Pacific Ties Spring 2019: Dreams

TABLE OF

CONTENTS

13 Fu Yu Nai Nong 01 Editor’s Note

16 Oh What a Privilege, to Dream

02 The Great American Hoax: Wake Up, You’re Dreaming

18 The New Opium War

04 The Plight of the International Student in STEM 06 Dreams, Inherited 08 The Storm 11 Dreamscape 12 Broken Dreams

20 Dream Redefined 22 It Doesn’t take a Hero to Dream 24 Detention and Deportation, Our Family Secrets 26 Meet the Staff 28 Harmony 29 About Us

Special Thanks Katherine Ha (Contributor), the Asian American Studies Center, Doria, Jose and UCLA Communications Board.

Pacific Ties Newsmagazine at UCLA is published and copyrighted by the ASUCLA Communications Board. All rights are reserved. Reprinting of any material in this publication without the written permission of the Communications Board is strictly prohibited. The ASUCLA Communications Board fully supports the University of California’s policy on non-discrimination. The student media reserve the right to reject or modify advertising whose content discriminates on the basis of ancestry, color, national origin, race, religion, disability, age, sex or sexual orientation. The ASUCLA Communications Board has a media grievance procedure for resolving complaints against any of its publications. For a copy of the complete procedure, contact the publications office at 118 Kerckhoff Hall @ 310-825-9898

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EDITOR’S NOTE lucy ma

Dear Readers, When was the last time you dreamed? Was it last night? For undergrads like the Pacties staff, we dream constantly, and we are making our dreams come true as we climb up Bruin Walk everyday as well as trying to meet deadlines at our Kerckhoff office every night. But it is also during these moments that we realize our naiveness, and notice the previously unforeseen barriers that make our dreams distant and distorted. Maybe the dreams that we pursued were not all sunshine and rainbows. Maybe those dreams were nightmares.

We hope to explore this concept in Pacties’ Spring 2019 Issue. Through a journey that weave through various dreams, hopes, and disillusionment, we wish you a happy dream. And if not, keep reading, because maybe you’ll wake up.

Sincerely, Lucy PACIFIC TIES NEWSMAGAZINE

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Long before I hit the “accept”

button on my UCLA admissions offer last May, I knew I would come here. No, not UCLA, but America.

As an English major, a lot of my classmates and teachers expected me to head to the United Kingdom — the land of Shakespeare and Chaucer, the place where Dickens took his first breath and Austen took her last. Although I fancied myself a breakthrough into the literary world of J.K Rowlinglike proportions and had forever dreamt of leaving behind a legacy half as wonderful as Wordsworth’s, I stubbornly held onto the belief that I should be going to the United States to pursue my higher education instead.

You see, if England was where the language itself was birthed, America was where it flourished, where it became the script for a success story. Whereas England wielded English like a weapon and left it behind like battle scars — indelible stamps of colonialism around the globe like Hansel and Gretel’s trail of breadcrumbs, America reworked it into a symbol of freedom. That is not to say that it was a smooth or even peaceful transition, but that it was what put USA on the map as a magical place with a transformative capacity that would shock even watchers of makeover shows like Queer Eye. If you wanted to become anyone of note, America was the place to be.

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And so, to America I came, leaving behind the safe bubble of Singapore and life as I knew it, boring a sizeable hole into my parents’ pockets. But what for?

When I first stepped off the 18-hour plane ride and into the watchful gaze of the Los Angeles sun last fall, caked with sleep but dizzy with excitement at the thought of a fresh start, I carried with me three bubblegum pink suitcases stuffed to the brim with dreams. Dreams that had been folded into neat little squares and packaged lovingly by my mother, dreams that had been collected carefully over the last eighteen years in anticipation of this moment, dreams that were about to be shattered.

Newsflash: coming to America will not, in fact, compel you to break out of the shell you have been living in for years, and bring about an epiphanic moment wherein you realize that it is simply a cocoon that you must shed to blossom into a butterfly. Nor are you the heroic protagonist of a cheesy novel who will somehow learn to obliterate all obstacles that stand in her path and finally unlock her full potential. No matter what you may have seen on The Wolf of Wall Street or read with pleasant disbelief about Youtubers your age taking social media by storm, the chances of you dipping your toe at the pond of miraculous and lifealtering success are slimmer than that of being struck by lightning.

