Ethos Magazine Fall 2017

Fall 2017

Vol. 10 Issue 1

TIME HONORED TRADITIONS The weavers of Teotitlรกn del Valle, Mexico have preserved the art of Zapotec textiles, from homemade dye to handmade yarn

Meet The Band Spiller page 10

Dispatches From Ghana page 28

Review: A Ghost Story page 44

CONTENTS Vol. 10 Issue 1

08 20

FEATURES

FOCUS

pg 06 Propping Up Plays

pg 18 Headspace

pg 10 Dormitory Destiny

pg 22 Taiwan’s Journey to Acceptance

pg 18 Raising Visibility

2 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

28 38

ETHOS WORLD

OPINION & ART

pg 28 The Paradox Of A City

pg 38 The Worth of A Weed

pg 30 Woven In Time [Cover]

pg 40 Home on the Range pg 44 Review: A Ghost Story

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 3

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Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 5

letter from the

EDITOR The summer light retreats behind Prince Lucien Campbell Hall.

Dappled streaks of warm, yellow brightness run through the trees that cover the edges of the quad. The descent into fall has already begun as campus simmers with quiet anxiety in anticipation of arriving students. The afternoon’s air has a subtle crispness to it, the type of breeze one wishes to bottle and stow away for gloomier days. If only this were possible, to capture the scent and smell of a fading summer afternoon. But moments pass, days shorten, and inevitably autumn and winter begin.

I’m often asked what makes Ethos Magazine. What is the common thread that weaves the entire publication together?

To this, I answer that it’s a variety of perspectives; a diversity of thought and experience. I ramble about the writers and the beauty of longform. I talk about the magazine’s thoughtful and refined practice of journalism - glossy pages, large photos, music, culture.

But in my head I know many publications can claim a similar mission. What separates this magazine from the others is that our journalists can effectively bottle up a late afternoon summer breeze, or any sweet, short-lived moment for that matter. To open an Ethos is to reach out into the world and snag a brief fragment of it. I can’t say that to everyone who asks, because it’s really about turning the pages and feeling the paper, an intimate experience between reader and story.

We’ll never be able to take an afternoon on the quad with us in a jar. But we can get close. We’re printing blips in time, small bursts of light, the fleeting and the passing. That’s what makes Ethos Magazine - this ability to capture and share something so transient.

In these pages are not just stories of summer, but an exploration of people and places, their stories, moments just waiting to be recorded. There are perspectives and ideas that don’t align perfectly with yours or mine. The first issue in the tenth volume of Ethos Magazine spends time alongside correction officers in Salem, Ore., reaching smalltown Texas, then leaps across oceans and gulfs to Mexico, Taiwan, Ghana. As the warm and free season of summer begins to retract, I invite you to let the light and the breeze fade with grace as you feel and absorb these carefully crafted pages.

Morgan Krakow

EDITOR IN CHIEF Morgan Krakow

EDITORIAL MANAGING EDITOR Tess Novotny COPY EDITOR Patrick Dunham WRITERS Austin Willhoft Brittany Norton Hetta Hansen Kendra Siebert Phillip Quinn Lucy Kleiner Sam Smargiassi Sarah Tamura

ART ART DIRECTOR Lindsay Wong DESIGNERS Emily Harris Jamie Rolston Lauren Young Samira Lobby ILLUSTRATORS Kezia Setyawan Sascha Chesler Jessica Douglas

PHOTOGRAPHY PHOTO EDITOR Kendra Siebert PHOTOGRAPHERS Hetta Hansen Phillip Quinn Sarah Northrop Ty Bloespflug

WEB INNOVATION EDITOR Srushti Kamat WEB DEVELOPER Peri Langlois MULTIMEDIA STAFF Kiana Pontrelli

PUBLIC RELATIONS BRAND TEAM Gianna Nardi

MORE STORIES AT ethosmagonline.com

Ethos is a nationally recognized, award-winning independent student-run publication. Since its inception as Korean Ducks Magazine in 2005, Ethos has worked hard to share a multicultural spirit with its readership.

Ethos recieves 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 interviewee. Ethos is a publication of the Emerald Media Group.

Ethos is printed on 70 percent post-consumer recycled paper.

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 7

An intricate mask rests in the prop loft at Very Little Theatre. Prop Master, Darryl Marzyck says that a detailed prop can make a show appear more genuine.

PROPPING U P P L AY S Very Little Theater’s Prop Master, Darryl Marzyck, explains how and why he chooses props for theatre productions WORDS BY TESS NOVOTNY | PHOTOS BY SARAH NORTHROP

Actors and actresses are often praised for lending life to inanimate objects and sets in plays, but what about the people who find and create those props and backdrops in the first place?

Prop Masters, like Darryl Marzyck at Eugene’s Very Little Theater, have the responsibility of identifying, seeking, making and caring for all of the items used in a theater production. From fake weed joints to replications of heaping bowls of spaghetti, Marzyck has contrived just about every prop that could possibly appear in a play.

What follows is a lightly edited Q&A with Marzyck on what Prop Masters do and why they are instrumental to the theater.

* * *

Q: What are your responsibilities as a Prop Master?

A: I am responsible for seeing that there is a props person for every show, and if there isn’t a props person then that means I am the props person.

What do you mean by “props person?”

A person who’s gonna take the responsibility for getting the props and seeing that the props are properly listed as to whether they are ours or whether we borrow them.

Where do you get props?

You get props where you can find them. Since I came in [a year and a half ago], there’s been a lot more shows where we have to create props instead of buy them, and there are some strange props. Plays have a great habit of coming up with totally bizarre stuff.

8 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

What’s your process like for making props?

I see props as primarily a problem solving exercise. I‘m making props now for a play that I’m doing set for this coming season, which is “Whipping Man,” and in the play one of the characters keeps hauling large stacks of books into the house. Because books are heavy and because you have to change the scene quickly, you can’t give [the actor] a stack of real books, it’s too heavy. So I’m making them out of Styrofoam and cardboard. There’s papier-mache involved, there’s paint, and the finished product will be so light that anyone could just pick it up or put it down.

What’s your prop shopping process like?

I shop at Shelter Animal Resource Alliance out on River Road. They have a lot of great stuff, and I go to Habitat for Humanity’s Re-Store. You don’t have a lot of money to work with, standard props budget is $100 but they prefer it to be $50, so you have to get really creative. I’m just really good at making stuff out of nothing.

Do you have a favorite prop that you’ve made, or a prop that was especially challenging to make?

These books are getting to be my favorite! I did make one prop for “Spamalot,” the holy grail, and apparently it’s everyone’s favorite prop that I’ve made because it was used in five shows after Spamalot. Like, for the entire season, it showed up somewhere on the set.

Do you have a workshop where you make props?

I don’t have one here, our shop is very crowded and it’s very small, so the VLT prop shop is in my garage.

Where do you keep all the props that you’ve made?

The prop loft and the basement, but sometimes we don’t keep them. I haven’t decided yet whether I’m keeping this prop, a leg of venison for “As You Like It,” because it’s so odd. I can’t imagine keeping it because I don’t know when I would ever need a leg of venison again! I’m known for making food; I make lots and lots of fake food.

Can you tell me how you got into working with props?

When did you start working with puppets?

That was college; I did quite a bit of puppetry. I helped found a puppet group, which is still operating today called the “Bits ‘N Pieces Puppet Theater. These hands have held Bert, Ernie and Cookie Monster! That was like the thrill of my lifetime.

Wow! How did that happen?

I was living in New York and one of the design teachers at the University of South Florida where I went to school had come to New York because he was going to be meeting with the Muppets. When I found out that he was going there, I attached myself to him and said, ‘you are taking me with you!”

How are props important to a production? What do they add?

They add to authenticity, they add to ambiance, they add to proper time and space. I have seen some really horrible props, and when you see bad props, you know they’re bad props. If they’re good props, you shouldn’t really notice them.

What’s a bad prop to you?

