The Miscellany News March 26, 2020
miscellanynews.org
Vassar College’s student newspaper of record since 1866 Volume 153 | Issue 6
The sudden duality of everything Dean Kopitsky Sports Editor
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took a seat on the first of several long, broad concrete stairs descending to Lake Clara Mere in the middle of Piedmont Park, Atlanta. On the dock below me, a father and son minded a fishing pole in still blue water. Wind gently materialized in the rustling of gardenia flowers. Flashes of grey and brown tails ricocheted between thick green
bushes. So much peace in the midst of an invisible pandemic. This was the duality I needed to conjure a headache. I felt the presence of trillions of hazardous molecules orbiting around me; invisible to my eyes but all around. The sun shed warmth on the eroded concrete slabs of the stairs. I felt it on my skin—pale and out of place—from a Poughkeepsie winter. The moSee Duality on page 5
When forced to fly home Sasha Gopalakrishnan Contributing Editor
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arch 10, 2020, 6 p.m.: “Dude. Harvard, Stanford and Smith just shut down their campuses.” We all look up. Brian Lee ’20 is staring back at us, alarm writ large across his face. We talk about how that’s wild and so sad for them, but soon enough, we move on to a different conversation. The news doesn’t bother us for long.
March 11, 2020, 11:30 a.m.: I come across an article that says 55 colleges across the United States have announced a switch to online classes for part or all of the rest of the semester. I tell my friends. We regard each other with growing anxiety. “Okay, but they can’t shut down Vassar,” I protest. “They won’t do it; we don’t have the infrastructure for online learning.” To calm our nerves, we all sign the peti-
Courtesy of Sophia Kapur.
See Forced to Fly on page 3
Grieving in the time of pandemic Amy Miller
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Guest Columnist
n Saturday, March 7, I left campus to spend Spring Break with my family in the suburbs of Allentown, Pennsylvania. On the one hand, I was relieved to return home—the past week of my life had been spent stressing over my thesis and recovering from a cold. But on the other hand, I knew the next couple of weeks would turn my world upside down. And no,
before you ask, I wasn’t yet worried about the novel coronavirus. I was anxious about a different disease: cancer. This past summer, my PopPop was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. When I first found out, I was living in a dorm at Muhlenberg College during a demanding seven-week summer job. Despite the fact that Muhlenberg is located within miles of my home, the rigors of the job prevented me from being
with my family as I struggled to process this new reality. By August, I was able to rejoin my family and share their sadness as we did what we could to support my Nana and Pop-Pop as they grappled with a life-altering diagnosis, which would in all likelihood be terminal. As I started the fall semester at Vassar, I experienced the same anguish of being apart from my family during a difficult time. This pain was somewhat eased
by the fact that my Pop-Pop appeared to be responding favorably to the chemo. Then one day in November, as I was walking alone across the residential quad, I got an unexpected call from my mom. She began: “Are you sitting?” Quickly, I rushed into Rocky and took a seat on a bench near the elevator before replying: “yes.” Then, my mom told me that the cancer doctor had given my Pop-Pop between See Grief on page 5
Staying as they go Abram Gregory
Assistant Opinions Editor
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Courtesy of Michael Polito.
y windows are directly over the front door of Lathrop, so when Spring Break began I watched and heard students leave, whether it be for lavish vacations I cannot fiscally afford, or to go home, which I cannot emotionally afford. Those of us with compelling reasons to stay— select winter and spring sports respectively hoping to make a deep postseason run or begin a successful campaign; spring break workers, those with outstanding circumstances or those with no reason to go anywhere else—stayed. Since then, more of the campus’ soul has leaked out day by day. When the remainder of varsity athletics’ spring season was canceled, the athletes left. When the semester was temporarily suspended, more students
departed; even more went once it became clear the rest of the semester was to be held online. With the closure of gyms and other non-essential buildings, the majority of spring workers went home, too. The problem for me is that Vassar is my home, and has been for all two and a half years. During semesters, breaks, and two summers I’ve worked at the Athletics and Fitness Center and have had no offseason—and I’d have it no other way. I was there the day Governor Cuomo ordered all New York gyms to be closed until further notice. I had also spent countless hours training at the Phoenix Center, a fencing club on Hooker Avenue, often training long past midnight. U.S. Fencing effectively halted all in-person club activity, so now even fencing classes are taught via Zoom. See Empty Campus on page 3
Isolation is not inspiration Janet Song
Assistant Features Editor
[CW: This article discusses depression and mentions suicide.] f you are an English major—and therefore, by default, an aspiring writer—the shutdown should be a gift from Matthew Vassar himself. Here is an opportunity to live as Emily Dickinson supposedly did, confined to your home with all the time to spend writing masterpieces. But you may even find yourself imitating not only Dickinson’s isolation, but also her depression. As your mental health wavers, you may be bestowed with power, because what better time to make art than during your Blue Period? Alright—as I know, genius and confinement mix about as well as vinegar and bleach. My depressive episodes have not helped me at all with writing. After leaving Vassar, I feel that I am suffering the fate of the protagonist in “The Yellow Wallpaper,” descending into madness as I isolate myself from the world for the sake of my health. (Writing did not save her when she went insane.) Since Vassar shut down, I lost my one resource for mental health care—without Metcalf, I have no counselors to visit or
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See Stereotypes on page 6
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March 26, 2020
Dear Readers: A Letter of Intention
HOROSCOPES Madi Donat
Astral Projector
