The Georgetown Voice, 10/25

Contents

October 25, 2019 Volume 52 | Issue 5

4

Celebrating 50 Years

editorials

Restore Neighborliness, Reorient SNAP Fix Trauma Center Disparity in D.C.

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carrying on

The Pride and Prejudice Toward Reading SAMANTHA TRITT

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12

Editor-In-Chief Sienna Brancato Managing Editor Noah Telerski news

feature

Marco Pavé, Georgetown’s First Hip-Hop Artist-InResidence: A Conversation on Rap, Social Justice, and SelfEmpowerment DARREN JIAN

A Georgetown Welcome RYAN REMMEL

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feature

13

Georgetown’s Senior Auditors Head Back to School

Actively Moving Forward Helps Connect Students Who Are Quietly Grieving

Hana Vu Plays the Starring Role in Double EP Nicole Kidman / Anne Hathaway

INÈS DE MIRANDA

SKYLER COFFEY AND ELI LEFCOWITZ

voices

↑

Drawing from Dad

leisure

14

leisure

CAM SMITH

8

cover story

Post Punk SIENNA BRANCATO

Lizz Pankova Leina Hsu Natalie Chaudhuri, Amanda Chu Inès de Miranda Sienna Brancato, Delaney Corcoran, Annemarie Cuccia, Lizz Pankova, Julia Pinney, Noah Telerski, Jack Townsend

leisure

11

OLIVIA MARTIN

Jack Townsend Katherine Randolph Rachel Cohen Annemarie Cuccia, Caroline Hamilton, Roman Peregrino

opinion

Executive Editor Voices Editor Assistant Voices Editor Editorial Board Chair Editorial Board

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feature

voices

Executive Editor Features Editor News Editor Assistant News Editors

“I kind of feel like we're not contributing anything. We're taking but we're not really giving. And maybe that's okay.”

Focus Cia de Dança Builds Surreal Moments in STILL REICH JULIANA VACCARO DE SOUZA

on the cover

Executive Editor Brynn Furey Leisure Editor Ryan Mazalatis Assistant Editors Emma Chuck, Anna Pogrebivsky, Juliana Vaccaro De Souza Halftime Editor Skyler Coffey Assistant Halftime Editors Teddy Carey, Samantha Tritt, John Woolley

sports

Executive Editor Sports Editor Assistant Editors Halftime Editor Assistant Halftime Editors

Aaron Wolf Will Shanahan Jake Gilstap, Tristan Lee Nathan Chen Ethan Cantrell, Josi Rosales

design

Jacob Bilich Delaney Corcoran, Olivia Stevens Egan Barnitt Timmy Adami, Josh Klein, Cade Shore Staff Designers Allison DeRose, Alex Giorno, Insha Momin, Cassi Sullivan

Executive Editor Spread Editors Cover Editor Assistant Design Editors

copy

Copy Chief Neha Wasil Assistant Copy Editors Maya Knepp, Sophie Stewart Editors Christopher Boose, Jennifer Kret, Stephanie Leow, Moira Phan, Madison Scully, Cindy Strizak, Maya Tenzer, Kristin Turner

multimedia

Executive Editor Podcast Editor Assistant Podcast Editor Photo Editor

Kayla Hewitt Panna Gattyan Peter Guthrie John Picker

online

Executive Editor Jake Glass Website Editor Cam Smith Social Media Editor Eli Lefcowitz

business

General Manager Maggie Grubert Assistant Manager of Leah Fawzi Accounts & Sales Assistant Manager of Alice Gao Alumni Outreach

PG. 10

support

Associate Editors Emily Jaster, Hannah Song Contributing Editors Dajour Evans, Damian Garcia, Julia Pinney, Katya Schwenk Staff Writers Nathan Barber, Maya Cassady, Lucy Cook, Jason Cuomo, Chetan Dokku, Steven Frost, Darren Jian, Steven Kingkiner, Ryan Remmel, Orly Salik, Anna Savo-Matthews, Sarah Watson, Abby Webster, Katie Woodhouse

The opinions expressed in The Georgetown Voice do not necessarily represent the views of the administration, faculty, or students of Georgetown University, unless specifically stated. Columns, advertisements, cartoons, and opinion pieces do not necessarily reflect the views of the Editorial Board or the General Board of The Georgetown Voice. The university subscribes to the principle of responsible freedom of expression of its student editors. All materials copyright The Georgetown Voice, unless otherwise indicated.

contact us

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photo courtesy of marco pavé; cover photos courtesy of tori swiacki and caroline corbett

THE GEORGETOWN VOICE

editor@georgetownvoice.com Leavey 424 Box 571066 Georgetown University 3700 O St. NW Washington, DC 20057

“Punked” EGAN BARNITT AND JACOB BILICH

An eclectic collection of jokes, puns, doodles, playlists, and news clips from the collective mind of the Voice staff.

→ → TIM AND LIV'S QUIZ

→ → GOSSIP RAT

Who is Haunting Your Room?

Gossip raT here, your one and only source into the paranormal and cult activity that goes on in this hellhole.

Tim and Liv are ~in tune~ with the paranormal, and lately we’ve been sensing strange activity on campus. As Halloween approaches, the chances of a ghost setting up shop in your Vil A grows (you knew it was a bad idea to break out that Ouija board last Tuesday). Read on to find out who’s haunting your dorm room. Happy spooky szn!

Not only is Georgetown a cesspool of wHite people from New JErsey, but, according to our sources, it’s also a hotbed for the unexplained. Last week, a group of students, who asked to be unnamed for their Own protection, ventured to the tunnels that connect Reiss to the old hospital. What was supposed to be a routine night of adventure quickly turned into one of horror. While exploring the tunnels, they came across a group of colorfully hooded figures holding giant crystals and muttering nonsense about an orB buried deep beneath the school. They claIm to have entered the tunnels around 11p.m., and were only inside for about 10 minuteS. But after they escaped, their phones showed three houRs had passed!? Our mole in the Stewards tells us that thEse figures are unrelated to their organization. Could this potentiAlly be a new secret society? Don’t fret, Gossip Rat will get to the bottom of this. UntiL then, stay trashy.

1. What are you dressing up as this year? a. Your GUSA senator b. LaCroix can c. Mac McClung d. Sexy rat 2. What’s your Hogwarts house? a. Gryffindor - College b. Hufflepuff - NHS c. Ravenclaw - SFS d. Slytherin - MSB 3. It’s 1692 Salem. Who are you accusing of being a witch? a. Your ex-boyfriend b. Pre-2010 Lindsay Lohan c. Your mom d. Vice President of Student Affairs Todd Olsen

4. Where are you hosting your seance? a. The observatory b. The tunnels c. Exorcist steps d. The Hoya’s office 5. What would you do if you saw a ghost? a. Befriend the ghost and have them spy on all your friends to gossip about later b. Call Chief of Police Jay Gruber c. If they’re cute, go on a date lol? I ain’t paying though! d. Literally ghosts don’t exist Check your results at the bottom of this page!

→ → LIV'S ANIMAL DOODLE

A Witch's Best Friend

xoxo, Gossip Rat gossip.rat20057@gmail.com

→ → AFTERNOON TEA REPORTS

If you don’t define the relationship before you go to Copenhagen, he’s gone sis ... and that’s the tea.

LISTEN TO THE AFTERNOON TEA PODCAST AT GEORGETOWNVOICE.COM

→ → SPORTS

Photo of the Week

→ → PLAYLIST

Halftime's Spoopy Playlist 1. Spooky, Scary Skeletons Andrew Gold 2. Monster Mash Bobby “Boris” Pickett and The Crypt-Kickers 3. Boo’d Up Ella Mai 4. Season of the Witch Donovan 5. Haunted Beyoncé 6. Superstition Stevie Wonder 7. Haunted House Florence + The Machine 8. This Is Halloween Cast of The Nightmare Before Christmas 9. Turn Off The Light (feat. Elvira, Mistress of the Dark) Kim Petras 10. Spooky, Scary Skeletons - Undead Tombstone Remix Andrew Gold

Achara celebrates his third goal in as many games after returning from injury for the #7 ranked Hoyas.

Mostly a’s: You always find new stains on your rug. Have no fear though, it’s just the OG Jack the Bulldog (he was never potty trained); Mostly b’s: Strange noises at night? Oh, that’s just Avril Lavigne doing her thing. You always knew she died in 2003. Mostly c’s: Has your roommate been acting strange? Well, looks like Pazuzu from The Exorcist decided to spend cuffing season all up in their body.

Good luck with that! Mostly d’s: Twist—you’re the ghost. You’ve been growing weaker and weaker from the black mold infestation that’s run rampant in your room. So when the rats came…

afternoon tea by egan barnitt; cat by olivia stevens; lacroix rats by timmy adami; soccer photo by john picker

Page 3

October 25, 2019

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EDITORIALS

Restore Neighborliness, Reorient SNAP

S

NAP stands for Student Neighborhood Assistance Program, but over the years, the acronym has turned into a verb with a less-than-positive connotation. To be “SNAPsed,” in Georgetown students’ vernacular, doesn’t mean to be assisted. It describes an unpleasant, frustrating, and often demeaning experience. The program’s goals are noble—It aims to foster safety, respect, and peace in a community with a broad range of residents. But by disincentivizing neighborly communication and unequally distributing the burden of conflict resolution, it has instead deepened the divide and tightened the strain between students and their non-student neighbors.

For many students, living in West Georgetown or Burleith is their first college experience in a non-university managed home, and it’s an opportunity to prepare for postgrad life. Relationships with neighbors are an important part of living in any community, and students should be able to have them here without the fear of being subjected to more scrutiny and punishment than the person who lives next door.

