The REVIVAL Issue by ISSUES Magazine

. ’ WASH. U.’S PREMIER JUSTICE & DESIGN MAG

REVIVAL ISSUE #016

3RD QUARTER

issues

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SPRING ‘18

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Letter from the Editor President Emily Caroline King

Editor-in-Chief Emma LaPlante

Art & Design Editor Yena Jeong

Senior Editors Eleni Andris Emily Caroline King Lauryn McSpadden Swetha Nakshatri Alicia Yang

Public Relations Alicia Zhang

Treasurer Alicia Yang

Social Chair Lauryn McSpadden Issue 16 March 2018 Washington University in St. Louis Photo on cover of Phoebe Li taken by Rachel Hellman

Dear thoughtful readers, The past is having a moment. We have decided collectively that modernity is boring, so can’t we just bring back the 90s? Or the 60s? Or whenever it was acceptable for roving bands of children in high tops to bike unsupervised around their mysterious hometowns, Stranger Things-style? Preoccupation with all things retro appears in every art form and in every public sphere. We see it in the television reboots of The X-Files and Twin Peaks. We see it in the music of popular artist Leon Bridges, who croons like a 1950s soul singer. And we see it in the political catchphrase that just won’t die, “Make America Great Again.” At ISSUES Magazine, we decided to give nostalgia its due. Thus the REVIVAL Issue was born, an issue about looking to the past. As always, we aim to explore our topic through as many lenses as possible. If you like fashion, check out Rachel Hellman’s photo project, “Groovy Baby”; if you’re into film, read about the revival of favorite childhood movies in Emily Alpert’s “Nostalgia.” In these and other pieces, our contributors examine the past’s seductive beauty as well as its danger. For many Americans, modernity is not actually boring; it is terrifying. If you’re an immigrant, a racial minority, a woman, or a person who’d rather not drown in rising sea levels, you may look at the powers that be and, in a bewildering turn of events, regret ever wishing ill on George W. Bush. “Our standards were too high!” you may hear yourself say. “Just look at his oil paintings!” In short, it’s easy to feel like things have never been worse; nostalgia offers an escape from the difficult present into an idealized past. But keep in mind the logical question to America’s aforementioned tagline du jour: For whom has America ever been greater than it is now? For whom has the world? A January New York Times article called “Why 2017 Was the Best Year in Human History” listed all the metrics by which the world is steadily improving: poverty rates, vaccination coverage, LGBTQ acceptance, and literacy levels, to name a few. When we adopt this long view, the present doesn’t look so bad after all. All great artists borrow from those who came before them. As we refashion ourselves in the aftermath of lost innocence and political reckoning, let’s make like artists and bring only the best parts of our past into the future. Let’s make ourselves shiny and new. Come for the retro aesthetic, stay for the feminist Snow White satire. This is the REVIVAL Issue. —Emma LaPlante

04 Breathing Architecture by Chenyu Zhang 08 The Revival of the Free Spirit Through Motorcycling by Rhea Khanna 10 The Revival of the Independent Bookstore by Maisie Heine 16 Just Food: Agricultural Justice Movements in St. Louis by Harry Hall 19 Groovy Baby by Rachel Hellman 22 Back in Black by Emily Caroline King 26 The Radical Feminist Dwarf by Anna Konradi 28 Making America Great Again? by Swetha Nakshatri 32 Land Use Policy in Wells/Goodfellow, St. Louis by Jared Crane 42 Missouri Ghosts by Emma LaPlante 44 Vinyl Revival by Lauryn McSpadden 46 Illustrations by Michael Avery 50 The Copy Cat Killer by Emily Caroline King 52 The Backcountry Revisited by Claire Elias 56 Nostalgia by Emily Alpert 58 Here and Then by Joy Mallory 62 With, Not For by Briana Belfiore 64 Mission Statement

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In this ISSUE

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Breathing Architecture Interviewed & Photographed by Chenyu Zhang

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Focused on the revival of our built environment around Olin Library, this series of photos exaggerates warm colors to show that the changes in our environment are not as intangible as we may think.

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“I feel ________ about the Olin Library reconstruction.” Why? grateful “I am LESS STRESSED when working in the NEW café area!” happy “Those new booths are AMAZING.” surprised “The cylinder-like space is quite MODERN.”

okay “The area really SMELLS, though.” relieved “Not because of the inside but because the walkways are not blocked.”

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The Revival of the Free Spirit Through Motorcycling

Written by Rhea Khanna

“This edition of The Motorcycle Diaries, the notes describing a journey made without hesitation, aboard the noisy motorcycle La Poderosa II…free as the wind, with the sole purpose of getting to know the world, is dedicated to people whose youth is not merely sequential, but wholehearted and spiritual.” —Ernesto “Che” Guevara, The Motorcycle Diaries You could consider the motorcycle simply as a means of transportation—a motorized two-wheeler that gets you from point A to B, just with a little more wind in your hair than in your Corolla. However, for decades—unlike your Corolla—motorcycles has aroused in their riders not only wonder and esteem but, more importantly, senses of loyalty, devotion, and community. What exactly gives motorcycling this edge over cars? What makes it such a movement, a well-defined culture? And is that familiar motorcycle culture disappearing in the contemporary age, or is it going through a reinvention to come out stronger than it ever was? American motorcycling has long been associated with uninhibited adventure, independence, and fearlessness. Gaining traction during World War II, motorcycles proved not only to be a trustworthy means of transportation for

troops, but also provided solace to veterans who sought to relive the adrenaline rush they had experienced on the field. Motorcycle culture fostered a similar sense of community and belonging propounded by the military, and in doing so, it established a kinship among motorcyclists. However, the infamous Hollister Riot of 1947 proved to be a critical point in the evolution of motorcycle culture. The disturbance, caused by an unanticipated flood of bikers at the American Motorcyclist Association’s Gypsy Tour event in California on the Fourth of July, drastically influenced public perception of motorcyclists. Heavily dramatized by the media, the event inspired the notorious image of bikers and an association between motorbikes and outlaws. This gave way to “One Percenters,” a name given to outlaw motorcycle clubs such as the Hells Angels and the Pagans. (The name refers to the idea that 99% of motorcycle riders are peaceful and law-abiding, while only 1% fit the cultural stereotypes that link motorcycling to lawlessness and violence.) Despite its tumultuous history, motorcycling has managed to slowly veer away from the aftermath of the Hollister Riot while maintaining its associations with liberation. Throughout the years, it has always represented an escape from the mundane, a chance for freedom. It offers a way of life and a strong sense of identity. Stepping out of your

009 comfort zone can open you up to an empowered, liberated life. This liberation of spirit, embraced by motorcycling culture, is something many of us seek. Creating a space for people to be themselves, unbound and unrestricted, motorcycling throws you into your environment. It pulls you out of the role as the passive observer within the bounds of your car and compels you to engage with everything around you. As Robert Pirsig wrote in his book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, “You’re completely in contact with it all. You’re in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.”

of conscientious youth. It seems promising: millennials are already known for being bold and individualistic (“the clapback generation,” as they are sometimes called), traits that align well with motorcycle culture. This primes millennials as ideal candidates for embracing motorcycle culture, both tangibly and metaphorically. Awakening to this potential, motorcycling institutions are finally starting to invite today’s youth to the table, reviving themselves within the new, youth-powered landscape. For years, motorcycling has attracted a following within communities beyond the stereotypical white, male baby boomer commonly associated with it. However, the stories of more diverse riders often get lost in the long and ambling history of motorcycling. Over time, many women riders and riders of color came to celebrate the camaraderie and freedom of spirit that motorcycling offers. After World War II, many black veterans embraced the rush of motorcycling as well, largely in response to racist segregation laws denying them opportunities to pursue activities such as flying planes. In fact, numerous all-black motorcycle clubs, such as the Dragons, continue to reign and ride today. Women permeate the world of motorcycles, too, moving from the back to the front of the bike, and establishing a sense of strength they find at the head. In fact, female motorcycle ownership has increased in recent years and has been driving the reinvention of motorcycle culture across the country, as well as worldwide. Numerous motorcycle providers have taken notice and have promoted female-centric campaigns and productions, such as the AMA’s Get Women Riding campaign. These efforts are noteworthy and suggest a shift to a more inclusive iteration of biker culture. However, they still fail to revive and spotlight the stories of these communities traditionally ignored in mainstream discourse. The culture of independence and freedom that motorcycling has fostered over the years is worthy of appreciation and respect. But as it passes through the phase of reconstruction, we must ask the lingering question: When and how will our go-to images of motorcyclists transform from old, white, bearded guys to strong female riders or rider of colors? And who will bring about that change? Will it be me? Or you? •

Throughout the years, motorcycling has always represented an escape from the mundane, a chance for freedom. Recent discussions of motorcycling have focused on the decline of bike sales, taking a rather negative view of the seemingly waning culture. But instead of viewing this trend with antagonism, I can only wonder if the strength of such a culture could ever really die. In 2017, Bloomberg noted the slash in motorcycle sales by half compared to ten years ago, attributing this decline to the idea that people currently buying motorcycles tend to be individuals caught between two generations: millennials (who haven’t popularly embraced the motorcycle lifestyle) and baby boomers (who are slowly aging out of it). However, the influential history of motorcycling in America and its possession of such a strong emotional and cultural forcefulness make it hard to accept the decrease in motorcycle popularity as anything other than a phase of reinvention. Motorcycle companies are making strategic shifts to appeal to millennials and other first-time riders. Harley-Davidson has begun hosting riding academies and, along with almost other motorcycle companies, has begun manufacturing motorcycles crafted specifically for first-time riders. These new bikes are designed to be affordable, environmentally friendly, lighter, and more approachable, thus remarketing the freedom of spirit promised by a motorcycle to a culture

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The Revival of the Independent Bookstore Written by Maisie Heine Photographs of Left Bank Books & Subterranean Books by Ellen Bottcher