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ver the past few months, the Vassar community and world has experienced a sudden change of life. Stores, schools, restaurants and other places of gathering have closed; at Vassar and institutions of higher education across the country, students have been sent home as administrators work to establish remote learning practices. Some of us have returned to living with our families; others have remained on campus; still others’ living arrangements are in flux. These times are difficult, shifting and uncertain. We hope you are doing as best as you can from wherever you are, and especially lend our thoughts to those who are most vulnerable at this time, including our immunocompromised peers, people whose living arrangements are uncertain or unstable, international students, low income students, people without access to health care and many others. The Miscellany News editorial and multimedia teams have explored how to proceed in the coming weeks, what our responsibilities as student journalists should be and how we can create a sense of solidarity and community from our places of isolation to yours. This is a time when reliable information is needed more than ever, and also a time for more distraction, more content, and anything that will occupy the mind as we wait for the days to pass. Although our team is scattered across the globe, we will continue to provide our service as a resource for members of the Vassar community to obtain quality journalism and feel connected to campus. In order to properly report on our communities while maintaining our identity as a publication that covers not just breaking news, but personal narratives, opinions, the arts, sports, multimedia projects and so much more, we are dividing up our production between a COVID-19 Task Force and four-page digital newsletter to be released each Thursday. The Task Force will respond to and inform on coronavirus news—whether local, national or international updates—on our social media and online platforms. For the time being, and despite limited resources, the Misc is no longer exclusively a weekly publication: We will be updating our social media and online platforms as developments occur. The weekly newsletter will contain creative works, including op-eds and other more personal, narrative-style pieces, as well as any Vassar-related news stories and visual pieces. While the newsletter will not shy away from hard-hitting work, the platform will also feature lighter stories in an effort to help the student body feel connected in these trying times. To that end, we invite any students to submit to the newsletter: This is a place where your voice can be heard. For more information, email misc@vassar.edu. Although we intend to continue producing work, the pandemic and the College’s decision to switch to remote learning require that our print operations halt until we can return to campus. This decision is difficult—The Miscellany News continued its print operations through both world wars and is a vital resource for students who live on campus. However, we recognize the health risk that distribution would pose to our printing partners, distribution team and students on campus, and understand we must minimize and discourage in-person interaction wherever possible. Every institution must do its part to slow the virus’ spread, and The Miscellany News is no exception. In these unpredictable and lonely days, we hope our continued digital operations can provide a sense of normalcy, reliable information and a haven for student voices. We hope to stay connected to one another from wherever we may be.
ARIES
Don’t be surprised if you feel a little extra impulsive this week. Confess your feelings, or air a grievance, or cut your bangs. Just kidding. I know you’ve already cut your bangs. TAURUS
Editor’s note: To accomodate more student voices in this week’s newsletter, it has been extended from four pages to seven. Future newsletters may fluctuate in length depending on student interest. Additionally, you can find the online version of each article in this newsletter by clicking on its headline.
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Womp Womp World by Frank
Apr 20 | May 20
Times are tough, especially when the touch starvation sets in. Sit outside and breathe the fresh air. Make a playlist about how you’re feeling. I know you take too much pride in your Spotify account. GEMINI
May 21 | Jun 20
Distract yourself with useless information. I’ll help: There’s about six teaspoons in a standard shot. Giraffes can make noises beyond the range of human hearing. My dad’s middle name is Alan. CANCER
Jun 21 | Jul 22
While it may not feel like it, you’re still in a lucky patch, work-wise. Productivity is pretty high this week—maybe get dressed for all of your classes? Nothing like Zoom-ing in a fresh ’fit. LEO
Jul 23 | Aug 22
You’re feeling socially stunted. Uncertainties abound, so there’s only one thing to do: Bake. Everything. You’ll get a feast, plus compliments from your co-habitants. It’s a win-win! VIRGO
Aug 23 | Sep 22
For once, I’m asking you to work. Use newfound drive to kill it in your classes. Flex those introverted tendencies, and maybe organize your desk at home for a calming space. Caffeinate, responsibly. LIBRA
Wishing health, safety and wellness to you and yours, Jessica Moss Editor-in-Chief, The Miscellany News
Mar 21 | Apr 19
Sep 23 | Oct 22
People are missing your energetic, friendly presence in their lives. Send friends carefully curated memes to their tastes. Why not make your own? It’ll be a creative project to calm your nerves. SCORPIO
Oct 23 | Nov 21
Novelty isn’t your strong suit, so take this week to focus on yourself. Really, truly focus on yourself: Your emotions, your needs. Have you considered soup? It’s really good. Maybe you need soup. SAGITTARIUS
Nov 22 | Dec 21
At times like these, focus on your friends. Need more friends? I am available! I am always in my house. I only talk about the Bon Appétit YouTube channel. And I am terrible at Snap streaks. :) CAPRICORN
Dec 22 | Jan 19
We’re all stressed, you included, but don’t be surprised if people come to you seeking help. It’s your stable presence that calms us all down. Plus, you know where the unmute button is on Zoom. AQUARIUS
Jan 20 | Feb 18
It’s been a sec since you’ve gotten obsessed with something—now’s the time! Animal Crossing is finally out. If you’ve ever wanted to be in debt to a raccoon, you can now experience it firsthand! PISCES
Feb 19 | Mar 20
Pre-quarantine I bought three tiny glass bottles and they made my life a thousand times better. Dig around and see if you can find any small glass bottles; it will change your whole outlook.