SNAP was created to protect students from crime and the consequences of D.C. law enforcement, but one of its purposes is to police students, and neighbors know this. SNAP in its current form would not exist without the pressure permanent neighborhood residents applied to the university when it was trying to get its 2010 campus plan approved. Neighbors can call and complain about student behavior whenever they want, whether it’s a disruptive party or three people watching TV that can be heard through a shared wall. There is no threshold for what warrants a response from SNAP, and there is no system to hold the callers accountable. Callers remain anonymous, and they do not have to engage in a conversation with the people they complained about.

Although anyone can call SNAP, all SNAP can do to a non-student resident is notify them of the complaint, allowing them to decide how to respond. Students, on the other hand, must kick all non-residents out of the house and follow the exact directions of SNAP—or risk fines, sanction hours, and other disciplinary action from the university. SNAP is obligated to log every call they receive about a student’s house, as well as their visits.

This system would make sense if every call made to SNAP was reporting a violation of the law, but this is not the case. Sometimes students do throw loud parties, but non-student residents call for reasons as trivial as house decorations they dislike or to preemptively warn about a party that hasn’t even happened yet. These calls reveal the ugly underlying power dynamic between students and other Georgetown residents. In a normal community, neighbors are expected to communicate with one another about their needs and frustrations. Face-to-face conversation fosters empathy and mutual respect, whereas SNAP creates bitterness and the sense that as a student, you do not deserve basic civility.

This is not to say that SNAP should be abolished. Its role as a buffer against the consequences of the D.C. legal system, were MPD to be called, is beneficial, and its ability to have eyes on the street and enhance the safety of the neighborhood is important. However, this editorial board believes that the role of SNAP as an intermediary between students and neighbors must be reformed to one with a more equitable distribution of accountability.

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THE GEORGETOWN VOICE

This shift in the SNAP system can be accomplished by raising the stakes for callers, as well as allowing for more case-by-case discretion in how to mitigate the situation when SNAP is called. People who call SNAP should be required to provide their name, and in the case of ongoing tensions, participate in a mediation process with their student neighbors. When the behavior being complained about falls within the parameters of D.C. law, SNAP should be able to mitigate with discretion. If their behavior is legal, students should have the freedom, just as other residents do, to respond to SNAP’s advice in whatever way they see fit.

In much more dangerous situations, such as reporting child abuse, anonymity policies ensure the safety of the caller, and even then they can have negative consequences when they’re made for misinformed or prejudiced reasons.

The stakes in SNAP calls are not nearly as high, which is all the more reason for introducing accountability. Knowing that your name is attached to a call and that you will have to engage in the situation after you make it can help prevent minor and unsubstantiated complaints. It also allows the Office of Neighborhood Life to keep a record of the people who call most often and use that knowledge in order to contextualize and handle cases properly. Most importantly, it encourages neighbors to approach one another about their woes before calling SNAP. The ultimate purpose of a program like SNAP is to relax the tensions between students and their neighbors while protecting students from interacting with MPD. But placating neighbors by punishing students is not the way to accomplish this goal. Fostering mutual respect and communication is. Students deserve to be treated with civility as much as permanent residents deserve to live peacefully. G

Fix Trauma Center Disparity in D.C.

I

f someone were to sustain a traumatic injury in D.C.’s Anacostia neighborhood, the ambulance ride to the nearest qualified hospital could take as long as 30 minutes.

That is because there are no trauma centers in Southeast D.C., despite the fact that rapid transport is essential to patients’ survival rate. This editorial board believes Southeast needs a trauma center. Neglecting to build one is irresponsible, reinforces economic and health coverage disparities, and actively contributes to the deaths of D.C. residents.

Southeast is a systematically underserved community, made up of predominantly low-income and black neighborhoods. It is considered a food desert because in Wards 7 and 8, both east of the Anacostia River, there are only three grocery stores serving 148,000 residents.

In comparison, Ward 3, a higher-income, majority-white area in Northwest, has nine grocery stores for its 83,000 residents. Southeast has also been designated a Health Professional Shortage Area because of its insufficient health care options—There aren’t enough providers and the ones available are not affordable.

The shortage of emergency medical services in Southeast parallels its food scarcity. Wards 7 and 8 are trauma deserts, meaning there are no nearby trauma centers or hospitals equipped to provide care for severe injuries such as gunshot wounds or car crash injuries.

design by delaney corcoran

Number of Homicides Since Jan. 1, 2019 by Ward

The need for them, however, is vital. At least 138 people have died by homicide in D.C. this year, and 86 of those victims were murdered in Wards 7 and 8. That means 62 percent of victims were from Anacostia, many of whom might have lived if they had been closer to a hospital that could properly treat their wounds.

Historically, there have been much higher rates of gun violence and homicide in Southeast than in Northwest D.C. Despite this, Northwest is home to all four operating trauma centers in the city at four different hospitals: George Washington University Hospital, Howard University Hospital, Children’s National Hospital, and Medstar Washington Hospital Center. This concentration of urgent care reflects the wealth disparity and resulting inequality between the two sides of the city. The average household income in Northwest is 46 percent higher than that in Southeast. Right now, the trauma centers are where the money is, rather than where the trauma is.

United Medical Hospital (UMC) is the only hospital in the Southeast area and the only public hospital in D.C. It has never had a trauma center. It is up to the D.C. Council and the Mayor’s office to keep it running, unlike a private hospital that depends on private funds and independent management. Last May, the D.C. Council announced that the city would shut down UMC by 2023 because the hospital has been financially unsustainable for many years.

Closing UMC will further exacerbate the lack of sufficient medical coverage in Wards 7 and 8. Currently, the city is negotiating with Universal Health Services, the management for George Washington University Hospital, in the hopes that they will help fund and operate the new hospital. However, there seems to be no backup plan if these negotiations fail.

It’s crucial that there be a plan in place for a new hospital. 148,000 D.C. residents deserve emergency and long-term medical care. While closing UMC may make financial sense, there needs to be a viable replacement plan in the works, and any new hospital must include a trauma center. It is up to the city and new hospital management to ensure that all D.C. residents have access to fast trauma care and a full-service hospital. G

VOICES CARRYING ON: VOICE STAFFERS SPEAK

The Pride and Prejudice Toward Reading SAMANTHA TRITT

“I

want to buy you something you’ll actually keep … Don't you want something more appropriate for your age?” Those are just two of the things my great-aunt told me two years ago in Blackwell’s bookstore in London. She didn't mean to be rude or hurtful, she was just expressing her disapproval of my reading choices. But standing in the middle of an amazing foreign bookstore clutching the U.K. edition of Tower of Dawn, a fantasy book I had been waiting months to read, I wanted to cry. I think I did a little.

I am and have always been a self-proclaimed book nerd. It is one of the most consistent aspects of my personality and something I am very proud of. I read the Warriors series in elementary school, followed by an obsession with Percy Jackson that sparked a long-time love for mythology, and, of course, I devoured Harry Potter. Barnes & Noble was my favorite place in the world. I made friends in middle school based on a shared love for these book series. And it was totally normal; everyone was obsessed with reading when I was in middle school. But then we grew up and something changed.

Somewhere in our lives, reading changes from a fun hobby to an academic activity that becomes hard to enjoy. A large factor in this shift is the extreme reading requirements in most school curriculums that focus on a very limited selection of “prestigious” works such as The Odyssey and The Scarlett Letter. While finding the time to read for leisure during the school year can be challenging, I find it troubling how this attitude toward reading permeates the rest of our lives. Many syllabi make it seem like the only books worth reading are award winners and canonical works. But, these books can seem daunting to someone looking for entertainment and only represent a fraction of the books in the world.

Highly complex, academic books have a lot to offer; they can be extremely informative and often discuss important topics, including historical events or philosophical debates. Personally, I find it nice to keep changing the genre or difficulty of what I read. It helps me enjoy reading as a pastime without burning out. After a dense and tragic World War II-themed historical fiction like Motherland by Maria Hummel, I might turn to a lighter young-adult fantasy novel like Carry On by Rainbow Rowell. These two books are completely different, and some people would view one as inherently better than the other for its literary complexity. I would argue it’s impossible to compare them. Every book has something different to offer readers, and trying to rank them creates the attitude that certain books are “lesser” than others, which can be extremely discouraging.

There are amazing works of literature in every category; nonfiction is not superior to fantasy, and “adult” books aren't always better than their “young-adult” and “middle-grade” equivalents. The books that win awards receive recognition because they did specific things very well, but this doesn't necessarily make them superior to others. “We want awards to be clear markers of excellence, but if anything they repeatedly demonstrate that there are no absolute standards for judging aesthetic matters,” Daniel Mendelsohn wrote in The New York Times on the value of literary awards.

It is impossible to accurately rank every book in the world or to select the 10 recent releases that are “significant” or “important.” People enjoy different things; what I consider a favorite might not appeal to the person next to me, and there's nothing wrong with that. A wider acceptance of different types of books and styles of storytelling would allow everyone to find something to enjoy.

This is a shift that needs to happen not only in society, but within individuals. I have always been the type to read what I found interesting regardless of the current trend, though I admit every now and then other people’s criticism of my reading style can take its toll. As a student at a prestigious university, I feel like the only books I’m supposed to read are the top 10 New York Times bestsellers or literary classics that I’d find on an English major’s syllabus. There’s nothing wrong with these books; they obtain their prestige for a reason, but they shouldn't be viewed as the only “acceptable” books to read. People need to let go of the pressure to read only the most prestigious books in order to appear highly educated or successful and allow themselves a chance to open up and discover a new passion.

When I started to expand my reading tastes, I found some truly powerful messages in the most unlikely places. The best representation of anxiety I have encountered was in Eliza and Her Monsters, a young adult fiction story about a comic book artist. Vicious, a science fiction novel, made me reconsider my perception of good and evil. I learned about the Elizabethan era from Shadow of Night, a high fantasy with vampires, witches, and demons. Sometimes these books that are perceived as “lesser” are in fact more inclusive and forward-thinking than the classics. Recently, the young-adult category has seen a surge in “own-voices” books, books written by authors who come from the same marginalized communities as their main characters. The Hate You Give, Children of Blood and Bone, and With the Fire on High are recent young-adult publications that have received extensive praise online for their emphasis on diverse narratives and compelling storylines.

