FLUX Magazine 2020 | The Uncertainty Issue

FLUX

what’s

next?

How COVID-19 Changed Our Lives and Our Futures

Flux is produced annually by the University of Oregon School of Journalism and Communication. Special thanks to the SOJC and Flux founders Tom Wheeler and Bill Ryan. Thanks to QSL Print Communications for printing.

ON THE COVER:

Emery Thanathiti is one of hundreds of University of Oregon graduates missing out on a live commencement ceremony due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Read more of Thanathiti’s story on page 35 in our COVID-19 Special Report.

This image was made under strict social distancing restrictions, with the safety of Thanathiti and the photographer prioritized.

Photo by Julian Croman

n ty un certai

We all understand what it feels like to not know what’s coming next. The theme of the 2020 issue of FLUX magazine is uncertainty. Our staff asked hundreds of people what they’re uncertain about. We found the answer is, well, pretty much everything.

6 Life in Quarantine

A breakdown of how our lives adapted to isolation.

8 The Road Ahead

10

Basketball star and SOJC graduate Ruthy Hebard sheds light on her future.

The Pipeline Problem

Thousands of Oregonians stand united to combat a controversial energy project.

Let’s Talk About It. Period.

18

Three Eugene teenagers are fighting to ensure access to free menstrual products across the nation.

25

Love at First Swipe

Three writers share how dating apps are transforming modern romance.

29 COVID-19: REPORT

A collection of stories following how the coronavirus pandemic touched our lives.

46 Religious Recession

Organized religion adapts to Generation Z.

50 A Vision of Hope

Faced with impending blindness, a UO graduate student works to uncover his own cure.

58

An Upstream Battle

Dwindling fish populations in the Pacific Northwest hurt more than just the average angler.

Art in Second Chances

60

A used clothing designer is taking a stand in the war against fast fashion.

66 Ashes

A young filmmaker hits the road to bid a final goodbye.

from the editor i

’ve always been someone who struggles to, as you might put it, “live in the present.” It’s not because I’m easily distracted, or because I obsess over nostalgia. Rather it’s because I rarely find a second of peace in my head where I’m not stretched to think about a thousand things at once. As long as I can remember, I’ve had these anxious voices speaking to me, alerting me about something I’ve got to do at 3:30 that afternoon, or perhaps next month or next year. This overwhelming weight on my psyche forces me to constantly re-evaluate whether what I’m doing right now is the absolute best use of my time—an exhaustive process that often leaves me mentally drained and has even made it harder and harder for me to visualize my future.

A few months ago I asked my staff, made up of students my age with lives relatively similar to my own, “What about the near future of our world confuses you? What are you all uncertain about?”

Five years from now? Twenty years from now?

Or what about next Tuesday?

When the idea of our theme of “uncertainty” came to my mind some time last November, I had no idea just how deeply it would resonate with our team, our community, and our sources by the time of our eventual publication. Even in early March when the drafts of our stories were starting to take shape, I still had no clue.

In just a few overwhelmingly confusing days, COVID-19 put our lives on hold. Only this wasn’t just uncertainty. For many, this was paralysis.

At the start of production, our team was eager to get out into various communities across the Pacific Northwest and beyond to unearth stories of what people today are wondering and worrying about: things that are unclear, things that have potential to grow, things that make us ponder for hours. We asked our sources for their thoughts on the future

of organized religion, the impact of policymaking and corporate interests on our environment, or how dating apps are causing our relationships to become less and less personal.We talked to a young researcher fighting vision loss as he hunts for his own cure, and a fisherman who clings to hope as he watches his livelihood get harder and harder.

The sudden spread of COVID-19, however, forced us to stop and reconsider our work. From six feet away, or with voices muffled by medical masks, our staff ventured out into our communities yet again—this time searching for people making a difference simply by trying to survive in a time of crisis. I can’t thank our sources enough for being honest and vulnerable about those concerns or questions they have during this pandemic. Thank you to my staff for pursuing all these stories that are so worth sharing with our community and beyond. And thank you to our advisors for guiding us through what was often a jungle of disoriented mind-mapping.

Originally, I thought of approaching “uncertainty” as if to speak to those voices in everyone’s heads—the ones whose words we hide from our peers because they are often just so difficult to articulate. I hope that our magazine can articulate that it’s okay to be uncertain, to be nervous about what comes next—because we’re all in this together.

I’m 20 years old and I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing. But let’s just keep doing our best.

Griffin Reilly Editor-in-Chief

Editorial

Editor-in-Chief

Griffin Reilly

Executive Editor

Katrina Aman

Chief Copy Editor

Jewel Turner

Writers

Shannon Daehnke

Lena Felt

Jane Glazer

Erin McMahon

Lauryn Pan

Camryn Privette

Emily Scarvie

Halie Steward

Advisor

Charlie Butler

Multimedia

Photo Editor

Julian Croman

Photographers

Sarah Northrop

Shyann Montgomery

Kezia Setyawan

Lucas Warner

Elle Wayt

Videographers

Bernice Amaya

Delaney Young

Social Media

Mary Lyons Advisor

Chris Pietsch

Design

Art Director

Grace Levy

Design Director

Kate Walters

Designers

Emily Adelman

Kelly Franks

Karlie Grant

Marin Motylewski

Hunter Reed

Nicole Williams

Illustrator

Bella Davies

Advisor

Steven Asbury

life in UAR A

quiet

Same sights, same people,

unexpected

The transition from routine

asinine

For the first time in

resourceful

To escape the boredom

Following a national artisan

influx

Isolation became the norm for people across the world following the outbreak of the worldwide COVID-19 pandemic. For some UO students, this time of physical distancing was lonely. For others, a joy. In any case, it taught us a variety of new ways to understand ourselves and others.

N T I N E

nurturing terrifying isolating nostalgic extraordinary

By Kate Walters and Katrina Aman Illustrated by Bella Davies

standouts

HALEY CRUSE

Although Oregon softball’s star outfielder Haley Cruse was named a 2020 Softball America Second-Team All-American, she gained viral recognition for her dancing on the video-sharing app “TikTok.” After a few of Cruse’s videos featuring herself and other UO softball players dancing went viral, her account has amassed nearly 400,000 followers as of May 2020. “Dancing is my side hustle,” reads her TikTok bio.

SATOU SABALLY

After helping to lead Oregon to the 2017 NCAA Final Four in his freshman season, Payton Pritchard transformed himself into one of the nation’s top point guards. Pritchard went on to finish his four-year career for the Ducks as the school’s all-time leader in wins (105) and was named a 2020 All-American. He has signed with an agent and hopes to be chosen in the NBA Draft later this year.

The 2020 WNBA Draft quickly became a Ducks showcase: just minutes after Sabrina Ionescu’s selection, Oregon’s Satou Sabally was chosen second overall by the Dallas Wings. Though cut short, Sabally’s stellar junior season earned her a second career All-Pac-12 selection, as well as the 2020 Cheryl Miller Award given to the nation’s top small forward.

Oregon’s star inside linebacker and defensive captain Troy Dye was selected by the Minnesota Vikings in the fourth round of this year’s NFL Draft. Dye led the Ducks’ defense in tackles in his four seasons, and finished his career as number three on Oregon’s all-time tackles list. After breaking his thumb midway through the 2019-20 campaign, Dye wore a cast on his hand as he continued to play through the season, including the Rose Bowl.

the ROA

Interview by Erin McMahon

ROAD&AHEAD Q AHEA

RUTHY HEBARD

Star forward of the University of Oregon women’s basketball team, Ruthy Hebard, developed into a national icon during her senior year. As an athlete, she’s earned the respect and admiration of thousands of fans. As a journalism student, she matches the passion, commitment, and dedication she displays on the court, in the classrooom.

As a sports reporter for Duck TV, I came to admire Hebard’s obvious diligence and skill. But, I also enjoyed her outgoing personality and down-to-earth demeanor, among her many shining accomplishments.

Hebard is a two-time winner of the Katrina McClain Award (2018, 2020) as the nation’s top power forward and was named a first-team All-American in 2020. She was the No. 8 pick in

the 2020 WNBA Draft, selected by the Chicago Sky.

Hebard and I spoke via video chat, a new type of university we’re both attending this spring.

Q: You became a celebrity on Oregon’s team quickly. What was it like transitioning from high school sports to the huge fan base of college athletics?

A: Freshman year of college was kind of hard because in Alaska, of course, I was the tallest girl and the strongest girl. So when I came to Oregon, it was a bunch of tall and strong girls that were better than me. It was kind of hard my first few months, but all my great teammates helped me out. After that, it was so fun and exciting and it was fun to be learning from people. The fan base, even my freshman year when it wasn’t that big, it was still pretty big. It grew these past few years, which has been fun. It’s been crazy to look back at our old games and videos and compare them to the now sold-out crowds that come to watch us.

JUSTIN HERBERT

2019

Photos courtesy of Michael Davies

saw Justin Herbert in his prime. The star Ducks quarterback, a Eugene native, capped off his four-year career with a trio of rushing touchdowns in Oregon’s 2827 Rose Bowl win over Wisconsin. On April 23, Herbert was selected sixth overall in the NFL Draft by the Los Angeles Chargers.

& A

Q: Well, there are definitely many reasons why games sold out. How did it feel winning the regular season, the Pac-12 Championships, and being named an All-American?

A: Over the years it’s been fun to win, of course, but also making so many memories with my teammates. Being named All-American was cool to just see all the work I put in over the summer and every day at practice pay off. It was even more fun to be able to get that with Satou [Sabally] and Sab[rina Ionescu] because we’re all best friends.

Q: Amid the COVID-19 outbreak, the NCAA Championships were cancelled. How did that affect you?

A: It was pretty awful. We got told first that we were going to play without fans, and we were like “that’s going to be so weird because like, we’d be playing with a few family members.” When it got canceled, it didn’t really hit for a few days. But then some of my team started leaving and going home, like Holly [Winterburn] went to London and I was like “damn, it’s actually over.” That’s when it finally started hitting and it was really hard to know that we all worked so hard and it was supposed to be our year. To see it come to an end like this was really hard. Especially being a senior, I just wanted to have this last memory with my team. But I’m glad we ended the season with a win and, you know, I’m trying to look on the bright side of things.

Q: So what’s next? As you enter this new chapter of your life, are you pursuing any other passions besides basketball?

A: Definitely planning to still play basketball, but a new passion of mine that I’m trying to get into has to do with adoption. I’m adopted and my parents are white, so hopefully I find [a platform] that wants to team up with me. To me, [adoption] had its ups and downs, especially having parents of a different color. I want to find a platform for [adopted kids] to help make them feel more normal and that it’s okay to be different. I would love to volunteer and to have it be a part of my career as it is a big part of my life.

Q: Oregon definitely made a lasting mark on the collegiate women’s basketball scene this year. What do you hope your legacy among students will be as you move on?

A: I hope that my legacy will be a girl who came in and gave Oregon her all. I loved my time here and I miss it already! Also, just a friendly person who likes to laugh and enjoy people and make the most out of any situation. I hope I am remembered as a good basketball player but an even better person.

Q: There’s a lot of uncertainty in the world right now. What’s changed for you during this time? What do you do to cope with not knowing what is coming next?

