Ethos Magazine Fall 2014

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contents ETHOS MAGAZINE /

FALL 2014

17 march of the lemurs Biology student Camille Kaynor witnesses the effects of deforestation on Madagascar’s lemur population

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editor’s note

9 identities

An eccentric chef brings the atmosphere of the 1960s to his work

11 innovations For SeQuential Biofuels, competing against the petroleum industry is an uphill battle

13 forge A local bronze artist shares his vision and dying craft

a different kind of none Deciphering why the Pacific Northwest is home to so many atheists

27 photo essay The last performance of Northwest indie rock band The Lonely Forest

31 doomsday preppers Preppers arrange for survival in the event of a disaster

47 journeys Caroline Barrett discovers Singapore’s culture and nightlife

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speak up Part Two of our threepart series examining sex trafficking in Eugene explores advocates combating modern day slavery

41 soundwaves Vagabond musicians share their stories from the road at the Oregon Country Fair

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tastes Testing Southern tastebuds against Eugene’s BBQ

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the last Dash Paulson contemplates the realities of moving back in with parents

motion Discover the eclectic running club the Eugene Hash House Harriers

45 forum Competing viewpoints on Measure 91, a bill to legalize marijuana in Oregon

s PHOTO – Wax skulls made by bronze artist Steve Reinmuth.

The wax is turned into a mold later used for bronze casting.

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.

EDITOR’S NOTE

I

am an atheist. There, I said it. I wasn’t always an atheist, but even as a child I knew I was leaning that way. Like many, I was raised with the religion of my parents, and mine are Jewish. At first I was the child of Jewish parents, and then after what I still consider to be some intimate and impressive soul searching for a 12 year old, I decided that I was Jewish. I decided to assume the name, history, traditions, and bloodline it represents. To me, Judaism is more culture than scripture. In that sense I honor it secularly for a sense of connecting with my own heritage.

Again like many, as a child I thought of god as a bearded man in the sky. He would benevolently watch my family and listen to my prayers. As I grew I began to think of god as not an omnipotent deity but more of a laissez-faire creator that sets the boundaries of physics. Into my teens and now my twenties, I began to reject the idea of a higher power all together. Now, I am almost certain there is no god. I live as if there isn’t one. Of course I can’t prove god doesn’t exist, but the probability that the Abrahamic deity exists and is the god is about as likely as the existence of Zeus or fairies or Russell’s Flying Teapot. It’s a feeling in my gut and a logical deduction of probability in my brain. But why?

In this edition of Ethos, writer Rachel LaChapelle examines why the Pacific Northwest, part of the aptly-named “Unchurched Belt,” is so irreligious (yet not to the extent of Nordic countries). Portland is the least religious city in the United States. That is fascinating to me and makes this topic a natural pick for Ethos. Competing theories about why there are so many non-believers in our area paint a telling picture of our local culture. Was it the rugged 1940s post-war individualism that bred atheists here? Or did they migrate? Was it the so-called culture war of the last 30 years that drove our nation’s youth to abandon the politics that stifled their desire for liberalism? It’s a motley of conflicting, enigmatic stories which elude a unifying answer.

Still, according to Pew, 33 percent of Americans under 30 now identify as having no religion. Yet in a different study, Pew found only 45 percent of America would vote for a well qualified atheist. Atheists are here - en masse - and have been for some time. Many of our nations founders were decidedly agnostic (or at most Deists) who remained closeted because of political pressure. Today it’s likely they would be outright atheists. It takes courage to admit disbelief. For those who know how they feel but are afraid to say so: take the plunge. The water’s cold but refreshing.

GORDON FRIEDMAN EDITOR IN CHEIF 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.

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s ON THE COVER Photographer Debra Josephson captures an atendee of the Oregon Country Fair enjoying the music.

EDITOR IN CHIEF Gordon Friedman PUBLISHER Matthew Chiodo

advertising AD DIRECTOR Sam Sullivan

editorial

AD REPS Jeffrey Lonergan, Rex Nwerem

MANAGING EDITOR Dashiell Paulson

public relations

SENIOR EDITORS Ben Stone, Haley Stupasky ASSOCIATE EDITORS Caroline Barrett, Amber Cole, Wyatt Stayner, Jac Thomas COPY EDITORS Jacqueline Escobar, Caitlin Medearis, Haley Stupasky WRITERS Caroline Barrett, Aliya Hall, Rachel LaChapelle, Travis Loose, Caitlin Medearis, Haley Stupasky, Virginia Werner

photography PHOTO EDITOR Sumi Kim PHOTOGRAPHERS

PR DIRECTOR Lindsay Simmons PR REPS Nicole Winer, Elena Tate, Madeleine Lindeman

web WEB EDITOR Craig Garcia WEB MASTER Jamie Perry INTERNATIONAL COLUMNISTS Jonathan Bach, Catherina Savattere, Haley Stupasky ETHOS LIVE! Aliya Hall, Debra Josephson, Devin Ream

Hannah Beinstein, Debra Josephson, Mecca Ray-Rouse, Devin Ream, Virginia Werner

contact

art

special thanks

CREATIVE DIRECTOR Delaney Pratt

ASUO, Generation Progress, the UO Science Library, Bumbershoot, the WOW Hall, the Cuthbert Amphitheater, Jeremy Bawcom, and all our readers.

DESIGNERS Ryan Delaney, Stephanie Lambirth, Arianna Vasseghi ILLUSTRATOR Brett Higgins

ethosmag@gmail.com

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.

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chez RAY

WORDS CAITLIN MEDEARIS PHOTOS DEBRA JOSEPHSON

The 1960s live on in Ray Sewell’s cooking.

IDENTITIES

C

hef Ray Sewell, adorned in tie-dye and sporting a long, bushy white beard, might appear to look like a 1960’s relic - a flame burning out. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Sewell, better known as Chez Ray, has fed some of the most famous rock musicians of the 21st century, including the Grateful Dead, Carlos Santana, Bob Dylan, Sting, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, to name a few. He’s a classically trained French chef, and he’s always brought his love of the hippie culture into his food. Combining nostalgia and gourmet cooking, Chez Ray’s food has been in high demand by famous musicians and regular foodies alike since the ‘60s.

As a teenager in 1960s San Francisco, Chez Ray met and befriended members of the Grateful Dead. “I grew up getting to know them a bit,” he says, “and then ended up cooking for them, going on the road. Backstage, it was like God’s tour. The best of the best were there. Everyone was just the top of the line.” For Ray, being on the road with musicians was more than a chance to watch the performances and fill stomachs. “The thing about cooking for bands is that they spend more time on the road than at home, so in many ways, you’re home for them. So, I try and treat them that way. Some band members will want to eat before a show, some eat onstage during their break with lovely table sets and the whole thing, some eat at four in the morning when they feel like they can eat. So, in that world, you’re available whenever. You may finish with the bands at three or four in the morning and only get two hours of sleep, but it’s really fun. More fun than I can tell you, to be honest.”

Chez Ray says nothing he does can be simple; he has to get some sort of laugh out of it. “Life can be so incredibly boring that if you don’t do something to spark it up or make people have some kind of reaction [it isn’t worth it].” Chez Ray says.

Once, he was cooking a salmon feast for more than 500 people.

He told the guests that the fish were swimming in the location’s hot tub, and that he needed to keep them alive until they were cooked in order to honor the host’s Norwegian heritage by preparing the poached salmon traditionally. “In her country, it would be from the hot springs, but in this case it was a hot tub, we told them.” He duped the guests into believing the salmon would begin to quickly swim clockwise and the water would get so hot that the fish would filet in place and swim right out of their own spines. “Of course that can’t happen, but we had all of these people convinced that [it would]. It was fantastic.”

The free-spirit lifestyle of the 1960s influences Chez Ray’s cooking, but also his way of doing business he says. “There was a lot of important stuff [in that era], and right now it’s real relevant, and it’s time to put it to work.”

Ray is beginning to produce a radio show, Chez Raydio, inspired by his 60s persona. “This show will be pretty much exactly whatever I want to do,” he says. “There [are] all kinds of suggestions, and I don’t spend much time listening to people, so I just go to whatever comes to me.” He’s also writing a book, working on a cooking show, and starting a new organic coffee brand inspired by rock bands. The book will have photos of Chez Ray cooking for Santana, James Brown, Bob Dylan. “With each one of those, there’s a backstory,” Ray says.

The cooking show, which will be called ‘Midnight Munchies’ is being produced by Gary Heines, the same man who produced the popular PBS children’s show Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. “I

“

I THINK YOU HOPE TO SPEND YOUR LIFE DOING AS MANY ADVENTURES AS YOU CAN POSSIBLY COME UP WITH, AND IF YOU’RE NOT, THEN YOU’RE AN IDIOT.

“

think it’s time for it,” Chez Ray explains, “[because] it’s sort of been on the block out there for some time, an idea stewing around.”

Chez Ray’s coffee will include roasts based on 60s personalities and musicians like the Grateful Dead and Wavy Gravy. “I designed tthe roast to mimic sort of how I see Wavy Gravy, this colorful, incredible human, a bright clown. So how do you create a coffee roast that tastes like that? I’m working with some of the best roasters in Portland, who spent about eight months going through these kinds of roasts and educating me, because I knew nothing about coffee.”

It may seem Chez Ray has a lot on his plate, but in the everlasting spirit of the 60s he’s taking it in stride. “I think you hope to spend your life doing as many adventures as you can possibly come up with, and if you’re not, then you’re an idiot. Because, you get to a certain point where you’re no longer able to do such things.

But, I think if you don’t have the time or the courage to go have adventures, then, that’s what sad. It’s never too late, totally.”

s PHOTO – Chez Ray with soul musician James Brown.

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goldengunk WORDS RACHEL LACHAPELLE PHOTOS VIRGINIA WERNER

SeQuential Biofuels brings cleaner energy to Oregonians.

F

at and sugar: these two simple components make up “Mother Nature’s battery,” says SeQuential Biofuels CEO Ian Hill. “We’re never going to be more efficient than that,” he says. SeQuential operates two fuel stations in Eugene that sell ethanol and biodiesel, more environmentallyfriendly alternatives to petroleum and the “perfect liquid fuels,” Hill says.

Compared to the petroleum diesel offered at the station down the street, Hill says SeQuential’s biodiesel has proven benefits: “Same miles per gallon, better lubricity, better engine performance, lower emissions, and 30 cents [per gallon] cheaper,” says Hill.

Nevertheless, SeQuential is still not selling out its biodiesel supply.

“It’s an uphill battle,” Hill says, against Big Oil with its deep pockets (gas and oil giant Exxon Mobil is the world’s wealthiest corporation) and some car dealerships that void warranties when consumers choose biodiesel. Diesel engines are 30 to 35 percent more fuel efficient than their gasoline counterparts. However, diesel-powered passenger cars make up only 2.8 percent of the US market; by comparison, over half of European cars run on diesel.

Though the popularity of diesel cars is growing among American consumers, some manufacturers choose to opt out of what they consider a niche market. “Americans don’t buy diesel? That’s obviously not the whole story,” Hill says.

TOUGH COMPETITION When made from used cooking oil, biodiesel converts a waste product into an energy resource. Biodiesel burns cleaner than petroleum diesel, emitting up to 78 percent less carbon dioxide, to say nothing of the other harmful chemicals in conventional tailpipe emissions. “We turn potential pollutants into fuel, and essentially keep pollutants from going into the air,” says Mason Rippey, an employee at SeQuential.

Hill and SeQuential Biofuels co-founders Thomas Endicott and Tyson Keever began making biodiesel while attending the University of Oregon in the late 90s. They founded the company and later paired with Hawaii’s Pacific Biodiesel to launch Oregon’s first commercial biodiesel production facility in 2005. SeQuential has since scaled up its biodiesel production from backyard batches to 7-9 million gallons per year.

Vegetable oil-based fuels have been around since the turn of the 20th century, but the low cost and availability of petroleum diverted the world’s attention until recently. The biodiesel craze hit the United States in the early 2000s, when the combination of rising oil prices, global warming guilt, and increased energy security concerns post-9/11 ignited a nationwide interest in alternative energy sources. Biodiesel bootleggers began brewing clean-burning fuels at home (sometimes burning down barns and blowing up garages in the process).