There is more than one way to learn about the world, and it’s important to recognize all types of books as equally valuable. Not only would this attitude shift encourage more people to expand their reading tastes, it would encourage aspiring authors and writers to take more creative liberties with their work. Literature cannot progress if writers continuously copy award-winning styles in order to be the most popular; a more open environment would allow for creative innovation that would move society forward. The world of literature is too expansive to be accurately defined by a few lists and awards. We need to create a more inclusive attitude toward reading to make way for the next big thing.

It doesn't matter what someone reads as long as they enjoy the process and learn something about themselves or the world. I will continue to read the types of books I love because they make me happy and are an uplifting distraction from everyday life, and not just because someone else said I should. G

illustration by cassi sullivan

Samantha is a sophomore in the College studying linguistics and psychology. She loves coffee, dogs, and (obviously) reading.

October 25, 2019

5

VOICES

A Georgetown Welcome RYAN REMMEL

“I

t’s like they decided to build a city out of children, and then watch what happens. It’s just so weird!” That’s how a freshman friend of mine described the strange experience of living on Georgetown’s campus.

With thousands of barely adult undergraduate students packed into its residence halls, our campus might not qualify as a city, but it’s at least a small town. Regardless, my friend’s comment touched on the reality of life here. It turns out that, in more ways than one, the experience of the typical Georgetown student is “weird,” in that it’s altogether removed from the educational experience of an average American.

Most American adults don’t receive four-year degrees—barely a third have graduated college. Plus, of the Americans who do attend college, a majority commute to school instead of residing on campus. What else sets Georgetown students apart from the national average? Georgetown students, taken as a whole, are positively rolling in money. With a median family income of $220,000, over half come from families in America’s top 10 percent. And, by attending such a selective university, Georgetown students automatically belong to another exclusive group: the approximately 3 percent of American college students who attend schools that reject over 75 percent of applicants.

That’s not to say Georgetown’s students are homogenous, or to imply that no students here come from low-income families. I only mean to say the norms at Georgetown are far removed from the norms of the United States. It is not radical to say that Georgetown is exclusive. Year after year, its acceptance rate has only dropped, and those who attend are largely united by wealth and educational credentials. Once students arrive on campus, the obsession with exclusivity continues, as students apply to and run hyper-competitive clubs with miniscule acceptance rates.

Though plenty of student clubs don’t rely on application processes, it was unpleasant to realize that applications pervade Georgetown’s club culture as well as its admissions process. I’ve seen firsthand how these applications lead to stress and self-doubt among fellow students. Left to our own devices, our student body has decided to mirror the competition and exclusion of Georgetown’s admissions process, recreating that system at a smaller scale.

But consider this insistence on exclusivity alongside the messages of inclusivity that pervade our campus. At this year’s New Student Orientation (NSO), the words “you belong” greeted the freshman class, projected across a giant screen in Gaston Hall, and were repeated throughout orientation. It’s a nice message, and it certainly made me feel welcomed. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder how Georgetown defines that “you,” and who it excludes from that definition.

A palpable excitement pervaded NSO, bubbling up each time a speaker praised Georgetown and congratulated our class on “making it this far.” But to what degree did we relish our acceptance here simply because it had been denied to so many others? Georgetown might roll out the welcome wagon for a couple thousand students at orientation, but it denies far more each year, and if Georgetown’s median family income is any indicator, wealth often lets students move from the latter group into the former. Whether by conferring access to a lifetime of better schooling, generational knowledge about college admissions, or test-prep resources, wealth gets students into Georgetown.

Our campus reflects broader patterns of inequality in American education.

In order to address this, Georgetown students who care about educational equality should work to ensure Georgetown admits and supports members of disadvantaged communities, particularly the students with low-income backgrounds who remain conspicuously rare on our campus. But, at the same time, we should also look for ways to address the systemic inequality that reaches beyond our little city on the Hilltop.

Our work for educational equity cannot end with simply adjusting the ways in which we at Georgetown are exclusive. Equity does not only mean 6

THE GEORGETOWN VOICE

Ryan is a freshman in the School of Foreign Service. He loves his new home (Harbin Hall) almost as much as his old one (San Jose, California).

allocating a few treasured seats in a new way. It means making new spaces at the table, making sure people without Georgetown degrees, or any degrees at all, can access good jobs and social mobility. It means acknowledging (but refusing to accept) the ways our system of K-12 schools, segregated by class and race, routinely gives better opportunities and support to certain students while leaving others behind. By the time students reach college, their educational experiences have been extensively shaped by this skewed system. Colleges can address some of these disparities but are limited in their ability to undo years of accumulated inequalities. What’s more, our unequal education system helps decide whether students even reach college at all, or whether they leave school at a younger age.

If problems of inequality both permeate Georgetown and reach far beyond it, how can we hope to have an impact? How can students contribute to and learn about solutions not only here on campus, but also beyond it?

Georgetown students face a formidable foe in the “Georgetown bubble,” but they do not face it alone, given Georgetown’s varied programs to engage with students off-campus as well as on-campus. Take D.C. Reads as an example.

Organized through the Center for Social Justice, it gives Georgetown students the opportunity to tutor K-5 students from disadvantaged communities in the District. In this way, Hoyas can put their academic chops to work supporting students who could be left behind by the school system.

Voting is also an incredibly potent tool in shaping educational systems far and wide. If you're a Hoya with the right to vote, use it. Learn how political candidates intend to address inequality in your hometown or state’s education system and factor that into your voting decisions. In local races in particular, which many voters overlook, you can know your vote is impacting your community. Various states and municipalities also allow citizens to vote directly on changes to the law, some of which affect public education. In my home state of California, I’m proud to say we recently voted to allow bilingual education programs in public schools, ending a functional ban that had lasted nearly two decades. Research shows that bilingual education helps English learners, both in their language acquisition and mastery of curriculum. In a public school system where 1-in-5 students is an English learner, that kind of program can have a massive impact. That’s just one example of how voters can decide whether our education system lifts up or pushes down students at the margins.

Though these suggestions may sound like alternatives to on-campus development, they have the potential to deepen a Georgetown education.

Georgetown students work hard, but many have spent their academic careers in well-funded programs among privileged peers. By working with students who have not shared in those advantages, by learning about educational inequalities in their hometowns, and by listening to the experiences of those who are not here on the Hilltop, students can obtain an education on education.

On campus, we see the problems in front of us. As student activists and advocates, we might be tempted to view these as incidents isolated to our school, but in reality, the societal issues affecting Georgetown extend across our nation and the world. Our campus might seem like an isolated city, but it turns out, social problems don’t end at the city limits. Whether it’s by voting, volunteering, or some other method, your efforts to combat them shouldn’t end there either. G

illustration by josh klein

VOICES

Drawing from Dad CAM SMITH

illustration by insha momin

U

nderneath the signature honking nose of each man in my family is a resolute, standalone moustache. There is no beard, no soul patch, just pure ’stache. None of us look like Tom Selleck in Magnum, P.I. either, no; we all bear a sort of bristly, stubborn facial hair. Something about those preposterous whiskers is genuine and endearing. Whether their wearer is fulfilling a role you would expect from someone mustachioed, such as fighting fires and welding oil rigs, or attending a sentimental family gathering, the outfitted trim perched on their upper lip never changes. For many family members, I have never once seen them with a bare face. My insistence on matching this facial hair decision (which my mother insists is essentially girl-repellent) leads me to believe there must be some subconscious factor guiding me to imitate the idiosyncrasies of my family members.

I have, either intentionally or inadvertently, inherited a slew of behaviors from my father. When I meet his friends and family, I almost always hear some variation of “Wow, you and your dad have the exact same mannerisms!” That reaction stokes pride in me. Perhaps because I no longer see my dad often, I take comfort in the uncanny resemblance between us. When a smile happens across either of our faces, our eyes crinkle, producing distinct crow’s feet. When we get into a car on a freezing winter day, it looks like an old video game where two avatars start the same animation simultaneously; falling into the seat with the car door tightly following in hand, a hearty clap and hands rubbing together as if to start a fire, shaking heads while making an exhaling noise to express how cold it is (which I have discovered is called a lip trill). Both of us shift downward in tone when we answer the phone. Because these little tendencies are completely natural habits of mine, I don’t even realize we have them in common until others point them out.

Some traits, however, are not so preordained. One difference between my father and me is that he’s an incredible artist. Growing up, I’d look on in awe as he made something as simple as Easter eggs into a dozen mini masterpieces. One a perfectly crafted Spider-Man, another a cartoon figure flawless enough to appear in the Funnies section of a newspaper.

A throwaway sketch of the deck he planned to build as an attachment to our home looked to me like an architect’s blueprint. The stroke of his pen seemed to go exactly where he wanted it to, animating on blank canvas the exact shape he had in mind, from a perfect circle to a shaded nose. I admired these drawings, and sought to create my own, but I never had the natural talent to properly convey the images in my head. My attempts to draw were doomed to be stick figures and ragged doodles. The contrast

Cam is a senior in the College studying computer science.

He orders Chinese food once a week and is almost ready to begin hibernating for the winter.

between what seemed to be a God-given gift to my father and my complete inability to replicate his talent was disappointing. The traditions we had as a family were often based in making art, only deepening my anxiety about my perceived deficiency.

The trepidation about my lack of natural artistic talent stifled my attempts at drawing. But last year, I took a leap and enrolled in a drawing class at Georgetown. The course forced me to try and learn through five hours of weekly guided practice. I had to hand in something to get credit for the class, so quitting was no longer an option. As a result, the class completely reshaped my perspective on creating art.