If it’s something that someone had to create and they really didn’t have the skills to create it, you can tell. It’s a knack; if you really are putting out a good product, you have to actually care and be interested in what you’re doing.

Why is working with props important to you?

Because it needs to be done. Properties don’t get a lot of respect; they are never mentioned in reviews. If you’re doing your job right, the audience doesn’t notice the props because they’re supposed to be a natural part of what’s happening. So you have to really be into wanting to serve the play.

You have to be kind of selfless about properties—that’s just the ugly truth.

Now, that being said, my props for Clybourne Park in October [at Oregon Contemporary Theatre] were the only time I’ve ever seen properties mentioned in a review. They said, ‘this is how you do props right.’ I did such a good job that somebody actually noticed the props!

I go back a long way with theater, and I do many things in theater. I started as an actor. I became a director, and for the longest time, I did costumes and scenery. Properties are just sort of a natural thing for me. I knew how to make things back when I was doing puppets, so a lot of the knowledge of how to make things comes from my puppeteering.

Marzyck stands among his creations in the Very Little Theatre prop loft.

Tucked above the VLT stage, the loft is narrow and stuffed with props, allowing just enough room for one person.

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 9

DORMITORY DESTINY From Spiller Hall came Spiller the band, and after that, three years of music and performance. In a final summer, the band tours and prepares for an upcoming EP release, all while keeping their original spontaneity alive.

PHOTOS & WORDS BY PHILLIP QUINN

(Left to right) Justin Kiatvongcharoen, Aidan D’Angelo, Sam Mendoza and Luke Broadbent, students from the University of Oregon who make up the band Spiller, prepare for a three-week tour along the West Coast.

10 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

J

ustin Kiatvongcharoen, Aidan D’Angelo, Sam Mendoza and Luke Broadbent sit on the front porch of their vintage Eugene home. August has just begun.

It’s 101 degrees Fahrenheit and the heat is inescapable. The four make up the band Spiller.

The band is using these days of summer to build their collection of visual content before they head out on tour. They start by recording a live performance in their basement studio. The room’s main light source is a projector streaming a home video of a southern family’s road trip to Yosemite. Before playing a show at the Blue Room in Eugene, Oregon, they spend the afternoon skating down Emerald street and hiking through the Eugene Masonic Cemetery.

It all started in Spiller Hall, a residence hall at the University of Oregon. D’Angelo, Kiatvongcharoen, Broadbent and Mendoza had just graduated high school and moved to Eugene to begin their college careers. The boys were from opposite ends of the world: Broadbent from Hawaii, D’Angelo and Mendoza from California and Kiatvongcharoen from Hong Kong. Spiller seemed almost destined from the start—they all loved playing music. Since then, the band has gone on to play shows around the region and is planning for an upcoming EP release in the fall.

Spiller is spending their final summer as students, preparing to take the band long past graduation.

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 11

Despite the heat, and the fact that it’s a Wednesday, Spiller packs the basement of the Blue Room. Misting fans are positioned at the entrance of the venue, but the crowd is already wet from sweat, nobody seeming to mind. This is Spiller’s first performance of the month, and their last Eugene show before an end-of-summer tour along the West Coast. The band plays their version of “Sorry Ms. Jackson” by Outkast, along with “Grapes of Wrath” and “Autumn Equinox,” two songs from their upcoming EP, “Midwest.”

Each of them has been playing music since before they learned to drive, some even before they hit puberty. D’Angelo started with piano in the second grade and switched to the bass guitar when he reached middle school. Kiatvongcharoen has been playing the drums for over 12 years. Prior to that, he received piano lessons from his aunt while living in Hong Kong. Broadbent started playing ukulele after he moved to Hawaii 13 years ago. He has played string instruments ever since, and now prefers to play the electric guitar.

Mendoza spent seven years taking classical piano lessons during his youth and started learning guitar at around the same time.

“Although I’ve felt more at home playing guitar, piano has provided such a crucial, theoretical, foundation for everything I do musically,” Mendoza says.

After meeting, Kiatvongcharoen, Broadbent and Mendoza began experimenting with sound techniques and writing songs in the basement of their residence hall. Broadbent and Mendoza sang and played the guitar while Kiatvongcharoen played the drums.

Before long, they met a bass player, D’Angelo, who lived in another nearby dorm. Together they formed Spiller. After three to four months of practice, they played their first house show at The Blair House, a nonprofit venue in Eugene, at the beginning of 2015.

From strangers to best friends, Spiller became more than a typical DIY band of students.

“I think for me, and for [D’Angelo] and

12 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

[Kiatvongcharoen], Spiller is a lot more improvisatory,” Broadbent says. “Playing house shows consistently was a new thing too.”

The band lives together and goes on the road together, which keeps them close. But what is different about them is their approach to performing. In order to maintain the spontaneity, the band never makes a setlist before a show and they never play a song the same way twice.

Their light-hearted performances include short rap freestyles by Mendoza, which act as transitions between songs.

“We try our best to find humor and enjoyment through live performances, and keep things as spontaneous as possible,” Broadbent says. “We generally play more upbeat songs at houses shows to keep the vibe going. At venues with better lighting and sound, sometimes I find we play a little more introspective with more nuance and subtleties.”

According to Broadbent, the band has a mutual interest in jazz music and the genre has a strong influence on Spiller. They began writing mostly indie-punk/twinkly emo sounding songs with assorted improvised sections. As their style developed, the band added heavier, noisier and mathier sounds while the improvisatory trend continued.

Essentially, they began changing the tempo and time signatures of their songs, playing in beats of five, seven or eleven.

“I’d say [our sound] seems to have evolved pretty organically so far,” Broadbent says.

After their first year in the residence halls, they continued to play house shows, build relationships with their fans and even moved in together. Almost all of the bandmates are majoring in different subjects: Broadbent and Mendoza in jazz studies, Kiatvongcharoen in music technology, and D’Angelo in advertising.

Despite their varied majors, they still find time to develop an authentic, original sound and experience.

Prior to the start of their senior year in the summer of 2017, Spiller spent three

weeks touring throughout the West Coast.

Starting in Portland, they kicked off their tour with guest features by Chang Park, a trumpet player who was friends with Kiatvongcharoen in high school. They were also joined by the band’s friends the Illaquips, a hip-hop group whose members also study at the University of Oregon.

The following three days, they ventured through Washington, starting with a show in Bellingham, then moving onto Seattle and Tacoma. With a day off for travel, the boys drove through the solar eclipse on their way to Sacramento, California. They spent two weeks and two days in California, making stops at campus radio stations, including Cal Poly Pomona Radio and KUCI-FM, and venues in San Francisco, San Jose and Los Angeles. On their way home, they stopped for a show in Brookings, Ore. and ended the tour at the Blue Room in Eugene.

Now back in Eugene, Spiller prepares for a release party for “Midwest” on the first Friday of fall term.

“We basically recorded, mixed and produced the entire EP by ourselves,” Kiatvongcharoen says.

In the spring of 2017, the band reserved a room in the Frohnmayer Music Building and spent a full day recording live sessions of their songs. The EP will be released in two parts, one side called “Ruben,” the other “Cold Cut,” and each side will have three to four songs.

“It contains a lot of the live components that we are known for — we are best when performing live,” Kiatvongcharoen says.

Spiller hopes their music will transcend college — that when graduation happens this spring, there isn’t an eminent breakup. Instead, they plan for a lifetime of jamming. Before they graduate, they hope to play a tour route to Austin, Texas and back. “[D’Angelo] and I have a pact that we will get our first tattoos there if we ever make it on tour,” Broadbent says. “I’m very much hoping to make that a reality as soon as possible.”

Luke Broadbent, guitarist and vocalist for Spiller, performs “Autumn Equinox,” a song from the band’s upcoming EP.

Spiller members (left to right) Sam Mendoza, Luke Broadbent, Aidan D’Angelo and Justin Kiatvongcharoen start off their West Coast tour at the Analog Cafe and Theater in Portland, Ore. Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 13

14 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

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We try our best to find humor and enjoyment through live performances, and keep things as spontaneous as possible.