A: I think for me and a lot of athletes it’s like we’ve always had a schedule, so like 8 a.m. breakfast and then practice for four hours. Now it’s kind of weird to just have that kind of taken away from you. Even the little things like knowing I won’t have to set an alarm. To cope with the uncertainty I work out. I run and do conditioning outside and also do basketball workouts. Also, a lot of prayer and just learning to go with the flow, which I still need to get better at.

SABRINA IONESCU

A few of Sabrina Ionescu’s records may never be broken: she finished her four-year career at Oregon as the only NCAA player to eclipse 2,000 career points (2,562), 1,000 career rebounds (1,040) and 1,000 career assists (1,091). Her 26 career triple doubles are also an NCAA record—the next closest player, Kyle Collinsworth, had just 12. She was drafted first overall in the 2020 WNBA Draft by the New York Liberty.

Written by Shannon Daehnke & Kezia Setyawan

Photos by Kezia Setyawan

for more than a decade, many Oregonians have been waging an uphill battle against the Jordan Cove Energy Project. The proposed project seeks to construct a liquified natural gas terminal and a Pacific Connector Pipeline that would stretch across 229 miles of public and private land in Oregon.

The coalition against Jordan Cove is made up of everyone from tribal members to fishermen to environmental advocates, and residents of cities from Coos Bay to the Oregon/ California border. They insist that there will be significant adverse environmental impacts as a result of the pipeline. They’re also concerned about the potential impact on public lands and indigenous rights.

Pembina, a Canadian fossil fuel company and parent company of Jordan Cove LNG, acquired the project

in late 2017. Pembina is now trying to acquire all the extensive approvals needed to build the Pacific Connector Pipeline that would carry fracked gas from Malin, Oregon, to a new facility in Coos Bay. Much of the fracked gas would come from a facility in Alberta, Canada, and then, when ready, would be sent to markets in Asia.

Despite Oregon officials’ reluctance to approve the LNG facility, in March, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) voted 2-1 to approve the energy project.

The federal approval is a significant milestone for the project and for Pembina. Though nothing is final yet, President Donald Trump’s series of pro-oil moves lead many to think the launch of the pipeline is, in fact, extremely likely.

A diverse coalition of Oregonians, however, have devoted over 15 years of their lives to the fight against this project, and they’re not giving up yet.

A fight against a controversial energy project is consuming the lives of Oregonians from the Cascades to the coast. As the final decision looms, will their efforts be enough?

Tom Younker looks out at the South Slough from the banks of his property. As a member of the Coquille Indian Tribe, he worries about the consequences on ancestral land if the Jordan Cove Piepline is built.

Karin Richardson views the Haynes Inlet Portal installation. Richardson has built relationships with many different community members and has played a large part in organizing efforts against the proposed pipeline project.

THROUGH AN

EYES

Coos Bay locals are able to spot the eccentric Karin Richardson from a mile away, sporting her signature red beret.

The coastal city of Coos Bay has been home to Richardson and her family for four generations. She often spent her summers crabbing and clamming along the coast with her family, establishing her passion for nature and for her hometown at a very young age.

Today, she refers to herself as an “artivist.” She is wellknown for her environmental art, made from things she finds in nature—everything from sea glass and kelp to driftwood and scrap metal. One of her pieces, a chandelier made of kelp, hangs in downtown Coos Bay at a local pizzeria where she and her grandpa Curly used to watch ships in the bay together when she was a child.

When Richardson learned of the Jordan Cove project and its potential to dramatically disrupt her hometown, she prepared to fight back. Her involvement over the last decade has “switched from being involved in the fight to being consumed by it,” she says.

“They’re taking away our land, our roots. The project would be the end of Coos Bay as we know it,” she says.

Richardson says the construction of the pipeline and terminal would damage everything she loves about her home. In addition to factors such as noise, air and water pollution, and the decline of local marine life populations, Richardson says too many things about the project remain uncertain.

“So much of the project is a concept. The company really doesn’t know how the 400-plus waterways will be affected and if it could ever recover. It’s so unknown the damage that will happen. All the money in the world doesn’t justify that.”

“They’re taking away our land, our roots.‘‘

DEFENDING E

Much of the land that the Jordan Cove LNG Pipeline is set to cut through has been occupied and cherished by various indigenous communities for generations. Tribes as far south as California say the construction would harm the populations of Chinook steelhead and salmon, significantly threatening a mainstay in their economies.

The project has renewed concerns over the use of eminent domain and construction impacts on ancestral tribal territory, fragile salmon habitat and forestland. Pacific Northwest tribes have been vocal and actively involved, setting the stage for future battles if the pipeline is ultimately approved.

“If the pipeline gets put here, our entire way of life will be interrupted,” says Tom Younker, a registered member and former council member of the Coquille Indian Tribe.

Younker, a native of Charleston, Oregon, a town less than 10 miles from Coos Bay, says that at first the pipeline seemed safe enough for him to back it. It appeared in its

original plan—15 years ago—to simply provide the energy the town needed. It also might revitalize the local economy.

Younker changed his mind, however, when he learned that Pembina would be taking the profits and the natural gas would be sent to markets in Asia.

Despite the current stance of many of the members, the Coquille Tribe initially supported the 2009 application for the pipeline but later declared the Tribe’s official stance as “neutral.” They went on to serve as a “cooperating agency” to the federal authorities working on the project.

“The tribe should have a stand. They aren’t very consistent with being vocal on anything,” Younker says. “We’ve lived here long enough to have our opinion heard.”

Younker’s focus on the environment plays an important role as he has kinship ties that span across generations.

“My family grew up here,” he says. “My brother got his Indian name here. I hope to be buried here; I don’t want to leave this area. I’m really happy with my life here.”

Younker takes a moment to look at Mary Susan, the fishing boat his father built.

prote st A PIECE MADE IN

Retired biologist Larry Mangan and his wife Sylvia live on a scenic property at the north edge of Haynes Inlet. The Inlet is an alternative intersection to the proposed pipeline and LNG terminal routes.

“This place is a dream come true—our heaven on earth,” Mangan says. “When we purchased the property, we envisioned that we could restore parts of it to how it was.”

Mangan’s work in restoring his property has been manifested in collaboration with the Confederated Tribes of Coos and Lower Umpqua and Siuslaw Indians.

Mangan’s land, a salt marsh, is also home to a recent installation of protest art called the Haynes Inlet Portal. Created by Erin Moore, an associate professor and director of the School of Architecture and Environment at the University of Oregon, the portal is one of three installations done along the surveyed pipeline route.

The portal serves as an example of just how imposing the project would be and actually mimics the size of a section of the pipeline—only it’s made of biodegradable materials.

Moore and a group of her graduate students who helped build the portal often visit the site on the Mangans’ land to see how it’s changed over time.

“I wanted to make something rather than just writing or presenting,” says Moore, “and advance dialogue about environmental issues in tangible spaces.”

In the evening, leftover driftwood from the high tide and animal tracks reveal how the portal isn’t just an art piece; rather it’s become part of the local ecosystem. “These [installations] give insight to those places, and provide a lens for biodiversity and environmental change,” says Moore.

The prospect of having what Larry Mangan calls a “potentially explosive” pipeline built within 500 feet of their home is 180 degrees from everything he believes in. He says that having the pipeline built would be an absolute nightmare, likening the prospect to “living with a disease on your property.”

“We literally wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. We’d have to move,” says Mangan.

Inspired by author Aldo Leopold’s book “The Sand County Almanac,” Larry Mangan constructed an outlook where visitors can see the changing landscape.

grew up

It’s our land, it’s where we

Pam Ordway stands on a path that leads to her family’s property. The proposed pipeline has caused a lot of stress for landowners like Ordway in Douglas county.

Pam Ordway’s family estate is located on the path of the projected pipeline in Camas Valley, Oregon about an hour southeast of Coos Bay. The property has been home to her family since 1917 when her great uncle purchased it. Pam is one of six children raised on the farm; her brother and his wife and children still live there today.

“My father always said that it’s impossible to build more land,” says Ordway. “It’s our land, it’s where we grew up. When we come back here it feels like we never left.”

Ordway, 63, has long spearheaded the movement against the Jordan Cove Project, testifying in numerous county meetings, writing letters to the FERC and filing multiple appeals with the Land Use Board of Appeals.

The experience over the past decade for Ordway has felt, she says, like a class with tons of papers and projects. Only, this is a class nobody ever wanted to take.

“We didn’t sign up for the class, we didn’t want credit for the class, and we would like to be doing something else with our time,” she says.

Ordway says that the fight has been so ongoing due to a lack of public awareness about the issue at hand. The citizens most affected by the project, such as farmers and

ranchers, are the ones who typically live more reserved and remote lifestyles. Ordway argues that a lack of internet access paired with the generally older age of the residents who own the proposed properties have made it difficult for them to acquire the knowledge and the legal sources that they need to successfully fight back.

The FERC’s approval in March allows officials the ability to begin the condemnation process which, to Ordway, feels like “a kick in the gut.”

Residents have two choices: to sell an easement of their land or get an attorney to resist their land being used for the project. But, Ordway says, most of the residents, at least in her county who have land on the property line, can’t afford legal representation.

“FERC’s approval forces us to begin negotiations to sell an easement that we don’t want to do,” she says.

In response, Ordway and fellow landowners in Douglas County launched a nonprofit called Greater Good Oregon and began raising money to help individuals pay for legal representation.

“We want them to know that if they don’t have money to pay for an attorney, they can still fight,” she says.

The silver lining of this “living hell” of a battle, Ordway says, has been witnessing people from different backgrounds come together toward a unified goal.

“Seeing people from environmental groups, landowners, different tribes—who really don’t have much in common besides this—come together has been really heartwarming,” says Ordway.

The recent affirmative decision from the FERC is a significant step forward for the Jordan Cove project.

In a public statement, Harry Anderson, Pembina’s senior vice president and chief legal officer, says, “We appreciate FERC’s science-based approach to their review. The approval emphasizes yet again that Jordan Cove is environmentally responsible and is a project that should be permitted given a prudent regulatory and legal process was undertaken.”

Citizens like Ordway, Richardson, Mangan, and Younker, however, argue that the real support and unity

within the community lies with those who are actively fighting against the project.

“When we’re all at rallies and we introduce ourselves to each other, the unity of people is really remarkable,” Richardson says. “I would never have met or realized so many different groups of people were so deeply impacted. For the rallies people come from all over—Portland, Corvallis, Salem, Medford, Ashland and a bunch of outlying areas—and the people are just the most wonderful salt of the earth. And they would probably not have come together had it not been something so dear and important to them.”

To see so many people from different groups working together and not allowing their disagreements to get in the way of their shared goal, Ordway says, has been “really rewarding.”

“This is more than just about some property. This is about the health of Southern Oregon.”

perod.

perod.

Three Oregon teenagers fought for their school district to provide free menstrual products in all school bathrooms. Their next mission? The entire country.