MISCELLANY NEWS | VASSAR COLLEGE
March 26, 2020
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Living on a campus under quarantine Continued from Empty Campus on page 1
I took my equipment back to my room and watched the lights of the fieldhouse, where I had just won a conference title for Vassar several weeks prior, eerily fade to black. As I write this on the night of March 21, I await the news of whether or not I will be allowed to stay on campus despite having been assured by the administration not a week earlier that I’d be allowed to stay. Whether or not Vassar is weighing removing me because I pose a threat to others potentially more susceptible to the coronavirus than me, or to better balance a checkbook and reduce Lathrop’s electric bill, I do not know. I’ll admit I suspect the latter because, rather than risk further disrupting my already-disrupted education by making me find an apartment in New York the day classes resume, they could have elected to kick me out during the first wave of applications to stay on campus. Moreover, the lack of any real attempt by the administration to prevent people returning to campus to get shitfaced with their friends one last time makes me suspicious that some corners of the administration don’t care about immunocompromised students’ safety any more than they legally need to. At any rate, with this precariousness in mind, I’ve been taking in an emptiness that no Vassar students have perhaps ever felt on
so great a scale. During the day, campus is a beautiful place to go on runs—it actually resembles the liberal arts school located in the Scenic Hudson Valley™ that was pedaled to each of us in our high school days. At night, however, it’s sad. As I write this on a Saturday evening, the sidewalks that would otherwise be carrying students of varying intoxications to Late Night lay bare; the night is still and the wind whistles through in our stead. The Deece is open now, but it is as depressing as the times necessitate. The entry and middle third of the building is cordoned off, and dystopian signs remind us not to even think about being less than two yards apart, dammit. The Deece workers, all glove- and mask-clad, peer in at those of us still here as though we are spectacles for their gaze. Everything is saran-wrapped and physical distance is kept. However, the fact of the matter is those of us fortunate to still be on campus are on the inside looking out, not on the outside looking in. I admire the dining hall workers and thank them for their resilience. The productive state of the “outside,” if you will, varies depending on how widely your neighborhood can afford to quarantine itself. With the departure of Vassar students, much of Arlington is shut down. On St. Patrick’s Day I took a drunken stroll down the
Arlington Amble and felt like the king of the world, with not a single stranger in sight. As is the case with all of abandoned Vassar, the novelty wears off quickly, especially when one considers the livelihoods of employees of restaurants like Burger-Fi, Thai Spice and Chan’s Peking; not to mention that the panic of elderly shoppers at Stop & Shop is all too warranted as they hope not to contract the crippling virus causing all of this societal change. The shopping aisle is swelled and the storefront is bare. I struggle to find meaning and motivation now, as I’m sure many of us do. In these morbid times, it has come up that Isaac Newton used his time in quarantine during an outbreak of the bubonic plague to develop calculus. That’s great, but whereas Isaac Newton was Isaac Newton, I’m a nimrod with a laptop. Nonetheless, I plan to give online learning all that I’ve got. My anxieties about the health of my parents, octogenarian grandmother with breathing problems, and M.D. sister knowingly exposed to COVID-19 grow, as does the gray cloud above my seasonally depressed head daily. But I reflect upon the spirit that once animated Vassar’s campus with nostalgia and hope, and will continue to carry the fire from my home above the front doors of Lathrop, even if only for a little while longer.
Fears and frustrations: When forced to fly home Continued from Flying Home on page 1
tion going around to keep Vassar open. We send it to our friends. We tell them to sign. We return to lunch. March 11, 2020, late afternoon: I click on the article I saw earlier that day— the one stating that 55 schools had canceled in-person classes—so that I can send the link to my mom. The headline now reads, “Updated: At Least 130 Colleges Have Canceled In-Person Classes (So Far) Over Coronavirus Fears.” I experience my first jab of actual concern, but I hurriedly tell myself that Vassar can’t possibly close. “It just can’t,” I say firmly. “It’s Vassar.” March 11, 2020, early evening: Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi announces that all tourist visas have been suspended until April 15, 2020, including visas held by Overseas Citizens of India (OCIs)—a category I come under, as a person who isn’t an Indian passport-holder but is of Indian origin and of Indian residence. I realize I effectively can’t go home, and am stranded in the United States if Vassar does indeed close its campus. It still doesn’t really hit me. I jokingly ask Sami Hodes ’20 if I can live in her house in Florida if something were to happen. She says yes, that she’s even asked her mom’s permission, but I laugh. After all, I think, Vassar’s not actually going to close. March 11, 2020, 11:30 p.m.: Arham Ali Chaudhry ’22 runs into the fifth floor Main common room to tell a group of us that President Bradley just released a video statement. We crowd around his phone as Bradley’s voice ominously fills the room, telling students not to return from Spring Break. Nobody speaks for a long time. The four of us in the room who are seniors glance at each other. It finally hits me. I start to cry. March 12, 2020, 12:00 a.m.: As we sit around discussing how miserable we all are, I’m almost thankful that I can’t go home. If I’m on campus, even if pretty much nobody else is around, maybe I can delude myself into feeling like Vassar hasn’t ended. Maybe I can delude myself into thinking it’ll all be okay. I feel a spark of relief. March 12, 2020, 1:30 a.m.: I get a call from my parents. They tell me
that they’ve booked me on an 11 a.m. flight home and that I have to leave campus by 5 a.m. to catch it. “Modi’s travel ban goes into effect on 13 March at 12:00 p.m. GMT. You have to leave, Sasha. It’s a day-long journey and you have a little over 24 hours to get here before borders close,” I hear my dad say. “I know you’re sad, but you can’t be stuck halfway across the world during a global pandemic. You’re coming home. It’s final.”