011 “Kids aren’t what they used be,” your crotchety grandfather might say. “They don’t know how to have real conversations or connect with each other. They’re too attached to their screens. They don’t read books anymore.” A quick internet search will reveal that your crochety grandfather is not alone: people have done an amazing amount of handwringing over the rate at which technology is evolving and what it is doing to young brains. According to many members of the older generations, the youth don’t know how to be real people anymore. What should we make of these anxieties? It turns out that many of our collective grandparents’ claims, such as the assertion that kids don’t read anymore, are blatantly false. While technology has certainly changed the way that

While technology has certainly changed the way that we read, reading as an activity is far from obsolete. we read, reading as an activity is far from obsolete. It has merely entered into the modern era of information overload, just like everything else. With the advent of e-readers like Kindles and NOOKs, as well as iPhone reading apps, we have hundreds of thousands of books available at our fingertips. With just a few taps on a screen, we can download the sequels to our new favorite novels when we just can’t wait to find out what happens next. Instant gratification has become king when it comes to the way that we consume books. In a time when we never have to leave home to access quality reading material, one would think bookstores would be the new Blockbuster Videos. When Amazon.com burst onto the retail scene in 1995, it seemed like a sudden death sentence for brick and mortar independent bookstores. Indeed, between 1995 and 2000, the number of independent bookstores plummeted 43 percent. But in spite of Amazon and e-books, which publishers predicted would permanently disrupt the market, things have actually leveled out in the last 6 years; the trend has even started to 1 2

reverse itself. The American Booksellers Association (ABA) reported a 35 percent growth in the number of independent booksellers in America between 2009 and 2015, resulting in around 2,300 independent bookstores in the U.S. as of 2016.1 Interestingly, independent bookstores seem to be doing better than the big bookseller chains. The stock for Barnes & Noble fluctuates greatly from week to week, and the company has struggled with how to differentiate itself from other booksellers in the marketplace. It has tried to expand into selling more board games and knickknacks, but many feel that it is no longer selling with its audience in mind; people don’t go to Barnes & Noble to buy board games, they go to buy books. An article by Business Insider found that while chain bookstores have been losing their unit market share, independent bookstores have been steadily increasing theirs.2 The author of this article also argues that Amazon has modeled its new physical stores after the independent bookstore model. Smaller store size, neighborhood location, and a personal curation method all align Amazon with independent bookstores rather than other large chains. Amazon’s choice to place its stores in proximity to wellknown local bookstores is also revealing. Amazon seems to be both emulating and placing itself in direct competition with independent bookstores. Walk into an Amazon bookstore, though, and you’ll instantly notice many of the ways it differs from a traditional independent bookstore. There is a gadgets and

https://qz.com/1135474/how-independent-bookstores-thrived-in-spite-of-amazon/ http://www.businessinsider.com/amazons-new-bookstores-are-copying-independent-booksellers-2017-1

012 electronics section in the corner of each store, for example, and while independent bookstores are typically organized by genre, Amazon bookstores organize books under categories like “Books People Finished Within Three Days on Their Kindle” or “Books Rates 4.8 Stars or Above.” The stores use a combination of customer ratings, pre-orders, sales, and reviews to shape shoppers’ experiences. Amazon’s bookstores adhere to the policies of its website, as well: if you are an Amazon Prime member, you pay less than a nonmember on whatever books you are buying. Clearly, Amazon’s intent in opening new bookstores around the country is not just to provide the community with more options for buying books. The rollout of new Amazon bookstores seems to be the latest bait for uncommitted consumers, as well as a way to make Amazon’s connection with its current devotees even stronger. It might seem trite to bash corporations in favor of independent bookstores, but I am going to do it anyway. My stubbornness stems from my belief in the value of human interaction and connection. There are many reasons to love independent bookstores, and chief among them is the way in which they catalyze relationships between booksellers and buyers. Perhaps Amazon is trying to model its stores after indie places because its executives know that people tend to be extremely loyal to their local bookstores. Independent bookstores are particularly handy for when you don’t know what you want to read next. Sure, if you

Independent bookstores catalyze relationships between booksellers and buyers. know exactly what book you are looking for, you might turn to Amazon as the cheapest and most convenient option. However, your independent bookseller is full of employees who, once you visit their store enough, come to know you and your taste in books. The relationships we form at independent bookstores are invaluable when we would prefer a human rather than an algorithm telling us what we might enjoy reading next. Furthermore, unlike at Amazon, individuals working at independent bookstores are not just going to recommend the bestsellers. Indie bookstores often look to include

voices that haven’t been embraced by the mainstream, including local or self-published works or books that might not have mass appeal. Consider the advice of American author Annie Dillard in an open letter called “Notes for Young Writers”: “Buy books from independent booksellers, not chain stores. For complicated reasons, chain stores are helping to stamp out literary publishing.” Besides being a great place to seek out books outside of the mainstream, shopping at local independent stores helps financially support all their community and literary efforts. Here in St. Louis, we have quite a few wonderful independent stores. Left Bank Books, the largest independent bookstore in the Central West End, is committed to buying everything local, including books, merchandise, and other supplies needed to keep the store running. Left Bank Books represents a great example of the range and diversity of books you can find in an independent bookstore, contrary to misconceptions about small bookstores having only narrow selections. Every month, they have a new “Indie Next List” to give customers recommendations from indie booksellers. They also have book clubs, reading events, and the Left Bank Books Foundation, a nonprofit organization that promotes literacy by providing books and literary programming to public school children and disadvantaged populations around St. Louis. Walking into Dunaway Books, a bookstore selling “rare, used, and out-of-print” books, is also an experience that an Amazon shopping spree could never emulate. A bona fide gallery of aisles upon aisles of different books, the store might be overwhelming at first, but it is perfect for those Sunday afternoons you would like to spend getting lost in different worlds. It is also difficult to find a place with lower price tags; most of its books sell for under $10. Closest to Wash. U.’s campus is the Delmar Loop’s Subterranean Books, a name that instantly evokes the

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014 image of hidden books waiting to be discovered. Literature professors at Wash. U. will sometimes order their class texts through Subterranean Books and ask students to pick them up in the store. In one of my classes last semester, my professor ensured that the books she was requiring for the course were available at both the campus bookstore and Subterranean Books. While she cautioned that the books from Subterranean Books might be more expensive than the used versions we could find on Amazon, she wanted to give us the option to also support our local bookstore. Subterranean also has a frequent buyer program: for every ten books you buy, you get a store credit for the average dollar amount of the ten books you bought. For people who get many of their books from Subterranean, that credit accumulates fast. This is just one of the many inventive solutions bookstores have devised to keep themselves thriving in spite of the online marketplace and large bookselling corporations. Though Amazon has its own features designed to foster customer loyalty, I don’t get to have a conversation on Amazon.com with a bookseller named Kelly about the latest things we’ve both been reading and the book she thinks I should read next. That distinction matters to me. Face-to-face community matters to me. While there are a number of advantages to buying books locally, there is not one definitive answer for why independent bookstores have done so well in the last few years. Perhaps the simplest explanation is the truest: there is something irreplaceably charming about stepping into a small bookstore, that magical place chock-full of friendly faces and beautifully packaged sources of knowledge and information. In our oversaturated digital landscape, in which we are constantly looking at our screens, it is easy to develop nostalgia for an environment where we are surrounded by books, able to feel their covers, flip through their pages, and experience both that new and old book smell. That physical, visceral journey through a bookstore, that opportunity to interact with cherished objects and the people responsible for curating them, gives us an adrenaline rush that we quickly come to crave, a rush that speaks to our instinctual desires as humans to have intimate encounters with the world around us. When I walk into an independent bookstore, I always feel a sense of adventure, an excitement around not knowing the selection of the store or the treasures I might unearth there that day. I never want to live in a world where that feeling doesn’t exist. I like my world filled with indie bookstores to which I can turn and return. •

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Just Food: Agricultural Justice Movements in St. Louis Written by Harry Hall Illustrated by Astrella Sjarfi

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Today, America’s food travels an average of 1,600 miles—approximately the distance from California to St. Louis—from farm to table.

At this time of year, EarthDance Organic Farm School in Ferguson, Missouri, grows an array of lettuce, carrots, spinach, kale, radishes, bok choy, and more seasonal vegetables in two high tunnels (warmed through solar heat, cooled through raised sides) without use of chemicals. The farmers will soon prepare for spring, growing on their one outdoor acre just a few blocks off Airport Road. Amid one of the high tunnels, you can slip through a tomato jungle, with vines ascending like kelp. Out on the 50- to 100-foot permanent beds, with the sound of jet planes low overhead, you can discuss soil and seed schedules with the three farmers that work EarthDance’s land. You can pick and eat produce straight from the ground, nothing to wash off besides a bit of residual soil. EarthDance’s setting feels natural, idyllic. The adjacent polarities of the city and the farm make the latter seem like some sort of revival, an imaginative step back into how agriculture used to work. Farms used to be local out of necessity, because fresh food could not travel far. Today, America’s food travels an average of 1,600 miles—approximately the distance from California to St. Louis—from farm to table. It is often impossible to know where our groceries and prepared food come from. Americans tend to share a certain abstract vision of how food gets off the field and onto tables: a network of human interactions which they assume has become more ethical since the Great Depression, the setting of The Grapes of Wrath, Steinbeck’s novel about poor migratory farmers and the abuses they face. But even when grocery store produce is marked with a point of origin, that gives us no information about the farmers and workers who pick and prepare our food. Most contemporary Americans feel a distance—physical and social—from the food system as a whole, and this distance allows environmental abuses to occur in the name of growing more food. Non-organic seeds produced in labs, known as Genetically Modified Organisms, necessitate special, extra-strength pesticides to kill all life forms except the crops (many of the chemicals embed themselves in