The petroleum industry has a strong influence nationwide, though it lacks deep roots in Oregon. This makes Oregon a comparatively good place for a biofuel startup. “The kind of people who live here, the kind of politicians, tend to be supportive of what ETHOS

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our business is trying to do,” Hill says. SeQuential has survived in the Northwest while other biofuel startups nationwide have died.

“Within our industry, the cohorts we grew up with nationally— pretty much all of them are gone.”

SUPPLY SIDE STRAINS Right now, Oregon needs more fuel than alternative sources than SeQuential can supply. Oregon consumed 3.4 billion gallons of petroleum for transportation in 2012; its production of biofuels the same year was around one percent of that. When the biofuel production and total fuel consumption numbers are compared on a national scale, the discrepancy only widens.

According to Hill, the Salem facility has the capacity to produce about 18 million gallons of biodiesel per year, but the limited supply of used cooking oil has kept actual production down to 7 or 8 million gallons. To put those numbers in perspective, the state of Oregon consumes 3 million gallons of diesel per day.

SeQuential collects used cooking oil from over 7,000 restaurants and companies across Oregon, Washington and California. A few years ago restaurants would give away their waste vegetable oil, glad to be rid of some garbage. However, since the oil became a popular alternative fuel source, the golden gunk has become scarcer and pricier. “We’re doing our best to make sure all used cooking oil in the Northwest goes to biodiesel, but we’re going to quickly tap that out,” Hill says.

Hill thinks alternative feedstocks such as algae, hemp, and palm oil are unlikely to be economically viable solutions for the biodiesel industry. When the waste vegetable oil runs out, canola could be farmed, but that raises a debate over whether to use agricultural land to produce food or fuel. One proposed solution is to rotate between food and fuel production, using an energy crop to rest the land. SeQuential is looking for other local, low-impact, sustainable sources for increasing its fuel production.

Future biodesiel could come from an unexpected source: animal carcasses. “One of the waste stream problems in the Northwest is animal materials. We can take animal fat and turn it into fuel, not only biodiesel but biogas, which is a direct natural gas replacement,” Hill says. Yet, turning animal carcasses into fuel could be a controversial move for the company. Some of its consumers are passionate about animal rights, and SeQuential has received negative reviews on its Facebook and Yelp pages based on the choice to stock alpaca jerky. “We’re not driving the demand for animals,” Hill says, “we’re taking a problem waste material and finding a good solution for it.”

SeQuential Biofuels has had success on a regional scale, by offering a sustainable fuel source as an alternative in the community and becoming a model for green businesses. “The business that SeQuential is right now could continue at the scale it is for a very long time. We’d be happy and we’d be profitable,” Hill says. “But we’re really interested in more than that—that’s not good enough.

How can we be a bigger part of a solution?”

INNOVATIONS

s PHOTO – TOP: SeQuential Biofuels operates two environmentally friendly pump stations in Eugene, Oregon.

LEFT: SeQeuntial Biofuels CEO, Ian Hill, started the company as a University of Oregon student in the 1990s.

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WE’RE DOING OUR BEST TO MAKE SURE ALL USED COOKING OIL IN THE NORTHWEST GOES TO BIODIESEL.

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FORGE

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PHOTO – Steve Reinmuth dons his protective suit used for pouring bronze.

CASTING

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ETERNAL

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WORDS & PHOTOS GORDON FRIEDMAN

Steve Reinmuth practices the dying craft of lost wax casting.

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here is such a thing as a door to the sun. It exists in Steve Reinmuth’s industrial park warehouse on the outskirts of Eugene. The door leads to a furnace burning at more than 2000 degrees fahrenheit. On a July morning, Reinmuth opens the door and a wave of silence seems to pass over the warehouse. Something eternal is being brought to life.

He moves with precise haste, and comes intimately close with the furnace, removing the molds inside. It emanates intense, scorching heat. Beads of sweat roll down his face and back as he removes his gargantuan and cumbersome helmet after finishing with his pour. But it’s not his face that is of concern – it’s his hands. Each time Reinmuth touches the white plaster molds, filled with orange molten bronze, his hands get hotter, more painful. The heat stays in the gloves, he says.

Before becoming a bronze statue, Reinmuth’s creations are made in a more delicate medium: wax. Lost wax casting is the process of sculpting first in wax, producing a mold from the wax, and then pouring in the bronze. A dying art, few artists practice lost wax casting. It requires patience and steady hands for intricately carving wax. Detail is of the utmost importance in wax because every mark is preserved in the bronze. The practice also necessitates access to a forge and the ability to tolerate working closely with the molten bronze.

Reinmuth first began to sculpt with automotive putty while working at a body shop. While always an artist, he had never worked in three-dimensions before. Bronze scared yet enticed him.

He began to see two-dimensional art as an illusion. “It’s a trick,” he says. “What I see in sculptures is that it’s real. It’s something you can walk around and that occupies space with you.”

It’s the space and permanence of bronze that Reinmuth finds particularly alluring. “My artwork is more about forms,” and not political messages he says. “Sometimes I find frontal messages distracting, to the point where you can’t see the artistic dimension.”

Reinmuth’s says that because his work is often undefined forms it begs to be touched - something he invites viewers of his art to do. He says that for the thousands of years a sculpture may exist its inherently tactile form is what connects with viewers. “I like to see people touching my creations,” he says. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You have to play and interact with the sculpture to reach its full potential.”

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YOU HAVE TO PLAY AND INTERACT WITH THE SCULPTURE TO REACH ITS FULL POTENTIAL.

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“Arts lasts, but not the bottom lines,” Reinmuth says. Looking past his bottom line is part of what’s kept Reinmuth afloat. He’s had as many as nine employees work at the foundry with him, but as times have gotten more difficult, he’s only able to employ one person now. Bronze did have a boom in the 90s, he says, but now it’s harder to sell sculptures. “If you’re doing it for the money you’ll stop because money goes up and down,” he says.

Reinmuth isn’t concerned with bills, however. For him, working in bronze is a way to connect to the transcendent permanence of the metal. At times he envisions looking back on his life and work as a movie moment. “The person dies and I see all the bronzes we made. It’s quite moving. That would be a moment.”

Reinmuth would surely pick Icarus Christ (1996), his first bronze, to be there in that moment as well. The piece is a play off of the ancient Greek myth of Icarus and Daedalus, depicting a faceless muscular human figure with wings atop a pedestal in a heroic pose, arms outstretched. He says the figure and its pose represent the binary between acting in the interests of our soul “for the glory of doing it” versus working for empty meanings. “It’s about the complex relationship between ourselves and our spirits, between what we want and what destiny has for us,” he says.

While fighting to maintain business as well as his artistic freedom, Reinmuth has found spirituality in the process and its results. “That piece means more to me than anything because it still continues to convey that complex problem to me,” he says. It’s the message of a piece like Icarus Christ that keeps Reinmuth doing what he loves most: simply creating.

t PHOTO – LEFT: Steve Reinmuth pours a bronze ingot.

CENTER: A bronze lion bust cast by Reinmuth.

RIGHT: Steve Reinmuth works on carving a cat out of wax.

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march lemurs of the

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FEATURE

WORDS RACHEL LACHAPELLE PHOTOS MECCA RAY-ROUSE ILLUSTRATION BRETT HIGGINS

Camille Kaynor tracks lemurs through the dwindling forests of Madagascar.

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icadas screech from the forest trees above and below a girl armed with pencil and notebook is intently focused on the troop in front of her. Like kindergarteners on a field trip, the lemurs move in single file after their fearless leader, a ringtailed lemur called Zoie. She asserts her dominance by occasionally biting or lunging at the males in the group, and is always first in line, with lemurs Biggie Smalls and Olga following closely. Though it’s hard to tell these lemurs apart (lemurs look pretty similar with their curious orange eyes and tall tails), each can be identified by their charisma and habits. It’s mating season, tensions are running high, and the males are becoming more aggressive to impress the females of the group — the ones who run the show. Near the back of the line stands Camille Kaynor, a researcher along for the forest journey through Madagascar’s Berenty Reserve. As the sun reaches its height in the middle of the day, Kaynor grows hungry and snags a bag of crackers out of her pack. She then crouches on the ground, trying to balance her notebook and food on her knees while keeping an eye on the group. She tucks her head to jot in her notebook; an observation of the lemurs is made every five minutes. Moments later Zoie sneaks over to snatch a cracker from Kaynor’s lap. The tiny human-like hand is swift and deliberate like that of a pickpocket. Noticing this, the other lemurs swarm Kaynor in search of food. As a scientist she was stunned, knowing direct contact with the subjects could compromise her research. As an animal lover, she couldn’t help but smile. She was becoming one of the troop.

After traveling from the United States to Madagascar, Kaynor saw the wildly diverse landscape of what some authors and scientists call “the eighth continent.” During her time on the island, Kaynor also witnessed the social and economic struggle of the Malagasy people as they clashed against the natural environment. Kaynor was originally going to observe a different troop of lemurs, but had to change plans because the group she had been assigned no longer existed. It’s possible the group expanded its boundaries to find more resources. However, there is also the possibility that they were simply dead.

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I

n Madagascar, as many as 90 percent of lemur populations are now at risk of extinction due to heavy deforestation and poaching. Scientists like Kaynor and her mentor in Madagascar, Dr. Anne Millhollen, study lemur troop progressions and communication to learn more about the primate’s status in the Malagasy ecosystem. Millhollen says that their research aims to understand lemur responses to their changing habitats.

Research projects like Millhollen and Kaynor’s as well as conservation efforts through environmental organizations play a vital role in the preservation of lemur populations. As the trees of the Malagasy forests are chopped and burned, lemurs lose their homes and the people and the wildlife of the island must learn to coexist.

Since Madagascar separated from an ancient continent named Gondwanaland 165 million years ago, its wildlife has evolved in near isolation. Now 90 percent of the animals on the island, lemurs included, cannot be found natively anywhere else on Earth. Lemurs are prosimian primates, which means that they are considered to have more primitive characteristics than simian primates such as monkeys and apes.

After probably floating to Madagascar on detritus across the Mozambique Channel, lemurs flourished because they didn’t have to contend with African mainland predators or their primate cousins.

Prosimians such as bushbabies and lorises on the African continent evolved to avoid direct competition with monkeys and as a result are small and nocturnal.

“The prosimians that made it to Madagascar had no other primates and few other competitors, so a great variety evolved to fill all the open niches,” Millhollen says.

It is possible however for lemurs to survive elsewhere. Brown lemurs were introduced to the Comoro Islands by early Malagasy residents, and they’re thriving. This, however, does not diminish the importance of preserving current lemur habitat in Madagascar, because even in captivity, some lemurs can’t survive. “There are colonies and thriving zoo populations of some species,” Millhollen says. “There are other species that do not thrive in captivity.

Research continues to try to figure out dietary and other needs that might explain this.”

With many Malagasy living at just over $1 a day, the basics are difficult to come by.

Sometimes the Malagasy depend on selling and processing these resources to survive.

Agricultural income in Madagascar currently accounts for 30 percent of GDP and accounts for 70 percent of the labor force. Many of these farmers subsist on agriculture, which means they grow just

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enough food to survive.

After witnessing the poor conditions in the village near the reserve, Kaynor began to understand the true face of rural Madagascar — the face of malnourished people, especially children, who roamed the village with tattered clothes and played around the one classroom school shack with a teacher that can barely read and write. Despite the language barrier between Kaynor and the people, the Malagasy communicated their situation without words — the obvious signs of poverty were enough. Her grocery trips to the village put her privileged life in perspective. Although it was difficult for her to see, Kaynor helped in small ways. She came to Madagascar with a backpack full of clothes and on the way home she carried none because she had given her worn field clothes to people in the village. “The living conditions there were like nothing I had ever experienced.

I was living off of about $3.50 a day and I thought I was living modestly and humbly,” says Kaynor. “The hardest part of coming home was coming back to such wealth and realizing that there are so many people that just could never fathom a life like this. It was hard.”

Without access to a consistent income, some residents take to the forests in hopes of utilizing resources and finding food.

Current laws concerning logging are a product of a recent transition in government power. In 2009, Andry Rajoelina, the mayor of the capital city Antananarivo, stirred a political movement that aimed to oust the president at the time, Marc Ravalomanana.