“It finally hits me. I start to cry.” My head spins as I realize I have all of three hours to pack up my life and say goodbye to the place I’ve called home for the past four years, with practically none of the people who’ve made it home for me even around because it’s Spring Break. Once again, I begin to sob. And I sob, and I sob, and I sob. ---x--It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since I left campus in the dead of night; since I said goodbye to six friends when I wanted to say bye to 60; since I’ve been sitting in self-quarantine, glued to social media and stewing in my own sadness. I’m not sure how to begin processing all that’s been snatched from us—in a matter of hours, no less. I’ve been thinking a lot about the pain I share with the rest of my senior class, and the closure we were robbed of. I’ve been thinking about the loss I feel as a senior international who may never again see many of the people who have mattered to me over the years because we’ll all be scattered across the globe. But most of all, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a senior international stuck in my home country during these uncertain times, unsure of whether I’ll be able to return to the United States at all. International students are not easily hired. We see the question, “Will you now, or in the future, require visa sponsorship?”
at the end of every job application we work on and we know we’ve lost the battle before we ever even got on the playing field. We’re struggling to find internships for after graduation, let alone full-time jobs, because we don’t know if our employment authorization will arrive in time for most internship start dates. Hell, even if, by some stroke of luck, we do find a job, we have to make sure it fits neatly within the confines of our major, otherwise we can’t take it. Within a system that legally allows you to discriminate against international students—a system where “Equal-Opportunity” doesn’t actually extend to immigrants—a global pandemic hits some harder than others. With pretty much all non-essential work currently on hold, there’s no guarantee that the Department of Homeland Security will even bother processing our employment requests at this time; as such, there’s no saying when we’ll be allowed to start working. This makes it incredibly difficult for most graduating internationals to secure work for the summer since we can’t even provide potential employers with an expected start date. To further compound matters, we’re entering the workforce during a global recession, a time when even companies more inclined to hire international workers will likely flinch at the prospect of taking on anybody who may need visa sponsorship, at any point, ever. Borders are tightening. The world’s becoming more xenophobic. Many of us aren’t seen as qualified candidates, but rather as economic burdens. With all this in mind, I don’t think I’ll be able to get a job in the United States post-graduation. I think that when I left campus to come to India, I just might have inadvertently moved to India. And so, here I am, sitting in my childhood bedroom during a state-wide lockdown, pretty sure that I left behind not just the place that’s responsible for most of my social, emotional and intellectual growth, but also the possible future in the United States I was hoping that growth would unlock for me. I left behind my home, I left behind my people and I just might have left behind the possibility of ever returning to them altogether. That’s really, really scary, and really, really sad. And it’s what it feels like being back home.
MISCELLANY NEWS | VASSAR COLLEGE
THE MISCELLANY NEWS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF MANAGING EDITOR SENIOR EDITORS
Jessica Moss
Frankie Knuckles Duncan Aronson Lucy Leonard CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Isabel Braham Leah Cates Sasha Gopalakrishnan Mack Liederman NEWS EDITORS
Tiana Headley Aena Khan Olivia Watson ASSISTANT FEATURES EDITORS Gillian Redstone Janet Song OPINIONS EDITOR Jonas Trostle ASSISTANT OPINIONS EDITOR Abram Gregory ARTS EDITOR Taylor Stewart HUMOR EDITOR Francisco Andrade ASSISTANT HUMOR EDITOR Izzy Migani SPORTS EDITORS Jonah Frere-Holmes Dean Kopitsky ASSISTANT SPORTS EDITOR Jackie Molloy SOCIAL MEDIA EDITOR Natalie Bober ASSISTANT DESIGN EDITORS Mohtad Allwalla Rose Parker PHOTO EDITOR Yvette Hu ASSISTANT PHOTO EDITOR Grace Rousell GRAPHICS EDITORS Julian Aguilar Ciara Murray-Jordan ASSISTANT COPY EDITORS Jacqueline Gill Phoebe Jacoby Caitlin Patterson VIDEO PRODUCTION MANAGER Alexis Cerritos AUDIO EDITORS Alex Barnard Kyle Chung ASSISTANT AUDIO EDITOR Julian Lindenmaier BUSINESS MANAGER Robert Pinataro LIVE EVENTS CHAIRPERSON REPORTERS
COLUMNISTS
PHOTOGRAPHER GRAPHIC DESIGNER COPY STAFF
CROSSWORD
Ben Scharf Delila Ames Carissa Clough Olivia Diallo Rayan El Amine Meghan Hayfield Sara Lawler Sawyer Bush Madison Caress Doug Cobb Lindsay Craig Rohan Dutta Xin Rui Ong Alice Woo Sherry Liao Juliette Pope Nina Ajemian Taylor Gee Jason Han Jake Johnson Emma Kahn Tiffany Trumble Frank
CORRECTION POLICY The Miscellany News will only accept corrections for any misquotes, misrepresentations or factual errors for an article within the semester it is printed.