My first few pieces were simple still lifes of random objects from the art room: a toy car, a woven basket. Nothing to write home about. As the semester progressed, though, I moved on to more detailed drawings of my watch, my dog. I finally felt as if I could create a reasonable composition, complete with shadows and tones. The professor understood that I was starting from absolute zero, and his advice was tailored to that fact. I didn’t have to struggle with the classic Internet trope of: start with a simple circle, and now draw the rest. I put in the time and, with some help, my art genuinely came along.

I recently discovered an old hard drive filled with photographs of my childhood, and I came across a small batch of my dad’s drawings.

One image is a detailed anatomical study of a body-builder, where the individual muscle groups and protruding veins compose a realistic figure. On another page is an inverted graphite drawing of a Renaissancelooking sculpture—the shading carving out the figure the same way a sculptor would have chiseled away at a block. At the bottom of the sketch, next to my father’s signature, is the number 86. 1986. My dad was only 19 then—still in high school. When I asked my dad about his drawings, he said he’d taken an art class in school. For some reason, the idea that he had ever studied art, practiced in order to get better, had never fully occurred to me.

Knowing that was even more impactful than the praise he had for the progress I was making. It wasn’t shameful that I wasn’t a perfect artist out of the womb—just because I hadn’t directly inherited a natural talent from my father didn’t mean it was out of reach for me if I truly put effort into it.

Even though I was happy to follow in my dad’s artistic footsteps, there are attributes of my family members I hope I can avoid carrying into the next generation. For every man with a moustache, there is at least one failed marriage, and in many cases more than one. My parents are divorced, and at this point their split was long enough ago that it’s hard to imagine them ever having been married in the first place. How does this happen? Do these men, who managed to attract women in spite of their prickly faces and equally prickly personalities, all have it in their genes to fail in their relationships? The same way I feel oddly destined to don goofy facial hair, I also fear my future could entail similar marital struggles. The overwhelming empirical evidence points to the fact that members of my family cannot sustain a lasting relationship. At the same time, I recognize now that we aren’t stuck with whatever behaviors we are born with.

Despite our natural tendencies, we have agency over our expression of the traits we inherit. And, as I learned with drawing, the ones we don’t. G

October 25, 2019

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A

wall of hot air whacks me in the face as I descend the steps into the basement of Mystery Inc. Only string lights illuminate the crowd that has packed the space, standing in every possible corner and sitting on the stairs.

Hanging at the bottom of the stairs is an “I Stand With Planned Parenthood” sign. The space is appropriately grimy, with distinct That 70s Show vibes. Nylon balloons hanging on the far wall spell out “R-I-P,” and pool noodles have been duct taped to two floor-to-ceiling poles in the middle of the room.

Right now, the crowd is transfixed by Blair, the first performer of the night. He is an older, slightly balding man wearing sunglasses, and his music is an odd, trancey, robotic monotone, with indistinguishable lyrics. But something about it immediately pulls me in. He performs in front of a banner decorated with the signatures of every band that has played there before. We’re all here for Lumpy Space Collective’s Sept. 27 show, featuring local performers Greenss and Blair, and touring band Flo Petite.

Mystery Inc is a home in the Georgetown area that doubles as a do-it-yourself (DIY) music venue. It’s run

by Lumpy Space Collective, a recently established arts collective dedicated to opening its home to local and touring musicians. Since their origins in the 1960s and ’70s, D.C.’s DIY venues have offered a space for musicians and listeners alike to forge an unconventional community built on a desire for artistic autonomy and a love for music. In recent years, house show hosts have focused on developing a more inclusive ethos behind the music.

Rob Cline, one of the founders of Lumpy Space Collective, is a first-year graduate student at George

Washington University (GW). I met them a few weeks before the Sept. 27 gig at another Mystery Inc show. They were wearing a pastel t-shirt and exuded an aura of kindness.

When a mutual friend introduced us, they immediately said they were glad I was there.

When I interviewed them a few weeks later, their openness remained as we sat on a Mystery Inc couch. Cline was frank about their view of the current state of DIY music.

They lamented the oversaturation of the music scene.

“There’s a plague of non-serious bands in this world. Like everyone’s in a band, you know what I mean?” they said.

“Weeding out the non-serious ones from the serious ones requires just kind of like two-dimensionally screening their social media.”

Cline was first introduced to DIY house shows in high school, when their band Nowadays was invited to play at a local DIY venue. Though Cline describes their sound as “radio indie,” they often found themselves opening for hardcore bands.

As Nowadays played more gigs, Cline befriended touring bands from across the country, forging connections that would help them when they began booking Mystery Inc shows. “I realized that there’s like a social networking aspect to it, in that most of it happens on Facebook,” they said.

Yet, when Cline first moved to D.C., they had trouble connecting to the local DIY scene. “There was nothing my first year, and that was really sad, and it kind of intensified my desire to eventually run my own venue.”

At their college orientation, Cline met Tori Swiacki.

A pin on Swiacki’s backpack revealed a mutual love for Connecticut rock band Sorority Noise, though as

8

photos courtesy of tori swiacki and caroline corbett; design by jacob bilich

THE GEORGETOWN VOICE

the band’s frontman has since been accused of sexual assault, they both declared the band “cancelled” when I spoke with them.

When the two began college in the fall of 2016, D.C.’s DIY landscape was sparse.

“The scene was kind of bleak in a sense that like a lot of people did not feel good about having house shows,” Cline said. “And the people who did were super reluctant to meet new people and let them in.”

Part of the reason, Cline believes, is the culture of fear sparked by a 2016 alt-right movement to doxx DIY venues across the country. Following a Dec. 2 fire at an Oakland, California, DIY concert that resulted in the deaths of 36 musicians and audience members, the alt-right took action to shut down DIY venues.

“These places are open hotbeds of liberal radicalism and degeneracy and now YOU can stop them by reporting all such places you may be or may become aware of to the authorities, specifically the local fire marshel [sic],” reads a since-archived 4chan post. “Watch them and follow them to their hives. Infiltrate social circles, go to parties/events, record evidence, and report it. We’ve got them on the run but now we must crush their nests before they can regroup!

MAGA my brothers and happy hunting!”

Alt-right activists compiled a list of DIY venues and addresses and called in fire code violations and noise complaints to local authorities. Venues around the country were shut down as a result.

“4chan trolls, like alt-right kind of 4chan trolls were like, ‘Hey, all these northeastern cities have these robust house scenes where anarchists and leftists and gay people all

congregate,’ you know what I mean? So everyone they hate is what a DIY show is,” Cline said.

Things changed for Cline and Swiacki when a group of GW students moved into a historic DIY venue near their campus called Above the Bayou, which earned its name from its location above a now out-of-business restaurant called The Bayou. According to Cline, running a DIY venue does not come without its risks.

“Their house got beat to shit and they were still very excited about having people over,” Cline said. “It was the third floor, it was very rickety, they lost a window.

It was crazy.”

Observing the wild atmosphere at Above the Bayou shows made Cline and Swiacki reflect on what they would do differently if they had the chance. “The floors were definitely breaking through,” Swiacki said. “The guys who were running it definitely weren’t being the most responsible, and it wasn’t the most inclusive space it could’ve been.”

By the next school year, Cline decided to open a DIY venue at their new apartment at the corner of O Street and Wisconsin Avenue, which they christened Mystery Inc. They aimed to host shows every two weeks, bringing one touring band and two local bands to the space.

They were diligent about managing events responsibly to avoid getting shut down. They employed “tried and true practices,” Cline said, like requesting that people message them for the address in advance so that they have the opportunity to review their accounts first.

“The house was—it was like just a baseline level of grimey, but that’s fine. It was really lived-in, that’s how I would describe it at least,” Swiacki said. “It was fun to live in a gig space, but people really leave beer cans everywhere.”

After Cline graduated, they moved into their current space in the Georgetown area and decided to form an art collective. They came up with the name Lumpy Space Collective after the Adventure Time character Lumpy Space Princess. Becoming a collective mainly allowed them to formalize their organizational processes. They created a Facebook page, set up an email address, and maintain an internal Google Calendar to organize shows.

There are four core organizers: Cline, GW graduate Caroline Corbett, Georgetown junior Egan Barnitt (NHS ’21), and American University student Beth Casey. Because the organizers attend D.C. schools, Lumpy Space shows attract students and residents from across the city.

Initially, Cline relied on the connections they built through Nowadays to book shows. They also used their personal Facebook page to solicit bands in D.C. DIY groups, but the demand quickly made them realize they would need to be deliberate if they wanted to make Mystery Inc as inclusive as possible. “If you don’t go out of your way to find new music, you’re just gonna end up with a bunch of white dudes who make boring indie rock,” they said. “That’s just how it goes because they’re tenacious on Facebook.”

Cline screens bands’ social media, Bandcamp, and Spotify pages. “I’m not gonna lie, if I go on your Spotify and you have like 10,000 listens on a song or something, I’m gonna be a lot more interested in you because it shows that you did something right,” they said.

When screening bands, Cline also places a lot of emphasis on the energy a band can bring to Mystery Inc. “I know tons of people who their music is interesting and good, but it’s not anything out of the ordinary,” they said.

“Being really positive energy in the space and just overall being a pleasure to have makes me want to book them more than maybe someone whose music is better.”

Since Lumpy Space’s first show on July 19, Cline estimates they’ve had seven or eight shows and featured nearly 25 bands.

Cline takes the venue’s rules seriously. They make sure to adhere to local noise ordinances, starting on time and winding down all their shows by roughly 10 p.m., and they try to keep people contained inside the house or in the backyard. To absorb sound, they hung blankets on the basement walls, installed sound-absorbing panels, placed a second carpet on top of the basement floor, and covered the windows.

Spencer Green, a Howard University senior who performs under the name Greenss, played at Lumpy Space’s Sept. 27 show. I interviewed him in the side room of Mystery Inc’s basement, sitting on the red floral carpet and looking up at tapestries with the words “Lumpy” and “Corn Dog” painted on them.