After many violent protests in criticism of Ravalomana’s leadership and a fight for power between Ravalomana and Rajoelina, the president reluctantly resigned and the office was transferred to Rajoelina. As the power dynamic in Madagascar changed, so did the laws. Legislation that outlawed the export of rosewood trees was repealed, which led to an increase in illegal logging in national parks and other conservation areas, which are key to lemur survival.

However, logging isn’t the only thing putting lemurs in danger.

“Currently, the high demand for forest products such as rosewood has resulted in the destruction of large swatches of the lemurs’ habitat,” Kaynor says. “Extreme poverty in Madagascar also causes lemurs to be hunted for their meat and to be captured and sold into the pet trade for profit.”

Eating wild meat is a cheap alternative to other meats such as chicken, the most desired meat among the Malagasy, but chicken on the island can sometimes transmit diseases (the most common being Newcastle Disease, which manifests in flu-like symptoms). Dr. Chris Golden,

a member of the Wildlife Conservation Society and 2014’s National Geographic “Emerging Explorer” title holder, is working with his research team to make Newcastle Disease vaccines available to the people and improve chicken husbandry practices in the Maroantsetra region of Madagascar.

“We will set up programs to teach improved husbandry practices, biosecurity measures and nutritional delivery to chickens,” Golden says. “By increasing the productivity of local chickens, we hope to wean reliance on wildlife food sources.”

Many people who live in more urban areas may never even see a lemur in their lifetime. There are roughly 20 different ethnic groups on in Madagascar. Kaynor says that some ethnic groups in Madagascar view lemurs like people in the Pacific Northwest view squirrels — as pests, while others relate lemurs to humans and believe that harming them is evil. In Malagasy mythology, the tales of Indri directly connect the lemur with humanity and declare the primate to be sacred. For this reason, some ethnic groups will not hunt lemurs for their meat, so other resources on the landscape must be used to survive.

Due to the desperate economic situation of much of the Malagasy population, exploiting the natural resources of the island is the cheapest way for them to get by. However, these practices come at a cost. Many Malagasy farmers use slashand-burn, the practice of cutting and burning plants and trees to form fields.

In a PBS article written by Dr. Claire Kremen, professor at UC Berkeley and conservation biologist, she writes that “much of Madagascar has been destroyed by the gradual action of small farmers and herdsmen. Human populations have grown long beyond the point at which these activities can be practiced without permanent destruction.” Kreman partially attributes this continued degradation of Malagasy landscape to Madagascar’s cultural and financial environment. “At the moment, however, many farmers continue to practice traditional slash and burn agriculture because it is their culture,” she writes, “and because they know no other way and have no other means to survive.”

This method is easy and low-cost, but its benefits are short-lived. Although the slashand-burn method is illegal on the island, its use is still prevalent. The various ethnic groups in Madagascar practice this to grow different crops, usually rice, but the soil only survives one of two cultivation cycles.

At best, after the soil is exhausted, the area becomes a field for domesticated cows.

Because their natural habitat is being destroyed, lemurs are running out of space to occupy and are increasingly reliant

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HIGH DEMAND FOR FOREST PRODUCTS...HAS RESULTED IN THE DESTRUCTION OF LARGE SWATCHES OF THE LEMURS’ HABITAT.

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s PHOTO – Camille Kaynor visited Madagascar as a student studying lemur populations.

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Photos courtesy of Camille Kaynor

s PHOTO – LEFT: In Madagascar as many as 90 percent are at risk of extinction due to deforestation and poaching.

RIGHT: The landscape of the Berenty Reserve in Madagascar.

on humans for survival. There are many protected national parks in Madagascar and laws in place that protect lemurs from capture, exportation and hunting, but these distant areas are difficult to police. The focus of Kaynor’s research was to observe the specific troops that rely on the protected areas of the Berenty Reserve that humans frequent. On some occasions, Kaynor saw tourists baiting lemurs with food in an effort to get them to come closer so they could pet them. This can prove deadly for lemurs, however, as poachers use the same tactics to catch them.

“If poaching by humans is a danger to these lemurs, then habituation to humans can, by extension, pose a significant risk to them as well,” says Kaynor.

As the Malagasy residents and tourists further integrate themselves into the habitat of lemurs, some lemurs must adjust to the loss of their habitat. According to Millhollen, they are highly adaptive and adjust their boundaries to incorporate more resources, but this has implications as well. The population density of ringtailed lemurs has declined along with the forest, but they have responded flexibly by expanding troop boundaries to find new resources. “Some troops enlarged their ranges to include a greater variety of foods that are more sparsely distributed,” says Millhollen. “Others moved into tourist areas where there was a high density of exotic plants that had been introduced.

They also try to take food from the tourists.”

Millhollen mirrors Kaynor’s concern that these behaviors make lemurs more vulnerable to poachers, but reserves like Berenty have protection measures to prevent illegal hunting. There is a database of all lemur troops and facial photographs of female leaders as well as a map of their ETHOS

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territories. Forest guards follow the groups for protection on a regular basis and tour guides will soon have access to identification cards and photo albums to show tourists in hopes of ensuring further commitment to the safety of the lemurs on the reserve.

But many lemurs are not so lucky to live in protected space, and are threatened by deforestation.

More than 80 percent of the original forest landscape in Madagascar is gone, and more land is being cleared every year. Fundamentally, a solution is needed that will combat poverty so the Malagasy aren’t as reliant on the natural resources of the island. Projects such as Dr. Golden’s chicken husbandry initiative and the SAVA Project created by the Duke Lemur Center work directly with people in mostly rural communities to break the cycle of poverty.

As conservation coordinator at the Duke Lemur Center, Dr. Charles Welch oversees projects in Madagascar from the United States and secures funding for them. He believes that conservation efforts by foreign organizations and the growing contingent of Malagasy nationals in these organizations are extremely important in protecting the unique environment of Madagascar.

“To protect forests and lemurs, we cannot ignore the needs of the communities, which is why we take that approach. Our activities such as fish farming, sustainable agriculture, reforestation, family planning, etc. are all very community oriented,” Welch says. “The people must see the value of the forest and it is they who must want to see it protected.”

While emphasizing the importance and value of nature in the one-of-a-kind scenery that defines Madagascar, ecotourism can bring more money to the island nation. The Malagasy people need a growing economy,

and money from tourism brings jobs and wealth to the country. More money in the pockets of the Malagasy people in turn will protect lemur populations because of decreased dependence on unsustainable agricultural practices and lemurs as a food source. “People have come to see the importance of protecting their wildlife, and there is a much better understanding of the uniqueness of Malagasy flora and fauna than when we started in the ‘80s,” Welch says. “Ecotourism is a growing industry, and the government wants to promote that.

No forests or lemurs and there will be no ecotourism.”

After twenty days of following her troop from sunrise to sunset, Kaynor was a seasoned veteran of the Malagasy forest. She knew how to navigate the thick prickly brush and dodge a wasp nest while avoiding spider webs at the same time. This tremendously active group of lemurs may be more resilient than previously thought, finding new alternatives to old navigation routes and settling scores with gruesome stink fights (a battle tactic where lemurs rub their long tails on their scent glands and launch the stench at their opponent).

Even so, the land outside of the preserves is a dangerous landscape — the product of unrelenting economic, political and social struggles. Keeping a pulse on the lemur population is essential in this unstable time for Madagascar, and Kaynor is proud to have contributed to that. Her towering stack of notes is testament to her work and the detailed scribbles remind her of her troop scampering through the forest and sneaking moments for lunch. She left the beautiful island nation with a greater desire to protect the lemurs, and in studying them, she felt a connection to the troop. Like she earned her place in line behind Zoie.

FEATURE

WORDS RACHEL LACHAPELLE PHOTOS GORDON FRIEDMAN

Discovering the Northwest’s propensity to faithlessness.

A DIFFERENT

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upernovae are the topic of today’s sermon.

“Everything comes from the remnants of stars.” Will Baumgardner, a member of Sunday Assembly Portland, shares with the congregation his inspiration: the universe.

In layman’s terms, he explains the workings of a star: the physics of fusion and the internal processes that form elements heavier than iron. When a star goes supernova, it gives off 1044 joules of energy. That’s the energy that one billion of our suns would emit over their lifetimes, or more than the estimated number of stars in the universe — squared. The congregation wonders at the incomprehensible majesty of such a number.

“This is much more incredible and inspirational than any Transformers explosion — this is how we get complexity and beauty in our universe,” Baumgardner says. He offers the congregation a secular explanation for questions of creation and destruction, higher powers, and the mysteries of the universe. Behind him, a projector screen reads “Good is Great,” a twist on the religious catchphrase “God is Great”. When the congregation sings, “Your love keeps lifting me higher and higher,” it’s uncertain whose love they refer to, but it’s definitely not a supernatural being’s.

Welcome to Sunday Assembly: this is “all the best bits of church, but without the religion, and awesome pop songs,” as the international organization’s founders describe it.

Sunday Assembly is part of a secular movement that seems to be gaining momentum around the world. The Pacific Northwest — the so-called “Unchurched Belt” — is at the center of that movement. The 2010 US Religious Census found Portland to be the least religious city in the United States, with only 32 percent of its population identifying as religious adherents. On the other end of the spectrum is Salt Lake City, with 74 percent of residents identifying as religious adherents.

Secularity in the cities is not necessarily replicated in more rural areas of the Pacific Northwest. It’s the majority of the population, concentrated in the Seattle, Tacoma, Portland and Eugene metropolitan areas, that shapes the statewide statistics. A 2013 Gallup poll observed that Oregon and Washington rank among the least religious states in the nation along with those in New England.

1 in 5 Americans are religiously unaffiliated, according to a 2012 study from the Pew Research Center. That figure rises to 1 in 3 among American adults under 30. Researchers refer to this unaffiliated group collectively as the “nones,” and expect their numbers to continue to grow. A taxonomy of the secular identities represented among the nones would include atheists, agnostics, ethical humanists, apostates, skeptics, freethinkers, nontheists, nonbelievers, culturally religious, irreligious, and nonreligious.

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Despite America’s growing secular population, it pales in comparison with Europe’s. Scandinavia has perhaps the highest rates of secularity in the world, with as many as 85 percent of Swedes and 80 percent of Danes identifying as atheists, agnostics, or non-believers in God. In total, there are an estimated 500 to 750 million non-religious people worldwide. These numbers suggest a global trend away from religion.

In some cases, that trend involves moving towards a secular alternative such as Sunday Assembly, a “global movement for wonder and good” founded in 2013 by British comedians Sanderson Jones and Pippa Evans. “Live better, help often, wonder more” is the motto of the international network of godless congregations where the focus is not on a deity or doctrine, but on the “one life we know we have.”

At monthly meetings, local Sunday Assembly members gather to celebrate life in the room they rent at a multistoried McMenamin’s.

This church feels more like a poetry slam and looks like an atmospheric café. A dim hallway papered in peeling concerts posters leads to Lola’s Room, where surreal sun motif lighting studs the ceiling. A liquor bottle menagerie is caged in dusty glass cabinets behind the bar, which serves up coffee and the smell of steamed milk during the service.

T h e congregation claps and dances along to live music on the Crystal Ballroom’s famously springy floors and listens to TEDtype talks from a diverse lineup of the area’s artists and intellectuals. Afterwards, they mingle over lunch at the pub downstairs and form social

“smoups” (small groups) based on shared interested like dancing, crafts, veganism, or walking.

Portland was among the first wave of twentyeight cities in the UK, US, and Australia to establish a Sunday Assembly. More than 100 new assemblies are expected to launch by the end of the year. With congregations coming soon to every inhabitable continent and as far-flung as Brazil, Ghana, and Malaysia, Sunday Assembly is on its way to fulfilling its vision of “a godless congregation in every town, city and village that wants one.”

The colorful Burnside locale, the friendly congregation, and the smart, socially conscious speakers at Sunday Assembly are all archetypical Portland. Local liberal culture meshes well with secular values, and the city has long been a welcoming haven for the secularly inclined. Do atheists flock to the Northwest, or does the Northwest breed atheists? It’s a chicken-and-egg scenario, explains Phil Zuckerman, professor of sociology at Pitzer College.

Secularism is more prevalent where people have a high quality of life — places with access to health care, education, and decent housing, and low rates of crime, poverty and unemployment. In contrast, the highest poverty, murder, and unemployment rates in America are found in the Bible Belt, says Zuckerman. When people feel their lives are stable, secure, and prosperous, “the attraction to religion is somewhat less necessary and less beneficial. People are able to let religion wither in their lives without losing all that much,” UO professor of psychology Azim Shariff says.