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 15

raising

visibility One high school student’s work to raise future guide dogs WORDS & PHOTOS BY HETTA HANSEN

E

choes of chatter skip between friends. Bells ding under restaurant facades. A trumpet crescendos as a local band settles in for a Friday night gig. It’s a warm August evening in downtown Salem, Oregon.

Kenai, a 15-month-old male black lab, lays obediently at 16-year-old Emily Vetter’s feet despite his sensitivity to high-pitched musical notes.

For this pair, the sounds of summer mean a constant flow of kibble.

Two years ago, Emily started volunteering as a puppy raiser for Guide Dogs for the Blind, at the same time she started high school, eager to combine her love for dogs with her passion for helping others. For her, “sit,” “stay” and “down” are more than simple commands. Emily has raised three puppies so far and has seen two graduate as working guides.

Walking future guide dogs through the hallways of Cascade High School is not something every student has the time to experience. Up at 6:15 a.m. on school days, Emily’s days begin with Kenai’s needs. With a kibbleholding fanny pack on her hip and a “puppy in training” vest strapped around Kenai, the two are ready for a typical day at school. Oftentimes peers will greet the puppy without acknowledging his raiser.

“Everyone recognizes him in the hallways and says hi,” Emily says. “He’s popular.”

As a junior, Emily is busy running cross country and track, working on student council and learning the various duties of positive reinforcement for puppy raising. To stay on top of things, she keeps a planner organized weeks ahead of time.

Considering the 24/7 commitment, Emily does not have the same luxuries as her friends when it comes to free time. Still, she appreciates the lessons puppy raising has taught her about real life obligations that many of her peers have yet to learn.

“It makes me be more purposeful with my time,” Emily says. “I’ve had to have more balance in my life, managing my time between working with Kenai and doing my own stuff.”

Through the heavy responsibility and time commitment, raising puppies has shaped Emily into a better person. Taking the puppies out and about has made her more confident, social and willing to talk to strangers and answer questions.

“I’ve learned how to take care of another being, to spend time on them,” Emily says. “It teaches me to be selfless.”

Emily’s job as a puppy raiser is to teach the puppies basic commands and to socialize them to everyday situations. Training them out of bad habits is key to ensuring that they react calmly in conflict. According to her, diligence is key in proactively socializing puppies to environments and situations they might encounter as working guide dogs. For example, although high-pitched music induces bad behavior, exposing Kenai to such environments is necessary for his success.

Another important aspect of puppy raising is to teach them to know the difference between when they’re working and when they’re not.

16 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

“When the vest comes off, they know they’ve been freed of duty and they run around, play, be real dogs,” Emily says.

Every week, Emily meets with Willamette Valley Paws for People, her local puppy club, where she and other raisers in the area learn techniques for training, discuss behavioral issues, swap stories and share a love for dogs. The required weekly meetings also provide many resources for socializing. They often meet in “chaotic” or unusual places, like a bowling alley, so the puppies can experience something new. In a few weeks, the club is visiting the Portland International Airport to board an Alaska Airlines plane. Learning what it might be like to fly is a crucial aspect to the puppy’s repertoire.

Not only is the support of the puppy club necessary for the raisers, but it’s good for the dogs too. Often, club members will “puppy-sit” each others’ dogs to socialize them to new environments, teaching them to be flexible and prepare them for any scenario.

In the same way, the support of Emily’s teachers, friends and especially her family is invaluable. When Emily first was interested in puppy raising, her parents and three older siblings had to be just as willing and committed as she was. Often, when Emily is unable, they are the ones who feed, relieve and take care of Kenai.

“Raising guide dog puppies is a whole family commitment,” says Marla Vetter, Emily’s mother. “It is mainly Emily, but we all have our turn helping out with the training, socializing, cleaning up the messes and vacuuming dog hair.”

Her supportive family has made all the difference for Emily’s journey.

Recently Kenai helped move Emily’s sister into her college dorm.

“Puppy raising has made us more aware of what a blind or disabled person has to deal with on an everyday basis,” Marla says. “It has made us more compassionate.”

Since Emily has to take her puppies to school, it’s important that they are already potty-trained. In this case, she receives “transfer” puppies from Donna Litchfield, another raiser in her club, who raises starter puppies from six weeks old to about six to eight months old. Litchfield teaches them to relieve on command, house manners, basic obedience and gets them ready for more formal raising.

“It’s a joy to pass them on,” Litchfield says, who has been raising for 10 years and is on her 11th puppy.

Once the puppy is transferred to Emily, she keeps them for about seven months to a year and a half. Then, she sends them back to the local Guide Dogs For the Blind campus (either in Boring, Oregon or in San Rafael, California), where they undergo eight phases of formal training completed in three to six months. Then, at around 2 years old, the dogs graduate and are matched with their visually impaired person (free of charge to the client – GDB is an entirely donations-based organization,) where they will spend the rest of their lives working as guide dogs.

For Emily, saying goodbye is part of the job, but seeing them graduate

Kenai is cuddly, affectionate, loves being pet and is attached to his raiser, Emily Vetter. Guide Dogs for the Blind breeds all of their own dogs, exclusively Labrador Retrievers and Golden Retrievers. The organization breeds for temperament instead of confirmation. Breeding is based on personality, trainability and manageability.

Emily has raised GDB puppies for two years and is currently on her fourth puppy-in-training. According to her, many people don’t realize that guide dogs aren’t pets—they’re on the job working—and petting them without permission is distracting.

She wishes more people, when encountering someone with a visual disability and their guide dog, would be sure to address the person specifically, and not just the dog.

with a perfect match and change someone’s life is the best part of it all.

“Going in, you have the mindset to enjoy the time you have with the puppies and to do a good job and do as much as you can,” says Emily.

Not every puppy moves on to training. It ultimately comes down to the dog’s decision if they want to be a working guide. The dogs that don’t make it are “career changed,” and are considered for other service dog organizations, such as Dogs for the Deaf or Diabetic Alert Dogs. If that doesn’t fit then they can be adopted by their raisers or placed as a pet by GDB. The puppy will exhibit certain behavior that is indicative of their desire to be guide dogs, according to Cindy Miller, Emily’s puppy club leader.

“It’s their way of telling us they don’t want to be guides,” Miller says.

Kenai, whose sensitivity to certain sounds and stubbornness to relieve on command has revealed himself as unwilling to continue as a puppyin-training. Ultimately, he lacks the confidence and moxie needed to be

a working guide and is being “career changed” by GDB. Recently, he has been adopted into Emily’s family as a pet.

“I am sad that he won’t be a guide dog but I am excited he’s a part of my family, and know this is what he was meant to do,” Emily says.

She hopes to get Kenai certified as a therapy dog through a local program and possibly take him on hospital visits. Emily will continue to work with other GDB puppies in training for as long as she can, learning the ins-andouts of puppy raising and using her passions to change people’s lives.

As the summer of her second year of puppy raising comes to an end, Emily hits the streets with her new puppy-in-training, Kelsey, who she received as a transfer from someone else in her club. With the sound of the first school bell ringing in September, Emily navigates the new rhythm and personality of Kelsey, teaching the puppy and everyone around her the importance of helping those in need.

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 17

Four years ago, Kelly Raths, Administrator in the Offender Management and Rehabilitation Unit for the Department of Corections, started the Staff Wellness and Resiliency Training Program.

H E A D S P A C E How the power of mindfulness helped correctional officers in Oregon prisons WORDS BY LUCY KLEINER | PHOTOS BY TY BOESPFLUG | ART BY JESSICA DOUGLAS

Navy blue inmate uniforms fill the prison hallway during lunchtime, contrasting the pale yellow walls. With just a few words, Dave Wilson parts the sea of blue into two single file lines, then leads a trio of outsiders, two student journalists and the communications manager for the Department of Corrections, through the breach. The hundreds of male inmates each face directly ahead, interrupted only by the occasional black uniform of a Correctional Officer (CO).