Green got connected with Lumpy Space after playing a show at Dwell, another local DIY venue. Cline and Swiacki invited him to play a show at the first Mystery Inc location.

From then on, they became close friends.

Since then, Green has performed at three or four Mystery Inc shows. Green’s performances generally feature him playing his music using a sampler while preparing food he can share with the audience. At the Sept. 27 gig, he made rosemary avocado toast.

Green emphasized the unique appeal a venue’s feel holds for those who become regular visitors. For Green, Mystery Inc’s feel is down to the people. “You see the same faces and they just are always very welcoming and make you feel at home. It’s like ‘Oh, let me have a glass of water,’ and they’ll give you like a nice mug. So it’s just kind of that you’re just another part of the family aspect to it.”

I can personally attest to Lumpy Space’s hospitality.

After feeling sick all day before covering the Sept. 27 show, I was offered not only a glass of water but also a bed to lie down in while waiting for my SafeRide home.

For Green, house shows foster a unique kind of intimacy.

“You feel closer with the artists, with the audience, it’s like we’re all in this together,” Green said. “There’s no real restrictions here besides don’t be a dick, like that’s it you know. I’ll never not appreciate that in a space.”

At Mystery Inc’s new location, Swiacki handles the door and is largely in charge of making sure shows stay safe.

“I feel like I have the right balance of mom spirit and like wanting to have fun to do it,” Swiacki said.

“People need to listen to you, but you’re also here to have a good time. And I do have a good time. My friends love to come and hang out with me, and I love meeting people in the space.

And I’m just here to make sure it’s a safe time,” Swiacki said.

Lumpy Space Collective and Mystery Inc are just one part of D.C.’s vibrant music scene. Georgetown students more commonly see shows at commercial venues like The Anthem, the 9:30 Club, and U Street Music Hall, where ticket prices can range from $20 to $300. But what concertgoers may not know is that D.C. artists, and artists all over the country, struggle to make a living off their music.

Graham Smith-White, musician and founder of the Fair Trade Music concept, the grassroots organizing methodology for the American Federation of Musicians, has been advocating for D.C. musicians since 2013. Smith-White does not believe D.C. artists are fairly compensated. “Duke Ellington’s first performance was on U Street, and he was paid $100 to do that in 1919,” he said. “To this day, you can still go on U Street and get paid $100 to perform.”

Smith-White attributes part of the problem to the lack of acknowledgement of the exchange of services on both sides. Venues don’t see artists as providing a service for them, and artists don’t either.

“What that does is that creates a sort of pressure,” Smith-White continued, “and that pressure gets released

by DIY venues, where people don’t have the overarching commercial goal of some other entity guiding their activities.”

But Sofar Sounds, a company that organizes intimate house shows in cities across the world, shows that the absence of established venues doesn’t necessarily improve working conditions for artists.

Sofar Sounds has been in D.C. for four years, hosting events in coworking spaces, homes, apartment rooftops, and other non-traditional venues. Each show features three artists playing 20-25 minute stripped back or acoustic sets.

Sofar Sounds D.C. Director Margot Pien said she strives to book half touring and half local bands. Concert-goers don’t know the location or the lineup in advance.

In cities where Sofar Sounds charges for tickets, such as D.C., they pay artists $100 each, Pien said. “So if it was a solo artist, right now they would receive $100. If it was a fivepiece band right now they would receive $100,” Pien said.

Sofar Sounds does not compensate hosts for volunteering to share their spaces.

Pien emphasized that artists don’t have to do any promotion for Sofar Sounds shows, as the lineup is kept secret. Sofar Sounds does not take a cut of performers’ merch sales, Pien said, and can sometimes provide artists with photos or social media features.

Musician Adam Schatz published a piece in August on Talkhouse, detailing his experience playing a 2016 Sofar Sounds show and criticizing Sofar Sounds for not compensating artists fairly. Schatz believes that because Sofar Sounds shows basically amount to private parties, artists should be paid more for playing at them. “At that point they’re getting everyone in a room on the value of Sofar Sounds,” Schatz said. “People often leave the shows I think remembering Sofar Sounds and not remembering the band name.”

“If I play a DIY house show and I don’t get paid that much, it’s not the end of the world because I know there’s not money going elsewhere, but at the Sofar shows there is money going elsewhere,” Schatz said.

The average ticket price for a Sofar Sounds D.C. show is $20. The average capacity ranges from 60 to 70 people at each show, and Sofar Sounds puts on about 40 shows in the D.C. area every month. Based on these average numbers, we estimate their monthly revenue to be $52,000. Artists would receive around $12,000 of that, leaving Sofar Sounds D.C. with an additional $40,000. (continued on page 15) October 25, 2019

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Georgetown's Senior Auditors Head Back to School

BY OLIVIA MARTIN

E

very Monday and Wednesday, Anne Brill ascends the steps of Healy Hall, always making it to Room 106 a few minutes early for her 2 p.m. English class. She just finished reading a novel of over 900 pages, Charles Dickens’s Bleak House, for Monday’s session. Like the rest of her classmates surely do, she feels a sense of accomplishment now that she has finally completed it.

But Brill is different from the undergraduates in her English class. She is a senior citizen auditor taking Rebecca Boylan’s “London Stories” class this semester.

An undergraduate English major at Northern Illinois University in the early 1970s, Brill chose the course because of her passion for the field. “I just love to read literature,” she said.

Georgetown’s Senior Citizen Non-Degree Auditor Program provides people ages 65 years and older the chance to take undergraduate courses in the College. To sign up, D.C.-area senior citizens pay $50 per course and have to ask permission from any professor whose class they intend to take. If there is space available in the course, professors may allow auditors to join. Laura Soerensson, who works in the Office of the Registrar, said auditors at Georgetown fill out add-drop forms that let the registrar know which classes they will sit in on throughout the semester like any other student. This semester, there are 240 auditors on campus.

For many of the adults who participate in the program, auditing a course offers an opportunity to cultivate a continued passion for learning. “I just thought it would be stimulating and good for my brain,” Brill said. “And it's relatively easy. I mean, I'm retired. I have free time.”

Programs similar to Georgetown’s exist at other universities, too. Some schools, like the University of Oregon, charge no fee for seniors to audit classes. The University of Pennsylvania, meanwhile, charges $500 per class.

D.C.-area colleges provide additional opportunities for senior citizens in the area to audit classes or continue their education. American University’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute offers courses and activities for seniors. The George Washington University offers auditing opportunities for people ages 60 and older, and the University of Maryland

at College Park has a Golden ID Card Program, which gives seniors the ability to access any of the university’s courses.

Auditors at Georgetown come from many professional and educational backgrounds. A majority are retired college graduates who spend their days taking classes in a wide variety of topics. They commonly attend English, History, and Government courses; Anne Ridder (SCS ’82), former assistant dean at Georgetown’s School of Continuing Studies (SCS), says from her 30 years of experience being in charge of the program that these departments are some of their “favorites.”

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design by cade shore

THE GEORGETOWN VOICE

“We've got ambassadors in this program. We've got people who knew president kennedy.”

Trey Sullivan, the current assistant dean of Liberal Studies at the SCS, now oversees the program. He helps auditors sign up for courses and navigate staples of Georgetown life, like NetIDs or GOCards, but he does more than just assist in administrative tasks.

“A lot of these auditors feel forgotten,” he said. “That's not their words, but as I observe it, they're not the focus in our society. They're not the folks who are, quote, ‘the most

interesting’ or ‘the most relevant.’ So it's my role to receive them with hospitality.”

Sullivan sits and speaks with the auditors, checking in with them about their experiences and guiding them through their time on campus. He listens to their stories.

From his perspective, his role is to “treat every student with care,” including the senior auditors he oversees.

Though Sullivan said he aims to integrate the auditors into Georgetown’s community, they cannot register for just any class. They can only participate in undergraduate courses at the 400-level or lower in the College, with rare exceptions. Unless they already speak the language and can take courses beyond the advanced level, auditors are barred from participating in foreign language classes.

“My assumption is that when the auditor program began, faculty who taught intro-level language classes requested that auditors not be permitted to take the classes to protect the fragile dynamic in an intro-level language class,” Sullivan said. “Compared to learning about history, philosophy, or biology, learning a language is a very different process.”

There are also guidelines for how senior auditors should conduct themselves in these undergraduate classrooms.

They are encouraged not to submit essays or take tests, as added grading can prove difficult for professors and teaching assistants. In addition, they are expected not to overtake class discussions. “We essentially tell them you're there first and foremost as an observer. If you happen to be an expert,” Sullivan said, “and the professor wants you to contribute your opinion, you can do that.”

Though the guidelines for auditors signing up for and attending class are fairly clear, some auditors, like Brill, feel their in-class role can be unclear.

“I kind of feel like we're not contributing anything,” Brill said. “We're taking but we're not really giving. And maybe that's okay.” To her, the nature of auditing demands that auditors contribute little to class sessions. “It would be nice to feel like we're giving something in return instead of just benefitting,” she said. “But I know that's what it is. (continued on page 15)

Actively Moving Forward Helps Connect Students Who Are Quietly Grieving

by Inès de Miranda

W

hen Caroline Schauder (SFS ’20) began her freshman year at Georgetown, she thought she was doing fine.

However, innocuous questions about what her parents did and why only her mom came to parent and family weekend affected her more than she had anticipated. This was the first time since middle school that the people around her didn’t know her father had passed away from pancreatic cancer, and she realized that she felt disconnected from her peers.

“I think the thing with grief, and especially in college, is that it can be a very isolating experience,” Shauder said. “You can kind of feel like you're the only one going through this.”

As a way of coping, Schauder helped revitalize Georgetown’s chapter of Actively Moving Forward (AMF) in 2017, one of more than 200 chapters at universities around the country. The first, incidentally, was formed at Georgetown in 2004, but it had become defunct by 2015.