In a recent NPR segment, “Losing Our Religion,” the answer to the question of why younger people are either giving up their faith or simply not affiliating with a religion is more political rather than geographical.

Older generations had formal social and political institutions that were a large part of a connection between the metaphorical seams in America’s social fabric. The same Americans that today aren’t joining the Freemasons or Rotary Club

or other social institutions are also not joining religious organizations. Harvard researcher Robert Putnam tells NPR that in the 1990s, America’s “culture war” began to be associated with the politics of the right. As young people moved left on cultural issues, the religious leaders mostly moved right. The division was not born in this way, but solidified. Still, geographical regions in the United States tend to be more homogeneously religious or irreligious - not extreme.

Perhaps Portland is the anomaly, suggests University of Oregon professor of political science Karrie Koesel, as America on average is far from secularization. “Religion is not dying, but [it] looks really different than it did fifty years ago. In terms of people identifying as religious or spiritual, those numbers are constant if not rising in some cases,” Koesel says.

Despite the emphasis on separation of church and state, religion continues to play a part in American public life and politics, Koesel says. In seven states, laws are on the books stipulating that an atheist cannot hold public office. Openly identifying with a faith may be advantageous during elections. “If you look at our senators and representatives, overwhelmingly they identify with some religion or another,” says Koesel. She also thinks Portland is the “outlier” to this trend. “You have the reverse: the data indicates more general distrust of people of faith and trust of people who identify as atheists,” such as Portland’s openly atheist mayor Sam Adams.

Outside of Portland, public opinion towards the nonreligious population remains largely negative. Researchers at the University of British Columbia found that these feelings may stem from a moral distrust, rather than dislike, of atheists.

The results have replicated in 14 different countries, including liberal, nonreligious places like the Canada and Western Europe. “Even in those places, there is this implicit distrust of atheists. Religion has not been gone long enough for people to lose this association between belief in God and moral behavior,” says Shariff, one of the authors of the study.

However, these prejudices may change as secularism gains numbers and visibility. “If you tell religious people how many atheists there are, they tend to distrust them less.

People realize they’ve been around many atheists in their lives and those atheists haven’t eaten their babies yet,” Shariff says.

“Religious people are happier than nonreligious people, and that’s almost entirely explained by the fact they have richer community lives,” Shariff says religion has been the traditional provider of community, rituals for life cycles, and

intergenerational bonding, points out Zuckerman. A self-described atheist/ agnostic/secular humanist who says he is “happy that less and less people believe in supernatural fantasies,” he is concerned about the loss of community: “We’re pack animals—we need social connection and cohesion.”

Sunday Assembly could step in to provide that community and connection that some secular people miss after leaving religion. Scott Leman says Portland’s Sunday Assembly “started off with that longing from people, feeling like there was an absence of [community] in their lives.” A group of like-minded people were looking for “a source of community in the area that was aligned with their intellectual ideas, but wasn’t defining itself by putting down religion.”

“It’s based on the church structure, but not the belief system,” explains Korin Scott Leman, president of the organization’s Portland chapter. She has focused on incorporating the community aspects of church into Sunday Assembly. Scott Leman had always intended to follow in her family’s legacy and become a pastor. “[In church] they were asking important questions about how to live life and make the most of it, how to help people, how to be involved in the community,” Scott Leman says. Then she began to move away from the Christian faith and identify as an atheist. “I couldn’t teach about God in an intellectually honest way anymore, but I realized that the church model still had so much to offer — and I could do that.”

According to Zuckerman, many secular people have “walked away from religion — they’re not looking to replace it.” Therefore, secularity tends to be correlated with individualism. Because of this, “[secular organizations] won’t achieve the numbers or size of their religious counterparts,” Zuckerman predicts. Instead, he expects to see a greater sense of individualism in American society along with the trend towards secularization.

Shariff agrees that it will be difficult for secular organizations like Sunday Assembly to take on the role of religious institutions.

“Religion has had thousands of years to perfect a way of binding people together.

For secular institutions to emulate that, especially without supernatural belief, will be difficult. I’m skeptical it will work.

Atheism is not really a unifying belief.”

Though the founders of Sunday Assembly initially billed themselves as an “atheist church” in the press, the label later proved to be misleading. Sunday Assembly is not strictly atheist, nor does it tout any particular belief system. “We’re offering something that’s really quite different,”

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DO ATHEISTS FLOCK TO THE NORTHWEST, OR DOES THE NORTHWEST BREED ATHEISTS?

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Scott Leman says. Nevertheless, Sunday Assembly in Portland has faced resistance from an unexpected direction: other atheist groups. “We’re seen as not atheist enough, or as competing with their existing groups,” says Scott Leman.

Most in attendance are self-described atheists or agnostics, but no one affirms or disaffirms the existence of a higher power during the service. “We don’t do the supernatural. We’re not promoting it, but at the same time, we’re not putting it down,” Scott Leman says. Board member Cliff Hansen says this is what makes Sunday Assembly different from the other atheist groups he has been part of in the past. He points out that near the end of the assembly, when a minute of silence is observed, members are encouraged to meditate, feel gratitude, or even pray if they wish.

“No one is forcing their beliefs or telling you how to live,” says Sunday Assembly member Lysse Waring. Instead, the goal is to build a community that is “radically inclusive” where everyone feels welcome regardless of their personal beliefs. Hansen calls the organization irreligious instead of nonreligious. “Everyone is welcome. We have a few religious people here, and we want more. We check our beliefs at the door — this is a place for reason.”

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PHOTO ESSAY

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fter nearly ten years, four studio albums, several national tours, and countless memories The Lonely Forest is done. The Anacortes, WA indie rock quartet admirably said goodbye to several thousand fans, some of them in tears, during their last ever performance on Saturday, August 30th at Bumbershoot festival in Seattle. Ending with their signature song “We Sing in Time,” the falsetto vocals of front man John Van Deusen belted fitting lyrics to close their emotive last set. In time the trees die and light will fade / But I hope for a new breath / A new life, to take me away. “This is the end of a really intense chapter in our lives,” Van Deusen said to the crowd. “Thank you.”

BACK

TO THE WOODS WORDS & PHOTOS GORDON FRIEDMAN

s Van Deusen says he looks forward to the future but also described his last set as emotional and intense. “I had somebody come up to me after the show and say, ‘Your music saved my girlfriend’s life.’ That’s amazing,” he says. “That’s an incredible thing to be told by someone. That the songs we wrote, then jammed together in the garage.. it’s crazy.”

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s The Lonely Forest performs at Bumbershoot festival in Seattle on August 30th, 2014.

s A fan sings along with The Lonely Forest during their Bumbershoot performance.

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s Loyal fans crowded the Fountain Lawn Stage to hear The Lonely Forest’s last set. Bumbershoot takes place at the picturesque Seattle Center which is home to the Space Needle.

s Guitarist Tony Ruland looks pensive after The Lonely Forest’s last set. “Looking at the crowd and seeing people crying made me feel like crying,” Ruland says of the performance. “But, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Intense is the right word for it.”

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“

I TELL MY NEPHEW DON’T PLAY MUSIC. . .

IT WILL BREAK YOUR HEART.

s Van Deusen screams during “We Sing In Time,” the last song of the show. The song comes off of the band’s second LP, “We Sing The Body Electric!” The Lonely Forest recorded four full length albums. Their first, “Regicide,” was produced by Jack Endino (Nirvana, Soundgarden). The band partnered with former Death Cab for Cutie guitarist Chris Walla to produce the albums “Arrows” and “Adding Up the Wasted Hours.”

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DOOMSDAY DOOMSDAY PREPPERS WORDS CAITLIN MEDEARIS PHOTOS HANNAH BEINSTEIN & GORDON FRIEDMAN

From environmental disasters to terrorism, preppers want to be ready for anything.

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hen you walk into someone’s home, you might expect to see a living room, a nice kitchen, maybe a dining room and a staircase leading to multiple bedrooms. A normal house. But, what if this person decided to show you where he or she keeps piles of extra food, water, and medical supplies. Or even an emergency bomb shelter? Would you find this strange, or would you think they’re a smart and prepared member of an unpredictable society?

Survivalist practices, known as “prepping,” are becoming increasingly popular throughout the United States. The ‘prepper’ designation refers to groups actively preparing for social, political, and economic, and even religious emergencies from a local to an international scale. The disasters and disruptions that preppers anticipate are numerous, but include natural disasters, climate change, terrorism, chemical spills, release of radioactive materials, nuclear war, shortage of resources, financial disruption, the Rapture and more. There are varying degrees of preppers as well. Some rationally prepare for likely emergencies, while others can borderline on paranoia. Most preppers simply align themselves to respond to emergencies by stockpiling food, water, and emergency medical equipment. Some even train in self-defense, basic medicinal procedures, and construction techniques. The hardcore preppers that cross into the realm of conspiracy theory stockpile weapons and conduct “bug out” drills to prepare for an apocalyptic event, whatever its cause may be. Despite criticism, preppers consider their methods of planning and preparedness the only sane response to today’s chaotic and unstable world. So the question remains: should we all be prepping?

Ian Houston, a self-described prepper from Eugene, believes so. Growing up as a Boy Scout in a family that considered food preservation and emergency preparedness of high importance, Houston says he has always been aware of why he should “be prepared,” which is in fact the Boy Scout motto. “I like to be overprepared for everything, and then I feel like I’ll be ready for anything,” Houston says. He says that he was over-prepared even during his military days, when he carried the biggest pack, filled with extra supplies. “I guess I’ve always thought that way. I’d say the two things that I’m most worried about here in Eugene would be an earthquake, because we’re due for an earthquake sometime soon, and the electromagnetic pulse,” he says. Houston fears an electromagnetic pulse, a short burst of energy, that can destroy electronic communication systems and cause power outages, throwing the entire nation into a chaotic and literally dark peril. “[It] would deep-fry all electronic devices, so your cars wouldn’t work, your phones and computers wouldn’t work, all the water pumping stations would shut down, so we wouldn’t have any water,” he says. “We’d basically be thrust into the stone age.”

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FEATURE

s PHOTO – Prepper Ian Houston keeps hens for the eggs they provide.

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I

n order to be ready in case an electromagnetic pulse or earthquake occured, Houston has multiple ways to sustain himself. “I’ve tried to gather things that I can use to either fix [my electronics] if they do get destroyed, or use if I don’t have electronics to create electricity.”

At his home, Ian collects rainwater and stores food, seeds, gardening tools, water bottles, liquor, silver, and shelter building materials. He says that in an extreme situation like an economic collapse, it would be difficult to help others. “When you trade with people who are desperate,” he says, “you’re putting yourself at risk, and I’m not willing to put anyone in my family at risk.” Houston fully intends to keep himself and his family out of harm’s way, and sees carrying a firearm as an effective way to do so. “I think everybody should have a firearm. You can’t count on the police, you can’t count on your neighbors — you can only count on yourself. There’s really no reason to not have a firearm and to not train with it.”

While Houston focuses on his family, many preppers make it their mission to help others prepare as well.

Bryan Nelson is the owner and operator of Epicenter, a survival supply warehouse in Eugene. He was on a Hawaiian vacation in 1992 when he found himself stranded without the supplies he needed to get by.

“When you’re on vacation, you just kind of let all your supplies run out. You get to the airport, get something to eat, and you’re

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gone, right?” However, Nelson’s plans were blown away by Hurricane Iniki, which hit the Big Island directly that year and cancelled flights all over the state. Nelson was left helpless. “I was very unprepared and I decided I didn’t want to be that unprepared again. I put away things that I thought I was going to need, like a radio, batteries, flashlights, food, and water and eventually I started the company.” Epicenter began in Seattle in 1995 and moved with Nelson down to Eugene a few years later.

Now the warehouse sends shipments all over the country. Epicenter mostly supplies long-term stored food solutions like Meals Ready to Eat (MREs), freeze-dried food, seeds, and canned water. Other popular items they sell include camping equipment, 72-hour survival kits, medical supplies, lighting, fuel, generators, batteries, solar chargers, radios, and more.

Janet, Nelson’s wife and secretary at Epicenter, says the company does not promote fear, but the importance of being aware of what can happen without proper disaster preparations. “Last winter, when we had the severe ice storm [in Eugene], there were a lot of people that were without power. Food and water is a big issue when people can’t leave their homes,” she says.