As a journalist, I pictured myself traveling to unique places and chasing stories of all

18 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

shapes and sizes. I never envisioned going to an interview while adhering to a strict dress code that prohibited visitors from wearing blue of any shade, with a dozen pieces of loose paper (metal bindings and spiral notebooks are prohibited) and no cell phone.

Nor did I foresee myself in prison, sitting across the table from a man who has spent over 12 years working as a CO and is now approaching 11 years as a manager of COs. I never pictured this man, whom I had watched maneuver hundreds of inmates, would have tears forming behind his stern, steady gaze.

W

ilson is the Assistant Superintendent of General Services at the Oregon State Correctional Institution in Salem, Oregon. Wilson’s duties include overseeing the institution’s food services, recreation, and correction rehabilitation section, while acting as a liaison of all programs, religious services and volunteers.

Trauma is a norm in a profession like his.

Racial tensions run high within prison walls.

Gangs are formed and inmwates eat their lunches sitting in groups that mirror their skin tone.

It is the job of a CO to recognize segregation throughout the institution—in the lunchroom, in the lines, in the groups of inmates walking outside—and end fights before they even begin.

It is not uncommon for cell-extractions, groups of COs forcibly removing an uncooperative inmate from their cell, to occur. In an attempt to combat this trauma in COs, the institution tried a new approach: mindfulness.

In 2012, Portland State University conducted a study on the behaviors of Oregon COs for the DOC. Nearly one out of every three COs was found to have PTSD-like symptoms from working in the field. The COs also reported getting an average of less than six hours of sleep every night, which was associated with increased likelihood of family conflict.

Another study, conducted by the Oregon Health and Science University, reported COs as having high levels of blood pressure and cholesterol. According to the Issue Brief released by the DOC, research showed that the commonality of PTSD and sleep-deprivation led COs to turn to alcohol and tobacco products, and their poor health rates increased number of workdays missed due to illness. In a job like Wilson’s, officers suffer in many aspects of their lives, both in and out of uniform. These aspects not only affect their interactions with their colleagues and inmates, but also with their families.

“If you haven’t done this job, it’s hard to relate,” Wilson says.

Wilson began coping with his stress by educating himself on the practice of mindfulness.

Mindfulness is the active practice of being aware of one’s thoughts and the way they impact themselves and their surroundings.

“Mindfulness has helped me reflect on where I need to improve as a leader, as a manager, as a person,” Wilson says.

While mindfulness helped Wilson personally, it was not until Kelly Raths stepped into the picture that mindfulness became a part of the DOC. Raths is the Administrator in the Offender Management and Rehabilitation Unit for the department. Prior to working in administration,

Raths worked alongside COs every day as the Chaplain at the Oregon Penitentiary. With studies now available to statistically relay the harsh impacts of a CO’s job, it became evident that changes needed to be made.

“The world that you have in prison is not the world that you have when you go home,” Raths says. “And so you need to be nimble enough to do the prison world—where you don’t feel, you don’t talk, you don’t trust—and then go home to your wife, children, husband, partner, where you must feel, talk and trust.”

She brainstormed with her team as to what they could provide to the COs that addressed these issues. They decided the best option was to start practicing mindfulness.

Four years ago, the Staff Wellness and Resiliency Training Program emerged within the DOC. This program consists of a 10-week course on mindfulness.

“We did not want to come in and say, ‘you people are pretty broken,’” Raths says.

Instead, the program introduced a new approach to coping with the challenges of life as a CO. The course equips COs with mental tools to do two things: help them improve security while on the job and differentiate life in the office from their personal lives. COs meet in groups of eight for two hours every week for the rest of the class. These groups, called communities

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“

The world that you have in prison is not the world that you have when you go home,” Raths says. “And so you need to be nimble enough to do the prison world—where you don’t feel, you don’t talk, you don’t trust—

”

and then go home to your wife, children, husband, partner, where you must feel, talk and trust.

of practice, discuss life both on and off shift, and learn different aspects of mindfulness to practice and master. Communities of practice are facilitated by experts on mindfulness, such as Teddy Gardner. Gardner is an Executive Coach and Health Educator. Gardner is also the Program Director for Mindful Medicine.

As Gardner’s expertise lies with mindfulness in the health field, she had no experience with the DOC prior to working as a mentor for the program.

“It was a culture I knew nothing about, and now I have so much respect for them” Gardner says.

Although Gardner was wary at first, she accepted the position and now meets with her community of practice weekly. She provides the tools needed to harness the power of

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mindfulness, such as relaxation and breathing exercises, body-mind synchronizing skills and de-escalation techniques. While she is technically there to help the COs, Gardener says she often learns from them.

“They are smart, they are compassionate, they are some really really good people, and in a wonderful way, they really have each other’s backs,” Gardner says. “They care about each other.”

Since the program was established, over 400 staff members have taken the course. While the staff considers this a success, they are not stopping. The next goal is to internalize the program by training leaders within the department to become experts in mindfulness, and then lead their own communities of practice.

Although mindfulness has been around for

hundreds of years, its popularity in Western culture is relatively new. Raths and Gardner both confirmed that this program is improving the overall health of COs. “We’ve had officers tell us that their blood pressure has been reduced, that they have had an easier time losing weight, that they are sleeping better,” Gardner says.

She has also been told that it is easier for COs to communicate with one another after taking the 10-week class.

There was no trace of tears in Wilson’s eyes he discussed the future goals of the program.

“The potential of what it could be is reflected in the individual stories,” Wilson says. “For me, the end result is a healthier, happier workforce.”

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Taiwan’s journey to acceptance

With legalization of same-sex marriage, Taiwan opens path for LGBTQ equality WORDS AND PHOTOS BY AUSTIN WILLHOFT

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W

hen a female classmate approached Binghong Lee in his seventh grade class, he tried politely ignoring her.

The girl wasn’t a stranger. In fact, Binghong, then 13, and the girl spent significant time together on the

“The police and army are on the streets, our country is at its end,” one demonstrator’s sign reads. LGBTQ issues have received more attention since 2000, when a man was bullied for displaying traditionally feminine characteristics, and later murdered.

weekends.

He never developed emotions for her, and considered her a close friend.

However, when she leaned in for a kiss, Binghong immediately retracted and exited the classroom.

“It didn’t feel right,” Binghong says.

He was appalled that a girl in his secondary school, equivalent to middle school in America, had a small crush on him. Binghong had past thoughts of being gay, but retracted himself because of cultural Chinese standards.

“I’m not sure how to describe it, but my stomach didn’t feel comfortable,” Binghong says. “It wasn’t just her. I tried dating a few other girls in my school before her, but I didn’t share a similar excitement and passion as they did towards me.”

Binghong cites this particular incident as when he decided to take a leap of faith. He came out as gay to his friends.

Despite dating a man he met online for a few months, Binghong never speaks of his sexuality with his parents, because it’s not the right time. He only trusts his friends with the sensitive information.

Besides Binghong, there’s a growing Taiwan LGBTQ population resulting in the island-nation being regarded for its’ liberal values. While there are no official government statistics, LGBT Capital, a specialist consulting firm assisting the LGBTQ consumer division, estimates there are roughly 1.5 million gay individuals out of the 24 million people in Taiwan.

Taiwanese remain nearly split on public support of same-sex marriage with only 43.3 percent opposing it, according to a poll conducted by the Kuomintang political party. The Kuomintang, ruled most of mainland China between 1928 to 1949, then fled to Taiwan to establish itself as a government.

The support for LGBTQ people stems predominantly from Taiwanese millennials. Support is as high as 80 percent, according to studies conducted by the Taiwan LGBT Family Rights Advocacy group, among 20-yearold Taiwanese. Advocacy groups credit the Gender Equity Education Act, which passed in 2004, as the core apparatus in gaining the younger generation’s support. The law promotes gender equality and forbids gender discrimination in the classroom. A clause within the legislation requires teachers to promote gender equality and educate students to not ostracize nor chastise individuals because of sexuality.