The Miscellany News is not responsible for the views presented within its Opinions pages. Staff editorials are the only articles that reflect the opinion of a two-thirds majority of the Editorial Board.
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March 26, 2020
春天会 봄이 올 ฤดูใบไม
Photos by Diana Liu ’22. We welcome you to add your language in our comments section to create a sense of togetherness while apart. Interested in having your photos featured on Through the Lens? Send all submissions to yijiahu@vassar.edu with your name, class year and photos with one caption.
MISCELLANY NEWS | VASSAR COLLEGE
March 26, 2020
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Putting parallels in focus Continued from Duality on page 1
ments seemed slightly out of rhythm, lagging behind reality by a brief lapse in my perception, and I felt paralyzed by this slow quiet, sensing that something frantic and robust was standing still. The ominous title of this piece is not an exaggeration—it’s not a keen insight or a falsifiable assertion. It’s what I felt, sitting at home in Atlanta on a Monday eating lunch at 11:45 a.m., watching a commercial for another new lite beer. I saw gleaming millennials in target audience apparel prancing through multicolored clouds, blissful and together. Women with luminous skin sip their drinks back-to-back, wearing slow motion smiles. “Social distancing” isn’t something this world knows about. Friday afternoon, I was walking my dogs on a slow and warm Atlanta afternoon, exactly where I didn’t think I’d be in midMarch. My spring track season was canceled. Four-hour bus rides to New Jersey meets vanished. The sweet possibility of post-race Nutella and bagels vanished from my stomach. Racing, training, and all the above—simply not going to happen this semester. I quietly pondered what the semester might look like with a hole the size of a 400m oval in the center. The season would have been tough for other viral reasons. For the last month, before when the panic was no more than a distant meme, and during the meat of our regular season grind, when we push our bodies from mildly in shape to peak performance, I was sick in bed. Nothing too severe, but by the time I returned to practice, my stride had fallen flat and my
lungs gulped less air than I knew they could. Running is addictive. Patrons of recent Why We Plays know this. Despite the fact that I won’t stick safety pins into my racing bib, lace up my spikes and toe a start line again until a whole other cycle of seasons is complete, I plan on running. Running is a sport concerned with solving the only operation that matters: time divided by distance, and whittling that proportion down to the best of your abilities. But a lot has changed and stopped since I was competing in my sophomore year track season. Meets are like a test every week. With or without school, I won’t need to solve equations any time soon. More than an email or a news break, the most obvious sign that my season was over is that today, I ran without a watch. I didn’t know my pace or distance—I don’t care to know, truthfully. Then, I did something unnatural. I stopped. I sat on some steps above the lake in Piedmont Park. I watched. I listened. A father and daughter played frisbee. When they left, they embraced, one arm around each other, hugging gently. A man, dressed in a blue Oxford shirt and Blundstone boots (but no pants) walked by, and asked if I had seen anyone taking pictures. I hadn’t. I kept the image of him turning his back, his briefs barely visible below his shirt. For the first time in years, I had no plan or regimen. I was nervous. I was tired, so I sat there with the restless and unrequited momentum of this semester settling inside me. I stood up to continue running, which I planned to do...at some point. I looked down at my legs, to the muscles I’d given
hours to strengthen. I rubbed my fingers between the cartilage, bone and fat, and felt a stillness I hadn’t known in quite a long time. I set out at a slow jog and joined the other live images surrounding me. Living in this time of pandemic, we see that seemingly unrelated moments have obvious parallels. Unrelated stories pull into sharp relief the crisis of the present-day. Some 82 years ago, a Jewish boy and his parents were one of many families to flee Germany. The escaped in 1938, the year of kristallnacht, a night when Nazis stormed Jewish neighborhoods and smashed shop windows and synagogues emblazoned with yellow Yiddish and Hebrew. Impossibly, the family escaped to New York, worked as maids, and in an auspicious decision that bewilders me whenever the thought crosses my mind, began saving for their grandchildren. Not themselves. Those savings eventually helped send their great grandchild to college, who is now at home typing this in his running shorts. On Friday, I drove my mom to the airport. Her father, that German Jewish boy, was going into surgery for a new heart valve. At 86, and with so many swarming confoundments, anything was possible. In times when social geography leaped over by ultra-fast bit rates, coronavirus is a black hole. Its gravity pulls anything within remote degrees of separation into singularity. Like the once again thumping heart of my grandfather, it pulses with all the color of living. We realize that within it, without it, and without exception, we are all inseparably wound in this steadfast pinpoint, searching for unlikely miracles at unlikely moments.