plants we eat, and the rest runs off into waterways, killing valuable ecosystems). Recent meta-analyses in the British Journal of Nutrition show higher levels of antioxidants and other important, though undervalued, natural compounds in organic produce. Though GMO seeds can yield larger and heavier produce, those massive, whitish-red strawberries you find in grocery stores are only simulacra of the natural. We buy them out of necessity, because of the absence of anything better. A sensuous American writer named Leonard Michaels once wrote in 2003, “We live now in a world of images and imitations, and that is just as likely to be true of, say, the phony tomatoes in your salad as the passions in your heart.” However, take a tour of EarthDance and you’ll learn right away that the farm has been “chemical-free since 1883,” when the Mueller family founded it under the name “Mueller Farm.” It spanned 200 acres, taking up much of the land of modern-day Ferguson. The family hired dozens of farmers to work the land. Over the years, the Muellers sold parts of their land for development, and when the last of the family died in 2012, EarthDance (which had been leasing the land for eight years prior) bought the farm. Since then, EarthDance—as an organic farm school—has held community gardening events, trainings for future farmers, and tours for local schools. (They also advertise tours and events to St. Louis at large—you may have seen their advertisements on MetroBuses this winter.) Besides the construction of their greenhouses, EarthDance’s farming practices haven’t changed much since the 19th century. EarthDance now can be seen as capitalizing on the know-your-farmer, organic, and urban farm revivals. These trends are characteristic of a larger intersectionality of revivalist farm culture around the city and the country. Gateway Greening, for example, was founded in 1983 and has helped St. Louis communities open over 200 gardens around the city, reviving a sense of connectedness through shared access to gardens and vegetables. Urban Harvest recently opened a food roof farm in downtown St. Louis,

018 uniting local, urban farm philosophies with the technology and scope of a modern metropolitan landscape. All three St. Louis organizations have attempted to revive our food system, but their efforts come up against parallel trends of commercial and industrial expansion. Farmers struggle to acquire land in or near cities, land cheap enough to support nonprofit farms. They also struggle with historical development—buildings torn down and the land repurposed—because of lead, arsenic and cadmium soil pollution. If a farm wishes to become USDA-certified organic, it faces three years of record keeping, site visits, and regular auditing. Even then, organic farms face the danger of contamination via chemical runoff from neighboring industries and factory farms. A major anxiety in the urban, organic, know-yourfarmer revival movement concerns gentrification and the likelihood that healthier, more expensive produce will mostly go to wealthy, health-minded shoppers. EarthDance sells produce to restaurants but also maintains stalls at farmers’ markets, which some see as centers of privilege. Parts of Ferguson and North St. Louis are “food deserts,” meaning there is not access to fresh food within a mile of the territory. For families without cars, such barriers can drive people to eat at gas stations, convenience stores, fast food restaurants, and other potentially unhealthy sites. There is a farmers’ market in Ferguson, but it can be difficult to access. Farmers’ markets and their clientele often tailor to wealthier customers. Gentrification—the pumping of wealth into an area at a rate that residents can’t keep up

with—represents exactly the sort of negative consequence with which the local agriculture revival has to contend. But organizations like EarthDance, Urban Harvest, and Gateway Greening are making strides to address the issues and remnants of gentrification, as well as legacies of white flight, racism, and cordoned wealth. These organizations make up an informal citywide network that attempts to bring affordable, local food to all areas of St. Louis. EarthDance, for instance, plans to provide food for Metro Market, a refitted bus that drives around North County, giving residents the possibility to buy discounted, fresh food. (It’s been described as a farmers’ market on wheels.) But the onus is also on farmers’ markets and local grocery stores (Tower Grove Farmers’ Market among others), which must embrace initiatives such as “Double Up Food Bucks,” a program that encourages food sellers to sell produce at half their standard prices to customers benefitting from food stamps. Being in Ferguson, EarthDance Farm may seem far removed from the city, but it plays an integral role in the food justice movement, a movement working to provide all St. Louisans with access to fresh food. • https://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2016/02/18/467136329/ is-organic-more-nutritious-new-study-adds-to-the-evidence https://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2015/07/31/427857297/ pesticide-drift-threatens-organic-farms

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Groovy Baby Photographed by Rachel Hellman Modeling by Phoebe Li & Giulia Neaher

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Back in Black: Black Pride in the African Diaspora Across Time and Location

Written by Emily Caroline King

023 As polarizing as the VH1 reality hit Love & Hip Hop may be, it undoubtedly radiates cultural influence with every Monday night airing. Most importantly, the show has brought visibility to the presence of Afro-Latinas across its franchise. Cardi B is the most impactful new star from the series; she has catapulted from East Coast fame to the national stage in the past year. The last AfroLatina recognized for both her blackness and latinidad in the mainstream was the great Celia Cruz (1925-2003), a Cuban-American singer with twenty-three gold albums. That is not to say that there have not been many other Afro-Latinas contributing to cultural production. Stars like La La Anthony, Gina Espinosa, and many more have been in the spotlight, but their latinidad—particularly in the case of actors—has been erased. This has forced them to participate in ideologies that would suggest their latinidad and blackness are mutually exclusive. Cardi B has expressed frustrations with the idea that both identities cannot exist together: “I don’t got to tell you that I’m black. I expect you to know it. I hate when people try to take my roots from me. Because we know that there’s African roots inside of us.” Our societal hesitancy to talk about the history of the slave trade has allowed for the neglect of the presence of Afro-Latinx folk and their origins in the Spanish-speaking Caribbean. Efforts to raise Afro-Latinx visibility in the mainstream, particularly through the artistic contributions of Afro-Latinas, have become forces explicitly involved in resisting Afro-Latinx erasure. One of the ways they do so is by evoking language of black pride that characterized movements born in the 1960s and 70s, such as “Black is Beautiful.” Popular photos of Amara La Negra, an Afro-Latina musician featured in Love & Hip Hop: Miami, prominently feature La Negra’s raised fist and ‘fro. Such images are highly reminiscent of the ‘fro-filled aesthetics of the 1970s. Some of La Negra’s struggles with the intersection of blackness and latinidad are presented in a scene from Miami’s second episode that recently made the social media rounds. In the scene, Latino producer Young Hollywood tells La Negra that she will never achieve success if she continues to wear her hair in an afro and talk about her blackness. He then asserts that afros are not elegant, mocks her black pride, asks her if she sees herself as Latina or African. Amara is not only angry with him but is also noticeably hurt, though she does not let that stop her from sticking up for herself. If you have not seen the video, please look it up; it distills and illustrates many of the ways Afro-Latinx people are

excluded, invalidated, and silenced by the wider Latinx community. The 2010s have seen a rebirth in Afrocentric movements focused on celebrating black hair and skin as well as elevating the voices of black women. Pride in naturally curly and kinky hairstyles have seen a dramatic increase, in large part due to the spread of diverse images and ideologies on social media. This global surge has reached Afro-Latina communities, as evidenced in public demonstrations and videos of well-known beauty gurus sharing their styling tips for naturally textured hair. Black models with kinky hair such as Lineisy Montero are showing young Afro-Latinas that their black was always beautiful. To understand why these movements took longer to gain wide popularity in Afro-Latina communities, it is important to contextualize the interplay between black Latinas and the idealized Latina aesthetic that often perpetuates anti-blackness. Latina women with prominent black features experience anti-blackness both in and outside the Latinx community. Furthermore, they face rejection and marginalization within the community because they do not fit society’s standard image of a Latina. This more rigid image naturalizes beauty as compliant with white standards that are just exotic enough to suit white curiosities, which directly relates to the unique self-image complexities faced by Afro-Latinas. This stereotypical image has been consumed by global and Afro-Latinx communities alike, and all have developed quite the taste for it.

024 Many Latinas have also internalized European notions of whiteness, which associate fair skin with godliness, wealth, status quo, and power. Similarly, the internationally dominant racial hierarchy places black folk at the bottom, which helps explain the instinct many Afro-Latinxs have to distance themselves from blackness in favor of hispanidad— Hispanic ideals being tied to the colonial power, Spain. All these forces played a large role in the delayed presence of wide Black Pride movements. During the formation in the postcolonial era of many Latin American nations, elites used their cultural influence to define how to be “Hispanic,” an identifier that emphasizes colonialist ties rather than ethnicity as “Latino” does. This includes a specific phenotype of lighter skin with features that lean more towards Eurocentric standards. Individuals’ embodiment of such features and aesthetics becomes a way to prove a sort of ethnic authenticity. This “authenticity” standard allows for people with stereotypical Latinx features to be validated as Latinx by others in and out of the community, while those with stronger black features are made out to be not “Latino enough.” As society moves more towards idealizing the “exotic,” while still favoring Euro-leaning features for the Hispanic phenotype, anti-blackness spreads, as does pushback against the African origins of much of the Caribbean—even in populations like that of the Dominican Republic where the majority is clearly black.