Each chapter functions as a discussion group, a service initiative, and a community for students experiencing grief.

AMF is not meant to replace professional counseling.

Instead, it lets students who are grieving be more vulnerable and honest about how they feel while in a comfortable environment. “It’s a very individual thing,” Schauder said. But the group makes it easier to cope. “It just makes it feel less scary.”

The group meets every other week, often with food.

“It's really just a designated time for people to come together and just talk about what's on their minds,” said Schauder. “Things that aren't necessarily pressing, but things you wouldn't really say to your friends—it’s just people who understand the situation. It's kind of a release.”

As a service group, AMF tries to support causes that are important to its members. Last year, AMF participated in a walk on the National Mall, hosted by the American Cancer Society. “It's a chance to do something that's meaningful to you, and have other people and friends that support you,” Schauder said.

That desire—for a community whose members understand what it is like to lose a family member—led David Fajgenbaum (NHS ’07) to create AMF during his sophomore year. Fajgenbaum was a freshman on the football team when his mother, Anne Marie Fajgenbaum, whose initials were the origin for the “AMF” acronym, passed away.

“I was so surprised to learn about how many of my classmates had also experienced similar losses, but none of us felt comfortable sharing about it with one another,” Fajgenbaum wrote in an email to the Voice. “I wanted to create an organization for college students to talk with other students who ‘get it.’”

What started as meetings of around 10 students grew to involve 400 members of the Georgetown community,

and led Fajgenbaum and his best friend Ben Chesson to turn the chapter into a national nonprofit organization, National Students of AMF, in 2006.

“AMF gave me a network of people who understood what I was going through that I could connect with, it also gave me a connection to my mom,” Fajgenbaum wrote. “Currently, it has enabled me to stay connected to my mom and her legacy even though she passed away 15 years ago.” Fajgenbaum still serves as a board member of AMF’s national organization.

Over time, interest fizzled, and the club was no longer active at Georgetown by 2015, although the national organization remained.

Elvelyn Fernandez (COL ’20), current president of AMF, started looking into re-creating the club on campus after Fajgenbaum was a guest speaker in her Ignatius Seminar in 2016. Fernandez, whose mother is fighting cancer, found that the college environment made dealing with her feelings

“I was so surprised to learn about how many of my classmates had also experienced similar losses, but none of us felt comfortable sharing about it with one another.” especially challenging. “It's hard being a student—especially at Georgetown—going through grief because you really try to prioritize your schoolwork or your other extracurricular activities,” Fernandez said. “It just makes people feel as though grieving is not a priority.”

Fajgenbaum put Fernandez in touch with the national director of AMF, and with the help of two friends, she applied for New Club Development.

In the spring of their freshman year, a professor recommended they seek out an advisor at the Center for Social Justice (CSJ), who helped them apply for the club to be housed there. The four students went through the New Club Development process, writing proposals and tracking progress without any funding. “It was hard, especially because as freshmen, I personally did not know what I was doing,” said Fernandez. “It was trying to figure out how to advertise AMF and establish a place on campus for us.”

design by olivia stevens

When they made their final presentation, they were told that, while they seemed worthy of becoming an official club, their mission didn’t align with the CSJ. Instead, they should have applied under the Center for Student Engagement, which houses cultural and social programming. “We were just like, ‘what, why?’”

Fernandez said. “We went through all this work and then they rejected us.”

The university recognized them as a club after they went through the process again the following semester.

Schauder feels like the administration has been supportive since their difficulty refounding the club and was especially grateful to the Provost’s Office. “We have a contact there, and she sent an email to the whole school every semester for the last two years, which is huge.”

AMF also has relationships with other organizations on campus, like Campus Ministry and its Residential Ministers, who can encourage grieving students to connect with the club.

Fajgenbaum is glad AMF could return to its birthplace.

“Georgetown will always be AMF's home, so the fact that the chapter faded for a little while before it came back was tough,” he wrote. “But I am so excited that it is thriving again under great leadership.”

Fernandez believes the club is crucial at a competitive university like Georgetown. “College exacerbates different feelings, like feelings of stress because of the academics and the isolation,” Fernandez said. “Everyone has this internship or that extracurricular, while other people are not going through the traditional college experience when they're grieving.”

Fernandez found the transition to college difficult because of the distance it put between her and her family in Hawaii. “I don't know if I could say exactly if it was anxiety, but I would always worry about my mom,” Fernandez said. She was struggling on campus and her academics were sliding. “It just made me feel that coming to Georgetown was a mistake. Until I joined AMF.” Today, AMF’s board is made up of six undergraduate students, and between 10 and 20 members consistently attend meetings. Fernandez hopes that they are able to recruit new board members to take on the roles of students who will graduate in the spring, like her and Schauder. “Hopefully we're able to find a way where we're able to continue it,” said Fernandez. “It's hard to have board members who are able to stick around.”

For Schauder, joining AMF was a pivotal moment in her undergraduate career because the group let her grieve without sacrificing her college years. “I'm so much more able to focus on other parts of my life that kind of take the backseat when you're going through a lot.” G October 25, 2019

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he U.S. Department of Education published a letter on Sept. 22 threatening to revoke funding for the Duke University and University of North Carolina (UNC) Consortium for Middle East Studies. The letter criticized the program for sponsoring an outdoor concert by rapper Marco Pavé, described as “a Millennial Muslim from Memphis” who conducts hip-hop and social justice workshops. The Department of Education leveled the charge that by hiring Pavé, the Duke-UNC program had failed to use their funding to “ensure the security, stability and economic vitality of the United States.”

Now, Pavé, born Tauheed Rahim II, is Georgetown’s first hip-hop artist-inresidence. Since his inaugural Sept. 6 discussion in McNeir Hall, Pavé has worked with the departments of Performing Arts and African American Studies to organize Critical Frequencies: Live from the Southern Hip-Hop Stage, a series of discussions designed to explore hip-hop’s influence on entrepreneurship, culture, fashion, politics, social justice, and the music industry. Some Critical Frequencies events include an Oct. 4 discussion on sneaker art and its ability to critique societal injustices, as well as an upcoming Nov. 15 panel exploring African American entrepreneurship within the art industry.

Being an artist-in-residence allows Pavé to focus on producing new music from his office in New North while receiving financial backing from the university. “I’m just free to learn and explore all types of musical capabilities that I have, that I haven’t tapped into,” he said. During his residency, Pavé hopes to work directly with students on their music and have them engage with the rich history and legacy of hip-hop.

“I’m planning and building a ton of events on campus that really explore hip-hop culture and really explore critical things that people can dive into and put their teeth into and understand more about this country, but through a hip-hop lens,” Pavé said. When asked what he hopes students will learn from Critical Frequencies, Pavé said, “I want people to understand where [hip-hop] comes from and not only be consumers, but be students of it.”

For Pavé, hip-hop has played an essential role in the creation of modern American life. He believes hip-hop has moved beyond simply being a music genre and into the realm of a cultural force. “Without hip-hop, everybody’s lives would be boring,” he explained. “The way we dress, the way we talk, the way we communicate with our friends is all through hip-hop.” Because of this, Pavé not only aims to produce music for people to enjoy, but also to learn from.

Issues of equality and identity are prominent themes in Pavé’s work. He expresses his background as an African American, Muslim, and millenial through his music, which he views as a platform to discuss social justice and empower young people to share stories about their own lives. Prior to becoming artist-in-residence, Pavé worked as a Memphis Music Initiative teaching fellow to educate middle and high school students about hip-hop music, culture, and activism.

He described how escaping the cycle of violence and focusing on his music career was especially challenging for him.

“If you’re trying to branch out and do something completely different without any support systems, then it’s going to be totally difficult,” Pavé explained. “The way I built my platform as an artist basically was to challenge the system.”

In addition to his own personal history, Pavé uses music to explore Memphis’ public history. “If you look at people of color in any city, most likely they’ll have a similar story, but Memphis definitely has its own specific style of racism,” he said.

He recounted the city’s historical associations with slavery, Jim Crow, and the Civil Rights Movement. Located on the banks of the Mississippi River, Memphis, according to Pavé, is a city founded on the profits of companies that sold cotton and transported slaves downriver to plantations in the Deep South. After the Civil War, the city was subject to a century of Jim Crow laws and the oppression of African Americans. In 1968, just three years after A Conversation the passage of the Civil Rights Act, Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in the city, on Rap, Social dashing many Americans’ hopes of racial progress and societal reform.

Justice, and SelfThrough his work, Pavé contextualizes Memphis’s place in the history of the Empowerment struggle for racial justice, discussing how the city’s past connects with the experiences of Americans today. “That’s the shadow we live in, and that’s the reality

By Darren Jian we live in, because 50 years after MLK, not a lot has changed,” Pavé said.

The music video for “Black Tux,” the lead single from Perception, epitomizes his focus on using his life’s experiences He has released several singles, a 2015 EP called Perception, to create socially conscious hip-hop. In the video, Pavé and a 2017 album titled Welcome to Grc Lnd (pronounced delivers his rhymes inside a crumbling factory in Memphis, “Graceland”). symbolizing the structural inequities people of color face Pavé’s path to Georgetown did not come without in the post-Jim Crow South. The video is interspersed obstacles. He admitted that the consequences of speaking with black-and-white flashbacks that show some of the up for social justice, especially as a Muslim, can be difficult decisions Pavé had to make on the way to fulfill his daunting. But despite being scrutinized by the Department dream of becoming a hip-hop artist, including forgoing job of Education, Pavé has not been deterred from his mission. opportunities in order to focus on making music. Dressed “It makes you be fearful of what the repercussions can be in the titular black tuxedo, Pavé stands in stark contrast to for just speaking out, but that’s all we can do,” he said of the the decay around him, representing how he has sought to executive letter. “My life is basically to always show people escape the challenging circumstances of his childhood and that we have to push back.” build his own legacy.