Despite public support for LGBTQ rights, many older Taiwanese reject LGBTQ communities. Protests, such as those staged in December 2016 in central Taipei, attracted over 30,000 demonstrators opposing samesex marriage. Attendees had diverse ideological backgrounds, including Christian or religious-affiliated organizations and stringent interpreters of traditional Chinese culture, all of which express their repugnance at LGBTQ activties. Resistance has only amplified since both groups joined forces at rallies.

Historic news broke on May 24, 2017 which altered the political and social landscape of Taiwan and its openness to the LGBTQ community. The Constitutional Court ruled preventing same-sex couples from marriage violates their right to equality; same-sex marriage became legalized.

Although the ruling ranks as a milestone for LGBTQ rights, many

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 23

“

A demonstrator holding a sign reading, “Taiwan doesn’t welcome same-sex marriage,” stands as protesters begin marching along Zhongshan South Road. As of November 2016, 45 percent of Taiwanese opposed same-sex marriage, according to a survey conducted by the Taiwanese Public Opinion Foundation.

Having lived through martial law in Taiwan, then the 30 years of democratization, it’s unbelievable.

”

within Taiwan’s LGBTQ community assert the decision does not alter society’s perspective of them.

Wayne Lin is an avid volunteer and former Chairperson of the Taiwan Tongzhi Hotline Association, a non-profit organization advocating gender equality and offering resources and assistance to the LGBTQ community.

Lin argues that despite public support and the court ruling, there’s a lack of “genuineness” from the general population towards Taiwanese LGBTQ communities, which includes himself.

“I think for some people,” Lin says. “Their reaction to LGBT is ‘they can live their own life, do whatever they want, as long as you don’t bother me.”

This perception, he adds, contributes to Taiwan’s global image in the world. At the moment, only 23 countries have formal diplomatic relations with Taiwan.

“Taiwan isn’t part of the United Nations,” Lin says. “So we’re limited in the international community. The ruling, in part, was a perfect opportunity to showcase Taiwan and the advances we made on human rights issues.”

On the flip side, protests sparked throughout Taiwan in opposition to the court’s decision. In June 2017, at the Legislative Yuan, the islandnation’s version of parliament, demonstrators gathered to protest the Constitutional Court’s marriage equality ruling.

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The procedure wasn’t fair at all,” Delphine Wong, a participant at the rally, says. “Some of the judges who were on the panel for the court ruling were appointed by the president, [Tsai Ing-Wen].”

She argues Tsai’s “selfish” scheme of having the court make the decision, instead of holding a referendum is unfair. Wong is one of the many individuals with connections to religious and conservative organizations which share similar sentiments to hers.

“I believe marriage is a special moment only shared between those of opposite sex,” Wong says. “In this way, they can have kids. For same-sex couples, they would adopt or request a surrogate, which for me is immoral.”

The court’s ruling comes at a time when LGBT communities in other Asian countries endure mistreatment and assault. In the past, accounts of abuse to gay people in Indonesia, Singapore and China shocked LGBTQ communities all across Asia. In South Korea, for instance, the military opened an investigation of gay officers and soldiers within the army.

Vietnam technically legalized same-sex marriage in 2015. However, the government doesn’t recognize same-sex unions and neglects to offer equal marriage rights. So, Vietnam’s approach of legalization suggests a recognition of same-sex couples, and their activities, which before 2015 were imposed to fines. In Taiwan’s case, reforming the Civil Code will

Various protest groups, including those denouncing same-sex marriage and rejecting pension cuts, gather on June 15, 2017 in front of the Legislative Yuan.

grant same-sex couples marriage licenses and recognize same-sex unions.

“They [The Constitutional Court] will give legislature two years to amend the Civil Code,” Dr. Wen-Chen Chang, a professor of law at National Taiwan University, says. She’s one of six Amicus Curiae, the impartial advisors who advised the panel of 14 justices on the same-sex marriage case.

If Legislature does not reach a decision in two years, then same-sex couples “have the right to register for marriage license,” Chang adds. For her and other Amicus Curiae, a day where gay people were granted equal marriage rights was unimaginable before the decision.

“The day after [the court’s decision], I was with students in one of my classes and told them how I never thought same-sex marriage would be legalized in my lifetime,” Chang says. “Having lived through martial law in Taiwan, then the 30 years of democratization, it’s unbelievable.”

Chang regards the same-sex marriage ruling as her contribution to the “democratization” process of Taiwan and serves as a platform for younger Taiwanese to continue building on.

“We made a democratic transformation,” Chang says. “I never thought a day like this would come.”

As of today, Binghong still hides his true colors when it comes to

sexuality. In fact, a few weeks after turning down the girl, he started secretly dating a man at his school. He was Binghong’s “Xuedi”, Mandarin for “younger school brother,” except the two share no familial ties.

His boyfriend didn’t want his parents or siblings to discover their relationship. As a couple, they would keep out of public eye and occasionally met for lunch or dinner. Other than that, their relationship remained under wraps until Binghong broke it off.

His ex-boyfriend wasn’t “supportive” and as “open-minded” as he needed him to be, Binghong says. A combination of school and Buxiban (an after-school program to learn English), assignments already put too much pressure on Binghong’s shoulders, and the breakup only exacerbated his stress.

He quit attending school after finishing what would be equivalent to his sophomore year of high school. Binghong’s parents expressed frustration regarding his jarring decision, but he immediately got a full-time job at a Chinese hot pot restaurant to occupy his time moving forward.

“My parents continue asking to this day ‘what made you quit besides class?’” Binghong says. “But I’m hesitant on telling my parents about them [past boyfriends]. Now is not the right time. I’m single, and when I’m prepared on telling them, I want to introduce the right guy to them.”

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PHOTO BY KENDRA SIEBERT

Vietnam and Thailand

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a journey with

ETHOS WORLD pg. 28 Accra, Ghana: The Paradox of the City pg. 30 Teotitlรกn del Valle, Mexico: Woven In Time

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THE

PARADOX OF THE CITY

Seeing and learning in Ghana

T

WORDS BY BRITTANY NORTON | ART BY KEZIA SETYAWAN

he first thing I noticed about Accra, Ghana was its beauty. The setting sun glinting off leaves of lush green trees and shrubs in the cities was reminiscent of Ghana’s abundant tropical forests.

Vibrant shops and houses dotted the streets, adorned in brilliant colors of hot pink, lime green, turquoise and deep purple. Rusting tin roofs and peeling paint gave the buildings texture and character. Everywhere I looked, people or cars bustled down the road. Liveliness permeated the air.

The next thing I noticed was the trash. It saturated the streets and sidewalks. Empty plastic water bottles, paper, wrappers and human waste collected in three-foot gutters on the side of the road. These items polluted local streams and floated on top of the stagnant water. They amassed in mounds near the fence of the house I lived in. Occasionally someone would set the waste on fire, creating dark plumes of smoke, which dispelled a sickeningly sweet scent. I was dumbfounded by how much garbage could be in one city. It was a contradiction; the immediate and natural beauty stood in stark opposition to the garbage on the streets.

As a journalist, I have learned that people are complicated. In Ghana, I learned that places are complicated as well. Since returning to America after my six-week study abroad trip in Africa, I am constantly barraged with questions about it. I have discovered that it is difficult to summarize an experience that was so surreal and different from what I’ve known. I grew up in Eugene, Oregon. Prior to this journey, I had never traveled to 28 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

other parts of the world. In fact, most of my travels have been within the Pacific Northwest. From week one, it became apparent that Ghana would refuse to fit into any schemas I’ve developed; that it would continue to surprise and discompose me throughout my time there.

A 2015 study published in Waste Management journal estimates that the country generates more than 12,000 tons of waste each day.

Comparatively, Ghana doesn’t produce an excess amount of garbage.