会来。春天會來。La primavera verrà. बसंत ऋतु आएगा // Basant ritu aayega. Le printemps viendra. 올 거에요。La primavera llegara.もうすぐ、春が来る。Der Frühling wird kommen. ม้ผลีกำ�ลังจะมาแล้ว. Ver veniet. Весна придет. Tiocfaidh Earrach. Spring will come.
In isolation, families must grieve without a funeral Continued from Grief on page 1
six weeks and six months to live. Things quickly took a turn for the worse. By the time I returned home for winter break, I saw how immensely my PopPop was suffering; immunotherapy was wreaking havoc on his body and a mysterious “itching” side effect was putting him through constant agony. On Christmas Day, as I gathered with my cousins in my Nana and Pop-Pop’s living room to open presents, I understood that this was the last time we would all celebrate like this. Cancer was going to take our Pop-Pop from us, and our family would never feel quite the same again. The mood was somber—a holiday that had previously held nothing but joy was tainted by the dark cloud looming above us. I felt the weight of change upon us, and I wasn’t sure we’d be able to bear it. Before I could begin processing this sense of impending doom, it was time to go back to school. In all honesty, I was eager to return to campus and temporarily escape the sense of gloom and despair that was pervading my home life. Of course, I felt guilty as well. But there was relief in the return to a sense of normalcy. I heard updates on my Pop-Pop from my parents during our weekly Skype calls—the updates got increasingly worrisome as his condition deteriorated— but between classes, my thesis, my job com-
mitments, and of course my occasional social life, I had a lot of distractions to juggle. That is, until I came home again for spring break. When my mom picked me up at the TH parking lot in her minivan, the first thing we talked about was my Pop-Pop. Over the last few weeks, his quality of life had declined to a point where his suffering felt needless. We knew that it was a matter of weeks, if not days, until he passed. And sure enough, on Thursday, March 12, I was awoken by an early morning phone call. I sprung out of bed, and when my mother turned to me, she broke into tears and whispered the two words that I had both expected and feared for so many months: “It’s over.” But the end was only just beginning. At the exact same time that the phone started ringing, President Bradley sent out an email to all students announcing Vassar’s decision to move to remote learning. Like my Pop-Pop’s death, this too was not a surprise to me. Yet hearing both outcomes at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel like my world had just been split in two. In the days that followed, the novel coronavirus continued to spread across the country. As my family struggled to cope with the news of my Pop-Pop’s passing, we suddenly faced a new dilemma: How could we grieve together in such a danger-
ous time? As the media covers cancellations and closures across the country, much of the emphasis has been on entertainment and celebratory events. From Disney World to sports arenas, venues are closing, and everything from weddings to Bar Mitzvahs has been indefinitely postponed. While I don’t wish to minimize the pain that comes with these sorts of cancellations, as well as the very real economic struggles that have been brought on by these rapid and disorienting changes, I feel the media has mainly overlooked one particularly painful event to cancel: a funeral. Certainly, there is some global context here. Italy’s funeral industry is struggling under the weight of the nation’s crisis, and mourners are forced to grieve in isolation. Additionally, The Washington Post published haunting images of mass graves dug out in Iran, a country where burial should occur within 24 hours in accordance with Islamic tradition. Both nationally and across the globe, we are united by universal experiences of death and grief. When we lose a loved one, we long to be surrounded by those who care about us. We want to hug each other a little tighter, a little closer, in the hopes of using our human connections to endure the sadness and pain of grief. It is human instinct to heal in this way. And yet, in our new era
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of social distancing, grieving has become nearly impossible. Although I’m grateful to be with my family at this time, rather than on campus, the novel coronavirus has prevented us from any sort of normal grieving. It has aggravated our anguish. Perhaps most importantly, it will mean that my Pop-Pop, may he rest in peace, won’t be able to have a proper funeral. Last Christmas, when I imagined that life without my Pop-Pop would never be the same, I never pictured it like this. My Pop-Pop was loved by many, and news of his passing has brought immense sadness to the friends and family who adored him, especially my Nana, with whom he shared over 50 years. If you are also experiencing the pain of being unable to grieve in the era of the novel coronavirus and social distancing, please know that you are not alone. And if you know someone who recently lost a loved one, please reach out to them— these are truly unprecedented times, and this is a situation that none of us could have foreseen. I wish I could end on a positive note, but all I can say is that my family is doing everything we can to check in with each other and maintain a sense of connection as we try to cope with all this change. Wherever you find yourself at this point in time, I hope you are able to do the same.