“So we have a lot of people whose interest was raised here when that happened.”

While prepping for natural disasters is common for Epicenter customers, there are a multitude of reasons that people shop there. “Some people are more concerned

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than others. There are folks who are just kind of going back to the basics. They’re kind of like homesteaders — survivalists, but more self-sufficient. They want to grow their own food and buy our seeds. But we do have customers with which there is a large group preparing for more extreme situations, like civil unrest — political and social, chemical or biological pandemic, flu or Ebola,” Janet says.

Many preppers are concerned about prolonging their lives in the case of a disaster, but even more are concerned about preserving the contents of their pockets. “The value of the dollar is another great example,” Nelson says. “People are worried about inflation or all this extra money [being] injected into the economy, so we’ll have a lot of customers that will convert some dollars into something they can use in the future and that could be anything from hard goods to food that has a long shelf-life.”

Business also jumps after people are shaken up from catastrophic events. While Epicenter received criticism for profiting from pandemonium, they see their services are benign. From their point of view, they are a mechanism for delivering necessary supplies after disasters such as 9/11. “At that time, the orders were going out of control,” Bryan remembers. “We had a whole bunch of these Israeli gas masks and filters, and, I’d log in [online], and all of a sudden it was, ‘Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!’, orders for gas masks, and before I could get into the

s PHOTO – LEFT: Epicenter employee Jenny Cramer believes everyone should be prepared to survive for three days on their own.

RIGHT: “Meals, Ready-to-Eat,” or MREs are a common emergency food item kept by preppers in case of a disaster.

s

system, it [was all] deleted off of the website, and we oversold by like 200 gas masks. I got on the phone with my supplier, and they were out — everybody was out of gas masks,” he says.

“I think it’s when something happens that there’s a spike in business,” Janet says.

“Like Katrina, for example,” Nelson says. “We were running crazy and we pretty much sold out of everything. It got to a point where hospitals would call, and they had people with no food. They’d take anything we had.”

“We bend over backwards,” Epicenter customer service specialist John Shipe says. “We do anything we can to meet the customers’ needs. It’s pretty rare that we come across a situation where we can’t do anything.”

Mike Adams is one prepper with very specific needs. A Salem native who was featured on National Geographic Channel show ‘Doomsday Preppers,’ Adams wants to be able to take care of himself and his family should any disaster occur. He says he is largely concerned for his wife, Jessica, who has epilepsy. It’s her health that inspired him to be prepared for the worst.

“She’s on medications, I mean, what would

we do [in an emergency]?” Mike says.

“She’s been seizure-free for a while now, but she had to be medicated constantly. So we looked into more natural things, like St. John’s plant grows here in Oregon, and the flowers can be used to treat seizures.” After wanting to be ready in case of inaccessibility to Jessica’s treatments, Mike’s desire to prep grew. “There’s a lot of crazy stuff going on in politics, and in the world,” he says. Besides preparing to help his wife if her medication becomes unavailable, Mike also began collecting silver as a backup to paper currency. “Silver can be traded as currency, so that’s what we started with.

Then, we started collecting dried foods and getting five-gallon buckets with oxygen absorbers. We don’t have a ton of food, but it’s sort of that mentality of knowing what to do. We started seed storage so if we had to, we could plant and garden non-genetically modified seeds.”

Adams believes that our society is technology-obsessed, and that that culture has led people to expect information and resources will always be available at their fingertips. “A lot of people have forgotten [ basic skills]. I was probably one of those who’d forgotten how to do stuff like grow

PHOTO – Mike Adams implements prepping philosophies and techniques at his restaurant in Salem, Oregon, Adams Rib Smokehouse.

vegetables, get out and work, raise animals.

It’s a lot of work and it’s not easy, but it only takes a little bit of knowledge.” Mike says.

“I think everyone needs to be prepared, because when it comes down to it, it’s your responsibility to take care of yourself.”

Houston agrees. “Something that a lot of people don’t realize is that our system is kind of fragile and it could break down at any moment and at the very least make our lives extremely uncomfortable,” he says.

“I always say that I like to prepare not to survive but to thrive to be comfortable. So that’s my thought. I just do it, and beyond having things is having skills.” His advice is similar to that of Mike. “You should know how to start a fire. It’s not that difficult.

Basic concepts of hydration, cleaning water, its all pretty simple stuff. This is stuff that in a lot of places in the world, this is the priority. I think we kind of take it for granted that we’re not that far from being in a situation like that.” It’s the skills and ability to survive after a catastrophe that Houston, Adams and most preppers look to have control over. Fear of tomorrow, isn’t their game, but taking it on however it may come is.

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We consider it a privilege to serve and invest in where we live and grow.

University of Oregon Community

Social Responsibility Employment

ACTING ON OUR VALUES

UODuckStore.com

FEATURE

WORDS TRAVIS LOOSE

/

PHOTOS DEVIN REAM

Without advocates, the voices of human trafficking victims would never be heard.

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s PHOTO – Angela Lee, president of UO Students Against Modern-Day Slavery (UOSAMS), works to advocate for survivors of human trafficking.

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ACCORDING TO THE GLOBAL SLAVERY INDEX, NEARLY 30 MILLION PEOPLE WORLDWIDE ARE IN CONTEMPORARY SLAVERY.

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ebecca, approaches the podium and nervously begins to speak to the audience. She’s anxious.

It’s easy to see by her fidgeting.

However, as she gains verbal momentum, all of that seems to melt away. She settles, and her words sound like they have been chosen with deliberate forethought.

“Do not feel sorry for me,” Rebecca says.

“I am who I am because of the things I went through…so, no sorry, no tears. None of that is worth the time because I am a much better person.” Still, many in the audience cry throughout the narrative. Rebecca, a 23-year-old survivor of sex trafficking, maintains her composure while telling her tale. Without survivors like Rebecca, who take the difficult step to advocate publicly, the movement to end human trafficking would be without the voices it so desperately needs to succeed.

In 2004, at 13 years old, a friend recruited Rebecca into prostitution. It’s a dark account, and sadly there are many others like it. According to a report from the University of Pennsylvania Center for Youth Policy on sexual exploitation of children, the average age for a child to be trafficked into prostitution is 12–14 years old. And in 2010, 40 percent of the human trafficking cases opened for investigation were for child trafficking.

Between 2004 and 2009, Rebecca worked as a child prostitute for a pimp in the Eugene area, though she lived in Junction City with her abusive mother and stepfather. “I didn’t think it was wrong,” Rebecca says. “When you’re brainwashed, you don’t understand things are wrong… you pretty much go with it ‘til you can’t go anymore.”

In 2010, just one year after Rebecca became free of her pimp, the largest child sex trafficking case in the U.S. broke in Eugene after FBI agents who were working

with local law enforcement uncovered more than 100 women and children working locally as prostitutes. As a result of the operation, 43 people — pimps, clients, and adult prostitutes — were arrested.

Unfortunately, that operation didn’t entirely solve the problem. Locations along Interstate-5 — Portland, Salem, Medford and Eugene — all remain “hotspots” on the FBI’s human trafficking radar. Fortunately, those cities’ local police and FBI special agents are not combatting human trafficking alone. There are advocates — student, civilian and professional alike — working together to help create an awareness of the issue and provide resources for survivors.

When Rebecca escaped on her own, she found sanctuary at Hope Ranch Ministries in Eugene with the help of their director Diana Janz. At Hope Ranch, a local refuge for survivors of sex trafficking, Janz and Rebecca worked together to repair years of psychological damage.

With help and counseling, Rebecca has recovered considerably, and now Angela Lee, president of UO Students Against Modern-Day Slavery (UOSAMS) provides a platform from which she can share her voice.

CHOOSING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE The term of art “modern-day slavery” refers to bonded, forced, child or sex labor and forced marriage. According to the Global Slavery Index, nearly 30 million people worldwide are in contemporary slavery. Human trafficking, one facet of modern-day slavery, is a product of bringing people through deception, threats, or coercion into labor slavery or sexual slavery.

As the president of UOSAMS, a UO student group working to end modern-day slavery “by increasing awareness, educating, and inspiring our community to take action,” it falls to Lee to find local survivors like Rebecca who are willing to speak of their experiences. Survivors of human trafficking are the best people to accurately communicate the harsh realities that they face to the public. Finding survivors who are willing to speak to a crowd about what they’ve gone through is an understandably difficult task. Some are embarrassed to admit what’s happened to them. Others never want to think about it again.

Being trafficked for labor or sex is an experience most will never know. However, in order for others to understand it better, it’s up to advocates like Lee to find survivors who want to raise their voice. Without education and dialogue sponsored through advocates, stories are never heard and the problem of human trafficking remains

quietly hidden from public eyes.

During her sophomore year, Lee read a local story about a victim of human trafficking. “It was surprising to me,” Lee says. “I had no idea that it was happening here in Lane County. It was a terrifying story.” Motivated, Lee began researching ways that she could get involved. She wanted to help create an awareness of the issue. She wanted to help survivors, to do something — anything — that could make a difference.

She started by reading survivor’s stories on the Internet. Eventually, she found a website that offered specific options for individuals interested in advocacy work.

“I found a list of things that college students can do,” she says. “Then I found that I could be part of an organization.”

When she uncovered the steps she would need to take to begin an on-campus student advocate organization, she unflinchingly dove right in. Though there had previously been a student human trafficking advocacy group at the UO called Slavery Still Exists (SSE), Lee wanted to do something new.

After meeting with the former president of the SSE, Lee discovered that there had been issues between the SSE and the UO student government stemming from financial disagreements. A former president for SSE “recommended that it would be better to have a fresh start,” Lee says.

Other universities — such as the University of Colorado, Nebraska University and Emory — all share the SAMS acronym for their version of the group. For the sake of consistency, Lee chose the same. “I wanted to use modern-day slavery in the name instead of human trafficking because modern-day slavery seemed to have more of an impact.” There’s no denying that the word slavery has emotionally charged historical significance. And, despite the word’s historical connotation, most will agree that today’s human trafficking and slavery are synonymous.

Around the world today, the number of reported human trafficking victims varies between 4 and 27 million. According to human trafficking advocacy organization The Polaris Project, the reason for the incredible difference in estimation is due to “actual statistics being unavailable or contradictory due to the covert nature of the crime, the invisibility of victims and high levels of under-reporting, inconsistent definitions, reluctance to share data, and a lack of funding for and standardization of data collection.” The estimates are educated guesses based on phone calls received through hotline records and the numbers of arrests that occur worldwide.

For example, the FBI reported the number of open suspected human trafficking cases in the U.S. from 2001 to 2007 as 751.

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O LOCAL • UO SWAT (Sexual Wellness Advocacy Team) • Sexual Assault Support Services • UO Womenspace • University Health Center • UO Testing and Counselling Center • Eugene Police Department • aaeo.uoregon.edu/ sexual-harassmentassault/

NATIONAL • National Human Trafficking Resource Center

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f those, 327 were cases involving child trafficking.

Though that may seem like few over six years, the number of reported cases of suspected human trafficking in 2013 has increased to 2515. The increase may have less to do with the actual numbers of trafficking victims, and more to do with individuals gaining the courage to speak out. What is even more difficult to identify is the number of victims who will never report to law enforcement. Whatever the case, as reported by the U.S. Department of Justice’s Bureau of Justice Statistics, “About 8 in 10 of the suspected incidents of human trafficking were classified as sex trafficking, and about 1 in 10 incidents were classified as labor trafficking.”

Appalled by the statistics and the endemic nature of human trafficking, Lee began searching for other students who would join in her campus awareness campaign.

Through the UOSAMS Facebook page, and by tabling at the Erb Memorial Union on the UO campus, Lee’s recruitment over the past two years has gone well. Despite her success, Lee admits that she would love to see more students become involved. The fall 2014 quarter will be Lee’s last as president for the group, so she’s also looking for someone new to step up as president. She hopes for someone who will not only replace her, but also maintain the passionate involvement she’s sustained since the organization was founded.

Though she’s been the president since founding UOSAMS in 2012, Lee looks forward to new leadership for the group.

