive abilities. For many people who live with autism, art is a way of helping with the social disabilities that autistic people face.

“Many [autistic people] are artistic,” Sirag says. “It’s a way of getting recognition in a world that doesn’t recognize you.”

KindTree was started in 1997 as a small outdoor retreat hosted every summer that has grown from 30 people to 150. Sirag and the volunteers who make up the backbone of KindTree have done their best to help those who are autistic in small ways, such as a focus on expression through art. KindTree’s art program is a 10-year-old endeavor to bring art pieces to life and artists together.

KindTree’s program Artist Guild has received a $1,500 grant from the Lane Arts Council for the last two years – the largest amount of money allotted for things like this, according to Sirag. The artist who receives this grant has money for materials and a scholarship for an art class or tutor. They are expected to produce something for the Autism Artism Gala hosted every year. Working towards being able to display art at the gala gives participants a way to work in a team, which many people with autism believe they can’t do, according to Sirag.

Chris Garza has worked with KindTree since late 2014 and has helped with organizing the Autism Artism Gala for 2015 and 2016. Designing posters and working with the art team has been a great experience for her socially. Garza was diagnosed with autism in kindergarten, during which time they used aggressive and often painful procedures on her to try to “fix” Garza.

“I received abusive techniques like applied behavioral analy-

40 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

PHOTO Nature is a major source of inspiration in Mary-Minn’s work. The painting she holds was provoked by a particular moment - when light shone across the tree in her backyard - and she couldn’t help but rush out and paint the scene before the moment passed.

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 41

“

PEOPLE COME TO US WITH EXTREME PASSION; THE PASSION THAT COMES WITH WANTING TO MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE.

”

PHOTO Mary-Minn translated her paintings into cards with the help of a digital artists involved in KindTree, and many were sold at the organization’s gala in November.

42 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

sis to try to break me of my autistic nature,” says Garza. “[Like] having my skin brushed and head rubbed against my will to try to break me of my hatred of being touched and seclusion rooms and threats to trigger fear responses.”

The work Garza has done with KindTree has not only helped gain exposure for her photography, but helped her find a place where she can socialize without worrying about judgement.

Another artist that has benefitted from KindTree’s art programs is Molly Nicole. Nicole has shown her art through KindTree for four years in a row. She does everything from documentary films to poetry and she’s currently working on a time period-based photography piece.

“It’s a way for me to express myself,” Nicole says. “When I do photography, I’ll dress in different outfits to do the time period stuff, so it’s me expressing my interest in history. I just try to create a backstory in the photo.”

Nicole doesn’t use models in her photography, just herself and her emotions to create a story. As someone with Asperger’s syndrome, a high-functioning version of autism, KindTree has given her a way to show her interests and also promote her artistic independence.

“I just think it’s great that they have an art program because I think art is important,” she says. “I think it’s great that KindTree works to get people’s art out there.”

KindTree is also a place for families to connect, like in the case of the Doleman’s. Claudette and Ron Doleman and their daughter Sophie are all volunteers on KindTree’s Art Team.

Ron and Sophie are both on the autism spectrum, and through KindTree they have bonded over art by working together. Claudette is the organizer, cross-checking and organizing the printing process, while Ron handles the technical aspects like printing the artists’ cards for different shows.

Their daughter Sophie is an 18 year old University of Oregon student in the Clark Honors College. As an arts major and a science minor, she focuses on her art. She also works with Photoshop and Intuos to perfect the images before they’re printed.

“KindTree really is what it says in its name,” Claudette Doleman said in an email. “A sheltering, comfortable tree with kind arms that reach out to the autistic community accepting us for who we are, as we are.”

But as for the future of KindTree, Sirag says that keeping the culture and passion that KindTree has developed through these programs is the most important, especially since she is retiring in March. She wants to see KindTree progress and develop a system that more autistic people can get involved with, including more autistic people on the board for KindTree.

“It’s a group of very passionate people,” Sirag says. “People come to us with extreme passion: the passion that comes with wanting to make the world a better place.