Written by S hannon Daehnke and Jane Glazer Photos by Elle Wayt

it’s a November evening in rainy Eugene, Oregon. On a school night like this, you might expect to find a high school sophomore downtown at the local skate park, at lacrosse practice, or perhaps at home catching up on some homework before the weekend Tonight, however, three 15-year-old girls sit in the front row of a Eugene school district board meeting, amid a sea of empty plastic chairs—and facing a string of uncomfortable faces

One of the girls wears a t-shirt featuring the name of a prospective college—Harvard—while another anxiously clutches her sticker-laden Hydroflask They listen intently and eagerly await the portion of the weekly school board meeting open to the public.

The girls’ attendance tonight is not unusual—they have been showing up for weeks now, giving their testimony to school board members and policy makers alike

They want free menstrual products provided in all public-school restrooms, and they say they’re not going to stop showing up until they’re taken seriously

“Ever since I got my period, I’ve never been afraid to talk about it,” says Posey Chiddox, a sophomore at Sheldon High School, one of four public high schools in Eugene.

Chiddox, Violet Neale and Nabikshya Majhi are three student leaders behind PERIOD Eugene, a branch of the global non-profit PERIOD. The Portland-based organization promotes education about menstruation and attempts to address many of the stigmas associated with it

The girls contend that the failure to provide free menstrual products in public restrooms is an equity issue—both socially and economically According to Nadya Okamoto, founder of PERIOD, one in five girls in the United States have at one point left school early, or missed school altogether, because they lacked proper access to menstrual products, a phenomenon often referred to as “period poverty ” Menstrual inequity is such a broad issue that it exists even among those who are lucky enough to afford products

“I noticed that all my friends would hide their tampons and pads up their sleeves when they went to the bathroom, and I thought this isn’t how it should be,” says Chiddox. “I was never the type of person who would hide my tampon or my pad I would always just carry it to the bathroom, and I thought that that needed to be normalized.”

Such a mindset, however, is not in the majority among people who get their period, especially in the minds of anxious high schoolers, notes Chiddox She explains that most high school girls would rather be marked late or

miss class entirely than have to admit that they were late due to struggles obtaining a tampon

Chiddox did not understand why this natural occurrence was anything to be ashamed of, but she could see that the stigma obviously existed So, when she heard about PERIOD through her Women’s Advocacy Club, she decided to start a chapter in Eugene to help advocate to end the stigma She wanted to teach others— first other high schoolers, and then policy makers—to see it her way

“The first few times we spoke, the board members’ responses were along the lines of ‘Thank you so much for coming; we appreciate you being student activists’—and then they wouldn’t actually do anything,” says Chiddox, president of PERIOD Eugene “It took so long for them to realize that we weren’t gonna leave until they did something about it.”

The girls of PERIOD Eugene insist that the overall problem that breeds menstrual inequity is lack of education Once people understand that the problem of menstrual inequity exists, the common sense of providing free period products is realized. The lack of education and open discussion is what yields the uncomfortable boardroom faces and hesitation to take the issue seriously, the girls argue.

Neale, a sophomore at Churchill High School and PERIOD Eugene’s policy director, mentions an instance when their team hosted a drive outside a local grocery store to collect tampons and pads for donation A woman came up to the girls and asked if the products were going to be delivered to impoverished children in Africa—when in reality, the menstrual products were being delivered to individuals right there in Eugene who could not afford them

“It’s the inequity of not having these products, and the fact that a lot of people at my high school and around Eugene couldn’t afford these products in the first place,” says Neale. “Having to lend them to my own friends because they can’t get them at home was really difficult to see ”

Neale explains that Churchill High has a wide socioeconomic range of students in comparison to other high schools in Eugene This gap drives some in the Churchill community to be extra conscious

“Students will purposely put pads and tampons in the girls’ locker room to share with everybody on a regular basis,” says Neale “It’s just something that the Churchill community does for each other ”

Chiddox, Neale, and Majhi represent different high schools in Eugene Chiddox’s formation of PERIOD Eugene allowed the girls to unite in their shared experiences of dealing with menstrual inequity Once the

Nabikshya Majhi has been a vocal leader for the PERIOD Eugene branch since August 2019.

they’re not going to taken seriously. stop ”

“ until they are

A menstrual cup is typically made of premium, medical grade silicone and is free of bisphenol A and other toxic chemicals typically found in tampons. This sustainable product is often used by people looking for a more eco-friendly option.

period poverty inadequate access to menstrual products. (pirēəd / pävərdē) noun

chapter was approved and roles were established, the girls got to work creating policy and attempting to make their dream a reality

The process wasn’t easy Nearly every week since last September the girls have been familiar faces in public forums, fighting for period equity. Neale explains that they all had their doubts regarding whether or not they’d be able to convince policy makers to act or to get a full understanding of the issue.

“I think just looking at the school board members’ faces, you could sense a little bit of uncomfortableness, even from some of the people who were supportive—just from us talking about periods so blatantly, calling it a natural need, and calling out the school board for not taking action,” says Chiddox

Though the initial reactions were not exactly what the girls were hoping for, their testimonies at weekly meetings paired with the support from school board members like Gordon Lafer helped them to garner more respect from the board members.

Not only is Lafer a member of the Eugene’s 4J district school board, but he also has a daughter in eighth grade He says he knows that periods often come at inconvenient times of teen anxiety and general stress After he saw a story that New Hampshire passed a policy mandating free pads and tampons in middle and high schools and found further research that there were similar policies in place in New York, Illinois, California, and even Portland, he knew it would be realistic to achieve something similar in Eugene.

“It’s obviously a gender equity issue,” Lafer says “If more guys menstruated, the common sense of this would have been obvious a long time ago.”

In August 2019, Lafer proposed a policy to provide free menstrual products in the restrooms of the 4J school district. While a majority of the board agreed with the reasoning behind his proposal, some did not believe that the provision of free pads and tampons should be made an official board-mandated policy

“People on the board argued that policy should be reserved for bigger issues,” Lafer says. “We have a policy that says that we need to integrate pest management for cockroaches in the schools I don't think this is a less big deal than that. So that’s one of the places where I think the student testimony was really helpful ”

After months of working with Lafer and weeks of the girls advocating their cause behind the microphone of countless school board meetings, the proposed policy passed unanimously.

As of January 2020, all schools in the 4J district are required to have dispensers in the restrooms filled with free period products. This accomplishment, however, is just the first step The students and Lafer aren’t settling

for complacency; they want to institute a wider policy regarding period inequity

“After we passed 4J, we realized that this is much bigger than just a Eugene issue,” Neale says Neale has since been reaching out at city council meetings to push a policy of providing free menstrual products in all public restrooms in Eugene, not just in schools

The Eugene City Council has recently agreed to implement a trial run of providing free products in public places such as the Eugene Library And, if it goes successfully, these products will be provided in all Eugene public restrooms

“We’re gonna keep showing up and making sure they follow through with it, but this is our next big thing. It’s exciting,” says Neale

While PERIOD’s eventual goal is to implement this public policy in public restrooms all across Oregon, Neale explains that the organization has hit a bit of a roadblock in terms of reaching out to representatives, due to the fact that the next legislative session isn’t until 2021. The girls plan to contact Julie Fayeh, a state representative and supporter of the movement, again later in the year to reiterate their cause as the session gets closer

If the Eugene City Council determines the trial run as a success, all of Eugene’s public spaces will provide free menstrual products, thanks to the efforts of the girls at PERIOD And if the legislation the girls are helping to write and are planning to propose passes, products will be free everywhere in Oregon Then, perhaps, nationwide Lafer believes this dream isn’t unrealistic at all.

“We wouldn’t have bathrooms without toilet paper or soap,” says Lafer “Based on what it costs it seems like something worth pushing."

Most people can attest to the sheer panic of sitting down on the toilet in a public restroom, only to realize that the stall they’re in is out of toilet paper. The awkward yell into the abyss of the bathroom that follows, asking if anyone has any toilet paper that they can kindly pass under the stall

Sure, it’s a bit uncomfortable—but it’s normal Everyone uses toilet paper.

Only people who menstruate can relate to the anxiety of meticulously planning a trip to the bathroom Awkwardly sliding a tampon up their sleeve as they attempt to make it out of the classroom and to the bathroom stall—and that’s assuming that they even have easy access to affordable menstrual products in the first place

But thanks to the efforts of Chiddox, Neale, Majhi, Lafer, and the states already on board with the PERIOD movement, this equity issue is on its way to being resolved Periods may never be fun or glamorous, but someday lawmakers may be able to address them just as these girls did

What Do You Want to Be Today?

@firstloveswipe

The search for love has always been an uncertain, scary thing. As dating goes virtual, is the chance to find that connection only growing slimmer? We threw ourselves into the world of mobile dating and now we’re here: vulnerable and exposed, sharing just how that virtual landscape treated us.

Illustrated by Bella Davies

Looking for Love in All the Swipe Places

By Jewel Turner

Since dating apps are becoming one of the biggest ways to meet potential significant others, they’re something people love to hate. But for some of us, dating apps are something we hate to love. As someone who’s an idealist, I’ve downloaded the most popular dating apps (and deleted them…and downloaded them again) and have noticed the most common issue about them: no one knows what they want. On one hand, people genuinely aren’t sure of what they’re looking for when they’re using dating apps. On the other, they do know but are too afraid to say it.

Being that I’m an ex-dating-app-obsessed person, I knew what I was looking for when I was searching for “the one” (and yes, I really did just say “the one”). It sounds silly to admit out loud, but I am an optimist; I would use apps to try to find someone to date. I wanted a relationship—my only issue was that I was hardly successful at it (cue my three—or was it four?— failed relationships). When it comes to dating, I’m extremely picky, and even terrified of possibly falling for someone. I do know, however, there are many others who feel differently and view dating apps as “not that deep”—including 22-year-old Ashlyn Norris. I’ve known Ashlyn forever, and I know if her spunky attitude can shine through a screen and get her a relationship (or several), then anyone’s can.

“I’ve dated three guys non-exclusively and four exclusively [from dating apps]. None of them lasted more than two months though,” says Ashlyn. She had been stuck in the cycle of downloading and deleting apps for three years. “Let’s be real: the first time I downloaded Tinder, I was just being an attention seeker. I wasn’t actively looking for anything.” Ashlyn has moved from California to Oregon to Idaho all within the past few years, so naturally she didn’t really want anything more than possibly someone to talk to. She says that most of the men she matched with pretended to be interested in pursuing a relationship with her, but they really just wanted sex. “Tinder and Bumble both seem to promote hookup culture, so I decided to down-

load Hinge since it had more of a reputation of being for people who preferred relationships.” Through Hinge, she met her current boyfriend, Nate.

Though Ashlyn has had many successful experiences using dating apps, she admits it’s easy to get caught up in the gamification of it all—because with all of the constant swiping, a dating app is exactly like a game. “When you’re on a dating app, you forget who you actually are because you’re trying to get someone else’s attention,” she says. Ah, one of the many pros of online dating: you can be anyone you want.

On apps, it’s much easier to exaggerate all of the best parts of yourself. David Markowitz, an assistant professor at the University of Oregon’s School of Journalism and Communication, has done a lot of research on how this type of deception comes into play in online dating. “I think deception plays a really important role in that initial interaction [on dating apps]. Some people expect some level of deception in online dating,” he says. To back this up, he mentions the Self-Presentation Hypothesis, “which refers to the notion that people essentially are lying just a little bit to make themselves look more interesting [and] attractive.” Although it’s clear we do this online, Markowitz says that people also do it in face-to-face interactions, by wearing makeup or putting on shoes with more height to them, so apps aren’t the only place people put up a front. He says that when it comes to dating apps, “people want to achieve a certain goal… and that’s to find someone, whether that’s a onenight stand, or a long-term relationship.”