A World Bank report from 2012 found that it is one of the countries that produces the least amount of waste in the world. The main issue is waste management. A 2014 article released by the Ghana Environmental Protection Agency estimated that 2,800 metric tons of waste are generated in Accra each day and 600 tons are left uncollected, which then leads to pollution of drains and water bodies. However, there are efforts to address the lack of proper waste management. A program implemented through the University of Ghana is attempting to reduce the amount of organic waste at local markets. The program, called the Utilization of Organic Waste to Improve Agricultural Productivity, collects compostable garbage from street vendors and turns it into compost so that it can be utilized to grow crops instead of rotting in landfills.

“Accra has only one landfill, which is almost full to capacity,” a research coordinator for the project, Dzidzo Yirenya-Tawiah, says. “And if the bulk of the waste we are generating is organic, then that can be harnessed out

of the waste trips — then we will naturally be doing a lot of good for our environment.”

UOWIAP, which is in its third year of operation, has focused on markets as an entry point for waste management in the cities, according to Benjamin Ofori, a member of the project. Street vendors and city markets make up a large part of Ghanaian culture. Even though there are shopping malls, local and traditional markets continue to prosper, Ofori says, because Ghanaians tend to consume more fresh food items.

The Kejetia Market in the city of Kumasi is an example of a flourishing marketplace. It is estimated to contain over 10,000 shops. These shops are essentially small stands pushed so close together that they are almost collapsing into each other. When I visited the market, about six feet of space was reserved for shoppers to walk through and it was swarming with Ghanaians shopping for their daily goods and market vendors.

Goods inhabited any space that wasn’t already occupied by bodies. Brightly colored fabrics were draped from stall doors; vendors laid out woven sacks on the ground containing small red and green peppers; fish, vegetables, fruits and breads were displayed and raw meats were butchered right in front of my eyes.

Although busier than most markets, the Kejetia Market is an example of the chaotic activity one can experience in Ghana. Kejetia is not a tourist market where vendors sell artisan crafts, but is instead a slice of daily Ghanaian life. At Kejetia, there’s so much to see that the eye has no place to rest. The noise of the market comes from every direction, and eventually turns into a buzzing at the back of your brain. The market overloaded my senses and was a microcosm of my experience in Ghana as a whole: at first seemingly chaotic, but bounding in the orchestration of people and commerce.

I experienced the frenetic energy of Ghanaian markets in Kumasi,

“

“

It was a contradiction. The immediate and natural beauty stood in stark opposition to the garbage on the streets.

but I spent most of my time in Accra, Ghana’s largest city. Throughout my time there I felt like two separate narratives were competing for my attention. The uncollected garbage on the streets is one example of Ghana’s juxtapositions. The overcrowded streets and trash-infested gutters overwhelmed me at times, and I felt like I was always being watched.

My study abroad peers and I received constant attention from Ghanaians because we were the only “oburonis,” or white people, around. Ghana doesn’t use formal addresses, so when I took public transportation I had to know commonly used names to get around. At every turn, someone was trying to sell me something, which quickly became overwhelming. They would call out to my friends and I when we visited markets and ask us to visit their shops, or they would walk through the streets selling items to drivers when traffic was stopped. These unfamiliar aspects of the culture made Ghana a difficult place to live in, but I also found beauty in people, nature and new experiences.

The vivid colors and natural landscapes gave the city bristling energy, and people were generally helpful and kind. Many Ghanaians I saw on the streets welcomed me to the country and, when I was obviously lost, didn’t hesitate to point me in the right direction. Even though it has waste management problems and was a little disorganized, I appreciated the lively and welcoming atmosphere. I learned to accept both sides of Ghana as one.

Throughout my journey, I often reflected on the contradictions of the city. I encountered many difficulties in Ghana, yet there were overwhelmingly positive aspects as well. Since returning home, I have found that I miss the animation of Accra. Similar to the market, the city could be overstimulating, but now Eugene feels empty in comparison.

Being in Ghana felt like being thrown into the core of humanity—in all of its messy glory.

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WOVEN IN TIME A family continues the tradition of handmaking textiles through three generations WORDS & PHOTOS BY KENDRA SIEBERT

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A variety of natural materials are used to create bold, dynamic dyes for the yarn that makes up the textiles. Among the cochineal, nuts, cacti, roots and fruit are dried marigolds, which hold additional religious meaning for the Lopez family during the season of Día de los Muertos.

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Surrounded by dozens of woven tapestries and three generations of family, Orlando Lopez perches on a wooden stool, running his hands through a bucket of raw wool.

The sounds of livestock, laughing siblings and food preparation fill the space and surrounding homes of Teotitlán del Valle, which means Earth of the Gods in English, east of Oaxaca, Mexico. Situated in the foothills of the Sierra Juárez mountain range, the village has been home to artisans and their tapetes, or textiles, since its establishment in the mid-1400s.

Originally founded by the Zapotec peoples, the village still preserves the Zapotec language and culture centuries later, and Orlando’s story is no exception.

Since he was a child, Orlando has been involved in textile making. Like other weavers, he attempts to set his work apart from the rest by creating unique

designs and producing high quality goods. Because textiles are one of the village’s largest industries, competition can arise between vendors who make most of their profit selling rugs, tapestries and woven purses at markets, teaching workshops to visitors and creating personalized commission work. Yet at the core of the practice remains a passion for Zapotec tradition and desire to preserve this tradition for the future.

Orlando attributes everything he knows today to the teachings of his mother Marcelina, “el jefe,” (boss) of the multi-generational operation. Alongside his mother Marcelina, Orlando works with his brother Roberto, his wife Ana, and their daughters Daniela, Nayely, Gabriela and Cristina. Different Lopezes are responsible for each stage of the textile creation, and

Top Left | After carding the wool between two wooden paddles, Orlando’s brother Roberto checks to see if it is ready to be spun into yarn.

Top Right | Depending on the pattern, artisans use anywhere between two and 12 dyes for each tapete.

Bottom Left | Orlando stains his palms as he demonstrates the various tones that can be achieved with cochineal by combining it with other natural materials.

Bottom Right | Orlando mashes up pomegranate seeds, the juice squelching in between his hands. With the right combination of materials, the colors of the dye can entirely transform.

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 33

Left | Along with pomegranates, the Lopez family grows other natural resources to use in their textile creations. Their business depends on the climate of the time. Some dyes can only be extracted under certain conditions.

Right | The Lopezes look at photos captured by a Canadian guest from a few years earlier. The guest stayed with the family in their village, learning to weave and cook according to the Zapotec tradition. often compete to see who can complete their task the quickest. They get their wool from mountain sheep residing on the fringes of the village, preparing it for the loom using a multistep process.

Orlando’s oldest daughter sits across from her father, both carding, or preparing wool, by brushing two flat brushes with wire bristles back and forth to remove the debris tangled up in the raw wool. Once the wool is purified, it is handed off to Marcelina who, with more than 80 years of experience, rapidly spins the raw wool into yarn on a spinning wheel. She holds the wool between her pointer finger and thumb, slowly pulling it back while turning the wheel with her other hand to create fine yarn that wraps around a spindle.

Once the spinning of yarn is complete, Marcelina hands it to Ana, who dyes it using plants and minerals from the family’s backyard.

34 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

To create such vivid rugs, the artisans dye the wool with elements such as marigold petals, pomegranate zest, insects, seed pods, cacti, moss and nut shells. Some colors are more difficult to achieve than others. To achieve different shades of blue, artisans seek out indigo. Cochineal, used to attain deep reds, purples and oranges, is considered the most important source of coloring by many textile artists. The carmine dye is extracted from dried bodies of coccus cacti insects and was considered “red gold” in colonial Mexico. This export was valued only behind silver, and though its extraction process was slow and tedious, cochineal eliminated most other competitors from the dye market at the time because of its saturation and vibrancy.

Today, there are easier and more affordable ways to produce warmly colored dyes, but the Lopez family continues to harvest and use cochineal in their work, in accordance with

tradition. Similarly, when it comes to the weaving process, Orlando uses an old wooden pedal loom to create his patterned works, rather than more modern equipment. With the wool finally spun into yarn and organically dyed, Lopez can give form to the textile blueprints in his mind. Some designs have been in the family for centuries, while others are created through commissions and personalized for clients. The more traditional patterns reflect ancient Zapotec symbols: mountain ranges, god’s eyes, geometric patterns from pre-hispanic archeological sites and the Zapotec diamond, which represents the four elements of earth, air, water and fire.