Those with stronger black features are made out to be not “Latino enough.” In the quest to escape social stigma, black Latin-American women found an accessible avenue towards a proximity to whiteness in the alteration of physical features. In a conversation with a middle-aged Afro-Latina, I was told about how it feels to become invisible because of your blackness, as well as how women with lower incomes are disproportionately affected by this: “It’s just that you don’t get to think about what your hair has to do with racism. All you know is that you have to get to the salon and spend money that you don’t even really have to get pretty and not

look like some campo [countryside] girl that can’t even take care of herself. You just wanna look like J-Lo and Sofía Vergara. But then after I had my daughters and they started wearing their hair natural, I realized how brave it is to say, I’m black and you will see it.” Her sentiments are a micro-reproduction of the Afro-Latina self-image journey, and they echo the popularized “I’m black and I’m proud” phrase of the latter half of the 20th century. Afro-Latina women experience both gendered and racial violence, which increase the pressure many of them feel to achieve the “proper” Latina aesthetic. As cadres of gender theorists will tell you, the woman’s body has been commodified and objectified to such an extent that is often seen as existing solely for the benefit of male visual consumption. This pressure to adhere to what men want to see contributes to the pressures to alter oneself to fit dominant conceptions of beauty, oftentimes defined by white males. Women at the intersections of African Diasporic populations and postcolonial Latinx identity often face judgment from certain circles for what is perceived as a lack of racial pride when they straighten their hair or alter their natural appearance. I want to make clear that I acknowledge women’s agency in choosing how they would like to wear their hair; I also want to celebrate the versatility of black hair. Still, it is important to complicate the origins for certain aesthetics and how they manifest, particularly as people straddle the line between making room for self-identification and accommodating how others racialize them. The greater New York City area has a rapidly growing population of children born to one African-American parent and one Dominican parent, and I spoke at length with one of them: Amber, a New Jersey teen with an African-American father and a Dominican mother. (Amber is also my sister.) We spoke about the U.S.’s plan to list “Hispanic” as a race on the census, what her hair means to her, and how she experiences her place in the Latinx community. Regarding the census change, she explained that it felt “weird because that would make me biracial even though both my parents are obviously black.” It seemed that this census move might play into a feeling of invisibility in a world where “they say you’re too dark to be Hispanic or that Afro-Latina isn’t a real thing. Even other Afro-Latinas [think] they have to be one or the other…they say I’m not black, I’m Puerto Rican or Dominican. There isn’t a certain look to being Hispanic.” She went into the institutionalization of making Afro-Latinidad individuals invisible based on looks when she said of the census: “I feel like black Hispanics are seen

025 as less Hispanic and shown less all over in media than white Hispanics. I think that putting Hispanic as race tries to separate it even further by trying to say you can’t be black and Hispanic and they are taught that being Hispanic is a separate thing when it’s really not. It’s an ethnicity, not a race.” Amber’s statements express feelings of exclusion that indicate a life constrained by binaries; her darker skin and kinky hair have branded her as not belonging to the community within which she was raised. She made a point to say that natural hair and straightened hair are both all right with her—her concern stems more from the valuing of one over the other. She also believes that the main origin of hair treatment is rooted in whiteness. In reference to the progress made with black pride movements, she explained that natural hair may be more accepted now but is still “treated as a joke” or as “wild.” Young Afro-Latinas are finding inspiration and empowerment in popular natural-haired black girls on YouTube and Instagram (Check out Miss Rizos for some beauty-based, intersectional radicalism) who speak Spanish and share their viewers’ national and ethnic origins. While the language and images used in these movements are certainly influenced by 20th-century American movements, they also include the specific frustrations unique to experiences Afro-Latinas face in their communities. Though Afro-Latina beauty movements have been on the rise in recent years, they are far from new; there have always been Afro-Latinas (for example, the Peruvian choreographer and activist Victoria Santa Cruz) who were not afraid to push back against anti-blackness and the promotion of a homogenized Latina look. Thankfully, women doing this cultural work today have an ever-growing number of platforms to explore how ideas of performing one’s ethnicity have spread and taken hold. These explorations have helped combat hegemonic ideals of how latinidad ought to look and have created productive opportunities to facilitate black pride. Women activists today have more access than ever before to each other and to cultural artifacts of the trailblazing women who came before them, which helps enormously when black, Latinx, and Afro-Latinx pride movements seek to identify successful strategies for organizing and empowering their communities. •

026

The Radical Feminist Dwarf Written by Anna Konradi Illustrated by Emma LaPlante

I’m taking my New Year’s resolutions seriously this year. I want to cover protests and warzones for The Grimm Times. I want to go through on the tattoo I’ve been saying I’d get since I turned 21. I want to finish the third season of Broad City, and I want to complete the mural of famous women authors and poets on my bedroom wall. I want to learn to like kale (although this one is a long shot). Finally, I want to dismantle the patriarchy—from the dwarf up. Two weeks ago I caught wind of a band of dwarves keeping an innocent girl captive in the woods. Seven dwarves—all men, all forcing one Snow White into the labors of a housewife. Covering the story would help me knock out two resolutions at once; I’d get published and take down the patriarchy while I was at it. I already have a title in mind: “Band of Wayward Dwarves Guilty of Misogyny.” DAY ONE: As a dwarf myself, I figured I’d have some measure of luck infiltrating their compound. I packed a knapsack of a few spare pairs of practical pants, trail mix, and a copy of The Feminine Mystique and headed into the woods. As I approached the dwarves’ cottage, I heard a whistled tune waft toward me. It was hardly unpleasant, and I found myself lost in it, staring at cracks of blue sky in between the foliage. I shook myself from the trance the dwarves’ song

had put me in. I wondered if Snow White had fallen victim to the dwarves’ perverse whimsy. DAY TWO: For two days now, I’ve watched the dwarves from afar. I plan to make my move in the next week, but I felt it necessary to gather as much detail on the menaces as possible prior to my infiltration. So far, Snow has not acted much like a captive. She joins in with the dwarf called Happy’s singing, and she pats the dwarf called Dopey on the head when he saunters over to her with a crown of sloppily woven flowers. Their entrapment of Snow White is obviously far more sinister than I’d first imagined. DAY THREE: A dwarf called Doc seems to be the mastermind of it all. In Doc there is a god complex like I have not seen in even the most pompous men I have thus far encountered. He seems to believe he can fix everyone and their mother. I have reason to suspect that he has tricked Snow into believing she wants to play maid and mother for the seven dwarves. This notion is, of course, impossible. DAY FOUR: Other dwarves are nearly complacent; I thought not to include them in my story at first but remembered soon

027 after that complacency is a great crime in and of itself. These dwarves are privileged to know complacency as they do. The dwarf named Sneezy, for example: He sits around moaning all day and night—“Snow, my clouded head! The tissues, Snow!” Snow White, of course, having been fully deceived into taking on a maternal role for the dwarves, tends to Sneezy as if he is her child –and not only that, but as if he is plagued with a great and terrible disease. The dwarf Sleepy (who I like to call Lazy) sits idly back as he watches Sneezy moan and Doc play God. He sees it all, albeit through lids half-shut, and watches his brothers victimize Snow White.

“Band of Wayward Dwarves Guilty of Misogyny” DAY FIVE: Happy, too, must notice Snow straining her back to sweep coal-black footprints from the floor. He smiles at Snow and asks, “When’s dinner?” Happy is too entitled to understand that Snow has potential far beyond serving dinner to seven ungrateful dwarves. If I were to reveal to Happy that Snow White is destined, as all women are destined, for a life far beyond that of answering to the whims of men, he would, I’m sure, scrunch his brow for a moment before his face melts into a warm smile. “But Snow is happy,” he’d say. He may as well be named Ignorant. DAY SIX: Dopey is perhaps as much a victim as Snow. He is often bulldozed by the dwarf called Grumpy (who I have yet to spend much time analyzing, as he often works alone while the others romp about in the cottage). Dopey is smarter than his counterparts have surmised. In fact, he treats Snow respectfully, which is a show of intelligence amongst asininity. He does not go unpunished for his refusal to stick with the norm. Grumpy grumbles at the dopey dwarf; Doc subjects him to behavioral therapy; Happy giggles at him as though he were a little child. Still, Dopey stays true to Snow. DAY SEVEN: In the woods, I jot margin notes in my journal— details about the cottage, about the tune the dwarves whistle, about the funny little hats they wear. I am so deep in

thought that I do not notice Snow White until she is but a few feet from me. She sashays about, plucking berries from brambly patches on the forest floor. I look for any signs of distress, pen and journal at the ready. But here I’ve witnessed the strangest episode: Snow smiles as she works. It’s a small smile, quiet and meant only for herself. Strange, I write. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was happy. I’d say she has agency. The Dwarves have brainwashed Snow White more successfully than I imagined. I estimate my research will be fleshed out enough to make contact with the dwarves in the following days. I hope to understand the manipulations at hand and submit them to the editor of The Grimm Times as soon as possible. Meanwhile, I have given up on eating kale. •

028

Making America Great Again?: Manipulating Nostalgia for Political and Commercial Gain Written by Swetha Nakshatri

029 Make America Great Again. A rallying cry, of hope or of fear, depending on the audience. Constantly roared by the man who calls himself the “leader of the free world.” It’s become a symbol of something bigger than itself: a harsh reality of bigotry and uncompromising nationalism and the reassurance that maybe those things aren’t as negative as modern “progressive” politics might suggest. But when was America truly great? When we colonized and claimed lands as though we had precedent, killing and forcibly displacing Native Americans in a manner strikingly evoked by the DAPL protests? When we facilitated war and instability in the Middle East in a narrative that continues to this day and is used to justify religious tension? Or when we continually express to people of color, women, immigrants, and the LGBTQIA community that the American Dream is significantly less applicable to them? There is a movement, however, that has conveniently refused to acknowledge those facts. They are the masters of manipulating nostalgia, making us question history, and rewriting it in a way that serves a political or commercial purpose. From Dodge Ram selling trucks by selectively sampling a Martin Luther King Jr. sermon to Trump consistently promising the downtrodden and unemployed unsustainable coal mining jobs, people are quick to evoke history when it justifies their power and silences marginalized communities. From energy power to the power of consumption, history has been neglected in favor of a rewrite for our new world order.