Although I feel a bit exposed by Markowitz’s expertise, everything he says is completely relatable. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve definitely used apps by only highlighting my best qualities. Has it gotten me anywhere? Nope. I’m still single. But does it have the potential to find me “the one”?

I’ll take my chances.

ah, one of the many pros of online dating: you can be anyone you want.

Confessions of an Ex-Tinder-Shamer

By Erin McMahon

Approximately two glasses of red wine deep, Riley has propped up her phone against the bottle, scrolling through Tinder. “Left, left, left, right, left,” we joke, rhythmically mimicking military officers as she swipes through potential suitors. Riley is one of my best friends at college, 21 years old and thriving. Post break-up and she’s only had the app for a week, getting plenty of messages and then some.

I, on the other hand, pride myself on having never downloaded a dating app. But, to be frank, it’s been a solid two years since I’ve had a boyfriend. I hate to say it, but Tinder’s starting to look not so bad after all.

I’ve found there’s somewhat of an underlying sense of shame that is associated with the use of dating apps. We’re all evolving into creatures of the night; our phones showing us the path to our next hookup or, perhaps, a future significant other. Next thing you know, a friend asks you the world’s most daunting question: “How’d you guys meet?” Your brain yells, “Tinder!” The inner voice of shame, however, rushes to intervene. “Oh, just at a party one night,” you respond.

Why should we feel shameful for taking advantage of technological advances? Right now, with just a few similar taps and swipes, just about every kind of food under the sun can be on its way to your front door in a matter of minutes. When you think about it, finding your next relationship isn’t really that much different.

My friend Lauren met her current boyfriend, Hunter, through Tinder, but she’d never tell you that. They matched on Tinder, but never messaged. Weeks later he ended up direct messaging her on Instagram. She and Hunter knew each other before all of these little online interactions.

In the game of mutual friends, we’ve all “heard of each other.” Tinder just made things more accessible for them to break the ice. “To be completely frank I was just bored,” says Lauren, referring to her decision to download Tinder last summer. Structured like a deck of cards, Tinder is typically

treated like any other pastime. So, although you might claim not to have “games on your phone,” if you have Tinder or Bumble you might as well.

Five months into their relationship, Hunter and Lauren have deleted Tinder from their phones. “I knew I wasn’t going to have Tinder forever,” she says. “I really didn’t expect anything to come of it, though.” I guess they do say love happens when you least expect it. So, if Tinder has a way of drawing people to each other, why do we stigmatize it?

As a member of Generation Z, I think it’s safe to say we all believe we’re the world’s busiest people. Given that mindset, as well as our less-thanhealthy obsession with social media, the rise of dating apps makes complete sense. They incentivize non-traditional interactions creating an inclusive environment where people can simply put themselves out there. And yet, we continue to Tinder-shame people, even when it’s simply the direction in which the world is moving. So, while I, too, haven’t learned to embrace this shift whole-heartedly, I’m warming up to it.

We have to be honest and own up to Tinder for the role it plays in our lives if it’s going to become a part of our cultural regimen. Sure, you can hide the mishaps and embarrassing stories, but at least taking ownership of something you made the decision to download on your phone is a good start. The shame only exists because it’s different from what we were taught. It’s also something our generation invented.

if Tinder has a way of drawing people to each other, why do we stigmatize it?

Sweating or Swiping?

By Camryn Privette

I’ll be the first to admit it: I was a total dating virgin when I arrived at college. I never had a serious enough relationship in high school that I’d cry about in my diary or to my parents. I had a few flings here and there, but when it came to commitment, I had no idea where to even start. So, when I arrived on campus, I did what everyone else my age in the UO dorms did: every weekend I went to a different sweaty fraternity live-out basement party where liquid encouragement was 100% necessary to actually “enjoy” the night. I’d imagined I’d meet “the one” at one of these parties; in the sweaty madness our eyes would meet from across the room, and everything would fall into place.

That route to romance was better than the alternative: Lying in bed flirting on a dating app with some guy I’d never seen with my own two eyes.

Now as a senior, however, I wonder if I really maximized my ways of meeting a significant other by only going to parties and not looking for connections elsewhere—like my phone. Dating apps never appealed to me because I’d had luck meeting people face to face.

OK, I admit I downloaded Tinder once (definitely twice). And, sure, I admit swiping curiously to see who from our school was using it. But in no way did I ever consider dating apps a place to find a serious relationship; if anything, I believed they strictly promoted hookup culture. If I ever wanted to change my perspective of dating apps, I needed to talk to someone who found a long-lasting relationship and not just a one-night stand.

Luckily, my curiosity led me to a 28-year-old Eugene local named Hillary Falburn who met her now-husband on a dating app six years ago. Falburn had only been on

the OkCupid app for two weeks when she hit it off with a guy named Nik. “We started talking the first week I made a profile, and his messages were really genuine, so we met the next day. We spent two and a half hours together, and we could’ve spent the whole day talking,” says Falburn. Falburn says their relationship progressed quickly; the spark had been there ever since those first messages.

I walked away from our conversation feeling that maybe, after all, deep connections were possible to form over the phone.

After this discovery, I’ve come to the conclusion that being shown affection through the apps is really the same as meeting someone in a sweaty basement. After all, having used Instagram and Snapchat for years, I know what it feels like to be shown affection online—whether it’s a comment on a recent picture, or responses to a story I’ve posted—it feels amazing because I feel noticed. So, I can only imagine the feeling of skyrocketing confidence as a result of someone expressing interest in you from a carefully selected profile picture.

All it really boils down to is what a lot of people who are single or looking for someone want most: to feel wanted by another person.

My perspective on dating apps changed for the better because I realized it doesn’t necessarily matter if the sparks are flying face to face or over the phone. Each time some type of emotional connection is present, and it’s all really the same. Dating apps may seem odd to many, just like it once was to me. But look at it as another way to maximize your potential of meeting someone special—and you’re just swiping, not sweating.

when it came to commitment, I had no idea where to even start.

A collection of stories about how the pandemic touched our lives.

Journalism student Taylor To stands in front of the Lillis Business Complex in her cap and gown. Now in her final term at UO, she’s feeling the pressure to land a job for after graduation.

Photo by Kezia Setyawan

There’s nothing more universal than uncertainty —especially right now.

The impact of the COVID-19 pandemic changed the world. It affected our families. It forced us to adjust to a steady sense of uncertainty and confusion. We endured more than felt bearable. And we achieved more than felt possible.

But in the end, we are honored to share these stories of people in our communities who inspired us and ultimately made life seem a little less bleak.

We hope this issue of FLUX serves as a time piece of sorts—helping remind us all that we weren’t alone in a time of so much uncertainty. We were, as the unofficial phrase of the pandemic goes, “all in this together.”

face MASKS

are recommended for safety by the CDC, and notable tech company Apple has donated over 20 million of them as of May 13, 2020.

SIX FEET

is the CDC recommended distance to maintain from others while socially distancing

291,961

COVID-19-related deaths have been confirmed worldwide as of May 13, 2020.

EPA

the new normal

Written by Jewel Turner

Every other night it’s the same routine: sit down in front of the fireplace, prop up the iPad, hit record, and start reading. Today, the book is “Pete the Cat.” This is part of the new routine for teaching, and our home is her new classroom. This is the new normal.

In the United States, the number of known cases is doubling, according to the CDC, about every 4 WEEKS

146K

people, on average, are tested per day in the U.S. for Coronavirus according to the CDC.

My stepmom, Michelle Turner, is a transitional kindergarten teacher at Los Medanos Elementary School in Pittsburg, California, which is exactly as it sounds—she teaches students between preschool and kindergarten, and they are all between the ages of four and five. As someone who has spent 23 years of her life teaching young kids, she loves her job and her students more than anything.

“Online teaching for TK is very different,” she says. “The process was a bit daunting in the beginning. My teaching friends have helped tons, first of all by letting my TK’s join in their Kindergarten Facebook group. We have spent countless phone calls bouncing ideas off of each other about how to make this work.”

Even though Michelle is now working from home, she still follows her school planner and films daily lessons for the kids to watch.

“One of the lessons I post weekly is a Super Science Thursday lesson,

where we do an experiment together. I want them to still watch the experiment, and if they have the supplies at home, then they can do the experiment at home. I just don’t want them to go out of their way to get the supplies. I want them to make sure they are staying safe.”

Despite the difficulties she and her students are facing—such as accessibility, how to learn from home, and how to teach from home—her school district is still doing anything it can to keep the children’s spirits high.

“My school had a teacher parade! Our parent volunteer coordinator made the parade route and sent it out to the parents so they knew when it started and where we would go. It was so fun and so hard all at the same time! We had a huge line of decorated cars and everyone knew when we were coming. Everyone was honking, windows down. The kids and their families had signs and were cheering for us like we were famous. It felt so good to see their faces and to see the smiles when they saw their teacher.”

Michelle is doing her best to stay positive for the students, but she can’t wait until this moment in time is a distant memory. “I miss my kids, my friends, my room. My school is my home.”

It’s a typical morning during the COVID-19 pandemic for Emery Thanathiti. She’s just woken up on her living room couch. Again. Recently, she’s been up late most nights, sometimes falling asleep on the couch before she can make it to her bed. She often stays up late working on projects, gaming, or calling family members. Having family in Thailand means news or an urgent message could come in at any hour.

Like most days, she’ll be spending today alone. The majority of her friends left Eugene, Oregon, amidst the COVID-19 outbreak in the U.S. Her plan was to stay and work post-graduation from the University of Oregon, but with the current pandemic, many employers have imposed hiring freezes and canceled internships.

“For me it’s always been a long-time goal to work in the U.S. because there aren’t many media opportunities back home,”

Thanathiti, a 2020 mas -

Written by Emily Scarvie

ra far from home

ter’s graduate in journalism, says. “So the thought of losing this opportunity—I couldn’t even think about it. But that also meant not being able to see my family.”

Thanathiti, 25, has been living in the U.S. for the last seven years. She came here from Thailand to study, and only goes home once or twice a year. Because of her visa standing, she was able to apply for Optional Practical Training (OPT), allowing her to stay and work for 12 months after graduating.

As the pandemic spread across the U.S., she began to wonder if the opportunity she’s always desired still remains here, and within her OPT period. Because many countries have already closed their borders and begun enforcing strict travel restrictions, the decision of whether she’ll stay or go to be with her family remains on her mind every day.

“If the Thailand borders close, I’m probably just going to give up my opportunity and go back and be with my family because I don’t know when they’ll reopen,” she says. “Everything is just a big ‘I don’t know’ right now.”

Clockwise from far left:

Sunny Kim and her husband Hong Yung Kim visited the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve in Los Angeles County on April 20 despite the statewide stay-at-home order. Two days later, state officials put roadblocks in place to deter further visitors.