As it turns out, “The American Dream” — this idea that you can and will make it big in America, the land of the free and the fair — is possibly the largest, globally distributed, multigenerational scam that we humans have subjected ourselves to.

Where did this myth even originate from? Well, it has its roots in the American Declaration of Independence, which states: “We hold these truths to be self -evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”

And since then it has been reinforced by popular media. Think of the number of TV shows that depict people, especially youth, either trying to or succeeding at fulfilling their dreams in some big American city. We have sitcoms like Friends and Two Broke Girls that feature a dysfunctional yet lovable crew of central characters pushing through the mundanities of life consoled by the promise of becoming rich, successful, or both, some day in the unforeseeable future. We have highly artificial “reality” shows where questionable

THE GREAT AMERICAN HOAX:

WAKE UP, YOU’RE DREAMING “ behaviour and stereotypical notions of beauty pave the way to success, with Keeping up with the Kardashians and America’s Next Top Model at the forefront. We have movies like The Social Network and Jobs which misleadingly suggest that the experiences of a few exceptional individuals are the norm.

There exist infinite forms in which we circulate and (continue to) popularize the American Dream. And with globalization, the reach of visual media — and hence that of problematic content — has expanded beyond belief. It therefore succeeds in not only shaping the perception of qualities required for success, but even altering the way in which success is defined by youth across the globe, from Bangladesh to Bulgaria. It then comes as no surprise that so many of us find ourselves flocking to the USA with big dreams of changing the world or at least ourselves, for the better.

According to a study by the Global Web Index, youth aged 16-24 spend an average of 3 hours on social media every day.

That’s an eighth of your day spent scrolling through posts featuring “Instagram Influencers”, teenagers who appear to be making money out of thin air by being nothing but beautiful and photogenic, thereby furthering the notion that success — and consequently happiness — can be acquired through little effort, if only one makes the right connections.

Despite what the constitution promises, we are not ensured a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.

Especially not as a foreigner, as an immigrant. No matter how many years you spend in America, attending an American school and partaking in stereotypically American activities (think tailgating), you are not guaranteed an inch of the life of opulence and luxury that you feel entitled to.

Why? Well, because no matter how many people assure you they “don’t see colour”, they cannot bear to gaze directly at your foreign-ness. You can have an American accent, an American name and be born and bred in this country, but you will still stand out.

You will stand out even when you

If you wanted to become anyone of note, America was the place to be.

”

do not want to, because even if you have never stepped foot outside the United States, someone will have the audacity to ask you, “But where are you really from?”. You will stand out because someone will be surprised by your ability to speak fluent English — a language you picked up well before you could tie your shoelaces. You will stand out because you wear your immigrant values, the dreams passed on by your ancestors for generations, wrapped around your shoulders like a family heirloom.

The American Dream is not for everyone, and it definitely is not for the likes of you or me. If Jay Gatsby, a white man — albeit one born into poverty — did not stand a chance against it, what makes you think a brown girl like me would?

So, it is high time we snapped out of it, woke up, and came to terms not with the reality we were promised, but with the one we find ourselves facing. You are alone on your “pursuit of happiness,” you and your otherness. Do not rely on the mythical American Dream, rely on yourself. by ayushee roy

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The night after winter break, I decided to catch up with a Chinese friend over dinner on the Hill. As she spread a slab of melting butter on a warm loaf of bread, she told me about how she was “rejected before applying” from a summer internship in physical research. “I told them I didn’t need the $4000 stipend,” she said, “but they weren’t willing to consider me even though I volunteered to cover room and board.” I tried to concentrate my senses on the scent of my grilled chicken tenderloin with fresh herb marinade, but our conversation topic had already dispelled its tantalizing sweetness.

As an international student in STEM on an F-1 visa (student visa), I am all too familiar with the troubles of my Chinese friend.

During school years, students who seek hands-on experience rely on personal relationships with a professor in their field, and these are harder to build in larger colleges with limited funding. Between school years, undergraduate research is often sponsored by the American government and reserved exclusively for U. S. citizens and permanent residents. The most competitive jobs sometimes come with laxer eligibility requirements, but these programs make up only a trifling sliver of the total pie of research opportunities. Moreover, international students wishing to take a bite out of it need to apply for Optional Practical Training (OPT), year-long employment directly related to the F-1 holder’s major.