Middle America “There is nothing to indicate that jobs recently promised in the US coal industry will be jobs delivered. The US coal industry will continue to decline, and it will continue to shed jobs. This trend will continue to put communities that are reliant on coal-related economic activity in the position of having to manage a difficult transition. —Institute for Energy Economics and Financial Analysis

Make America Great Again has particularly resonated with a specific group: the white, working-class residents of coal country, left behind by advances in manufacturing and technology while being manipulated by a billionaire promising to fight for jobs that cannot conceivably be restored. Not only has Trump ignored the trajectory of coal, he reconstructs the history and narrative of energy politics in a way that serves his political purpose, at the expense of exploiting blue-collar workers and immigrants. There is no “assault” on coal, and the use of such violent language (by leaders like Mitch McConnell) does nothing but gaslight the country, hiding the fact that coal has never been sustainable or “clean.” Trump constantly refers to a history of coal mining as the pinnacle of American production and promises a return to that era. But as true history has indicated, coal has been rendered obsolete by other energy forms, public health concerns, and the decline of blue-collar jobs. According to The Washington Post, since 2006, the amount of coal in the United States energy generation mix has declined 53% while natural gas has increased 33%, largely due to fracking. Subsequently, coal-mining employment has declined 40% since 2009. Peabody Energy, St. Louis’s former source for coal power and related jobs, recently declared bankruptcy. Arch Coal just recovered. If these former giants can’t find faith in the future of coal, how can our president? His lack of knowledge is supplemented by grandiose claims that completely deny the history of energy and coal decline, manipulating a few successes into justification for the supposed revitalization of a dead industry. Manipulating nostalgia for the “good old days” and empty pandering to his base are his only strategies. The only “viable solution” that Trump has provided is gutting Obama-era environmental regulations, misrepresenting this legislation as damaging to the lower class. But coal was killed long before these regulations. The hallmark of the new EPA is the repeal of the Clean Power Plan, passed by President Obama in 2015 as the first-ever national limit on carbon pollution from power plants with the ultimate goal of a 32% decrease in greenhouse gas emissions by 2030. From the beginning, conservatives have used manipulation and deceit to counter this plan, ignoring the history of the EPA and its precedent by virtue of its establishment

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HISTORY IS REPUTABLE.

HISTORY IS NOSTALGIC.

and previous regulations such as the Clean Air Act, implemented under a Republican president. Instead they redraft the boundaries between federal- and state-level legislation, citing the Clean Power Plan as exceeding the EPA’s statutory authority. What the Trump administration and its recently appointed EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt, a fossil fuel sympathizer and former Oklahoma attorney general who sued the EPA 13 times during his tenure, have accomplished is an about-face in the trajectory of energy and environmental policies, as well as a manipulation of nostalgia for the Reagan Era of small government and big business. What they haven’t done is acknowledge the true economic impact of the repeal as well as the negative health effects for the very populations this administration claims to be defending. West Virginia, the heart of coal country, is also the heart of cancer country. Particle pollution from coal, which would be reduced by up to 37% under the Clean Power Plan, has placed the southern coal-producing countries in the bottom 1% for life expectancy in the United States (West Virginia Gazette). Coal is slowly killing its miners, and their deaths are used as collateral political damage. Coal use is destructive, unhealthy, and economically impractical to sustain. Any claim otherwise is a political power move, designed to sustain presidential or senatorial terms, not the people who need hope.

of natural resources and military strategy. Conservatives in the United States have benefited from using this region and distorting its characterization to score political points. There is an urge among American politicians to portray the Middle East and its residents as the “enemy.” Such politicians often turn to history to justify waging war, bombing civilians, destroying cities, and separating families. Politicians tell a history of uncivilized jihadists in need of US intervention. They point to the Taliban, Al Qaeda, and 9/11 to make a whole region a threat. However, they fail to recognize the history of imperialism and violence at the hands of the West, the exploitation of natural resources in the region, and our support of regimes whose ideology we claim to reject. It’s quite easy to manipulate history when you can pick and choose what happened. It’s a lot easier to justify a war against “terrorists” than against civilians. It’s a lot easier to present the Middle East as a place of backwards Islamists in desperate need to reform, rather than a region of conflict created at American hands. We can deny that we supported the Taliban in order to secure an oil pipeline through Afghanistan and we can deny that we continually support the Saudi regime in spite of their human rights violations for purely economic and energy-related purposes. We can deny that before airstrikes, Aleppo was a city full of art, architecture, and culture. We can deny that refugees had families, jobs, friends. And that it was the West that took it all away. So much of the United States’ imperial intervention has been justified on the grounds of spreading “democracy” and preventing communism and despotism. However, since the beginning of our intervention at the turn of the 20th century, we have provided financial and military support to movements attempting to crush Arab nationalist policies of reform, have constantly changed our position on countries such as Iraq and Iran in order to weaken the region, and have supported movements such as the Islamic Brotherhood in their quest to overthrow popular leaders. It’s much more convenient to ignore history than to confront it. The American public has been subject to manipulation, with our lack of knowledge of our own history becoming a tool for politicians to accomplish strategic aims. You may not want a history lesson, Jared Kushner. But

The Middle East “But how does that help us get peace? Let’s not focus on that. We don’t want a history lesson. We’ve read enough books. Let’s focus on, how do you come up with a conclusion to the situation?” —Jared Kushner The Middle East might be the region of the world that evokes the most visceral emotional reaction just from its name. The region has become a symbol: of war, of a people,

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HISTORY CAN BE USED TO DISTORT, TO GASLIGHT, TO SELL.

until this history is understood in its entirety, there is no solution.

Commercials and Capitalism “We found that the overall message of the ad embodied Dr. King’s philosophy that true gtreatness is achieved by serving others.” —Eric Tidwell, managing director of Ram Trucks Nothing drives our hubris more than a quest for power, and wealth is the greatest power of them all. Our leaders don’t want the return of coal to support the downtrodden; more coal means more votes and thus more money in pockets to spend. Our desire to control the Middle East has hidden behind a façade of “national security” and the “war on terrorism.” But by turning our minds back to times of major imperialism and colonialism, we conveniently forget that our imperial interests were (and still are) driven by the desire for money and markets. But it’s not only governments. Industry manipulates us every day, trying to get us to buy things, to line their pockets, in any way possible. And if you won’t listen to them telling you to buy a car, surely you will listen to MLK. Surely you’ll listen to Nina Simone. Surely you’ll forget their powerful messages, and subliminally be manipulated into forgetting the history of their oppression, the history of their fight. And surely you’ll go out and buy a Dodge Ram, or a Ford. I wish I knew how it would feel to be free. I wish I could break all the chains holding me. I wish I could say all the things that I should say. Say ’em loud, say ’em clear, for the whole wide world to hear. —Nina Simone A Super Bowl 2017 commercial for Ford made headlines for featuring Nina Simone’s “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free,” a favorite anthem of the Civil Rights

Movement, alongside images such as a skier stuck on a ski lift and a basketball stuck in a rim. The ad ends with a narrator claiming that Ford’s ability to get “you unstuck” is the best way to move through life. Using an iconic civil rights song evoking freedom from chains in order to sell cars is tonedeaf at best and manipulative at worst. “I Wish I Knew” is a song alive with hope and history, having been performed by Simone herself before the march from Selma to Montgomery. It is a source of strength to a community beaten down by political and commercial institutions. But in the Ford ad, it was used to prop those very institutions up. By using the song, Ford ignored history, trivializing Simone’s memory and the memories of so many others. This co-opting of history for commercial purposes uses the power of nostalgia to sell. At the time of release, some argued that Ford’s use of the song was meant to introduce it to a new generation. But what about the 2018 Super Bowl ad for Ram Trucks that completely appropriated the message of a MLK speech, which originally warned against consumerism, to sell cars? Is it appropriate to use images of war or suffering as fodder for the emotions of consumers? According to corporations, it is. But we learn history to learn from our pasts, to appreciate the sacrifice of certain groups at the hands of others, to emulate and avoid past choices. Not to sell cars.

What Now? Evoking history is a common tactic because it is effective. History is reputable. History is nostalgic. History can be used to distort, to gaslight, to sell. Next time we see an ad referencing a history or a culture, we should take a step back and determine whether the intent is genuine or manipulative. When the phrase “Make America Great Again” is used to imply a position tough on terrorism or as a callback to imperialism or a dead industry, we must begin to question: Was America ever truly great? Or is catering to such nostalgia just a political game? •

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land use policy in wells/goodfellow, st. louis by Jared Crane

wgf msd reimagining neighborhood vitality

The north St. Louis neighborhood of Wells/Goodfellow faces some of the highest rates of vacancy, poverty, and crime in the city, despite the prescence of long-standing community anchors. Legacies of discriminatory practices by city government live on in Wells/Goodfellow to this day. The outdated combined storm and waste water management systems in St. Louis overflow around 50 times per year during heavy storms, forcing raw sewage into the properties of hundreds of city residents. The struggles of Wells/Goodfellow are perpetuated by this particularly intense flooding problem. The Metropolitan Sewer Disctrict is responsible for alleviating these issues, obligated to preserve public health and safety by mitigating flooding in whatever way they deem effective. The challenges facing Wells/Goodfellow are diverse and intertwined. The responsibility to effect change in the neighborhood falls largely to the MSD, whose vast financial and human resources are vital assets to the community. But the MSD can only help revitalize the area if it supplements its economic and safety priorities with a sophisticated consideration of ecological and social systems.

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life of jericho baptist church

clayton missionary baptist church

new mt taber baptist church

langston middle school rock of ages baptist church

Wells/Goodfellow is the most drastic instance of urban depopulation in a city known for its 60-year decline. Tax delinquency, vacancy, and abandonment shape a built environment of scarcity and lead to stigmatization of the area.

Natural Bridge Avenue, on the north border of the neighborhood, is a major activity corridor lined with lively businesses just minutes away from almost completely silent residential streets. Directly to the north of this boundary is a huge industrial zone. Its proximity to the neighborhood is a legacy of discriminatory zoning laws and real estate practices that forced black citizens into undesirable parts of the city. Resilient community anchors dot the landscape. Schools, small churches, and the north-most Schnucks supermarket in St. Louis defy the stigma of Wells/Goodfellow as a lifeless non-community.