“It’s important to preserve these traditions,” Orlando says. “The designs have great significance about life, cardinal points of the earth, the Aztec and Zapotec calendars, organic colors that we obtain from the earth, and show our love for this art.”

After her family members clean and prepare the wool, Marcelina takes to her traditional wheel to spin the wool to usable yarn.

Every few turns of the wheel the yarn becomes tighter, and after a few focused minutes, can be wrapped around a spindle.

Hundreds of years after the first Zapotec weavers created tapetes, today’s artisans still follow many of the same patterns and color schemes as before.

Fall 2017 2017 || ETHOS ETHOS || 35 35 Fall

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home on the

range WORDS BY SARAH TAMURA | ART BY SASCHA CHESLER

From California suburbs to Texas ranchlands

M

oving away from one’s childhood home can either be a crippling obstacle or a welcomed relief. For me, it was moreso the former. Going from the suburbs of Southern California to the country outskirts of Texas is a hurdle in and of itself. Gone are the hip coffee shops, the colossal outlet stores, the vegan bakeries, the designer purses, the fresh haircuts and the groomed pets, the sun-kissed skin and the longhaired surfers. Instead, my new home is an hour east of Dallas in the country town of Canton.

Canton is home to the famous First Monday Trade Days. What first started as a small flea market over a century ago has now grown to be one of the world’s largest markets of its kind.

Shoppers from all over the United States flock to this ever-impressive four-day experience, adding largely

38 | ETHOS | Fall 2017

to the spirit and cultural identity of this town. First Monday Trade Days is open the Thursday through Sunday before the first Monday of every month, hence the name. Over the past 150 years, this flea market has seen some of the rarest and oneof-a-kind antiques, collectibles, and home-furnishings (such as aged book shelves, dainty mirrors, and trendy art) that can be found in Texas.

Even though I breathed a long sigh of relief at the end of our 22hour drive across 1250 miles, it was a much different homecoming than I have been used to. Our new house has a fresh green roof that matches the grasslands surrounding it and a quaint crimson door. It is a typical ranchstyle country home that sits atop 2.5 acres of land, accompanied by three neighbors in a back-country cul-desac. All around us, cattle graze on the ranchlands and bask in the sun. On

Fall 2017 | ETHOS | 39

any given night, we can sit out on our back porch and watch the nearby neighbor’s calves frolic and chase each other, dodging the few ponds that are scattered across the land. Since one of our neighbors owns a flight training course, we often see little blue and yellow airplanes buzzing just over our heads.

After getting acquainted with our new humble abode, we decided to hit the town — the downtown. I was shocked, to say the least. Having grown up in the heart of Southern Orange County, I have been accustomed to being within a 15-mile radius of the hottest shopping centers. Here, in the deep country of Texas, the downtown consists of ten stores along the cobblestoned Tyler Street.

There are stores like Serendipity, which is a consignment boutique that sells all kinds of clothing, and restaurants like Buttermilk’s, which

“

has the best chicken fried steak I’ve ever tasted. We walked the length of it in less than a minute. The few people who were out on that Sunday afternoon milled about, puffing on their cigarettes and sharing the latest town gossip. They ate fried okra and mashed potatoes and sipped on copious amounts of sweet tea for nearly every meal. All jokes aside, I would estimate that my body consists of 60 percent sweet tea and 40 percent water by now.

The number of bug bites that plague my body has become too large for me to count. Within an hour of moving into our house, one of the movers unknowingly stepped on a pregnant wolf spider. It dispersed about 1000 newborn babies that spread throughout our entire garage within minutes. Our petrified screams and desperate cries for help were heard for miles on end. After that, we were quick to learn that the Texas

”

It can feel like its own little homey world, only known and familiar to those who live in and care for it.

humidity seemed to be a safe haven for any and all insects.

Out here, life moves slower. The people drive and walk lackadaisically in no particular rush. For example, if someone comes to a stop sign before me, they will wait for me to stop to make sure that I am actually committed to a stop and won’t just ruthlessly plow into their pickup truck. They err on the side of caution as opposed to the fast, sometimes hazardous ways of California drivers. Funny enough, their name for a rolling stop is actually a “Californian stop”.

As I watched the back of one of the townspeople’s car fading away into the distance, popular bumper stickers are normally found glued to the rear windows, such as “People Eating Tasty Animals”, which clearly riffs on the organization PETA, or “Suns Out, Guns Out.” Similarly, one can walk into the local bakery and find a sign that reads, “Lawful Gun

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Owners Welcome”. Gun ownership seems to be a considerable point of pride in this part of Texas. In fact, hunting appears to be a much larger part of life than it was in Southern California.

The ways in which people interact are different than how I thought they would. Part of me expected the neighborly southern charm to be oozing out of their pores; the other part assumed that the rougher side of their country living would manifest itself in their everyday interactions.

To my surprise, they land right in the middle. Some of the country people are as sweet as peach cobbler, while others can be as gruff as their surroundings. Regardless of their differences, these people and their roots run far and wide, leading them to take tremendous pride in their lineage and statehood.

While it’s an entirely different way of living than I have ever

experienced or known, country life in Texas isn’t so bad. It can feel like its own little homey world, only known and familiar to those who live in it. My family has been welcomed with home-baked treats, wide smiles, and curious questions about our own upbringings in Southern California. As we tell them our stories, we often become aware and quite conscious of our own accents as they bounce off of their thick southern drawl. After spending only a few weeks in this country town, it seems plausible that my family will integrate smoothly into its culture, with a few speed bumps along the way. This small world and its residents allows me to slow down, catch my breath and drink an ice cold glass of sweet tea.

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the worth

of a weed A personal narrative while farming in Alaska WORDS AND PHOTOS BY SAM SMARGIASSI

K

nuckles curl again and again. Joints bending, folding, grasping and yanking the weeds in the field. Seventy-one times every sixty seconds. In the morning, I know the muscle-padding inside my palms with be sore. It will make me overthink the easy habits of my urbanized lifestyle.

We’ve flown eight hours over the expanse of British Columbia to land here, between buttes and rivers pearlescent with glacial melt, in Palmer, Alaska. The nearest big city is Anchorage, about an hour and a half drive away, and even there, the skyline is stout. My friend Kira and I are volunteering on a farm through World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. It’s an exchange of room and board for farm work — a fun and cheap way to travel.

I pass my days stationed among rows of peony bushes on our host’s land. Rural settings like these give me almost too much space to think about anything and everything. Kira and I have quickly realized how unaccustomed to farm work we are.

This morning, I hear my alarm buzz at 8 a.m. I’ve allowed myself to sleep in well past the normal working hours of the people whose lives I’ve passed through; the people who make their profit off this land and won’t get to leave in a couple weeks. I press the alarm off with my fingers, feeling my ‘flexor pollicus longus’ cramp, and it reminds me of the repetitive weed tugging I did yesterday and will do again today. It’s surprising realizing your hand muscles could be over-strained.

Shelley says, “You don’t have to weed all day, but you have to weed every day.”

Shelley is the woman who runs this patch of peonies, selling them to florists across the country. During the school year she is a special education teacher at a school three miles away. She and some other teachers decided to grow peonies during their time off in the summer.

Today, she told us that we have to start looking for ‘cutworms.’ They are a green, caterpillar-like insect that curl up when exposed. They hide under the weeds I pull all day and take bites out of the peony bushes. Shelley tells me to pinch them between my fingers. They make a popping sound and ooze a gray-green slime. If they were to live a while longer, they would form a cocoon and become a moth with silver and gold wings.

When Kira and I catch them, we hold them trapped in the cage we formed with our palms. Again and again they fly up, hitting the top of the padded-muscle box. We open our palms and they shoot out, startling us with their quickness, so we let out a short scream and giggle. When we look at our palms, there is a silver dust left on our skin from the wings of the cutworm moth. Before they become the sparkling, winged contributors of the ecosystem, we crush them with our mud-caked hands so Shelley won’t lose her plants.