Page 6
March 26, 2020
Writer stereotypes, self-isolation and mental health Continued from Stereotypes on page 1
group sessions to attend. And so I’ve lost the network I had where I could describe my mental health in an honest manner. Instead, describing my mental health is like that scene in Parks and Recreation where Ben dons his grubby Letters to Cleo t-shirt, holds up his handmade doll and cries, “Could a depressed person make this?” I am trying to prove to my family that my mental health has gotten better at Vassar and continues to be better at home. Yet whatever I do accomplish feels like I am trying to prove some stereotype wrong, only to fall into another. With self-isolation, I have the freedom to focus on personal writing projects. With every written page I destroy the notion that depressed people are lazy. But by contrast, writing these pages seems to make me the proverbial starving artist, producing the most emotional and inspirational work during my depression. In reality, I don’t see writing as a symptom of depression or a symptom of the starving artist—it is merely a part of my life. When I came home, I realized that there were so many abandoned projects in my room—a sewing box with a headless Baymax plush I never finished, a sketchpad with pages left blank and my red cello case gathering dust in the corner. Writing was the only activity I had kept up with throughout my life, evidenced by my childhood diaries and awards I had won from competitions. It is still a part of me, integrated with my academics as an English major and my extracurriculars as an editor for The Miscellany News. My neglected hobbies were a reminder of old passions also left to collect dust. In the past, I had been constantly discouraged by peers for investing my time in these hobbies. My love for them didn’t matter because I compared my skills to others and realized I could never match
up to them. My depression—instead of acting as a motivator—kicked in as selfdoubt that instilled me to let them go as soon as I could. Yet the one thing I haven’t let go of and managed to improve, writing, is the one I’ve had the most scrutiny towards. Sometimes I think it’s the only skill I have. Writing came out of my bilingual upbringing and my desperate need to make sense with my peers. Whenever I was told that I phrased words incorrectly, I sought to fix it. I improved upon writing out of fear that I would sound like my immigrant parents, my English sullied by an accent and the mispronunciation and misinterpretation of words. Writing has become ingrained with my identity, something that resulted from my Asian American experience. I am following the narrative of Asian Americans who are lost in both worlds of their parents and America, struggling to find the in-between. Hence why I became conscious of narrative in my first-year writing seminar. I needed to represent what was visible, my Asian American identity. But I also had to represent what was invisible: my mental health. I remember my classmates’ reactions to a piece by David Foster Wallace after we found out he died by suicide. “I just find it fascinating,” someone said, “how he was able to write something so beautiful out of his depression.” I commented something along the lines of how it wasn’t right to romanticize suicide. “I guess then,” she responded, “that it’s interesting how even though he had depression, he still could write something so beautiful. Even though he killed himself, he still created this.” I was reminded of that class months later, after a conversation I had in the Deece. “Is this story,” my friend said, referring to a piece I wrote for “Portrait,” “is all of it true?” Yes, I told him, all of it—the Bar-
bie dolls, the girl I crushed on in pre-K, my bisexuality—it was all true. That he found interesting, and he referred to Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried.” As O’Brien says in his book, what is important is the “higher and nobler” meaning, not “happeningness” or what actually happened. My friend thought I had devised my “happeningness” so that I could execute a “higher and nobler” meaning. In trying to create said meaning, I later wondered, I wonder if any of my writing—even if the “happeningess” is real—is still genuine. Is suffering merely marketable? Has depression become a technique rather than reality? If I write about how I went from happily continuing my old sketchbook to crying in my bed, is that just a diegesis rather than my life? I seem to be solely a story now, all my experiences created for some “deep” message. I had been able to express these insecurities at Metcalf before campus shut down. In those cozy, lavender scented rooms, my sessions there allowed me to recognize that I am not my thoughts, nor was I alone in them. Therapy is no cure, but it provides an outlet for your brain to recharge and release its negative buildup. My mental health has improved at Vassar not because Metcalf conjured the magic formula to happiness, but because it gave me a community to bond with and reach out to. Through my discussions in group sessions, I’ve come to realize that depression and creativity may be correlated, but not causally related. I am still battling my mental illness, even if I feel better after writing. It would be a “higher and nobler” meaning if I ended this reflection with the lie that I am better now. The “happeningness,” however, is that I am only continuing the rollercoaster of highs and lows, hoping the ride moves forward. Self-iso-
Janet Song/The Miscellany News. lation has left me without my go-to resource for mental health, and I’ve found myself having more depressive episodes these past few weeks as I adjust to staying indoors. What I can only tell myself is not to give in to the pressure of creating something spectacular, and that this shutdown is for me to protect my own health. So I make do, writing when I can, drawing strawberries in my sketchbook and just existing in my solitude. [Editor’s note: The Vassar College Counseling Service continues to provide resources for students during the distance learning period. If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health and in need of professional support, email counseling@vassar.edu or call 845-437-5700 for more information. Resources include virtual counseling via BetterHelp, self-help modules via T.A.O. and local provider directories via Thriving Campus.]
Seven Sisters meme page coordinates coronavirus aid Tiana Headley
R
News Editor
aging bushfires in Australia. The acquittal of a president who abused the highest office in the land. Tensions heightened to a near breaking point between the United States and Iran after Trump’s targeted kill of their most powerful general. This year has been more dystopian than it has been hopeful. And with a pandemic that’s infected over 180,000 globally, many are wondering where we went wrong with 2020. But through it all, memes have provided a source of humor and a means of working through the doom and gloom of this moment.