“The good part is that they will see everything from different perspectives, and they’ll have different ideas for how they can make the club grow,” she says. The group is also open to new student members whethey they have knowledge of human trafficking or not. “One of our focuses is to educate our new members. So, if they don’t know anything about human trafficking, that’s OK,” Lee says. “They can come and learn through their involvement.”

BEING THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE Many years before Lee read the articles that would ultimately inspire her to advocate against human trafficking, Kristin Marshall had a similar life altering experience.

In 2007, as a freshman at Oregon State University, Marshall attended a workshop led by former UO Substance Abuse and Prevention Program instructor Bill Hillar and UO alum Huston Hedinger, the founders of SSE. At the workshop, Hillar provided

a personal testimonial about how his daughter had been kidnapped, trafficked and murdered in Southeast Asia. After hearing Hillar’s story, “I was rocked, and pretty revolted,” Marshall says. “I definitely felt that it was a call on my life. I thought, ‘This exists? This is awful, and I need to do something about it.’ ” Following the workshop, Marshall founded a club at OSU called The Student Abolitionists. She helped maintain the group for the next year, but then passed the torch of leadership when she transferred to the UO. Upon her arrival, Hedinger graduated and she assumed leadership of SSE under Hillar. Working closely with SAPP, Marshall and the other members of SSE established a well-known presence on the UO campus over the following two years. Prior to her arrival, SSE’s efforts were limited to the weekend workshops and some individual student activism. While she was president, however, SSE experienced a renaissance of sorts.

“We had this great visual where we put a bunch of turquoise flags in the quad to represent the number of people who were being trafficked,” Marshall says. “We were chalking the sidewalks all the time, before it was cool to chalk the sidewalks… just a lot of great visuals.” Unfortunately, some of the visuals didn’t go over so well with the UO Women’s Center, she admits.

Trigger warnings hadn’t become standard for displays like this, so SSE’s attempts at gripping and compelling eye-openers ended up setting off some students who were sensitive to the subject. “We were just working to make it in-your-face enough to get people’s attention,” Marshall says.

During the Vancouver Olympics, Marshall and SSE joined with another nonprofit organization and went up and down I-5 posting flyers at rest stops. The flyers had a message for trafficking victims, written in multiple languages, as well as hotline phone numbers to call. “That kind of stuff is so good for college students,” Marshall says, “It shows them something that they can do now, and hopefully shows them something that they can do forever. It’s those little things.”

According the Global Alliance Against Traffic in Women, each Olympic event has come with a predicted increase in prostitution for the city where the games are being held. And though no substantial increase had ever been proven since the study began during the 2004 Olympics in Greece, the predictions remain the same, and the same precautions are taken. Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing whether or not Marshall helped to prevent any trafficked prostitutes from actually making it to the city. A reality for advocates is that they rarely get to see the results of what they’ve done.

They can only hope that they’ve done something for someone somewhere.

So, by holding bi-weekly and monthly events, as well as periodic educational workshops, SSE remained active on the UO campus for the following two years.

Then, without any warning, the foundation upon which Marshall’s entire movement was built came crumbling down.

FINDING MOTIVATION Hillar, who claimed to be the real-life inspiration for the 2008 Liam Neeson film “Taken,” was accused of fabricating his entire story. Eventually, everything he’d claimed about his daughter, who was actually alive and well, including being a retired Army Special Forces Colonel, was revealed to be false. According to the FBI, in 2011 Hillar was convicted for “wire fraud in connection with a scheme to lie about his military experience and academic credentials in order to gain employment for teaching and training,” and was sentenced to 21 months in prison by a federal court.

“His story was so compelling because it was so personal,” Marshall says. “For me — being someone who I felt had been called to the issue — I was actually questioning my own involvement because the story that kicked it all off for me was potentially fraudulent. It affected everyone involved.”

With SSE founders Hedinger graduating and Hillar facing a felony conviction, Marshall lost heart and developed apathetic feelings toward human trafficking advocacy.

Other members of SSE, Marshall says, also took a step back to re-evaluate the reasons for their involvement.

Despite having disconnected from Hillar, Marshall found that she still couldn’t simply walk away from the very real problem that existed, she says. Her desire to make a difference still burned within her, she just needed to find her motivation. She began scrutinizing the information she used with more diligence. By the time she’d graduated, she had reformed her approach to advocacy, and ultimately decided that her participation would come from a more religious point of view. Today, Marshall doesn’t maintain any lasting resentment toward Hillar. “It totally changed my life,” she says. “I wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for that lie.”

Today, Marshall works with the Intervarsity Christian Fellowship for Portland State University. “We look at issues of injustice, like human trafficking, and see what spirituality and Jesus’ call on us is in response to these issues.” And though her current work has its foundation in religion, it’s primary message is one of lasting action. “We partner with many

non-profits in Portland, and encourage students to do service, instead of just being on campus to learn, get a degree and leave.”

When Marshall first enrolled at OSU, she hoped to graduate and become a veterinarian, get married, start a family and live happily ever after. But after learning about human trafficking, and creating TSA, joining SSE, and now working at PSU, she believes that her life has been called to a greater purpose. “I need to do something about human trafficking,” Marshall says.

“I can’t just be a bystander.” Many human trafficking advocates echo the same message: Once you have your eyes opened to human trafficking, you’re no longer able to stand idly by and do nothing.

During college, Marshall says, students share a blissfully naïve belief that they can change the world. However, after graduation, once the reality of work and life set in, those ambitious world-changing desires seem to fade. Eating quinoa or freetrade chocolate, she says, doesn’t have the same impact as it did while still wearing the rose colored glasses. But, by maintaining the same passion for making change, a person can motivate others who are also concerned that their efforts are no longer being noticed or make a difference at all.

“It’s tough,” Marshall says. “You find yourself at a crossroads of, ‘Do I engage with this issue?’ And one of the things that we’ve struggled with is how do we invite students into engaging with the issue?” And therein lies the biggest challenge.

Some students, Marshall says, because of their chosen field of study, believe they don’t have anything to contribute to the cause. “What I’ve learned from fighting this issue,” Marshall says, “is that every person is equipped in a unique way to offer something toward making a difference.

Everyone is capable.”

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I NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT HUMAN TRAFFICKING. I CAN’T JUST BE A BYSTANDER.

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t PHOTO – UOSAMS is a student group working to spread awareness of human traficking.

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HOME on the

ROAD WORDS ALIYA HALL

/ PHOTOS DEBRA JOSEPHSON

Traveling musicians find creature comforts away from stability.

SOUNDWAVES

STRANGELY DOESBURG & CRAZY FINGERS

C

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razy Fingers is an older rock musician with long hair and glasses.

He’s traveled most of his life and thinks everyone should as well. “If you stay in one place for too long, the environment that you’re in and the people that you’re accustomed to seeing and interacting with become your whole world and reality,” Crazy Fingers says. “That’s like living your life with blinders on.”

Traveling the world perpetually doesn’t come without its difficulties. Spending time between destinations, language barriers, and having enough cash are only a few of the challenges vagabond musicians face. Their reward is connecting with new audiences through the freedom of musical expression. “You go some place like Sweden or Ireland and people are hungry for something exciting and new.

And they love it,” Strangely says. “But not everyone likes it. I was in Budapest and a woman threw a beer bottle at me from her window… She missed.”

Crazy Fingers and Strangely both agree that with life on the road, things will inevitably go wrong. Crazy Fingers believes that the unpredictability of the road has to be embraced; the worse things go, the bigger you have to smile. For Strangely, Sturgis Bike Rally taught him to accept the haphazard nature of street performance.

“I was breathing fire and I had a mouth full of gasoline and this guy comes out of the crowd holding a dog, it was like a Chihuahua, and he wanted me to balance it on my hand while I breathed fire. I had a mouth full of gasoline and eventually I did it but the distraction messed me up and my beard caught on fire and I burned my throat really bad. But that’s the amazing thing about street performing, anything can happen,” he says.

Despite the hectic nature of the vagabond life, Crazy Fingers wouldn’t say he has missed out on anything. “I don’t know any other way to live,” he says. “There’s nothing to compare it to. This is my life. Without the people who love me and my music, I wouldn’t exist.”

BANJO YOUNGBLOOD & BEAR AUSTIN BERTAK

B

anjo Youngblood and Bear Austin Bertak spent their youth on the road, but as life progressed, they settled in Eugene. Banjo, with his red muttonchops, chose to start a family and Bear, with his auburn beard and septum piercing, went back to school. Although neither plan to travel now, for them, music will always be their passion. Banjo is looking for a sponsor for his musical career, and Bear is in a few local bands like The Pettichord Family and Swamp Sirens, and plays with other traveling musicians in Eugene. Although they have a different lifestyle now, their struggles on the road will never be forgotten. Banjo remembers train hopping on wrong train into Joshua Tree National Park. After the cops kicked them off the train, the group found themselves in a near abandoned desert town.

“We walked and wound up seeing another train that was sided,” he says. “The conductor came down and he says which place do you want to go, Las Vegas or back where we came from. And they all looked at me and I said Las Vegas. Forty minutes later we were there. And Las Vegas was hell.”

Living as a vagabond musician, the challenges faced are basic but monumental.

Finding your next meal is tough. So is being constantly on the move. Although Banjo is now married and has a son, he remembers love on the road being short lived but heartfelt. Inspired by romantic encounters on the road, he wrote a song expressing the joys of “mutual masturbation” with “no contractual obligations.”

Vagabond musicians can’t expect much romance from the road, but Bear was lucky.

He had a girlfriend for the majority of his travels named Karmen. “She's noteworthy on account that she came from an incredibly wealthy family, but when she met me she was so swept away with the freedom and adventure, that she left all of the security and promise of a wealthy life to experience something that’s real and human.

Things that no amount of money or success can get you,” he says. Although his lifestyle may seem odd or undesirable, Bear wants people to know that vagabond musicians love what they do. “It may be irresponsible for me to recommend this lifestyle to people,” he says. “But I’d recommend it to anyone to try it.”

Vagabond musicians preserve a purist view of the American Dream that’s replaced in the mainstream by money or fame. For them the dream is searching for freedom and love of what you do. “Maybe I’m too political about this,” Bear says.

“But, I believe that vagabond musicians are the last line of true Americans who have a dream of their own way of life. We’re the last goddamn fucking American cowboys.”

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IT MAY BE IRRESPONSIBLE FOR ME TO RECOMMEND THIS LIFESTYLE TO PEOPLE. BUT I’D RECOMMEND IT TO ANYONE TO TRY IT.”

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PHOTOS – Many vagabond musicians attend the Oregon Country Fair.

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MOTION

running

UNDER THE INFLUENCE

I

t was approximately 90 degrees at 6 p.m., and I was about to Hash for the first time. “On, on!” the Hashers shouted together, as they began to jog down Martin street in South Eugene.

Reluctantly, and without explanation, I began to follow. I hadn’t been ready to jog today. I had eaten a horrible breakfast, an even worse lunch, and definitely hadn’t drank enough water to balance the amount of sweat I had already perspired in the early evening heat. On top of that, I wasn’t sure how the Pabst Blue Ribbon I had just guzzled, or the shot of Moonshine I’d imbibed, was going to sit while I climbed the Ridgeline trail toward Dillard Road Nevertheless, I climbed.

While my stomach churned with beer and Moonshine. Sweat poured profusely from my face and body. I took a glance back at my photographer Devin Ream, his face mostly pale. After hearing his labored breaths, I thought he was going to die right there on the side of the hill. I asked him if

WORDS TRAVIS LOOSE / PHOTOS DEVIN REAM

Locals combine the best of both worlds: running and drinking.

he was alright. He replied that he was not, but that he would continue despite it. By the time we made it to the first beer check, I was already exhausted.

Yet, without even asking if I was thirsty, a Hasher who goes by the Hash-Tag Beef Up and Fuck tossed me another PBR. Drinking it was nearly as challenging as the first leg of the Hash had been. My body fought violently against the foam and carbonation.

I struggled to keep from gagging. While I caught my breath between gulps of cheap, lukewarm beer, I tried to recall how exactly I had gotten myself into this predicament.

ON-ON The previous Wednesday, I met with Todd Bosworth, co-founder of the running group who also goes by his HashTag Hugh Mungus Butt-Hicky. The group call themselves the Eugene Hash House Harriers.

Though Bosworth helped establish the Eugene kennel in 1991, the history of the Hash House Harriers is a story 76 years in the making that spans the globe.