Despite the pandemic, my father, Greg Wayt (right), has continued working to fill the shelves at local grocery stores with ice cream and other Umpqua Dairy goods. While I worry about my father, an essential worker, I feel immense pride knowing he is helping people get their food.

Electronic dance music producer Kelly Gehlen, known by her stage name “Kellalit,” talks over FaceTime with her friend and fellow musician Timber Manning after performing a set via livestream. Upon seeing what a crowd is saying about her in real time, Gehlen says she’s ‘never felt so loved.’

To see more photos of how the world adapted to COVID-19, visit www.fluxstories.com

Photo by Delaney Young

Photo by Sarah Northrop

Photo by Elle Wayt

sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll wake up to a porch light shining through the blinds. That’s how I know she’s gone.

My mom, Eileen McMahon, has been a surgical nurse at Providence St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica, California for 25 years now, so I’m used to waking up with her not being home. She leaves early in the morning, around 6 a.m. and doesn’t get home until 4 p.m. On top of that, if she’s on call, she could be gone anywhere from 1 a.m. to 7 a.m.

Growing up, I took a lot of pride in my mom being a nurse. Not only is she my hero, she’s been one to complete strangers too.

But now, I’m a lot more hesitant to let my mom be someone else’s hero.

Written by Erin McMahon

Amid the COVID-19 pandemic, society has been forced into a new normal. For families of healthcare workers, it seems almost unfair to even call it normal.

For the past few weeks, I’ve watched her come home, take off her scrubs at the front door, and run upstairs to shower as if it were protocol. Overwhelming guilt envelopes me as the only thing I can really do to help is to do well in school and make dinner.

I find myself asking, “Why my mom?” and feeling really selfish for it.

I’m still proud of her for being a nurse, now more than ever. But my family and many others like ours are being tested. Every day is scarier than the last, but we’re trying to conceal the fear for the nurse or doctor in our family, so that home can take some form of normal.

Hero our

Photo courtesy of Recsy Manembu

Hero

Eileen McMahon, BSN, RN, CNOR, assists with surgical procedures on COVID-19 patients.

a plumber’s plight

Written by Halie Steward Photo by Lucas Warner

“when a door closes

After a few minutes of waiting, Kai Zito joins the Zoom call I’ve invited him to. He’s never used the app before and can’t figure out how to turn on his microphone, or his audio. He waves and mouths hello to me, a big smile on his face despite the circumstances. He’s been quarantined in his apartment for over a week and is now unemployed, but that hasn’t affected his positive attitude.

Like millions of Americans, 22-yearold Zito was recently laid off as an indirect result of the COVID-19 pandemic.

I first started following Zito in early February; he had been a drain technician at Roto-Rooter, a Eugene-based plumbing service, and had no desire to change that.

Once the pandemic hit, his plans came to a screeching halt and he had to reassess.

This isn’t the first time Zito has had to make a life-changing decision quickly. Being a drain technician wasn’t his original plan—he used to be a student at the University of Oregon studying communication disorders and sciences.

In 2016, just as he was preparing to start his second year at the UO, Zito learned that his full-ride scholarship had unexpectedly been revoked. He filed an appeal and failed, leaving him without any financial support for the upcoming year.

“It felt like nothing was going my way,” Zito says.

Zito stepped back and reconsidered his plan for life, ultimately deciding college wasn’t for him. His father suggested a career in the trades, so he embarked on a new path at Roto-Rooter, where he spent about a year and a half working. He found a career he loved and had no plans on changing it. But the decision wasn’t his to make.

Three weeks into March, Zito got a call from his manager telling him to take the week off and to come in that Friday for a meeting. He knew what that meant; the company had already cut his hours from

full time to part time, laid off all apprentices and people in training, and laid off an office employee.

“Work had slowed down, and people were getting nervous about having us go in and out of their houses,” Zito says. “I guess it was my time.” He was the next newest person at Roto-Rooter.

Across the nation, businesses in every state are facing layoffs, just like Roto-Rooter. Unemployment in the month of February was 3.5%; at this moment it is almost 15%, with people panicking to find their next jobs.

Since being laid off, Zito says he’s been going “stir crazy.” He’s gone from working up to 60 hours a week (with only 60 days off the entire year) to nothing. He’s been spending his time filling out job applications, filing for unemployment, and applying for the Oregon Health Plan.

He does find enjoyment in his days, hiking, going on drives around Eugene, and shooting with his friends.

“When you’re busting your ass every day for 20 days in a row, having free time is kind of nice,” Zito says.

He’s also been binge-watching a show called Hart of Dixie—he spent about 10 minutes explaining the plot to me in depth after I told him I had never seen it.

Three years ago, Zito was a college student planning on getting his masters degree. Three weeks ago he was a drain technician who loved his job. Now, he’s getting ready for another big transition.

In terms of the future, Zito plans to move to Tennessee with his family and join the Army Corps of Engineers or become a police cadet, starting a new chapter different from anything he’s done before.

Although he’s unemployed, Zito is hopeful for the future.

“Being laid off kind of sucks, but as my mom always says, ‘When a door closes, a window opens.’”

”

another

brotherhood

Written by Camryn Privette Photo by Kezia Setyawan

Niles Burton is used to cooking for big crowds. For the last 15 years, Burton worked as an in-house cook, whipping up meals for members of various fraternities and sororities at the University of Oregon. Most recently he’d been the head chef at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house, which closed its doors after the university’s decision to hold classes remotely for the spring term because of COVID-19.

Suddenly out of a job, Burton started cooking for a different crowd—Eugene’s homeless community.

While he still had to face the challenges of sudden unemployment himself, Burton turned to look at the people in his local community who are less fortunate. “I had to do something to help. I can rationalize it at other times, but I can’t rationalize not helping now,” says Burton.

This wasn’t Burton’s first time contributing his cooking skills to philanthropy, however. He used to do weekly shifts at Eugene’s First Christian Church, where he made hundreds of tuna or peanut butter sandwiches to be dropped off at various food banks in the community.

While Burton has still been following the six-foot social distancing measure during his volunteering shifts, he isn’t the least concerned about contracting the virus.

“If I get sick, I get sick. I’m not an overly courageous person, but you have to show some courage at times. If you’re worried about protecting yourself your whole life in every moment, what does that say about your humanity?”

For Burton, many aspects of life during the COVID-19 pandemic remain uncertain. One thing is clear, however: this is time he must dedicate to making meals for those in need.

“For however long we’re in this tough position and it’s possible for me to volunteer, I’ll continue to do my part.”

“

You have to show some courage at times.

COVID-19

is caused by a coronavirus called SARS-CoV-2. Older adults and people who have severe underlying medical conditions like heart or lung disease or diabetes seem to be at higher risk for developing more serious complications from the COVID-19 illness, according to the CDC.

$6

TRILLION

of government spending in United States alone has gone towards stimulating the economy in response to the coronavirus as of April 2020, with the number growing every day.

ASSURANCE

Written by Lauryn Pan

2020 new unemployment claims by week

Typically a maker of liquor, Thinking Tree Spirits has repurposed its business to make hand sanitizer to meet local demand.

The sound of phones ringing off the hook echoes throughout Ryan Hoffstot’s empty Farmers Insurance office in Creswell, Oregon. As the only employee at the office since Oregon Governor Kate Brown’s stay-at-home order began, he’s the one who must pick up the phone time and time again—something he doesn’t particularly enjoy. It could simply be a friend. Or, as it’s been more recently, it could also be a desperate client begging for advice on how to save their business.

Many of his small family business clients have had to shut their doors, but not without Hoffstot spending hours on the phone with them counseling them through this hard time.

“It’s taken an emotional toll on me,” says Hoffstot. “I connect with my clients on more than just selling insurance. It’s that kind of relationship. It’s a friendship.”

After weeks of scrambling to help his clients, that emotional toll started to seriously overwhelm him.

“After hearing the stress and pain in their voices, I have to take 20-30 minutes at the end of the day to collect myself and put a happy face on before coming home to my family,” says Hoffstot.

In a moment of clarity, however, Hoffstot decided that he wasn’t going to let the negative aspects of his job during this time stop him from aiding his community. Many of Hoffstot’s clientele are local restaurant owners, so he knows that they need his support as not only an insurance agent but as a customer. Wanting to also give back to first responders, Hoffstot bought food from various different local restaurants and even supplied them with lunch.

He went to Mandy’s and Chicken Bone for Station 1 Firefighters and the Eugene Police Department and Kona Cafe for a small clinic in Creswell.

“I am trying to help people in their everyday life instead of trying to sell insurance now,” says Hoffstot. “Some things are more important than money.”

lifting spirits

Written by Lena Felt Photo by Lucas Warner

Almost every day in April, a long line of cars and bicyclists formed in front of Thinking Tree Spirits, a local distillery in Eugene. But the drivers and riders weren’t there for the usual order of gin, rum, or vodka. Instead, they came for one highly sought-after product: hand sanitizer.

Upon COVID-19’s arrival to the United States, hand sanitizer quickly became one of the most difficult-to-find goods in grocery stores due to an increased need for household germ-killing products. Emily Jensen, owner and co-founder of Thinking Tree Spirits, quickly realized that her business produces one of the key ingredients in hand-sanitizer: ethanol.

Alcohol production would no longer be Thinking Tree’s focus. Jensen’s business had a moral responsibility, she says.

“This is like having an injured person in the back of your car and not speeding to

the hospital,” says Jensen. “We’re sitting on ethanol to make hand sanitizer with and we’re not going to do it? Come on, that would just be wrong.”

In the course of just 30 days, the distillery became fully dedicated to creating pharmaceutical-grade hand sanitizer. Jensen says her business is prioritizing getting the product in the hands of those who need it most, including the city of Eugene’s fire department, police department, healthcare providers, and local business owners.

“The response has been massive, absolutely massive,” says Jensen. “I’ve been really impressed with the community support and the organizing from up top all the way down to everybody in our neighborhood.”

During this time, Jensen and her team are working double-time to sustain the new supply chain. Jensen receives hundreds of calls a day from businesses

around Oregon wanting to place bulk orders for their stores.

Jensen says her team is working with Oregon Health Authority to supply bulk orders at $24 a gallon to the state of Oregon to help get it out across the state as quickly as possible.

“This is, I believe, an opportunity for us to take note of how we can care for one another and slow down and show up for each other in a whole new way,” says Jensen. “I genuinely believe that this unites us in humanity.”

Jensen reads up to 50 emails a day from front-line workers thanking her for making their jobs safer.

“I feel really blessed and lucky that we get that feedback right now and that we can actually participate in the solution instead of just being mad or frustrated or broken and in grief,” says Jensen. “We’re so, so lucky.”

UO senior Jonathan Roensch celebrates his 22nd birthday in the time of COVID-19. The cake, he says, does not fill the void left by the absence of his closest friends and family. Photo by Julian Croman

Revs. Peter Do and Garry Cappleman taped photos of parishioners to chairs to while broadcasting weekly mass from the St. Thomas More Catholic Newman Center in Eugene. Photo by Julian Croman

Digital signs such as this one on I-5 N toward downtown Portland have been reminding drivers of the stay-at-home order issued by Gov. Kate Brown. Photo by Shyann Montgomery

Clockwise from right:

The Fourth Street Bridge in downtown Los Angeles sits empty during rush hour on April 5, 2020. Photo by Delaney Young

of some of the most talented journalists at the SOJC to continue the legacy of the award-winning FLUX Magazine.