Long before he was performing at universities or Through his music, Pavé says he wants to give a voice to drawing the ire of the Trump administration, however, Pavé young people across the country who seek to challenge and discovered hip-hop during his childhood in Tennessee. He overcome issues of systemic inequality and injustice, all described how, in the sixth and seventh grade, he would while trying to stay afloat and pursue their dreams. “That’s listen to artists like Lil Wayne and Missy Elliot, wanting to the point of the music. It’s to show people that miracles follow in their footsteps and learn from their musical styles. can happen, show people that the impossible can happen if Pavé frequently cites his upbringing in Memphis as a you just put your mind to doing something that’s outside of major influence on his approach to music and perspective what your circumstances are.” on society. His early life shaped a major theme of his work: Despite the initial obstacles, Pavé is grateful for transforming a negative situation into a positive outcome. what he has been able to accomplish in his career as a “Growing up in Memphis was definitely one of the most hip-hop artist. “I come from a very negative situation difficult things I’ve done because I didn’t want to go the from the socioeconomic standpoint, but also from the traditional route of gang culture,” he said. “I had already interpersonal family standpoint, from abuse,” he said. “And done that by 15 years old. For me, I was trying to get away I’m sitting here at Georgetown University as an artist-infrom that.” residence today.” G

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photo courtsey of marco pavé

THE GEORGETOWN VOICE

Marco Pavé, Georgetown’s First Hip-Hop Artist-InResidence

LEISURE more, especially in the context of her label debut. She layers reverb, synths, and lo-fi vocals in an attempt to create a unique sound, but falls short. Songs on NK/AH often blend together to the point where they’re easily forgotten. Vu’s singing is her strong suit, with her deep and powerful voice, but on songs like “Reflection,” her vocals are distorted, losing their force.

Still, songs on NK/AH show Vu’s potential to become a full-on popstar—or rockstar. “Passenger” starts with a driving drum solo before she brings in bouncy piano chords to soften the edge. “Order” notably never lessens its intensity, as Vu lays heavy vocals and world-weary sentiments over an incessant grunge guitar riff. The track culminates with a sparse drum solo and Vu delivering a pulsating, melodic cry.

One of the EP’s most powerful moments is when Vu passionately screams the second chorus of “Outside,” breaking from the song’s saccharine vocals. This sonic explosion adds new meaning to the phrase, “I don’t really wanna wake up / Oh personalities as normal people,” Vu said. “I don’t think I there’s nothing to wake up to.” know quite yet how to act.”

Vu says she tried to include a variety of genres within Vu also feels this disconnect between personas each EP. “I have maybe two modes, or three,” Vu said. when doing live shows. “I’ve been performing for a “I have the indie pop songs, and the garage-y songs, and long time,” Vu said. “I think there are two selves: your the slow songs. So I kinda wanted [the EPs] to be sort of private self and your public self. The Hana Vu disparity balanced in that way.” between those two, for me, makes me kind of question On Anne Hathaway, Vu prefaces “Order” with “Insider,” everything.” She is extremely aware of how others the longest track on either EP and one of the few strong perceive her, as well as how she perceives herself. Vu’s songs not already released as a single. In sharp contrast to signature deep vocals characterize both How Many the harsh ambience of “Order,” “Insider” allows for gentle, Times and NK/AH. However, after shows, audience honest introspection. With circular note progressions and members will sometimes approach her higher pitched vocals, the song incorporates and express surprise at the power she elements of “Actress” and “Outside” for a exhibits behind her singing. “I know it’s slower and ethereal success. like a compliment but I think it’s kind However, in an effort to balance of a microaggression to be like ‘I didn’t Nicole Kidman’s first three stand-out know a small girl could scream so loud.’” tracks, Vu closes the EP with two that Vu’s music is often characterized are aggressively slower in tempo and as bedroom pop, an umbrella term for melodically simplistic. The chorus of modern DIY indie music by artists like “Everyone in the Room” features a Clairo and Beabadobee. In the music monotonous drawl, making the whole nicole kidman video for “Outside,” Vu takes this term song feel anticlimactic. Vu ends with Actress* literally. She travels around L.A. on her “Worm,” a stark track continuing the bed, stopping at a basketball court, a city EP’s downward momentum, similar to Outside* park, and a beach before finally freeing how Anne Hathaway fizzles out with the Passenger* herself from her sheets and jumping into controlled desires of “Fighter.” the ocean. The production value of both While NK/AH exhibits some growing Everyone in her record and the accompanying videos pains, listeners gain valuable insight into the Room shows that Vu’s label is banking on her Hana Vu’s growth as an artist. Singles like Worm success, even if she is only a minor name “At the Party,” “Actress,” and “Outside,” anne hathaway in the indie world at the moment. are unlike anything currently within Vu is at once humble and confident the mainstream indie-pop genre. The At the Party in her musical abilities. She has been experimentation with different sonic Reflection touring on and off since graduating high textures on these EPs can only create school. Faced with the choice between excitement for what her future works will Insider music and college, she signed a record sound like. As Vu says, “I grew up, I'm Order deal and hasn’t looked back. growing up, I'm learning, I’m absorbing Fighter On NK/AH, Vu showcases her array things and going through stuff like any of musical talents. She wrote, sang, and normal person does. I think just inherently, *voice's choice produced every song on both EPs. Still, the more I learn, the more is implemented the release leaves listeners wanting into my music.” G

Hana Vu Plays the Starring Role in Double EP Nicole Kidman / Anne Hathaway SKYLER COFFEY AND ELI LEFCOWITZ

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ana Vu is busy. Between a West Coast tour opening for Nilufer Yanya and the release of her double EP, Nicole Kidman / Anne Hathaway (2019) on Oct. 25, she has been holed up in her Los Angeles apartment writing and recording new music.

Vu began writing songs at 13, and it’s easy for listeners to fall down a rabbit hole of Soundcloud EPs and one-off covers from her career’s early years. Her label debut, How Many Times Have You Driven By (2018), made ripples in the music industry, with critics focused on her young age of 17 almost as much as on her music. How Many Times is a deeply emotional record, brimming with teenage angst and self-doubt. Although Vu is still a teenager, she doesn’t let that identity define her latest release.

NK/AH serves as Vu’s second and third official releases since she signed to Luminelle Records last year. The double EP tackles the deeply modern theme of social isolation in the digital age. In “Outside,” the second track on the EP, she asks “if I look at my phone all day / will it really help my chances?” The psychedelic music video for “At The Party” features Vu alone, surrounded by music and dancing, staring down at her phone and seeing nothing but the angry face emoji over and over. Her own Twitter sums up her jaded and sardonically self-aware public persona— “dunno how many songs i can write that keep bein like ‘im sad,’” tweeted Vu on Oct. 15.

The release is also markedly L.A. Vu’s lyrics, and especially the EPs’ titles, convey her fascination with the long-lost ideal of Hollywood stardom. The song “Actress” deals with a different kind of performance. “Give me a name and I’ll wear it / A shame and I’ll bear it / Until I’m through,” sings Vu. This theme of dissociation pervades the two EPs. Vu paints herself as an actress, trying out various roles in life—a perfect bride, a prom king, or a hero—but each time is dissatisfied with herself. In a city full of people desperate to be someone else, Vu sings about her struggles to find herself. She reflected on this in an interview with the Voice. When we called, she was in her room, sitting between her bed and the array of microphones and musical instruments on the floor.

“Everybody’s sad on the inside and we perform these

photos courtesy of record turnover and genius; design by alex giorno

October 25, 2019

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LEISURE

Focus Cia de Dança Builds Surreal Moments in STILL REICH JULIANA VACCARO DE SOUZA

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n complete silence, Roberta Bussoni and Marcio Jahú faced each other on the side of a half-lit stage. Their dance began with isolated arm movements, but it quickly evolved into powerful lifts and twists that took over the entire platform. There was no music, nothing but a hazy, black stage. As one of them fell, the sound of their feet hitting the ground echoed throughout the small venue. As yet another couple, Carolina de Sá and Cosme Gregory, took their spot to begin their own dance, the music finally kicked in, but that dream-like feeling lingered, leaving a sense of wonder at what unexpected element might come next.

And so began STILL REICH, a four-piece performance choreographed by Brazilian-born Alex Neoral and performed by the talented dancers of Focus Cia de Dança. Founded in 2000 in Rio de Janeiro, Focus Cia de Dança has a repertoire of over a dozen pieces and has performed hundreds of times in Brazil and abroad. On the weekend of Oct. 12 and 13, Washington got to experience their latest showcase at Dance Place.

Each piece was accompanied by the music of Steve Reich, an American contemporary composer and the inspiration for the show’s title. Although the pieces were performed as separate segments instead of one continuous narrative, Reich’s music provided a shared base for all of them. In between pieces, audio from interviews done with Reich played in an empty stage lit by a simple, blue spotlight.

Reich’s material not only provided the common ground for the show but also sharply marked the beginning and the end of something new.

The first piece, “Pathways,” featured the two aforementioned couples. In a dance full of impressive lifts, catches, and falls, it was nearly impossible not to hold my breath in anticipation of the next great gymnastic move.

At one point, one of the dancers stood upright while the other held their leg from behind. The one upright began leaning further forward and forward. They stood at a nearly 45-degree angle with the stage, a perfect V-shape. Gravity didn’t seem to apply to them anymore.

If anything, STILL REICH excelled in its quiet moments of surreality, mainly achieved by the perfect blend of the company’s seven incredibly strong dancers and the hazy, small stage on which they performed. In no section was

this more evident than the piece “Trilhas” (“Trails” in Portuguese). Featuring a total of five dancers, the piece had them coming on and off the stage continuously, running around, performing solos, and dancing in a group. However, even with all of this coming and going, it was impossible not to stop and notice particularly beautiful moments. In one instance, Marina Teixeira danced alone in a red fog. Later, Monique Marques, who started the dance by being held by her head, returned to that same position, only this time she freed herself, gracefully tumbled to the floor, and looked up into the spotlight. The music had already ended, and it was quiet enough that you could hear her heavy breaths.