PHOTO (right): Mary-Minn selects a handful of handmade necklaces out of the hundreds hanging on display, some of which were made by her and others gifted from loved ones.

“

KINDTREE REALLY IS WHAT IT SAYS IN ITS NAME – A SHELTERING, COMFORTABLE TREE WITH KIND ARMS THAT REACH OUT TO THE AUTISTIC COMMUNITY ACCEPTING US FOR WHO WE ARE, AS WE ARE.

”

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 43

WORDS OLIVIA SINGER ILLUSTRATION DOROTHY HOEFT 44 | ETHOS | Winter 2017

“I

remember thinking that the pictures of [Mexican] immigrants hiding in the back of cars being smuggled over the border stood for immigration in the public mind, but it’s so inefficient. That doesn’t even begin to tell the story,” says Ted Conover, Pulitzer Prize winner and author of the 1986 book Coyotes, which chronicles his experience illegally crossing from Mexico into the United States three times with immigrants. He wasn’t initially sure whether he would even be able to speak with any immigrants or find a story, but with determination, his idea turned into a year-long journey from which he gives an honest portrayal of the challenges faced and sacrifices made by many immigrants.

“The book is written off my experience but it isn’t my story. I am not the subject.

They [the immigrants] are,” Conover says. “What got me interested is the fact that the people coming to the United States actually left another place. It’s such an important part of the story.”

Though Conover’s journey took place 30 years ago, the issues surrounding it are as relevant today. Immigration remains a highly controversial and popular topic in the United States, specifically with its relation to Mexico recently shown through Presidentelect Donald Trump’s request to build a wall between the two. “The discussion hasn’t got much more sophisticated than when I wrote this book,” says Conover. “There are arguments on both sides on whether unofficial immigration hurts us or not.

There are two sides to it.

Clearly, it is still a huge hot potato.”

His ideas and expectations of the journey Mexican immigrants make changed immensely after he participated in the long and sometimes brutal mission.

“I thought, ‘just crossing the border fence is it. Then you’re in, right?’” He says. “I hadn’t appreciated how the 100 miles above the border is full of checkpoints and police trying to catch migrants who already crossed the fence. That’s the kind of thing you learn when you get to spend the time really getting into a subject.”

Conover says he still believes this book could be written today. “At the end of the book I talk about this immigration act that was passed in the ’80s that people thought was really going to normalize things. But that didn’t solve it,” Conover says. “The United States has continued to live with this as part of who we are and how we relate to our southern neighbor.”

He believes it would be more difficult and dangerous to cross the border today as

there are many more weapons and drugs and the security in the U.S. is overall higher, but he doesn’t think it would be impossible to recreate a version of his story. He even hopes more journalists do so in order to continue bringing light to this immense issue.

“There are so many ways a writer would have a different experience. It’s just a huge story, and I hope people keep writing about it.”

In case of any inspiration, Conover carries a small spiral notebook in his back right jean pocket and in his front left pocket he carries a pen. This is how he took notes for his story, which he would type up at the end of each day on his Bulgarian typewriter. “I would type every night the longer draft of my notes before I forgot, because you forget, you totally forget.” Though some details may be erased, the impact the journey had on his life and that he had on the immigrants is certainly not subject to ever being forgotten.

However, Conover has been able to keep in contact with several of the immigrants he met along the way. He is

even Facebook friends with one. “Five years ago, I got an email from one of the men who sent me a picture with his son. It was fantastic. It made me so happy. The internet has been really great for keeping in touch.”

After he decided it was time to return home, Conover says, “It was nice to go back to my old place and have a regular schedule I guess, but I am always sad to stop.” He says, “I feel regret after almost all my projects because it has been your life. It hasn’t always been comfortable, but once I parted ways with the last group of people I was with, I knew my life would be different, and obviously theirs would be too. I wouldn’t be there to know how their lives would be different and I felt a loss at that.”

“

WHAT GOT ME INTERESTED IS THE FACT THAT THE PEOPLE COMING HERE ACTUALLY LEFT ANOTHER PLACE. IT’S SUCH AN IMPORTANT PART OF THE STORY.

”

Winter 2017 | ETHOS | 45

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