The story goes that two Brits and a Spaniard formed a Monday evening running group in 1938 in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, as a means of working off the weekend’s hangover. According to the Hash House’s official history, the name the expatriated civil servants chose derived from the location where they met: The Selangor Club Chambers, nicknamed the ‘Hash House’ for its “unimaginative, monotonous food.” Namely, the corned beef hash.

The founding members took the basic rules of a 17th century British running game called ‘Hares and Hounds,’ and combined it with another running game from the South China Sea nation. This combination led to a running-chase challenge that incorporates a trail of flour, drinking beer, obscene nicknames, and

s PHOTO – Left: Hasher Bankock Taco in full drinking regalia at the pre-lube before a hash on August 10, 2014; right: on any other day ETHOS

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Uncle Ream-Us is working his 9-5 job, but on special occasions like the Sunday tu-tu run, he comes out to be with the Hashers.

s

PHOTO – LEFT: The sacred drinking vessels of the Hash House Harriers, used either as a reward or a punishment during a ceremony called Religion. ABOVE: After receiving a nickname from the group, Hashers receive a necklace with their name and charms denoting their “specialty.”

singing and socializing into a ridiculous, yet fun alternative for adults who care less about competitive running, and more about making the exercise as absurdly entertaining as possible. “For me, it started when I read an article in the Wall Street Journal in 1990,” Bosworth says. The author of the article, Hilary Stout, described a running group in New York City that would meet on Fridays after work, run for a bit, then meet up at a bar for drinks. “So, I thought, ‘Well, I’m a runner, and I know a lot of runners in Eugene; that sounds like a really cool thing to do.’” Then, after meeting a retired Foreign Service officer who had been living in Kuala Lumpur, Bosworth was formally introduced to the worldwide practice of Hashing.

BEER-CHECK Hashing is considerably less orthodox than your basic jog around the block, as I was quick to learn. The first thing I recognized as being wildly different from any athletic endeavor I’d undertaken before was the mass consumption of beer. When I arrived at the meeting place for that initial Hash, I encountered ten Hashers drinking at the pre-lube at the back of a hatchback SUV. The Hashers who chose to partake were pilfering two coolers full of Ninkasi (the kennel’s official sponsor) and PBR. Once the Hash begins, the objective is to find the next beer check. Along the way, the Hashers will encounter obstacles marked as symbols made of flour or chalk on the ground. These markings are explained prior to the Hash during the Chalk-Talk.

Hasher’s jargon is extensive, vulgar, and

rife with adult humor. “It’s like a scavenger hunt,” says The Scrotunator.

“A scavenger hunt for beer!” And he’s not wrong. The breaks taken during the Hash are solely for an opportunity to drink even more beer. However, it’s important to understand that there is no requirement to drink. In fact, there are a number of Hashers who prefer not to drink at all, though they are the minority. Also important to understand is that a Hash has no winners, per se. “It’s not a race,” Bosworth says.

“A lot of the time, you’re standing around trying to figure out which way the trail goes, or waiting for someone to get back and say, ‘It doesn’t go that way.’” A popular description of Hashing by non-Hashers is that they’re a drinking group with a running problem. So, if you’re looking for an opportunity to drink socially but have no interest in raising your heart rate, Hashing might not be for you.

ON-IN When I finally made it back to where the Hash originally started on Martin Street, I found Devin waiting for me, camera in hand. The lucky bastard had gotten a ride back from the first beer check with one of the Hashers. Winded, nauseated, buzzed, and experiencing a rapid, on-coming headache as a result of dehydration, I joined Devin and the Hashers for the end-of-Hash ceremony called Religion.

More drinking, singing, and merriment ensued. Sacred vessels (a ceremoniously bedazzled bed pan and an old bugle) were filled with beer and upended, body parts were liberally exposed, bad jokes and even

“

I CAUGHT MY BREATH BETWEEN GULPS OF CHEAP, LUKEWARM BEER.

“

worse songs were shared, but good times were had by all. I hadn’t arrived that day expecting anything more than a quick interview and a handshake or two. However, after Hashing for nearly three hours, Devin and I were officially accepted into the kennel. As explained to me by Always Wet Pussy, “Eugene is now your Mother Hash.”

I’ve participated in four Hashes since then, and every one has been a little different. Sometimes costumes are worn, sometimes Jell-O shots are part of the beverage options; after my birthday, they even made a cake of me by smashing eggs over my head, covering me with flour and beer, and then singing me the oddest version of Happy Birthday I’ve ever heard.

But one thing that never changes — never happens any differently — is the welcoming of virgins (first time Hashers). The Eugene Hash House Harriers are an eclectic group of people from all walks of life. Be they vice presidents, civil engineers, schoolteachers, UO staff members, software developers, or writers and photographers for university publications, all are welcome to join the Hash. All you need is half a mind.

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FORUM

the

GREEN

LIGHT WORDS SAM POLOWAY ILLUSTRATIONS DELANEY PRATT

Sam Poloway examines marijuana legalization efforts in Oregon.

T

his November, the State of Oregon will vote to decide whether to join Colorado and Washington by legalizing marijuana for recreational use. Oregon has pioneered progressive marijuana legislation in the past, such as its medical marijuana program, and pro-legalization advocates want to keep the trend alive. In 1973, it became the first state to decriminalize the possession of small amounts of marijuana. Now, the Control, Regulation, and Taxation of Marijuana and Industrial Hemp Act, better known as Measure 91, is an attempt to safely regulate and tax the sale of marijuana for all persons in the state over the age of 21. Regulation and taxation would be similar to that of beer and wine. In 2012, Oregonians voted against a similar bill that would have legalized marijuana;

however, it looks as if the voters have a better shot at achieving legalization this time around. AP polls now indicate 52 percent of Oregonians are pro-legalization.

Peter Zuckerman, the spokesman of New Approach Oregon (NOA), the organization that brought Measure 91 to the ballot, believes that regulating a legal marijuana industry would solve many of the state’s current problems with drug enforcement and usage. Zuckerman believes it is the right time for a change. “A regulated approach is much more effective than the failing black market approach that we have right now,” he says. “The jail approach is not working. It is just toughening them up and turning them into hardened criminals.”

HISTORY OF MARIJUANA LAWS IN THE U.S.

1937

President Franklin Roosevelt signed federal legislation that banned cannabis use, production and sales; including for industrial hemp.

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1968

Appellate court challenges to the 1937 ‘Reefer Madness’ anti-cannabis laws force the federal government to create a Controlled Substances Act and the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) in 1970.

1970

The Controlled Substances Act (CSA) becomes law and for the first time sets up a scheduling system for illegal and illicit substances, classifying cannabis as a schedule I controlled substance with “a high potential for abuse; …no currently accepted medical use in treatment in the United States; … [and a] lack of accepted safety for use under medical supervision.”

“

THE JAIL APPROACH IS NOT WORKING. IT IS JUST TOUGHENING THEM UP AND TURNING THEM INTO HARDENED CRIMINALS.

“

Pro-criminalization advocate Joshua Marquis, the District Attorney of Clatsop County, feels differently.

Recently Marquis questioned Kelly Officer, the Research Analyst for the Oregon Criminal Justice Commission, and found that in all of Oregon’s prisons, only 17 actual incarcerations were because marijuana violations. However, according to NOA’s website, in 2012 alone, 12,808 people were arrested in Oregon for marijuana related offenses. Marquis believes that this number is misleading.

Politifact falls on Marquis’ side by giving NOA’s statistic a rating of false. In 2012, 10,054 people were cited for possession of less than one ounce of marijuana, but not

arrested. “They [NOA] say that because the implication they wish to give is that we are spending vast amount of public resources arresting casual marijuana users and presumably prosecuting them and jailing them,” says Marquis.

Politifact goes on to quote Zuckerman, explaining that if the claim NOA made is false, that it is the fault of the state police for issuing a misleading report. Despite a dispute about the amount of public resources allocated for arresting marijuana users, Marquis also believes fighting the black market drug trade will be more difficult than they anticipate. To him, Colorado is a prime example.

“People can get marijuana in Colorado for one fifth the price on the street [even after legalization],” says Marquis.

Colorado’s tax revenue has felt this effect.

A new study from their state’s Department of Revenue shows that they are on track to make less than half of the expected tax revenue from marijuana sales. However, Oregon’s Measure 91 has prepared for this by lowering the tax rate on marijuana to $35 an ounce. Although this aims to solve the problem of legal marijuana competing on price with street level product, Marquis believes that it is a double-edged sword.

“How are we going to make money off of that?” he asks.

This coupled with the fact that anyone over 21 could grow their own marijuana at home leads him to question whether recent projections in tax revenue are on the mark at all.

Whether or not those predictions are accurate, it is clear that there will be a new source of revenue if marijuana is legalized in Oregon. 60 percent of the tax revenue generated will be distributed between drug treatment, drug prevention, mental health, licensing of marijuana stores and law enforcement. The rest will go towards educating adolescents about drugs like

marijuana. Legalizing marijuana would also make it easier to do research on the effects of marijuana. “The research that could really benefit people’s lives isn’t being done,” says Zuckerman.

“Drug education is crucial to allowing young people to make good decisions and have the ability to say no and to learn how marijuana impacts their developing brains,” says Zuckerman.

He points to tobacco as an example of how educating young people can reduce their involvement with drugs. Marquis disagrees and argues that the only thing that is keeping tobacco use low among young people is the enormous cost driven by taxes. Yet, surveys conducted by the CDC analyzing the use of marijuana by high school students shows that the use of marijuana in adolescents is only 0.8% higher in states where marijuana is legal compared to the rest of the country.

This could mean that it is still too early to tell what effect legalization could have on marijuana usage by adolescents.

“I think it is important that we just take a deep breath,” Marquis says, “We have an experiment going on literally across the river [Washington] and another one in Colorado.”

While he concedes that marijuana is not as toxic as tobacco and alcohol, he contends that there should be no rushing into legalization. “Why don’t we wait a couple years and see how it works out?”

However, he may not get his wish as pro-legalization forces are charging towards the finish line of counting votes in their favor. The growing popularity of the measure will make it a very tight race and Zuckerman believes they can win it. “The numbers make it clear that [current policy] is not working,” Zuckerman says, “and it is time to try something else and I think we have a good way forward.”

1973 1991 1998 2012 Oregon becomes the first state to pass cannabis decriminalization legislation

San Francisco become the first city to pass an ordinance — with a 79 percent support rate — in favor of medical patients having access to cannabis.

A legislative effort in Oregon is successfully made to place a ‘cannabis re-criminalization’ initiative on the ballot, which fails as Oregonians prove they really like their so-called cannabis ‘de-crim’ laws.

Washington and Colorado become the first states to legalize recreational marijuana use for adults 21 and older.

SOURCE – NORML.ORG

2014

4 November 2014, Oregonians will vote on Measure 91, a ballot measure that if approved would legalize recreational marijuana in the state for adults 21 and older.

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JOURNEYS

SINGAPORE

WORDS CAROLINE BARRETT

A teenager from California discovers Signapore’s culture.

A s PHOTO – Downtown Signapore at night.

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t radition at my school dating back before anyone in my grade could remember is spending senior spring break in Bali. A rite of passage of sorts, the trip was notorious for crazy clubs, beautiful beaches, and most enticing, no parents. It sounded enticing for me, a teenager now thousands of miles from where I was born. However, that all changed when my grade of overachieving, over-protected, classmates decided to go. Out of the 30 or so kids that left from my Singapore American School, about ten of our parents came to chaperone, which quickly dashed all our hopes of being free from their grasp while on break. Thankfully my parents as well as my little sister stayed in the next town over so the chances of running into them were slim to none. I can’t say other kids were as lucky. The eight of us that remained free from parents split up into two larger rooms at the Hard Rock in Kuta for four nights with 20 of our other friends.

The hotel was filled with Rock ‘n’ Roll memorabilia, and our room featured all things Jimi Hendrix. Each day was busy with lying by a people packed pool packed and swimming at pristine beaches, while the nights were as insane as the stories claimed. A club named Bounty was where we ventured each night and met up with students from other international schools.

There were four floors, starting with a karaoke bar that lasted until about 10 p.m. Then the crowds moved up rickety flights of stairs through dark corridors to a huge dance floor with rotating cages and platforms. One of the nights it rained and water dripped down through the club’s unfinished metal roof. Overpriced, water downed drinks came in plastic water jugs. When the night finally ended around 3 a.m., all of us walked back through the still busy streets to our hotels. After we had our free reign in Bali, it was back to school.