We’re looking for editors, designers, writers, photographers, illustrators, podcasters, multimedia producers and more.

religious recession

Gen Z-ers are choosing a path that differs from older generations’ strongly held religious beliefs. Starting with Generation X (1965-1980), there has been a substantial and continuous drop among those who identify as religiously affiliated—and large religious institutions may be starting to feel the impact.

Over one third of Generation Z (19962012) identifies as religiously unaffiliated; by comparison, only 17% of Baby Boomers (1946-1964) and 11% of the Silent Generation (1928-1945) identify that way. What once was a staple of most households is starting to disappear from mainstream and everyday life.

A couple factors have contributed to this generational trend; let’s break them down. According to the American Enterprise Institute, while 65% of the public agrees that raising children with religion is important for learning good values, the majority of young adults (54%) disagree. Additionally, among young adults who were raised in a religious household, 24% are now unaffiliated entirely.

According to the Pew Research Center, the majority of both Millennials and Generation Z are more likely to have a positive view of interracial and same-sex marriage than previous generations. As our communities expand and people embrace new societal norms, younger generations are more likely to reject institutions rooted in traditions that don’t make room for everyone.

In addition, recent scandals, such as the allegations of sexual abuse in the Catholic Church, have made people—young and old—question the trust and integrity of religious leaders.

So, if Generation Z is the least religious generation yet, how will religious groups sustain themselves long term? FLUX spoke with members of different religious communities to discuss just that.

Kevin Ward, a Catholic missionary for the St. Thomas More Newman Center, serves the University of Oregon campus. Through FOCUS, or the Fellowship of Catholic University Students, he works on outreach and programming within the campus community. Sara Mohamed is the Sister Coordinator for the Muslim Student Association at the UO. She organizes outreach and events, such as tabling for World Hijab Day and discussions on topics like women in Islam. Rabbi Berel Gurevitch of the Chabad Jewish Center of Eugene primarily serves the campus community, often hosting Friday night dinners for students and religious holiday events throughout the year.

Because of each of their connections to the campus community, which is predominantly made up of Generation Z, these leaders sit at the intersection between religious life and the generation that seems to be rejecting it. We discussed the impact they’re seeing on their communities, if they think younger generations are less involved, and what they imagine the future will be like if the trends continue.

Written by Emily Scarvie Photos by Shyann Montgomery and Julian Croman

Generation Z is the least religious generation to date, causing spiritual communities to rethink how they move forward.

catholic missionary KEVIN WARD

Why do you think that Generation Z is less involved in organized religion than older generations?

“I really do believe that young people haven’t started caring less; they’ve just kind of fallen asleep to the fact that they care. Maybe institutions have let them down, so it’s easier to just say they don’t care. I really do think the largest religion in the world right now is ‘I don’t care.’ You put your faith in these presidential candidates or political parties and they let you down, or try to put your faith in God and church leaders do terrible things. I think it definitely hardens the heart and causes people to think ‘Why should I care so much if I’m only going to get hurt by these people? ’”

What is the response you typically see from Generation Zers (either on or off the UO campus)?

“The outreach on campus can be kind of cold, and you know, we’re not trying to trick anybody. But when they hear we’re missionaries, that seems to come with connotations of ‘Oh, this person just wants me to join their religion.’ A lot of what we learn as missionaries, and that I believe to be true, is that we have to earn the right to be heard, and that’s just not something you can really do by just being out on campus and preaching about your faith. It’s not on me to try to twist them into conversation or twist them into learning my perspective. I’ve found that honest conversations with people, whether it be on campus or through connections in the church, are more effective.”

GOING TO HAVE A PLACE.”

What do you think is the future of organized religion in the era of weakening religious affiliations?

“I think it has a bright and shining future, I really do. I feel like it’s here to stay. I’m not sure what it’s going to look like in America specifically, but you see the Catholic Church exploding in a place like Africa; it’s huge. The Catholic Church is dying in Europe where the Vatican is, where the Pope is, where these huge churches have been erected for God find themselves. I can’t say for all religions, but I think religion itself is always going to have a place. I don’t think you can stamp it out, because as long as people are asking ‘Who is God?’ and ‘Who am I?’ religion at least tries to tackle those questions, regardless of how well they do or don’t do it.”

“RELIGION ITSELF IS ALWAYS

rotanidrooC AS R A MOHAMED

Why do you think that Generation Z is less involved in organized religion than older generations?

“I think as we grow up everyone finds their own way to distract themselves I think religion has become more like reading; libraries now are less occupied by young people and more occupied by the elderly. So, I think religion is kind of the same. Elderly people are more interested in it. For most of our events on campus, older non-students show up. Elderly people aren’t interested in social media like we are, so they have more time to focus on themselves and read more; they grew up with that. Young people aren’t doing that because of social media and activities other than religion.”

What is the response that you typically see from Generation Zers (either on or off the UO campus)?

“

Many Christians come to our events, especially people who are not from the university, which is surprising because I thought more students would be interested in this. So far I’ve only witnessed one bad response from the community. Someone tweeted about an event we were holding on women in Islam, saying we couldn’t have the event and insulting our prophet. It was hurtful but made me even more enthusiastic about what I’m doing. It makes me want to teach other people and look for more ways to spread that information, so they know what’s the correct information and what’s wrong.”

What do you think is the future of organized religion in the era of weakening religious affiliations?

“ I think it will change at some point. I’ve seen people posting things about believing in God and believing in destiny. So, that kind of gives me hope that people will go back to reading more about religion and educating themselves. I think once they find their way to educating themselves, they’ll find a way to go back into religion, because it’s all connected.”

M S A

“I THOUGHT MORE STUDENTS WOULD BE INTERESTED.”

BEREL GUREVITCH rabbi

Why do you think that Generation Z is less involved in organized religion than older generations?

“I can only speak from my experience, and the people I’m in touch with are more involved than I thought, so I’m not finding that experience as much. I feel like when you do a survey, it’s a language game; it’s all about how the questions are asked. Do people believe in God? Well, no one wants to have a connection to a sad, static, boring religion. But when they’re exposed to a happy, lively, organic, true situation, it’s a whole different experience. Judaism believes that every person has a spark that wants to connect, and what I try to do on a daily basis is help people connect and uncover that spark and help them along in the process.”

What is the response you typically see from Generation Zers (either on or off the UO campus)?

“I’ve found that people are very interested, and as soon as they are exposed to a proper conversation and mature their understanding of what Judaism is and what religion is and what God is, many times people gravitate towards it and grab it; it’s very deep and it’s very real. The statistics seem high, but what I’ve found is that as soon as you are able to hear people out and have a conversation with them, and they hear something through it, it becomes a whole different experience. People grab it and they love it.”

What do you think is the future of organized religion in the era of weakening religious affiliations?

“Things are a lot better than it seems. We don’t base our mission statement on surveys or questions; we have a very true product. We bring it to people and it’s always successful, all around the world. It doesn’t change based on the city you’re in, the age you’re dealing with, or the culture they’re in. Judaism believes that every single action is extremely powerful and has eternal value and that’s what we try to help people with. There’s no finished product, we’re not trying to get anywhere; every day we’re just trying to serve God and be the best person possible. It could get depressing if I spent my time looking at surveys, but it’s not as bad as surveys make it out to be.”

“EVERY DAY WE’RE JUST TRYING TO SERVE GOD AND BE THE BEST PERSON POSSIBLE.”

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hope vision of

Faced with impending blindness due to a rare, genetic eye disease, Willem

Griffiths works against the clock to find his cure.

Written by Emily Scarvie and Lauryn Pan

Photos by Sarah Northrop

University of Oregon biology graduate Willem Griffiths holds up a small cut from a wafer, a semiconductive material used for manufacturing microchips. The chips are part of Griffiths’ work in a University of Oregon research project to develop a retinal eye implant that will restore vision loss— including his own.

Left to right: Griffiths stands outside Willamette Hall, home to the UO Physics Department and the Fractals Research Laboratory.

Griffiths’ vision loss occurs from the periphery inward, leaving him in what he describes as a constant state of tunnel vision. “That’s the beautiful thing,” Griffiths says about his research. He’s able to focus on the task that’s right in front of him.

as he sat at his desk in Willamette Hall, Willem Griffiths began to sweat. It was fall of 2017 and he was in his first general physics course; he sat among over 200 other wide-eyed students likely dealing with similar first-day anxieties. The room quickly hushed as a man with long, curly grey hair appeared and prepared to introduce himself. It was Richard Taylor, the head of the University of Oregon’s physics department.

Taylor, who grew up in England and who has been teaching at the university since 1999, began explaining his background, his British accent still apparent. He talked about his various research projects, including his research in nanoscience and visual art, specifically that of Jackson Pollock. But one project in particular stood out to Griffiths. It was about Taylor’s work in leading a research team to develop a retinal eye implant that actually restored vision loss.

After the class ended, Griffiths eagerly walked up to the front of the room to have a word with the man he’d heard speak only minutes earlier. The project that Taylor had just described served as a potential

cure for a disease Griffiths has lived with his entire life—one that could leave him completely blind. Griffiths has Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), a rare genetic eye disease that causes gradual vision loss and eventually leads to blindness.

“When I was first diagnosed at age 3, they didn’t know if I would be blind in a year or if I’d have some of my vision for my entire life,” Griffiths, now 24, says.

Looking at Griffiths, the disease isn’t obvious. The glasses he wears, thin black frames, look like the standard you’d see people with common visual impairments wearing. While the disease is genetic, neither of his parents have RP, but both he and his younger sister, Marley, were diagnosed at a young age. The disease begins in the outer corner of the eye, diminishing one’s peripheral vision over time and eventually causing blindness. There is no cure. Griffiths lives with this reality of his future every day. His introduction to Richard Taylor’s research into retinal eye implants made him realize he could be a part of finding his own cure.

“If Taylor hadn’t presented his research at the beginning of class I would’ve never known that opportunity was available here,” Griffiths says.

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hile Griffiths has always lived with the inevitability that comes with his disease, it never stopped him from dreaming about his future. As a child, growing up in Utah, he wanted to be a professional soccer player, a professional skier, and a botanist. But as he grew older, his interests shifted more in the direction of science—specifically, biology. When he first came to the University of Oregon, he joined biology professor Monte Westerfield’s lab studying Usher Syndrome, the leading cause of combined deafness and blindness. RP is what causes the blindness in people with this condition. The lab exposure allowed him, for the first time, to research his own disease through the lens of Usher Syndrome. He graduated with a degree in biology in 2018 and is set to be-

gin his Ph.D. program this year. Learning of Taylor’s project is one factor that influenced this trajectory.

According to Taylor, once humans reach age 65, there’s a 25% chance they’ll naturally lose some or all of their vision over time. For people with RP, one of the only eye implants available is Argus II, and this is normally used for late-stage patients. This implant is surgically put in the eye, and the person must then wear glasses with a camera that sends video signals to the implant. Rather than restoring the person’s vision, the glasses supplement it with video input.