A victim of monotony, I become eager to be distracted. I start memorizing the calls of the hawks that nest in the wall of trees at the base of the peony fields. There’s one across the valley that makes a constant

A blush pink peony sprouts in front of Pioneer Peak. The farm is situated in the middle of the Chugach Mountain Range of Southwestern Alaska.

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Kira, in the middle of the field pulls up horsetail, fireweed, dandelions and countless other weeds. They prevent sunlight from getting to the roots but do not kill the peony bush and often even add nutrients to the soil.

repetition of squaws, to which the nearby hawk replies with four short ones, repeating the cycle every few seconds. They usually start at 4:30 p.m. everyday.

Quickly, these thoughts set me off on questions of the value of life— something I’m confronted with in everything I do on this farm. I yank horsetail all day. Horsetail is an invasive weed. Shelley doesn’t want it

“

I cycle through thoughts of the insect homes I’m destroying and how the soil needs replenishing and how I could possibly be allowed to decide which plant has the most value.

there, she says it only gets in the way of her plants. But it doesn’t kill the peony bushes, it simply grows in the moist soil around it.

Weeds have their purposes, though. They make corrections in the chemistry of soil, which is why one seldom sees them in balanced ecosystems. I’ve recently learned that the horsetail plant has medicinal properties. It can be made into a tea. When consumed, horsetail can help with a multitude of issues like menstrual cramps, internal bleeding and urinary tract infections. But here they are a pest, and I spend my days forcing their green, feathery stalks out of the earth so the roots of the profitable peony plant can get enough sunlight.

We often run into spiders. I’ve come to see the daddy long legs as gentle creatures. Their long, skinny brown legs bend in multiple places, making them appear other-worldly. But they are ultimately scared, and simply run from us. In the off chance we find them on our bodies, they crawl without aggression across our shoulders until we gently lift them off and place them back on the ground. They work to eat the aphids and other pests that threaten Shelley’s plants.

I wonder for the remainder of the day about how we determine the value of any lifeform. Here, the peonies are top priority at five dollars a stem.

They come in a variety of shades from white, blush, red and anything in between. The duchess, a white variety of peony, is a favorite among brides.

Also among us are the weeds at which we pluck every day. The weeds that grow as a result of the moisture and attention the peonies receive. In return, they supply the soil with nutrients, and each spider and cut-worm with a cozy shelter.

I cycle through thoughts of the insect homes I’m destroying and how the soil needs replenishing and how I could be qualified to decide which plant has the most value. I can hear Kira singing, “I Ain’t Gonna Work on Maggie’s Farm No More,” by Bob Dylan in her best southern twang.

Moments like these pull me back into reality until we run into the next frog, eagerly hopping out of our path of destruction.

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Patricks Movie Review

movie review:

C O N T E M P L AT I N G IMPERMANENCE “A Ghost Story” weaves a transient tale of loss into an understanding of mortality WORDS BY PATRICK DUNHAM | ART BY KEZIA SETYAWAN

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With “A Ghost Story,” director David Lowery (“Ain’t Them Bodies Saints,” “Pete’s Dragon”) infuses poetic transience into concepts as incomprehensible as loss, death, and above all, the persistence of time. The film glides through staggering concepts in few words and only two leading actors, meditating on the history and future of one location.

The premise is simple. A man, C (Casey Affleck), dies after a head-on car accident in front of his house, leaving behind his lover, M (Rooney Mara). After confirming C’s body in the hospital, M leaves the room, and C’s shrouded, ghost-like figure rises up and returns home to observe the grieving widow he left behind.

Since this all happens within the first half hour, the rest of the film is the ghost merely observing its surroundings, able to interact with the objects but invisible to the living.

The different existences of the home and its dwellers waft by at disjointed junctures among a wide swath of time: a family moves in; a party is thrown; the building is razed and a high-rise is built on the land, yet the ghost is present throughout. Occasionally it raises havoc when asserting its presence by dropping a few books or hurling items around the house in a phantasmal flurry.

Such distress occurs as when M kisses a date at the threshold as well as when the house is later repopulated by a family. Since the ghost can move freely through time, it is able to observe hundreds of years in the past as well as the period at which C is still alive.

The idea that a linen-clad specter with dual eyeholes could represent something transcendental—reflecting in its silent presence humanity’s impermanence—is a bizarre notion. However, the articulation of “A Ghost Story’s” narrative is an achievement of the unique power film can have in exploring our connection to places that go beyond memory in time and space. Though our experience among a location’s history is inconceivably limited, the ghost grants us the ability to marvel at the cosmic annals of what we perceive to be home.

Being a ghost story for the arthouse

crowd, the film starts off at a sluggish pace that not all viewers would enjoy. A good example of this appears early on when, a few days after the death of C, M receives a pie from her realtor. She sits on the floor, eating the entirety of the pie in a single take that stretches past four minutes. Shoveling bite after bite into her mouth, C’s ghost silently watches her, unable to console her grieving or do anything but observe. Some will find it boring and pointless; others might see it as a genuine reflection of numbness in the grieving process.

The pace of the film shifts from slow mundanity to slices which seesaw fore-andaft through months, years, and centuries without clear delineation. The ghost observes as a pioneer family stakes out what will be the house’s allotment. After a night at the campfire, they are all killed in a raid

by Native Americans. The ghost watches as a period of many years lapses by, their skeletons disintegrating into the earth as the area around slowly and imperceptibly is being colonized.

While there could be preferential problems with this style, there are objective, moral issues with Affleck. He faced two sexual harassment lawsuits in 2010, from a producer and his co-cinematographer, for his behavior in 2009-2010 on and off the set of his feature debut “I’m Not There”. These allegations, which Affleck initially ferociously denied, ranged from his predatory behavior— reportedly creating an antagonizing, sexist atmosphere for women amongst the film crew—all the way to continually threatening to revoke credit and payment for their work.

Affleck resolved the lawsuit through an outof-court settlement. These allegations flared up in February during the pre-Oscar buzz when his performance in “Manchester by the Sea” earned him a nomination for Best Actor.

He won the award, and, in early September, his first post-Oscar role was announced as the lead in the Joe Wright/Blumhouse film “Stoner.”

The fact that the allegations seem to not have affected his workability offer a grim reality which continues to support a historically male-privileged industry.

Towering and influential figures like Affleck, Woody Allen and Roman Polanski have all contributed far and wide to the industry’s rape culture while continuing to garner widespread praise and success for their work. Affleck’s statement responding to the allegations was less than three sentences and included “There’s really nothing I can do about it, other than live my life the way I know I live it and to speak to what my own values are…” He could have owned up on his behavior and make a public apology to those affected, but he chose to sidestep and use blunted, empty language.

This continuing cycle reflects a lack of accountability within the industry as to who gets roles; a telling fact given that the overwhelming majority of those who work in the film industry are male. According to the 2016 Ceiling Report from the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film at San Diego State University, women comprised just 7% (down 2% from 2015) of directors among the top 250 domesticgrossing films.

Just as these facts are haunting, so too is “A Ghost Story’s” ending. Questions bloom in the air like a plume of lingering dust: does everlasting love for another tie our soul to the places we will haunt? Does finally coming to peace with that loss free us in accepting our transience as cosmic truth? Do the dead themselves live on in limbo, existing in that state until their motive for waiting around perishes?

In the final scene, the ghost recovers a note left by M in a painted-over crack in the wall, a memento of her energy as a final contribution to the house before departing.

Early on in the film she explains to C her habit of hiding messages she picked up as a child: “so that if I ever wanted to go back, there’d be a piece of me there waiting.”

It unfolds the worn paper, revealing the undisclosed and final earthly fragment of the woman he once loved, and the deadweight behind the sheet vanishes. The sheet plummets to the ground, left to unfurl among the once-prairie’s hot winds.

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