Visualized five-minute walking distances from these scattered buildings as well as city bus stops along Natural Bridge, Union, and St. Louis illustrate the potential for reconnection between many of the necessary physical components for a healthy urban community.

u.s. post office

lexington elementary school

north side community school

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built environment

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permeability edge condition

Wells/Goodfellow is situated downhill from a natural crest in the topography of the city, aligned with the aptly named Natural Bridge Avenue. This crest marks the north border of the Harlem Watershed, named for the historic Harlem Creek that ran eastward across the area before it was moved into an underground sewer by the MSD. Today, the residential heart of the neighborhood lies directly above this sewer, at the bottom of the Harlem Watershed. As a result, this region must handle an enormous volume of water. While the residential zone maintains a high percentage of permeable surface, the higher ground of the neighborhood, around Natural Bridge, is almost entirely paved or occupied by commercial and industrial structures. Land zoned for these purposes creates pollution from littering, car activity, and industrial activity. The low-lying residential area thus takes on non-source point pollution generated directly uphill. The network of tree canopy in Wells/Goodfellow aids in intercepting runoff and filtering pollutants. This dense urban forest is a valuable ecological asset that actively mitigates pressing environmental issues.

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The Metropolitan Sewer District maintains the water drainage and treatment facilities for the city of St. Louis. The MSD charter, amended twice since its inception in 1952, states the district’s mission: “[To] enable the people of St. Louis and St. Louis County to solve critical sewer problems in a sound and equitable manner.”

In 2007, the MSD was jointy sued by the State of Missouri, the EPA, and the Missouri Coalition for the Environment, who demonstrated that the MSD was not appropriately fulfilling its responsibilities. The result of this case was a federally-issued consent decree that requires the MSD to spend 4.7 billion dollars between 2012 and 2035 to address persistent flooding issues. The MSD has since created the “Project Clear” initiative. It aims to satisfy the consent decree through “planning, designing, and building community rainscaping, system improvements, and an ambitious program of maintenance and repair.”

In Wells/Goodfellow, the single biggest problem area for sewer overflow in St. Louis, the MSD has adopted the strategy of buying land, tearing down dilapidated homes, and consructing detention basins that cannot not be used as green space by the community, and do not provide a working environmental system of native prairie grasses or trees. The city must question whether the MSD’s approach of demolishing homes and constructing fenced-off detention basins in Wells-Goodfellow works towards its stated goal of addressing sewer issues in an “equitable” manner, when Project Clear advertises their plantings, permeable pavement, and water features elsewhere in the city and county. Are buyouts and basins “community rainscaping” or even “system improvements”? Why has the MSD chosen an approach that will allow them to forgo an “ambitious program of maintenance and repair”? What do these practices imply about the city’s valuing of and belief in Wells/Goodfellow and its residents? The Metropolitan Sewer District has the responsibility and the means to work with Wells/Goodfellow towards eliminating a problem that restrains the neighborhood’s built and environmental assets and traps it in a cycle of decay. A cooperative, considerate approach to flooding problems in Wells/Goodfellow could be a powerful first step towards revitalizing an important part of St. Louis. •

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METROPOLITAN SEWER DISTRICT

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resources MSD web site http://www.stlmsd.com Project Clear web site http://www.projectclearstl.org/ MSD Consent Decree https://www.epa.gov/sites/production/files/2013-09/documents/stlouis-cd.pdf MSD Charter http://www.stlmsd.com/our-organization/organization-overview/our-charter “MSD, city launch program to tear down old houses for green space” by Jacob Barker, St. Louis Post-Dispatch, March 23 2017 http://www.stltoday.com/business/local/msd-city-launch-program-to-tear-down-old-houses-for/article_b6265606-1464-57f5-b38339d2b8833fd9.html “How a Sewer Will Save St. Louis” by Erick Trickey, Politico, April 20 2017 http://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2017/04/20/st-louis-infrastructure-sewer-tunnel-water-system-215056 Geospatial data on St. Louis http://data.stlouis-mo.gov/ all graphics and photography by Jared Crane

042

Missouri Ghosts Written by Emma LaPlante Illustrated by Michael Avery

043

I cannot believe in ghosts; I live in St. Louis, the Gateway to the West that led my race to manifest our destiny. Lewis and Clark arrived here in 1804, handsomely paid to act as good little imperialists. The rest of us play such roles for free! When they began their expedition in 1804 there were about 600,000 native persons living in the United States area. By 1904 there were less than 250,000. In 1904 the World’s Fair arrived in St. Louis. It was the 100th anniversary of the Louisiana Purchase. Planning began as early as 1898; there was so much to do! Fairgrounds had to be designed and buildings had to be erected. Sixteen discrete Native American burial grounds had to be destroyed to make room for the festivities. When the Fair finally opened on April 30, 1904, it boasted a Ferris wheel, waffle cones, and a human zoo, complete with indigenous individuals ranging from Apaches to Alaskan Tlingits to a famous Congolese Pygmy named Ota Benga. Hosting this tremendous event put St. Louis on the map and transformed the city forever. Judy Garland sang a song about it. Have you ever visited Cahokia Mounds, a few miles across the river in Illinois? Go just before sunrise, climb Monks Mound, and watch the landscape explode in radiant color. You may feel something sublime you cannot name; it’s the peace of the souls buried beneath you, sleeping soundly for a thousand years. St. Louis used to be called “Mound City” because it,

too, was home to an abundance of Native American burial grounds. More than forty separate mounds composed its topography. These mounds served both as foundations for public spaces and as graves. The Mississippian societies that built them predate Christopher Columbus and were staggeringly sophisticated, looking to the ancient sky as astronomers in their free time. Over the years, the dozens of mounds around St. Louis were destroyed in the name of real estate. Only one mound remains in Mound City: Sugarloaf Mound, protected by its purchasers, the Osage Nation. St. Louis is not the only city where such decimation occurred, of course. In 1999, a group of mounds in Fenton, Missouri, were leveled to make room for a Wal-Mart. (Missouri is the heart of Wal-Mart country.1) I cannot believe in ghosts because I live in Ghost City, USA, and I am not haunted yet. If there were ghosts, surely some of them would be vengeful ghosts. Would revived Native American souls not be justified in a haunting or two? And am I not an obvious choice? My ancestors were not pioneers or explorers; they let their cousins do the bloody work and kept their hands clean. They waited to cross the Atlantic until most of the natives were dead. This is my heritage; now I write about injustice to make myself feel less complicit. Meet me in St. Louis, but not if you believe in ghosts. I cannot; I live in the United States

1 https://www.riverfronttimes.com/stlouis/grave-losses/Content?oid=2470341

044

Vinyl Revival

Written by Lauryn McSpadden

Some nights ago I found myself, as many an undergrad does, snuggled with friends in the backseat of an Uber in the late hours of the evening. We had exchanged the usual pleasantries with the driver—we’re Wash. U. students, undeclared majors, et cetera—when the driver, Jae, asked where we were coming from. We told him we had just left the record shop on the Loop, Vintage Vinyl, and were met with a round of boisterous laughter. “Really?!” Jae forced out between laughs. “What y’all know about records?” I wanted to tell him we had all been alive for about two decades and had seen our fair share of records, but I played into his incredulity for banter’s sake. “It’s the aesthetic, man,” I said. Jae just shook his head at that, as if to say, “Typical.” And the conversation moved on to “super blue blood moons” and ancient eclipses. But as Jae shared his detailed take on how aliens really came down and built the Pyramids of Giza, my mind could not help but ponder the honest answer to his earlier question. According to the British Phonographic Industry, vinyl record sales reached a 25-year high in 2016. Considering the long decline that has characterized the record industry for the past decade, this surge is significant. It’s a testament to the fluctuations and incredible transformations in how we consume music.

In 1957, a snowstorm blankets a sleepy Ohio town, and

a 15-year-old girl finds herself overcome with the eventual boredom that accompanies most snow days. She is adding logs to the fireplace, ignoring the fact that it has failed to keep them warm for days now. She ambles across the hardwood floor, stopping in front of her mother’s record player. She is never supposed to touch it, but her parents are at work, and she craves the sound of a voice that is not her own. So she eases a record out of its sleeve, places it delicately on the turntable, and lets the cartridge find its place in the disc. A Billie Holiday number rings out, bouncing off the walls. She sways to this rendition, the static of the LP mixing with the crackling of the fire, and lets the record spin. It is the summer of 1989, and a 21-year-old undergrad from Warren, Ohio, finds herself admitted into the summer program of a lifetime. The hefty price of a plane ticket makes a cross-country road trip her only option, so she makes a mixtape and starts driving her dad’s navy blue 1985 Chevy Chevette. She waits for the hosts to stop talking on WZAK, trying to time it perfectly so that she catches the first note of the summer’s most popular song without catching the tail end of DJ Lynn’s spiel. She slides a cassingle—her work-study salary being too small for full cassettes—smoothly into the open slot. “Back to Life” by Soul II Soul, her companions of choice, blares through the speakers, spilling out of all four open windows. She plays the cassingle so many times the ribbon breaks.

045 The sun has risen on 2018, and a college sophomore is still getting into the groove of the New Year. With classes around the corner, her peers are milking their last few days of freedom. Some attend parties, no lectures tomorrow to be lucid for; some sleep, no midterms or research papers forcing them to stay awake. The sophomore finds herself with nothing to do on a Sunday night, and she is grateful for the blessing of emptiness. She finds herself searching for music, skimming the thousands of playlists scattered through Spotify. With the press of a button, the voices of a Nordic folk band croon through her ear buds. I am the sophomore, and not for the first time, I am left unsatisfied. In these moments, I cannot understand exactly why even my favorite songs sometimes feel halfhearted, like they’re missing something. That night in the Uber, as I stared out the window of Jae’s sedan, I pondered the power of music, the magic of melody, the sheer, inimitable heart of it all, and, in the midst of this, I realized: Some days, I want more. I want my music to be something I can hold. I can relive melodies in my head and I can carry songs around on my iPhone, but I yearn, at times, to latch on to music.