In moments like those, it felt like nothing else existed— nothing but the dancers and their stage.

This blank slate directly contrasted with the third piece, “Wood Steps,” which featured all seven dancers dropping dozens of shoes from their bags all at once, leaving them scattered across the stage throughout the performance.

This, according to the program, was meant to serve as a metaphor for the nomadic life. More powerful than that was how the piece blended with Reich’s music. The interview clip preceding the segment featured Reich discussing a particular fast, tapping rhythm. When the dancers came onto the stage, they began mimicking that same beat, stomping the ground, making Reich’s music whole. The piece, although marked by its unconventional use of props, was by far the most successful in blending Reich’s music with the performance itself. In instances when the song featured prolonged, opera-like vowel sounds, dancers would

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photos courtesy of manu tasca and fernanda vallois; design by allison derose

THE GEORGETOWN VOICE

look up, mouths open wide. Were they singing? Was it just the audio recording? It was impossible to tell as the audio and the dance seemingly became one.

The show closed with “Keta,” meaning “third” in Yoruba. Yoruba was one of the languages brought to Brazil from West Africa during the slave trade. Although not considered an official national language, some Yoruba terms are still used today in Afro-Brazilian religions like Candomblé, and recently it was even considered a heritage language in the state of Rio de Janeiro. These connections with Africa were also found in the music. “Drumming,” the song chosen for this number, was composed by Reich during a trip to Ghana.

“Keta” stood out primarily for its costume design.

While the other three pieces featured solid colors and relatively simple outfits, “Keta” had all of the dancers in high-waisted black pants and beaded choker necklaces.

Again, the dancers returned to their impressive displays of strength, contortionism, and synchronicity. At that point, they had been dancing for a little over an hour, but there was no evidence of fatigue. Up until the very last second, they kept on going with their thrilling performance, occupying the stage with their sharp, precise movements.

“Keta” was also marked by one distinct moment, when all of the dancers went to the back of the stage and turned on bright, blinding lights, marking the edge of the floor. It was a small moment, not even taking up one-tenth of the choreography, but it felt like a distinct wake-up call. In the cozy Dance Place venue, with its misty air and blank, seemingly endless stage, it was easy to be captivated by the surreal feeling of the performance. The dancers in Focus Cia de Dança contributed to this effect, seemingly defying the laws of physics, gravity, and exhaustion. They made it easy to forget that this was a very human, physical performance.

That was perhaps the greatest beauty of STILL REICH: Even with the dancers, the stage, the music, and the lights blending at times, it was still marked by striking moments— and these moments lingered. For a second, it was possible to forget about the world outside and to just appreciate the wonderful spectacle. For a moment, it was possible to believe that the dance never had to end. G

Lumpy Space Collective (continued from page 9) But DIY venues don’t have the same protections a large corporation like Sofar Sounds does. When DIY venues become too well-known and successful, Smith-White said, the Department of Consumer and Regulatory Affairs tends to step in and crack down.

“The D.C. government sort of views them as quasibusiness entities rather than just a group of human beings with guitars. And that’s caused problems, and they’ve shut down a couple different house concert scenarios where people were so organized that the city was like ‘this is a business, you’re doing everything except paying taxes in our eyes,’” Smith-White said.

D.C. house shows date back to the ’60s and ’70s with the birth of the hardcore punk movement. But Cline has observed an effort to distance the contemporary DIY scene from its past prominent figures, while retaining its original radical values.

“Some of the most famous punk stars from the ’70s and ’80s are like weird dad conservatives now. It’s like maybe punk was always just about being an angry white man, and so there’s definitely been a reckoning with that.”

Through intense collective discussion, Cline has observed a reorientation around the radical Marxist ideals that propelled the original DIY movement along with the establishment of more progressive baseline practices such as an optional door donation and a zero-tolerance policy for abusers and racists.

“But there also is a faction of people who are like ‘no, we have to do it in this very punk, anarchist mindset,’” Cline said. “I would not say that anyone in this house is really an anarchist, but we kind of still try to respect that viewpoint.”

Lumpy Space generally books two local bands and one touring band for each show, and gives 50 percent of door donations to the touring band, and 25 percent to each local band. Sometimes, Cline says, the local bands donate their cut to the touring band, especially if they’re more veteran acts with touring experience.

“The general idea is usually to get more money to the touring band because they have shit to pay for, they’re on tour, they have to buy food, they have to buy gas, they sometimes have to buy lodging,” Cline said.

On top of paying touring bands from the door donation, Lumpy Space opens its home to the travelling artists. “We

photo courtesy of tori swiacki

also let bands just sleep here overnight, just generally use this as a space to take a load off while they’re on tour.”

Additionally, the money collected at the door is not a mandatory cover but rather a donation, because a door fee could open them up to accusations of operating an illegal business.

Swiacki recalls their own experiences on tour with Nowadays as why they believe so vehemently in the importance of a door donation. “We have a lot of talented people come through here and they deserve to get here easily and with dignity, and they deserve to be paid for what they’re doing because you should pay your artists.

Absolutely fucking pay your artists,” they said. As Swiacki began speaking, local band Magazine Beach began their set, so their response was punctuated by the band’s driving punk beats.

But Swiacki said they would let you in whether or not you could donate at the door. “If you can’t pay to come out here, I’m going to let you in because you deserve a good time too, you know what I mean? All I ask is that you don’t abuse it,” they said. “If you don’t got anything, bring some art. Bring a good vibe. Bring a beer. Just come hang out and be a good vibe, and if that’s all you have, that’s all you have, and that’s great.”

It’s Oct. 12, homecoming night, and the room is filled with about half Georgetown students. We’ve gathered for that night’s Lumpy Space show, featuring Magazine Beach and touring bands Curtis Cooper and Teenage Halloween.

Magazine Beach is jamming out a fast-paced punk tune, and not a single audience member is on their phones.

A mosh pit forms, and by that I mean three or four dudes start shoving each other aggressively, and now I know what the pool noodles taped to the poles are for. It feels like catharsis, an untouchable release, sweat and smiling faces.

It’s not long before I become a casualty of the mosh pit, but I almost don’t even care. The music is infectious, and I start to dance. G

Senior Auditors (continued from page 10) When you audit a class, you just sit in and you're kind of a quiet person in the back of the room.”

However, Brill sees the observational role as important to the maintenance of normal class discussion. In her eyes, an auditor should use the opportunity to learn instead of commandeering class sessions and taking up time undergraduate students might use to discuss texts or concepts. “[The professor] always looks towards the students and wants to get them involved, which I think is the way it should be. I mean, there are times when I'm like, ‘I really want to say something,’ but it's really not my place to speak.”

Just because Brill does not receive a grade in the course does not mean she neglects the readings and homework assigned by the professor. “I don't have to write the paper, I don't have to do a presentation, but I will definitely do all the reading,” she said. “That's important to me. That's how I’m getting something out of it.”

Brill also wondered whether it was important for her to attend every class session. When she missed class

for vacation, she sent an email to the professor, just in case. “I missed a couple of classes and I was like, ‘am I supposed to let her know that I'm not coming?’ Maybe she doesn't care, but I just thought to be polite, I would let her know.”

Ridder, who led the program from 1986 when she became assistant dean until her retirement in 2017, remembered only one example of a time she received complaints from professors and undergraduate students about an auditor “taking over” class time. “They participate when asked to participate; they don’t take over the class," she said. “One out of hundreds and hundreds didn’t get it.”

Ridder saw the program grow from four senior citizens in her first year to 190 when she retired 30 years later. This semester’s 240 auditors come to Georgetown from all over the D.C. area. Ridder said word of mouth helped the program reach the size it is now.

“There were four auditors that first semester that I was working with it, and two of them were walkers back and forth from the neighborhood,” she said. “Their telling neighbors really got it growing.”

Like many auditors, Brill found out about the program from another participant. This year, Brill turned 65 and was finally able to to sign up for the program for the fall semester. “I heard about it from a friend who has taken other classes, and of course, I just became eligible to sign up,” she said. “I looked at the schedule and the classes. I went through all the departments. English is just my love and always has been, so that was number one.”

Brill’s involvement in the program shows the scope of the program has spread. She commutes from Chevy Chase, D.C., located a few miles away from Georgetown on the Maryland border. She drives 15 minutes to the university two days a week.

“Initially it was seen as a gift to the Georgetown community on behalf of Georgetown, kind of some goodwill with the neighborhood,” Sullivan said.

Now, the reach of the program has expanded into neighborhoods like Clarendon in Arlington, Virginia and other areas surrounding the District. “We have people coming in from Maryland,” he said. “From all around the DMV area.”

From his standpoint, Sullivan sees the senior auditors that come in as an important component of the university community. He calls their stories “unbelievable,” pointing to the experiences they have shared from their pasts. “We've got ambassadors in this program,” he said.

“We've got people who knew President Kennedy.”

Sullivan said there are auditors who speak five languages and have many other diverse skill sets. “We have nuclear physicists in this program who have made way more money than I'll ever make and are way smarter than I'll ever be,” he said.

Ridder also said the presence of auditors has led to real benefits for undergraduate students. She said some students found jobs and internship opportunities after making connections with senior citizens in their classes.

For some, auditing leads them to enroll in a creditbearing SCS program. Ridder said she saw the occasional auditor enroll in the Liberal Studies program to take additional classes and get a master’s degree.

For other auditors, sitting in on classes is just a hobby and an extension of their academic interests. Brill sees the program as a better way to consume literature than more typical book groups she has joined before. “I love listening,” she said. “I just soak up everything that all the students say.” G October 25, 2019

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