Taylor’s research project, however, aims to create an eye implant that restores the subject’s natural vision rather than supplementing it with images. The goal is also to create an implant that acts as a natural extension of the body, that the cells in the eye will interact with and attach to.

“For most of the implants, the body doesn’t respond well when you insert them in the eye, and they trigger these immune responses and reject the devices,” Taylor says. “We’re turning it completely around, so we’re fooling all of these cells into thinking our electronics are fellow cells, so not only do our devices not get rejected, but the cells actually want to come and interact.”

Griffiths’ initial interest in the project has evolved into his current role as part of the research team. In the lab, Griffiths constructs the electrodes on the implants; these electrodes are conductors through which electricity can enter and leave the eye, allowing the person to receive visual feedback. He then lowers the implant into a culture of cells in a petri dish, examines them under a microscope, and uses radiation to analyze how the cells interact with the device.

the implants themselves will be a couple millimeters, but on them there are many electrodes, so when he’s making these electrodes, they’re well over a million times smaller than a meter,” Taylor says. “These things are all incredibly intricate.”

The project is currently in the in-vitro phase, meaning it’s still being tested in a controlled environment. However, talks of in-vivo work, or putting the implant in a human eye, in collaboration with Oregon Health and Science University, have taken place. There’s a lot of trial and error; before the team can put the device into a human eye, they have to be absolutely sure the body won’t reject it. According to Taylor, even if the project continues to be well-funded, the implant won’t be put in a human eye for 5-10 years.

This means more waiting for Griffiths, whose eyesight continues to deteriorate every day. Because of

the intricacies of the lab work, he worries he may not be able to continue as his eyesight fades. Based on the tunnel vision he’s already experiencing; he may not be able to complete the complex research. This stake in the project is what motivates him to continue pushing the work in the direction it’s going.

“If you’re passionately involved in it, it becomes a lot easier, and for me personally, certainly at times when I’m thinking about why the project is so difficult, I just have to look at Willem and I think, ‘Oh, well, the reason why it’s difficult is because we’re doing this amazing thing, we’re trying to figure out how to restore vision for somebody.’ And nobody expects that to be a trivial weekend project,” Taylor says.

Despite the unpredictability of when the project will be finalized, Griffiths continues to lead an active lifestyle— one that includes skiing, camping, cycling, and the occasional tripping over a wet floor sign, he often jokes.

Left: Griffiths demonstrates the different components to his research in the lab, including cutting microchips and examining how they will interact with biological tissue. The main goal is to ensure that the implant will be accepted by the body and work cooperatively with the body.

Below: Griffiths constructs electrodes on the implants, which are conductors for electricity to pass to and from an eye, turning external stimuli into visual feedback.

riffiths spends many winter weekends at Mount Bachelor, skiing various runs with his friends and doing the occasional freestyle aerial, something you might not expect given his visual limitations. But every year, in the spring, Griffiths’ father, John, comes out from Utah to join his son and his friends for the closing weekend.

For Griffiths, the morning is the perfect time to ski, as it provides bright light that reflects off the snow. This means they’re often heading up the mountain early.

“I used to ski race growing up and then went into freestyle aerials, but because of my eye condition I always had trouble spotting the landing,” Griffiths says. “It’s funny because with skiing you need a lot of visual input, especially when getting in the air, but I think I’ve found ways to figure it out for now.”

Skiing and being outdoors have long been something Griffiths values. As a child, he often went camping with his parents and Marley in southern Utah. It’s special moments like these that make him worry about what his future may hold.

“Having the world be dark all the time and not being able to see or appreciate the things I do right now, or not having the capacity to achieve all the things I’m passionate about right now, is the scariest thing,” Griffiths says. “I don’t know anybody who wouldn’t be afraid of going blind.”

Growing up, Griffiths always had his sister to count on for support. Whether it be missing someone’s handshake in a professional setting or having to talk down an annoyed bystander he’s accidentally bumped into, he’s has had to deal with more than just tripping over wet floor

signs. The struggles he faces are things Marley also deals with and understands.

“We really have this deep bond because we’re similar people and we both have this condition,” Marley, 22, says. “We’re the only ones who understand what we go through.”

This bond has helped Willem and Marley stay positive in times of doubt. Along with the support of friends, they remind each other that they can laugh at themselves.

“I love hearing silly, or what others perceive as silly, stories about what happens to my sister when she goes out and about and she can’t see,” Griffiths says. “It makes me feel better that someone is experiencing the same thing too.”

He also realizes that the research he’s doing is not only imperative for his future, but for his sister and others with the disease. This makes it that much more important to him, and the team working on the project. To have a member of the team with such a personal stake in the research is a constant reminder that the work they are doing is vital. How and when the project is finished will likely determine the fate of his eyesight.

“He reminds me why we’re doing this all along, so he serves that sort of purpose as well. He’s just a very inspiring and energetic person to have around,” Taylor says. “I consider myself very lucky that I’ve bumped into him.”

In the meantime, Griffiths continues to pursue this potential cure, both for himself and anyone else with visual impairments. He continues to live his life the way he always has, and he’s never been one to let the disease hold him back.

“Although I am faced with this fate, I’m not always behaving accordingly,” Griffiths says. “If it’s not in my control, why should I be letting it control me.”

Though it’s not certain when Griffiths’ eyesight will fully deteriorate, he leads an active life. When not in the lab, he enjoys cycling and skiing, which have become second nature despite his visual limitations.

although I am faced with this fate, I'm not always behaving accordingly.

Wil Kiplinger’s bobber floats down the Willamette River in the middle of what turned out to be an unsuccessful day on the water. Days like these have grown more and more common, but Kiplinger does his best to keep a positive attitude.

BATTLE UPSTREAM an

As native Pacific Northwest fish populations continue to decline, indigenous peoples, recreational anglers and consumers are running out of ways to stay afloat.

Written by Lena Felt Photo by Kezia Setyawan

in anticipation of the freezing temperatures outside, Wil Kiplinger tugs a fourth layer over his head. He lifts the straps of his waders onto each shoulder and steps out of his truck and into the dark. The sound of the Siletz River fills the air; it’s still a bit murky and swollen from the recent rainstorm. Kiplinger works quickly to detach his fishing boat from its trailer and get it on the water—the sooner he casts a line, the more likely he is to catch a fish.

Kiplinger, 23, is a commercial fishing guide and owner of Smoke on the Water Guide Services in Eugene, Oregon. Like many in his profession, Kiplinger aims to ensure his clients have a successful day on the water. His diligent preparation means little, however, if there simply aren’t enough fish to catch.

Thousands of people living in the Pacific Northwest face a potential loss of a primary source of food and income as populations of native fish continue to decline.

According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), more than half of all Pacific salmon and steelhead trout remaining on the west coast of the U.S. are facing the threat of extinction.

“It’s getting tougher because there are less fish recently, which means more restrictions and regulation,” says Kiplinger.

These regulations are meant to preserve the fish. As a fishing guide, however, Kiplinger finds it increasingly more difficult to keep his business afloat.

“It’s a very uncertain future for sure. I’m not sure what I will and will not be able to fish,” says Kiplinger.

It’s not just those in the fishing industry taking a hit: the declining salmon population also seriously affects Northwest coast indigneous peoples. Salmon are essential to many local native cultures, as the fish have helped to sustain both people’s diets and the economy for hundreds of years.

“They had, and still do have, amazing cultural, emotional and spiritual importance for tribal members,” says Alex Gonyaw, 43, a senior fisheries biologist for the Klamath Tribes in Klamath Falls. Gonyaw has dedicated his life to environmental management and fish restoration. His passion began at a young age.

“I spent every waking hour when I was a kid fishing or out in the woods,” says Gonyaw.

This inspired him to pursue a Ph.D. in fisheries biology at Oregon State University, which he received in 1999. It is now his life goal to save these fish from going extinct— an enormous undertaking considering the many factors that influence their health. Most of these factors can be encapsulated in two words: habitat loss.

“Climate change is particularly troublesome because everything in the natural world is influenced by temperature,” says Gonyaw. “A one degree Celsius change in temperature has an enormous impact from a biological perspective. It’s one of those forces that cascades through

the entire ecosystem and affects every single living thing.”

Due to human development and rising water temperatures, it’s not just salmon that are dying; it’s their entire ecosystem.

“It would be a travesty for these species that have existed here for millions, if not tens of millions of years, to disappear in a hundred years because of human apathy,” says Gonyaw. “That should be unacceptable in this day and age, that we would let this kind of thing happen. There is an ethical and moral imperative that we do something.”

There are people in the industry, however, taking matters of change into their own hands.

Alex Worth, an avid 26-year-old fly fisherman, is acutely aware of the declining fish populations and decided to do something by taking a more sustainable approach to his hobby. He exercises “catch and release” fishing—a conservation practice intended to curb overfishing by releasing any caught wild fish back into the water without inflicting unnecessary harm. There wasn’t a specific experience that sparked Worth to make this change. Rather it was a gradual understanding that he wanted this resource to last.

“The main thing about catch and release is I want to conserve the resource for future generations and for future anglers,” says Worth. “There’s nothing more satisfying than handling a fish in a way that doesn’t harm the fish at all and then going back a year later and catching the exact same fish the exact same way, knowing you had no impact on the environment but you got that connection.”

For Worth and Kiplinger, their passion for fishing extends beyond the harvest. It’s about spending time in nature and enjoying the tranquility.

“As long as I’m allowed to go float down the river in a boat I’m gonna make a good day of it,” says Kiplinger.

Still, Kiplinger acknowledges that his industry is starting to struggle. Usually, he spends his summers on the Nushagak River in Alaska—times that are often his most productive trips of the year. Last summer, however, he was sorely disappointed.

“It was the worst season on that river ever, as far as total fish runs,” says Kiplinger. “There were 38,000 salmon last year and on average there are 100,000 total.”

Despite the low run, there wasn’t a single day where he didn’t catch a few salmon. But rather than catching 30 to 100 salmon a day he was catching one to 10.

“I think that I can always get enough work to at least live for myself. It’s just I can’t ever turn down work,” says Kiplinger.

After six hours on the Siletz River and countless false alarm tugs of the fishing rod, Kiplinger decides to finally call it quits for the day. “I’ve had so many good days in a row,” he says. “I was bound to have an off day.”

Those good days he looks forward to from the moment he wakes up are becoming more and more scarce, but Kiplinger does his best to keep a smile on his face.

art in

Alternative fashion enthusiast Mitra Gruwell designs trendy clothes with the environment as her first priority, doing what most major fashion brands refuse to do.

Written by Lauryn Pan Photos by Elle Wayt

Surrounded by barrels of fabric and shelves of sewing materials, Mitra Gruwell works through a seemingly endless pile of flannels on her workbench. The click-clacking of her platform Doc Martens echoes through her studio as she floats about, piecing together her next seasonal collection release.

To the untrained eye, these flannels have filled their purpose and are ready to be thrown away. Gruwell, however, hopes to give them new life.