Ciara Murray-Jordan/The Miscellany News
The admin of the historicallywomens. c0m Instagram page didn’t set out to quell the anxieties of uncertain times when she created the account. Since 2017, she’s posted memes submitted from the community that poke fun at, critically examine and celebrate the experiences of historically women’s college (HWC) students. That vision hasn’t changed. But now, she’s also found herself coordinating a support network for HWC students whose schools have closed due to the COVID-19 outbreak. Over 100 public and private colleges and universities have announced precautionary measures, such as weeks-long suspensions, transitions to online learning and,
in some cases, closures for the remainder of the spring semester. Millions of vulnerable students have been left scrambling to find housing, rides to airports, affordable storage units and emergency funds. For the page’s admin—who has chosen not to reveal her identity—memes weren’t enough. “Once I started receiving meme submissions surrounding responses to COVID-19, I knew I needed to do something besides post ‘funny content,’” she shared. Since the day news broke of Smith College’s closure, she has used the Instagram story feature to post requests from students for aid and from others offering their resources. “The actual support and aid were swiftly and generously provided by alumni, current students, and even members of the class of 2024 who couldn’t idly sit back and watch members of their community fail to stay afloat,” she elaborated. But this isn’t the only way she’s used her platform for public good. A student sent her screenshots of an email from Barnard Deputy Dean of the College Natalie Friedman, who threatened disciplinary action against Barnard student Zhifan Yang ’20 for potentially breaking self-quarantine. Barnard administrators enforced mandatory self-quarantine for students who had returned from mainland China after Jan. 19. When Yang left her room briefly to use the restroom, she missed one of two daily food deliveries allowed to students in quarantine. This was reported to Friedman. The page admin posted the email screenshots in February. In the post, she implores students to press Barnard administrators
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to rethink their decision. “I certainly do not consider my page a news source, and I would be horrified if anyone regarded it as such, but there are some issues that need to be talked about and put out in the open,” she shared. A week later, she posted screenshots of an email from Vassar College President Elizabeth Bradley’s email detailing the discovery of Native American human remains on campus. Professor Emerita of Anthropology Lucille Lewis had gathered the remains in Alaska as research materials, before the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) was passed. “During this time LISTEN to Indigenous demands and needs. Be there for the people who are deeply and horrifically impacted by this cover up,” she urges in the post. Through global pandemics, playful infighting between schools and school administrations’ insensitive actions, she hopes most of all to stoke respectful discourse among the historically women’s college community. As disturbing, comical, frightening or outrageous phenomena pop up on these campuses, memes are students’ media of choice to make jokes and express their frustrations. The admin said, “While these can be funny and further highlight the absurdity of a situation, it does prompt [me] to then say, ‘Okay, comedy aside, let’s talk about this.’” She also asks herself if online hypervisibility can be used to enact change. “When the answer to the last question is yes, this is where I tend to step in,” she said.
March 26, 2020
Page 7
Some helpful reminders...
by Sophia Kapur
The Miscellany Crossword
“Hopeful Things”
by Frank
ACROSS
1. look forward to consuming this tasty sustenance 5. divisions of theatrical acts 9. tennis game 14. Hawaiian party 15. driving direction 16. WWII Normandy Beach/city in Nevada 17. first Holy Roman Emperor 18. liquid precipitation 19. all over the internet 20. of utmost importance to deal with ASAP 22. to close off an artery or vessel 23. one hundredth of a yen 24. most common food allergy 25. very long period of time, alternate spelling
26. leg 27. Electric Point of Sale, abbr 29. opposite of a bottom 32. someone outside of social environments 35. not yours 36. swollen lymph node in armpit 37. small ovum 38. mineral or metal rock 39. serf in ancient Sparta 40. animal doctors 41. to buy things 42. steep Scottish hillside 43. to make a mistake 44. to move by 45. ominous mist 46. country and A Flock of Seagulls song 48. upper limbs of bipedal vertebrates 49. alien spaceship
52. spreads substance across a surface 54. court of justice 56. meanders or winds 57. Phineas who survived a grave head injury 58. to protect one’s loins 59. deknot 60. object, idea, person, or place 61. a theater box 62. an art form consisting of tunes, melodies 63. employed, utilized 64. privy to
DOWN
1. shoes that flip 2. unusual and startling, French 3. made with or containing oats 4. name better ones, we’ll wait
5. large, open, skylit room 6. to repeatedly yell as a group 7. mathematics of triangles 8. radiates light and warmth 9. watch these to get out of your head 10. Spanish word for ‘friend’ 11. big hairy spider 12. little talk 13. strong and healthy elderly person 21. kind of drum 22. shares borders with Thailand, Vietnam & Cambodia 26. slightly sticky hair products 27. monetary unit of the EU 28. to make ready, abbr 30. what Hailey plays in Mozart in the Jungle 31. stored with pans 32. devotion and sacrifice 33. walkie talkie sign-off 34. substances that provide nourishment 35. and aahs 36. ice lettuce 39. developed after atomic bomb 41. without, French 44. unit of distance in astronomy 45. someone who is there for you 47. diameter halves 48. quarrel, debate 49. student or labor 50. largest city in North Dakota 51. “yee ancient days” 52. past participle of swim 53. book of food options 54. North American people native to New Mexico 55. Jamaican tangelo fruit 57. wildebeest
Answers to previous puzzle
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