I want my music to be something I can hold. I want to be able to handle my music, to shuffle through it with my hands. I want it to have its own corner in my bedroom. The unprecedented availability and convenience of digital streaming is indeed convenient, but there are days when music seems fit only to be savored in the way vinyl records require. This is what I know about records: listening to music from a record player is a different breed of experience. Records sound different—the slight scratch of the needle, the telltale whisperings of crackling speakers. Some people say records sound better; I disagree, as sound quality in the digital age is otherworldly. But records feel better. They are finicky and fickle, and I find that a comfort. Vinyl feels truer to real life, which is messy and imperfect and sometimes skips and starts. This is the magic of vinyl. More than what comes from the speakers, it is this essence of the vinyl record, this signature veracity, that lights my love for these spinning discs. •

Vinyl feels truer to real life, which is messy and imperfect and sometimes skips and starts.

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Illustrations Illustrated by Michael Avery

League Night at the Bowling Alley: The Counter

047 League Night at the Bowling Alley: The Kitchen

League Night at the Bowling Alley: The Lanes

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Coloring the Waterfront Series

049

050

The Copy Cat Killer Written by Emily Caroline King

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You kept me in a glass box Decorative in the corner of your living room Both concealed and on constant display

Break and shape my bones to Package your new Look when you’re done

A creature sweating beneath the bulbs Somehow fascinating your guests And how

Relabel the troublesome exotic Call it original rebellious raw

Dare I be so bold To seduce and be so consumed To leave you no choice but to Indulge in the grotesque Contort your hair Into a mimicry of mine so it could Wrap around my body Squeeze my neck and Snake down my throat since Everyone knows you can Sell a black scream and Market a black tear but Black shrieks don’t go for much around here Capture the last breaths knowing that In them is the essence of my language and The secret to laying your newfound edges Laid like the bodies of your failed experiments Still on the streets tempting you Pluck my too long fingernails Obscene and brightly colored Place them over yours Brand it innovative But only after you Skin me slowly and thoroughly Sure to get the best parts Enough to keep your skin soft underneath when you

Rename it once you claim it Become the front cover you were born to be But first Finish your project Shave my head and Thread the strands into rope To hang what’s left of me From your ceiling next to the “Hippie” tapestry

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The Backcountry Revisited Written & Illustrated by Claire Elias

053 Last year, I spent five weeks in the backcountry of New Zealand as part of a geology field camp during my semester abroad. As someone who has lived in cities her entire life, I knew that I was in for a major lifestyle shift. I knew the field camp would involve getting dirty, hiking while jetlagged, suffering through inclement weather, and (most importantly) being constantly surrounded by an endless variety of pristine landscapes. However, I wasn’t anticipating the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me as I took in the sprawling scenery: rolling hills of gold and green. Rivers winding across the topography. Birch forests with tree trunks draped with tendrils of moss, clung to by droplets of dew. I felt ecstatic. I felt amazed, fascinated. I felt grateful to have been given the opportunity to come here, and grateful to exist on the same planet as these landscapes. I felt guilty, like I didn’t deserve this experience. I felt a little somber. But for some reason, I also felt nostalgic, a feeling I could distinguish only after several hours of hiking through knee-high grass. I felt the particular kind of nostalgia triggered by places one has never been to before, nostalgia for a time one doesn’t know. The waves of sentiment that came over me as I faced the sprawling mountains of New Zealand were not, in the history of human emotion, unprecedented. Surely we all feel a tinge of nostalgia when we’re immersed in wilderness, whether walking through a sun-dappled forest or traversing valleys alongside rivers. Nostalgia was a cornerstone of the American conservation movement in the late 19th century. The movement itself was complex and splintered, with wilderness advocates debating a number of philosophies amid a complex social landscape. Regardless, all of these advocates saw that the American natural landscape was indisputably at risk, due mostly to the Industrial Revolution and the increased exploitation of natural resources. With activities such as deforestation, mining, and hunting taking place at unprecedented scales, Americans in the 1800s began to yearn for the wilderness that once constituted North America. American urbanites began to look beyond the smog and concrete of their cities, turning their attention to forests, plains, and mountains. There arose a desire to be immersed in these landscapes, to be removed from the crowds and pollution in which city dwellers resided. Americans became cognizant of the fact that nature had intrinsic value: mountains weren’t just good for extracting ore, and forests had more value than just providing timber. Today, we’re familiar with 19th-century American artists and writers who expressed this notion in their work, from Walt Whitman’s transcendentalist poetry to the grandiose landscapes of the Hudson River School painters.

Sentiment for nature spread to the mainstream as leisurely excursions to the American wilderness became popular with wealthier city dwellers. Americans were nostalgic for a time before the closure of the frontier, a time when there was always another unknown to explore. Nature tourism, in tandem with the desires that ignited it, culminated in the creation of national parks. These areas of protected land were intended to preserve swaths of wilderness for the enjoyment of the public. Urbanites, sentimental for the legacy of the great American wilderness, found solace in these parks.

Americans were nostalgic for a time before the closure of the frontier, a time when there was always another unknown to explore. What is it about wilderness that can make us, as members of a modern society, feel nostalgic about places we’ve never actually known? Being in nature, away from our heavily developed surroundings, removes us from the burdens that come with being a part of the world as we know it— one with contemporary political structures, social obligations, and a never-ending series of depressing news stories, particularly those involving environmental disasters. When we let nature surround us, we’re not just distanced from the tumult of mainstream society; we’re actively immersed in the beauty and placidity of the wild. Everything seems simpler. In nature, we feel small and naïve, just as we did when we were children. Curiosity and wonder stimulate our imaginations, a rare experience for many of us. Much of the time, we don’t have cell service or access to social media while we’re in these places. This further blesses us with blissful ignorance about the world we temporarily leave behind; after all, it’s no secret that many of us have trouble staying away from social media and our phones, constantly in communication with acquaintances. Escapism acts as the link between two different yearnings: one for the simplicity of the past, and another for the sublimity of the natural world.

054 It is important to recognize that our romanticization of the untouched natural world can have negative consequences. In a 1995 essay by environmental historian William Cronon, “The Trouble with Wilderness,” Cronon tracks the human perception of wilderness from late antiquity through the present day. He argues that man’s fascination with nature, omnipresent throughout history, has created a binary in the way we think about our planet. The human world, defined by culture, manmade structures, and the presence of people, lies on one end of the binary. At the other end lies the world of nature, a world that Cronon believes is seen as glorious precisely because of its lack of interaction with human societies. Cronon identifies a strong association between wilderness and notions of purity; in the collective American consciousness, nature mixing with mankind implies a state of contamination. This demonization of human presence within nature has resulted in a one-dimensional, inaccurate image, what Cronon calls “big wilderness.” While we pour countless dollars and hours of energy into protecting natural treasures like Yosemite National Park, we ignore the environmental degradation in our own urbanized spaces, as if our cities’ degraded environmental states are a lost cause. According to Cronon, adhering to this reductive way of thinking contributes to environmental injustice. Members of disproportionately poor communities, as well as people of color, almost always shoulder the burden of environmental degradation in urban areas. As Cronon states, these individuals tend to be less mobile than their wealthier counterparts; they cannot afford to “get away from it all” on a backwoods camping trip, so the urban landscape is where they spend most of their lives. Therefore, if we only care about protecting undeveloped land and don’t work to improve the environmental conditions of our more urbanized environments, then we’re contributing to racial and socioeconomic inequity. We’re privileging the experiences and opportunities of the wealthy over the poor. This is not to say that protecting national and state parks is detrimental to conservation. But we need to have a more holistic view of what qualifies as nature. When we think of the ideal nature experience, most of us imagine something grand and distant—“big wilderness”—when really we should be thinking of the natural world’s resilience, nuance, and omnipresence. As Cronon states, we should be celebrating “wild places much closer to home... for instance, a small pond near [your] house.” Although your local pond may not be as scenic as Crater Lake, it doesn’t hurt to take a few minutes and contemplate the processes that perpetuate this pond’s existence. To how many different organisms does this pond provide a home?

Does it look exactly the same every day? At every hour of the day? Follow the example set in Monet’s Water Lilies series and celebrate the dynamism that exists in your own backyard. When I’m home in Manhattan, walking alongside carbon monoxide-emitting cars but also bright green trees that flourish just as happily as they would in an ancient forest, I can’t help but be amazed. Recently, major cities have been making huge steps to incorporate nature into their infrastructure and plans, focusing on urban ecology and supporting native plants. New York City’s High Line epitomizes this shift; once an abandoned aboveground railroad, it has been transformed into a nearly two-mile-long urban park, with swaths of native plants lining its walkways. St. Louis’s own Forest Park is another example: if you jog just a little ways east of the History Museum you find yourself surrounded by fields and trees and swamp-like environments, home to native plants and diverse populations of birds, insects, and small animals. In the distance, you can still see the Children’s Hospital and the towering condominium buildings of the Central West End; the human world does not have to be far away for the natural world to flourish. Breaking down the binary identified by William Cronon is more important now than ever, as major urban centers continue to grow in population and infrastructure. It’s not uncommon for those who can afford it to choose the countryside as their vacation spots, much like the eco-tourists of the 19th century. Treks through the Pacific Crest Trail and pilgrimages to Zion National Park are popular dream vacations, and such experiences are no doubt integral to our understanding and appreciation of nature. However, we must remember to notice the nature in our immediate vicinity, to show love to the small wonders of the natural world. Breaking down the binary between the manmade and natural realms is an integral step in living out a true respect for nature, a respect that benefits natural ecosystems and humans alike. •

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Nostalgia: The Most “Incredible” Motivation of All Written by Emily Alpert