In a time when the issue of textile wastage has been plaguing the fashion industry, Gruwell, 44, a designer and ethical fashion advocate, is committed to being part of the solution. For years, Gruwell has run multiple brands focused on using discarded clothes, extending their lifecycle and helping make the fashion industry more circular by using existing resources. Her brands mix repurposing and fashion, and the result is clothes that are unique, affordable, and eco-friendly. She takes on the wasteful world of clothes by embracing the art of upcycling—a movement that involves creating something new and of better value from existing materials.

It’s different from recycling, she says.

“Recycling means breaking something down and making it into something new, but upcycling is focused on adding value to the item through transformation, using innovation and creativity to make it into something better,” Gruwell says. “It’s like reincarnation; it gets a second chance.”

Based in Eugene, Oregon, Gruwell is currently the lead designer and manager of the ENVIA upcycled fashion brand—a project of St. Vincent de Paul Society of Lane County. The thrift store nonprofit—commonly called St. Vinny’s—reached out to Gruwell in 2013 to do something new with its unsellable clothing donations. With mountains of fabric and used textiles at her fingertips, Gruwell put her artistic talents to work. Her innovative designs, such as using recycled leather from old cowboy boots to make coin purses or sewing fabric scraps into cloth statement earrings, have been featured nationwide.

“I have always been an extremely alternative fashion person, so I don’t believe in a classic style,” Gruwell says. “I think there needs to be new and fresh stuff, but it can be made from stuff that already exists.”

Mitra Gruwell is a second-generation seamstress, upcycled fashion designer from Eugene, Oregon, and has partnered with local businesses to create eco-friendly brands for nearly 15 years.

While perhaps a bit intimidating to others, Gruwell’s cluttered workspace is a staple of her creative process in deconstructing and transforming old pieces, she says.

St. Vincent de Paul of Lane County established a partnership with Gruwell to provide all the necessary materials for her to revitalize the organization’s donated textiles.

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According to a 2020 study by the United Nations Regional Forum on Sustainable Development, the fashion industry produces 10% of all of humanity’s carbon emissions and is the second-largest consumer of all the world’s water supply. Of all the plastic in the ocean, 31% is made of microplastics that break off from textiles when they are washed. On top of that 85% of textiles go into landfills each year. These statistics are the result of the rapid mass production of fast fashion brands.

“ENVIA represents a change that society needs to make for the sake of the environment,” Gruwell says. “We need alternatives to fast fashion. We need to make upcycling affordable and successful. This is what drove me to put my time and effort into ENVIA, not merely what I could do but how I can make the most out of this opportunity to have an impact on the environment.”

While her position with St. Vinny’s was placed on hold amid the COVID-19 crisis, Gruwell recently launched a new initiative called Discard Upcycling that offers upcycling services to both business and individuals. Through Discard, Gruwell hopes to show consumers and businesses the potential of their unusable materials to be redesigned into “new desirable products.”

Before getting to a circular economy— an economic system aimed at eliminating waste and the continual use of resources—Gruwell sees the importance of prioritizing putting a few “loop-de-loops in our economy,” she says. “Basically, take the things we already have and give them a couple of extra lifetimes.”

So that’s what she does, often using a customized styling technique she calls concept design where she takes clothes that are the same type of item and alters them. For example, she might turn vintage band t-shirts into crop tops or ombre bleach a bunch of button-down shirts to make the items look like a more cohesive collection.

Her commitment to eco-friendly choices is displayed throughout her life.

“I adhere as much as I can to the old ‘reduce, reuse, recycle’ phrase,” she says.

In addition to being an avid thrift shopper and making her own clothing and jewelry, Gruwell carries chopsticks in her purse to avoid using plastic cutlery and uses her own cups when eating out. She uses shower caps instead of plastic wrap on leftovers, saves all plastic containers and recycles cans and bottles.

“I don’t shame or preach to people about their habits,” she says. “I try to live by example and push myself to make changes one at a time that have a big impact on the environment. If people care about the environment, it’s a realistic strategy to start working on your personal habits, eliminating and replacing little things as people are able and can afford to do. It’s attainable to take baby-steps in our lives to adapt a new green habit every month or year or whatever sticks.”

Originally from Boulder, Colorado, Gruwell was taught at a young age by her parents to create and repurpose clothing from local thrift stores, as they often could not afford to repeatedly buy new clothing. For years, she followed in the footsteps of her father who sells repurposed goods at local flea markets.

In 1999, Gruwell first put the skills she’d learned to the test when she started planning her own Renaissance-themed wedding.

“I made all the costumes by going to thrift stores,” she says. “I bought Catholic girl skirts and turned them into kilts and bought women blouses and made them into lace-up shirts.”

Bethany Cartledge, a co-worker at ENVIA and friend of Gruwell, says that Gruwell has not only impressed her with her design skills, but has also broadened her perspective on what is and isn’t waste.

“[She] has a unique way of looking at the world around her, which has made her fit so

“It’s like reincarnation; it gets a chance.”

perfectly within St. Vincent de Paul’s culture of reclamation,” Cartledge says.

In addition to running ENVIA through St. Vinny’s, Gruwell also holds workshops around Eugene, including on the University of Oregon campus. These workshops show people creative ways to repurpose or restyle their clothing. Past workshops showed people how to turn simple t-shirts into gameday outfits and how to make earrings out of found objects, like records.

“It’s been encouraging to see how she is able to engage community members surrounding reuse and upcycling,” says Cartledge.

While the trend of eco-friendly products has certainly become more common, Gruwell says there’s still so much more people can do to minimize their impact on climate change. She says her mission is not to change the fast fashion companies, such as Forever 21, Gap Inc. and H&M, but to decrease the demand for them.

She wants to help change the way consumers shop and encourage responsible shopping habits, which sometimes means being willing to spend more on the product. Typically upcycled brands are more expensive than shopping at typical fast-fashion outlets because the labor involved in manufacturing the items is more time-consuming.

“What drives people is what they want, and what they want is cool, cheap and convenient stuff,” Gruwell says. “We, the fashion industry, have to meet that demand, but we need to get creative on how to do it, so as not to compound environmental damage in doing so.”

To see real change in fighting fast fashion, Gruwell says, there must be compromise from both the consumer and the industry of fashion.

“We keep asking the consumer to buy eco-friendly brands but oftentimes those brands are significantly more expensive than what they’ve been trained culturally to want,” she says. “They’re still in the mindset of fast-fashion. They’re looking for great style at really affordable prices.”

The reality, Gruwell says, is that many consumers may say they want to have an eco-friendly home or closet, but study after study shows their priorities as a consumer are cost and aesthetic. And people mostly shop in private so while their heart of hearts scream they want to make a difference, their habits or choices often say otherwise.

For example, ENVIA recently partnered with UO students for a marketing study. Hundreds of students were asked to rank elements of what is most motivating when they choose to shop somewhere. Style and affordability consistently came up as the factors that have the greatest influence on where students shop, above the fact that the company is environmentally friendly and supports social services.

“We have to be realistic and honest about what’s really motivating us as consumers,” she says, “and then we can work on something environmentally friendly and that supports both style and affordability.”

And what she hopes consumers will realize is that by their shopping habits, they’re “voting with their dollars.”

She also hopes people will be more mindful of how they discard old items they no longer want. She hopes her work will help destigmatize used clothes.

“Trade it in. Donate it. Transform it yourself. Try to give it another chance at existing before it goes to the waste stream,” she says.

In addition to her work in upcycling, Gruwell organizes an annual Earth Day Metamorphose, an upcycling fashion design contest, as well as does business workshops for The Arts and Business Alliance of Eugene.

“Many people feel powerless in the face of our current environmental situation. But we are not,” Gruwell says. “The mass consumer is the driver of both industry and government change. Your personal choices can bring about a greener future.”

Gruwell was particularly attached to this piece: a cornerstone of something special she’d been planning for a long time.

“I have to carry it around so I don’t lose it,” she says.

ASHES

By Julian Croman

In April 2019, film-maker Branson Laszlo lost his father, Winston Laszlo, to brain cancer. Laszlo had spent most of his father’s last year by his side in hospice, documenting the precious and final moments the two had together.

Before his father’s passing, Laszlo, a Harvard postgraduate fellow whose work lies at the crossroads of avant-garde and documentary, decided to create a film tribute to his father. He prepared to assemble a narrative across time, featuring moments recorded throughout his father’s life and his own life, as well as Laszlo’s ruminations of what lies ahead. When his father died, Laszlo inherited a 27-foot, 1989 Fleetwood Bounder Motorhome which had been his father’s home in Denver, Colorado. Laszlo decided to take the Bounder on one final journey before parting with it and invited me to come along as his yeoman. Yes, yeoman Croman. Laszlo’s mission was to lay his father to rest by spreading Winston’s ashes in familiar, cherished landscapes between Denver and Laszlo’s hometown of Wheeler, Oregon. The journey was one of adventure, reflection, and profound grief.

In a trial of perseverance, Laszlo overcame the Bounder’s numerous mechanical failures, moments of overwhelming heartache, and the weight of his uncertain future. These images encapsulate his struggle, emotion, and triumph on his journey to return his father and his beloved RV back home.

Captain Laszlo sits behind the wheel of his late father’s beloved RV driving down the road somewhere outside of Laramie, Wyoming.

Laszlo observes his fellow campers in Craters of the Moon National Monument, Idaho, while eating one of what he calls his ‘famous’ homemade breakfast sandwiches.

The Ship’s Log from Laszlo’s 2017 documentary film about his and his father’s expedition east to Colorado from Oregon, to settle Winston’s new mobile home in Denver.

Captain Laszlo studies the desolate landscape as the Bounder approaches Craters of the Moon National Monument, Idaho. This was Winston’s favorite stop on the route.

The journey was one of adventure, reflection, and profound grief.

Clockwise from top:

Clockwise from above:

The Bounder sits under the cover of a Circle K gas station after refusing to start. Fuel pump #1 was our home for the night.

The captain inspects a troubling leak coming from the Bounder’s water heater. We were stranded in Idaho Falls for two additional nights until the leak was fixed.

Laszlo lines up a shot out of the RV front window in preparation for the Bounder’s departure from Idaho Falls, Idaho.

Laszlo says a temporary goodbye to the Bounder as it is loaded onto a tow truck heading to a mechanic back in Denver.

Laszlo pauses to spread his father’s ashes in a familiar collapsed lava tunnel while hiking in Craters of the Moon National Monument.

Back in Oregon, Laszlo takes a moment to reflect on the journey and his return home after spending the previous year in Denver, with his father.

Laszlo sits after packing what he can of his father’s life in Denver. This was a difficult day.

Winston Laszlo sits unattended while his son, Branson, positions a shot with his Bolex camera.

Clockwise from top right:

“ These images encapsulate his struggle, emotion, and success on his journey to return his father and his beloved RV back home.”

Laszlo enters the Pacific Ocean to spread the final remains of his father in Manzanita, Oregon just ten minutes from his childhood home.

This issue of Flux Magazine is dedicated to all healthcare professionals and essential workers who serve on the frontlines during the COVID-19 pandemic. Thank you for your compassion, collaboration and courage. And thank you for being a light in this time of uncertainty.

An excerpt from Maya Angelou’s On the Pulse of Morning

Here on the pulse of this new day You may have the grace to look up and out And into your sister’s eyes, Into your brother’s face, your country And say simply Very simply With hope Good morning.