I graduated in 2011 from the Singapore American School. It was one of the highest ranked international schools with over 50 nationalities and approximately 3,800 students from grades K-12. We had fun sometimes, but academic classes were extremely competitive, as well as extracurricular sports and service clubs.

Many of my classmate’s mothers were “tiger moms,” a common term I heard to describe relentlessly strict mothers with standards so rigid most “overachievers” would find it difficult to handle. Grades less than an A in any class were generally not acceptable at my high school and often times a punishable offense, as it is legal in Singapore to cane your child in the privacy of home.

Once the stressful school week was over, my weekend usually included hanging out with friends and doing anything that does not require being outside. Year-round, Singapore’s weather is 90-degrees or more with 80 percent humidity. By day that meant shopping, movies, and dining out. Often, we’d go window-shopping on Singapore’s famous Orchard Road (similar to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills minus the celebrities). But usually every mall was filled with high end luxury brands like Prada or Chanel that I couldn’t afford.

The best times happened after the sun went down. When it came to going out at night, Singapore had dozens of options, whether that meant drinking around the hawker center or sometimes going to the nightclubs. Newton Circus was Singapore’s most popular hawker center, an open-air

food court full of stalls each about the size of a parking space. I remember the odor of hot cooking oil, pungent fish and stale beer wafting through the food court. Singapore was a melting pot of different cultures and nationalities like Malay, Chinese and Indian, and hawkers showcased dishes from every ethnicity. Chili crab was Singapore’s best known dish, often paired with Tiger Beer, the local lager. The chili was made from fresh crab, dried chili peppers, garlic, and tomato paste, soaked together for days. It was way too spicy for me. A cold beer might sound refreshing, but I found the carbonation added to the intense chili burn as everything washed down into my stomach. The meals were cheap at the hawkers and we would stay all night, talking and drinking beer after beer.

While this was our usual hangout with my close friends, at least once a week we would venture to one of Singapore’s many clubs.

In Singapore, fake IDs were a must, starting as young as freshman year of high school. The drinking age was 18, making it easy for people who look young to get in, even at 15. I got my first fake ID the summer going into sophomore year: a lopsided, off-color California driver’s license that lacked the protective plastic wrap found on legitimate IDs. I still don’t know how I would get in with that thing, but it worked almost every time. Clubs with names like the Butter Factory, Zirca and my personal favorite, Zouk, featured world famous DJs at least once a month, making the nightlife exciting even if I was oblivious to who they

were.

By the end of my senior year, I had danced to Kaskade, Swedish House Mafia, met Diplo and Steve Aoki, and countless others. Drugs are frequently associated with these types of DJs and shows, but I didn’t know anyone using drugs. My high school had a strict no drugs policy and would test students frequently and “at random”, although I was the only one in my class who had been drug tested four times in four years. I suspect it had something to do with coming from a liberal town in California.

If caught with drugs or tested positive for taking them, my school would give a student 24 hours to leave Singapore for good. Every year students were deported many only a few months from graduation.

While the club scene was exciting, listening to the same remixes from club to club with the same people each weekend eventually became monotonous. By the end of my senior year I yearned for the intimacy of house parties and couldn’t wait for a different experience in college.

Living for four years in Singapore, I experienced things that I would never have imagined while living in the US. Being immersed in a completely different society, I learned so much about different people, cultures, and ways of life. Although the 18hour plane ride I take across the Pacific to get “home” is a long one, I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.

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THE BEST TIMES HAPPENED AFTER THE SUN WENT DOWN.

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s PHOTO – Caroline Barrett on her spring break trip in Bali.

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WORDS WYATT STAYNER PHOTOS VIRINGINA WERNER

An Alabaman’s search for the best BBQ in Eugene

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ried chicken, mac and cheese, and pulled pork. These delicacies are missing from my life, and that’s bad. I’d say that my doctor is proud to know I’m healthy and free of fried food and barbeque, but that would be a lie.

He’d be ashamed because he is, like me, a Southerner. An Alabaman to be exact.

To us, barbeque is more than a delicious meal. To us, it’s an identity. People in the Northwest are good at cooking.

They have tasty soups and breads, and everything is made with healthy and local ingredients. Out here they have things like veganism and gluten-free eating. I’m sure I will thank Oregonians for this when I’m healthy at 75 and all my Southern friends are diabetics, but sometimes I just want to eat some grilled flesh. That’s why I’ve set out on a quest to find the best barbeque in Eugene: BBQ King, Papa’s Soul Food, Hole in the Wall Barbeque, and Delacata.

I’ve never eaten at these restaurants for fear of disappointment. That ends now.

It’s time to find my home away from home on a plate, smothered in sauce.

BBQ King is housed in a tiny red shed, but that’s okay because the only size that matters is the size of your smoker. On my approach to the shed, I notice a big, jovial man named Ken. He has a bushy salt and pepper beard, and he’s joking and cussing

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with the customers in his gravelly I order a pulled pork sandwich, and chat with Ken through the screen window on his cookout shed. He tells me that he’s from Texas, and he lets out a hefty, guttural laugh when I tell him about my quest. My immediate reaction is to tell him that I’m a Southerner. That I’m different. That I’m in his club, sharing a fraternal bond symbolized by geography and a love of juicy pit-cooked meats.

The sandwich is scrumptious. It’s mesquite, smoky, decidedly Texan.

Crunchy coleslaw sits atop chunky pork – something I’ve never had. The sauce spills off the bun and onto my hand, making it sticky. My napkin, once a blank canvas, is now a masterpiece painted in barbeque sauce. Ken aided my art, only giving me one napkin, a sign that he’s a true barbeque king. The messiest restaurants always give you the least amount of protection against their food.

My next adventure, Papa’s Soul Food, requires the help of my Southern sidekick, Craig, a friend from the University of Alabama. I need Craig since he hasn’t been in Oregon as long as me. It’s possible that I’ve lost my Southern taste buds. We wait in line for 45 minutes, something that would never happen on Wednesday night in the South because everyone would be

at church for evening service. The smell of sweet potatoes wafts outside, alleviating our impatience.

In the South, most good soul food is eaten in a dive. We like to be in a slightly seedy place. The experience isn’t complete if you don’t feel like there’s a chance you will die there. Papa’s isn’t a dive, but it’s a soul food restaurant for sure. It comforts and transports you to the South through nostalgic decoration. There are posters of B.B. King and James Brown. We finally get our table, and are ready to grub. When I order Kool-Aid, the waitress responds by asking if I want red or purple as opposed to cherry or grape. Trust me, that’s a good sign. Craig gets pulled pork. I get chicken and waffles, the holy grail of Southern food. Neither of us knows where to get this in Alabama. The fried chicken is crispy, greasy, and accompanied by multiple napkins – grease doesn’t turn napkins into art, it just turns them into greasy napkins.

The meat is tender and juicy. I accidentally bite into a bone, and know it has been too long; I’ve forgotten how to eat fried chicken. Forgive me Paula Deen for I have sinned.

After dinner, we decide on dessert, a gigantic serving of moist bread pudding, which is simultaneously the best and worst decision of the night. I haven’t been this

TASTES stuffed in a long time. I despise myself right now, and it’s awesome.

Next up is Hole in the Wall. Alex, a friend from Oregon, joins me because it’s one of his favorite place. There is a Texas flag on the wall, and country is the preferred music. Cleaning products cover up the smell of barbeque. Tin buckets serve as shades over the light bulbs. It seems like someone’s idea of the South.

My friend Alex joins me tonight, excited for the fare. Our waitress informs us she’s “not a rib person.” Uh oh. I order a pulled pork sandwich and it’s underwhelming.

The meat is soggy, bland, cold. Pork requires warmth. The sauce doesn’t spill onto my hands. I guess there will be no painting tonight.

I was afraid of this disappointment, but I realize now that I wasn’t afraid of my own disappointment. I’m disappointed for Alex and for Oregonians that will only ever know barbeque like this.

Two days and two pounds pounds later, I arrive at Delacata for lunch. My buddy Nick from Salt Lake joins me. Delacata is a shiny black and silver food truck with a gigantic catfish logo on the back. I approach the window and see a Mississippi State hat on one of the owners, Stephen.

They are friendly and Southern. The accents are a welcomed sound. I get a fried shrimp Po’ Boy sandwich and Nick gets a pulled pork sandwich. While we are waiting for our food, Nick asks about Hole in the Wall.

As I try to explain my let down, I notice Colleen, who’s making my sandwich starting to smile, and I feel the need to let her know I’m from Birmingham, just like at BBQ King. It turns out that both Colleen and Stephen are from Mississippi.

We talk a little about the South, and Colleen jokes that she had to tone down her hot sauce for Eugene.

The Po’ Boy is awesome – it’s as good and possibly better than the ones I’ve had in New Orleans. The shredded lettuce provides a crunchy contrast to the fried shrimp. The tomatoes are juicy, the sauce is spicy, and the bread is toasted perfectly.

At the end of my expedition, I remembered how difficult it’s to eat barbeque everyday. It tastes amazing, but there’s an anchor in your stomach after eating it, and for the next week you walk around smelling like a firefighter. That’s okay, because I only need barbeque every once in a while. After all, I moved out here to try new things and experience the culture of the Northwest.

In Oregon, these meals might be few and far in between, but no matter how comfortable I get in my new home, I’l l a lw ays need t hat sl ice of t he Sout h.

It ’s fr ied ch icken for t he sou l.

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MY NAPKIN, ONCE A BLANK CANVAS, IS NOW A MASTERPIECE PAINTED IN BARBEQUE SAUCE. bbq king

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papa’s soul food

delacata

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THE LAST s

PHOTO – Dash Paulson at his college graduation from the University of Oregon, School of Journalism and Communication.

homeward bound Returning to the nest after college has its ups and downs

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g raduated recently. Yay. Not much later I asked one of my friends over a beer where he was going after college.

"Well, after this I have to go live with my parents for a while," he said. I nodded gravely, as anyone might on hearing tragic news.

Last year my best buddy since freshman year finished a degree in economics, two research theses, and a minor in Chinese.

Potential employers were mightily unimpressed. After walking at graduation, he had to move back in with his parents and get a job at a golf course as a caddy. But his story ends happily. He bettered his Spanish on the golf course, got fed every day by his mom, and eventually was hired to a stellar bank job in Denver.

On the other hand, staying with the parents doesn’t work out for everyone – especially if they're not your parents.

Another friend graduated a year before me and moved in with her boyfriend, and he moved in with his mother. This woman was, by all accounts, very sweet, generous, and obsessed with penguins. Penguin photos,

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penguin statues, stuffed toy penguins, penguin memorabilia, penguin postcards, penguin plates, etc. I didn't see the house she spoke of, but the general impression was penguins. She has a job in Portland now and is quite happy – just never mention waddling arctic birds.

I’ve heard some of my peers speak with shame or a hint of grief about moving back with the parents or about others for doing so. It’s as if our overqualified generation was having a tough time finding work in a stagnant economy. Between unpaid internships and student debt payments that can exceed the cost of rent, I ask now, what's so bad about living with the parents (for a little while)? Those of us who can go home for a few months are lucky; whining about living in the basement is a luxury many can’t afford or consider.

There's drama to consider. Some parents might feel that they already provided free room and board for 18 years without nearly enough appreciation. Many might welcome back their progeny with open arms and a kitchen full of dirty dishes to scrub.

WORDS DASH PAULSON

My own birth givers have been known to turn on the nightly news with Bryan WIlliams and call me over to watch whenever there’s a special report on the tribulations of the millennial generation. Tensions can make your parent’s home start to feel just a bit like some sort of conflict zone, but you’ll probably be fine so long as no one annexes the TV remote.

I wouldn't complain about moving back to my parents’ place for a little while. It's 15 miles from the nearest town, there is almost no traffic and the fridge is always full. I spent some time there after my summer classes ended and lo and behold there was a new miracle behind the house: a hot tub.

A shiny new tub they’d saved for years to install. And I got to use it. For two week after summer classes I lay in that steamy paradise every day, twice a day. I did most of the dishes and cooked dinner and ran most of the errands to town in between soaks, but the tub made most everything better. Also free food. I had to cook the food, but free minus labor.