057 I am wasting time the same way I always do, scrolling on my phone interchangeably between Facebook and Instagram, on occasion pausing to check Snapchat. On one particular scroll through Facebook, I happen to notice a video, but I continue to scroll past it. I pause and scroll back up to read the title. And then read it again. I stare in disbelief at the words on my phone: Incredibles 2. I watch the trailer and almost start crying: my childhood dream is coming true. I then text my friends and endure the roasts about “being behind” because they had already seen the trailer and because I am so excited about the movie. After such a long wait, the second movie is almost here; I can’t wait to go watch this super adorable animated movie with my friends and cry a little (okay, a lot) and exit the theatre and gush all about it. It’ll be a really cute day for my friends and I: we’ll be able to escape into a world of our childhood, where the good guys are unique and powerful and always win the day. A world where, despite having to hide who you are, you’re able to use your powers for good and you’re able to demonstrate who you are. A place where the rest of the world will see that the parts that we hide about ourselves are beautiful. We will be able to escape into a world where the corrupt powers that be can be stopped. We’ll dive into our past, our childhood, a simpler time when fighting for our human rights was not something we had to think about. Yet, a small part of me wonders why Pixar is doing this now. After so many years of keeping us in suspense, knowing that a second movie was coming, why release the movie now? Why revive the series now? Why begin the sequel where the first movie left off? Regardless of the fact that Pixar began animating the movie in 2015, why wait so long to start? Pixar could be tapping into a market of young adults anxiously waiting for this movie and ready to spend all sorts of money to see it in theatres. Pixar is taking advantage of a generation of hopeless dreamers who want to return to a past when having hope was rational and having fun was a realistic goal. It is this generation of dreamers that has been fueling the undeniable success of sequels (including Pixar movies Cars 2, Cars 3, Toy Story 2, Toy Story 3, and Monsters University) in the film industry. We just want to return to our childhood movies and praise them, regardless of how cheesy the lines are or how predictable the story arc is. Nevertheless, Pixar is taking a look at the feelings of nostalgia for a past when we, as young adults, were not actively involved in the battlefield of politics and the demands of the “real world.” They want to remind our generation of a simpler time. In doing so, Pixar is capitalizing on the desire

for childhood ignorance shared by many young adults who are exhausted by the demands of today’s world. Many young adults are tired of how difficult it is to live a decent life today. Between the many hours of work expected by companies, the difficulties of finding a job, the inaccessibility of decent housing, the utter stress that we feel contributing to our deteriorating mental health, and the lack of decent health insurance, many young adults feel trapped. We are trapped by a society that created this mess and does not know how to fix it. We are caged in by an older generation that feels that we are not working hard enough. We are caught in a situation where we are overworked and underpaid and expected to be happy about it. This is where animated movies such as Incredibles 2 come in.

Pixar wants to remind our generation of a simpler time. Pixar sequels (and even original movies to a lesser extent) provide a vehicle for escaping into a world where everything is perfect, where the good guys (us) always win, and where the good guys always get their happily-ever-after. The movies allow us to escape our everyday lives to enter a magical, brightly-colored world where anything is possible. In Incredibles 2, we will escape into a world in which the main characters possess the strength, flexibility, protective abilities, speed, and potential that we ourselves need to survive our everyday lives. We can pretend for two hours that our current societal situation is not what it is and that our world can be saved by us, the superheroes. We can imagine that our generation can reverse the damage done by older generations, and that we, the good guys, can save the world and have our happily-ever-afters. Come June, you’ll be seeing me in line with my bucket of popcorn, ready to escape into a world of nostalgic animations where a baby can be a multitalented jack of all trades, a brother can sprint at superhuman speeds to outrun bad guys, a sister can shield her family from harm, a mother can stretch her body to be everywhere at once, and a father can carry his entire family to safety. I’ll be ready to watch the movie and daydream about a world in which I can do all these things, too. •

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Here and Then: Instant Photos that Capture the Feeling of Nostalgia

“Chuck Berry” Delmar Loop (2017)

Photographed by Joy Mallory

“Eros Bendato” Downtown St. Louis in Citygarden (1999)

“Hello!” Bike Rack Delmar Loop (2012)

“Paper Chandelier” Bobo Noodle House (2008)

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“St. Louis Mural” Delmar Loop (2017)

“Aesop’s Fables” Downtown St. Louis in Citygarden (1990)

“Arcs” Downtown St. Louis in Citygarden (1999-2000)

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“Twain” Downtown St. Louis (1981)

“Tivoli Theatre” Delmar Loop (1924)

“The Old Courthouse” Downtown St. Louis (1828)

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“Call Me by Your Name” Delmar Loop (2017)

“La Vie est Belle” Plaza Frontenac (1997)

“Peace” Delmar Loop (2017)

“Globes” Downtown St. Louis in Citygarden

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With, Not For: An Interview with Maranda Witherspoon Richardson Written by Briana Belfiore

Maranda Witherspoon Richardson is Principal and CEO of MWR Consulting. I met Ms. Richardson while conducting informational interviews with people involved in the nonprofit sector here in St. Louis. I was stumped as to how to get more involved in nonprofits, specifically nonprofit consulting, as a possible career track. I connected with Ms. Richardson and learned all about her racial equity consulting work in the St. Louis area. I have been working with Ms. Richardson recently on social media promotion as well as a new nonprofit initiative, which includes creating a database for nonprofits led by people of color in order to bridge disparities in communication and connection between nonprofits in the area. Briana Belfiore: Let’s start off with a brief introduction. Maranda Witherspoon Richardson: Hello! I’m Maranda. I’m a St. Louis native, born and raised. I’m very passionate about the black community and addressing health disparity. I started at United Way in 2003, where I was responsible for the health and disability organizations that receive help from UW. I then left there to go to the City Health Department, where I did emergency preparedness. That then morphed into different roles dealing with communicable diseases, health promotion, surveillance, grant

management and writing grants. I was there [at the Health Department] for about five and a half years. I then left to work for the Missouri Foundation for Health, and stayed there for five years. I was responsible for fostering relationships with organizations and stakeholders, and being their liaison to the foundation [Missouri Foundation for Health], their work and our work, being informed about local landscape, and [learning] how to improve the health of the St. Louis region. I recently left that to do consulting full-time. MWR Consulting works on transforming lives, engaging communities, and advancing equity. These efforts towards bettering the community, specifically the black community, are intentional and explicit. I want to work with and in communities that are least served, because I want to see our communities transformed. BB: So what exactly is racial equity consulting? MWR: The consulting I do focuses on being intentional in helping communities that are least served have a seat at the table, to make sure their needs are also being considered as people are talking about transforming the work in this city.

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A lot of times there is disconnect between community and what it means. You find that people are working for people, and not with people.

BB: What led you to racial equity consulting? MWR: Well, I identity as black first, then a woman. I lead with my race. For me, through the various jobs I’ve done, I’ve seen where the resources are going and not going. I saw my talents better being intentional with communities that are least served. When you look at the data, oftentimes the black communities are the ones with highest rates of mortality, morbidity, and crime in neighborhoods. I try and look at how, as an individual, we can approach these problems through the asset-building model: instead of looking at things or traits that don’t exist in a community—disenfranchised, marginalized—that is not how we as black people see ourselves. Institutions are injecting their belief of who we are onto us, when actually we have all of these assets. I help to show: how can we be intentional about building these assets? People come in and say, “You need this, you need that,” but oftentimes that’s not the point or desire of the community they are trying to help. BB: How can this idea of asset-building, or even skills relating to this type of work, be taught at Wash. U. or learning institutions in general? MWR: I think that coursework should be around community, and about defining community. There are classes in social work, or nonprofits, but a lot of times there is disconnect between community and what it means. You find that people are working for people, and not with people. You can understand roles, you can show up as a person with a passion for the work that is going on, but at the same time, if you are disconnected from community or don’t know what it means, that perpetuates the problem. If there were more coursework about community and how to engage with community, that would make a difference. If you want to work in a space, you have to understand the space and the dynamics that come with working in that space. It’s not that you can’t come in with resources; it’s how you bring in those resources and what you expect from the community in how they will engage with them. How do you allow

yourself to be a resource, but at the same time recognizing that people at the end of the day have a right to their beliefs and understandings of how they want to see their community look and transformed? BB: What advice would you give to people who want to help communities with identities different from their own, while also not taking up too much space in those communities? MWR: I think there is definitely space for inclusiveness, you know? But also, there needs to be space for people in the community to take a deep dive and process their own stuff, without outsiders coming in saying what they should do. Don’t get me wrong, you should always try to support and collaborate, but you don’t always have to be so entrenched in communities that aren’t yours. You can support, but you don’t have to hold that space—leave that space for that community to lead and own. For example, white allies for the black struggle can educate white colleagues about privilege in their lived experiences. There are still ways to impact change while also letting the community think collectively about what they need to do. Overall, I support inclusiveness, but I also support people holding their own space to process what is going on, and then for people to come together collectively without feeling like space is co-opted. BB: For people who want to get more involved in social activism, what do you tell them? MWR: (Laughs) I mean, I would say just do it! There’s a lot of work to be done. But also, be thoughtful and strategic about how you go about doing that. Remember again about working with and not for people. Make sure that the people who are most impacted have a voice in the place in the process. People want to do this work but come about it from different angles that don’t allow them to capture the full benefit of communities being engaged and having a full voice in the process as well. •

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Our Mission: ISSUES Magazine seeks to raise awareness of the intrinsic link that exists between art, design, and social issues. The spaces we inhabit each day mold our experiences, both by fostering interaction and by building barrier. Using the city of St. Louis as our primary lens, ISSUES Magazine will draw connections between both tangible and intangible aspects of the social environment. With both a print and an online version of the publication, ISSUES Magazine will reach out to a diverse readership, including students of Washington University and residents of the St. Louis region. By utilizing a wide spectrum of media, ISSUES hopes to inspire action as well as awareness about the intersection of design and social justice.

Contributors: Emily Alpert Michael Avery Briana Belfiore Ellen Bottcher Jared Crane Claire Elias Harry Hall Maisie Heine Rachel Hellman Rhea Khanna Emily Caroline King Anna Konradi Emma LaPlante Phoebe Li Joy Mallory Lauryn McSpadden Swetha Nakshatri Giulia Neaher Astrella Sjarfi Chenyu Zhang

Stay in touch with us: contact us issues.mag.washu@gmail.com read our articles online issuu.com/issuesmagazinewashu @issues.mag.washu