OPT costs $410, and authorization requests can take

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THE PLIGHT OF THE INTERNATIONAL STUDENT IN STEM so long to process that we lose our offers. To make matters worse, the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service (USCIS) had increased their denial rate for H-1B visa petitions for skilled foreign workers by 41% in the last three months of the 2017 fiscal year under the “Buy American, Hire American” executive order, which President Trump signed in April.

The OPT serves a similar purpose as the H-1B, employment-based, non-immigrant visa for temporary workers, and there is good reason to suspect it is not President Trump’s favorite program in the educational system.

As graduate school admissions at most top-tier universities now scrutinize applicants’ research records to separate the wheat from the chaff, our ineligibility to get involved in specific projects not only impairs our undergraduate experience, but also obstructs our academic career. According to Science Magazine, scientific contributions and research depth foreshadow scientists’ future success better than extracurricular activities, personal statements, and

even GPA or GREs. Therefore, a lack of research experience will put us at a significant disadvantage compared to American citizens.

In the eyes of the global community, the value of an American education is already deflating. The number of foreigners enrolled at American schools fell by approximately 4% in fall 2016 and by approximately 6% in fall 2017.

Meanwhile, foreign-born employees make up 33%, 43%, and 57% of the U.S. technology workforce in Boston, New York, and Silicon

international students are here to learn, not to earn money through lab experiences as summer interns.

But in STEM fields, practical training complements textbook knowledge as a core part of the overall education of budding scientists, and we engage in it to explore our interests, not to make a living.

a small price to pay.

All of us had to leave something behind – whether it be our childhood friends, our Golden Retriever, or our mother’s dumplings that we fished straight out of the sizzling hotpot.

Most of us had to overcome our language barrier and culture shock.

And a few of us have parents who Furthermore, the vast majority sold the house so that we could of international students pay full embark on our four-year journey tuition, while 85% of American on this bumpy highway toward the undergraduates received financial coveted American degree, which aid during the 2015-2016 school would – they hope – propel us into year. Between 2017 and 2018 lifelong academic stardom. The alone, we contributed $39 billion perseverance we acquire during our to the American market, and this travels, coupled with the skills we tremendous sum should finance our hone in the lab, might one day allow eligibility to apply to educational us to repay our mother institution programs crucial to our academic with a scientific breakthrough. success, in addition to the needbased scholarships of our domestic Between 2000 and 2014, 35% of peers.

U.S.-based winners of the Nobel Prize in Physics, Chemistry, and At UCLA, 10% of enrolled Medicine hail from outside American freshmen of fall 2018 were borders. By barring international international. In the 2016-2017 students from equal competition school year, 61% of international for key opportunities in scientific students in the U.S. were Asian, discovery, America has created a with passports from China, India, deadweight loss in research output Vietnam, Taiwan, Japan, and South that she cannot remedy by lifting Korea. The top three fields these heavy taxes or reinforcing America students chose to major in were First. engineering, mathematics, and Valley respectively. As a report by computer science. Among STEM The advancement of science the National Academy of Sciences undergraduates, therefore, Asian is catalyzed by brain circulation, shows, these immigrants spur foreigners suffer disproportionately where nations with stronger and innovation among the highly skilled from the poor accessibility of weaker science systems cooperate and create jobs for the working practical training in their respective to either train and keep or recruit class, proving themselves essential fields. and nurture established scholars. If to the U.S. economy. However, if America removed her protectionist America wants to retain her best Long before we boarded our rules damming up the flow of and brightest, she needs to let planes, we knew we would have to knowledge in academic circles, everyone, including international fight harder and work smarter to go some of us would have achieved students, live up to their full potential the same distance as our American something more relevant, something – preferably, during their formative friends. But for the liberty and the more impactful than a cum laude on years as college students. adventure and the excitement of a gold-framed diploma by the time being in a country that would ignore our visa expires.

Despite our positive impact on who we used to be to support who by yingtong guo American welfare, some argue that we want to be, sweat, and tears are PACIFIC TIES NEWSMAGAZINE | 05

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photo by angela li

Dear Mom and Dad, In kindergarten, when grumpy old Ms. Pumpter asked us what we wanted to be when we grow up, I said I wanted to makes stories; stories about magical princesses who could slay dragons and fall in love with charming princes. But then you guys had me take art classes in a tiny studio on the second floor, right above my after school program.

I went along with it because I knew that mom wanted me to be the artist she couldn’t be. She gave up on her dream so that she could fulfill her parents’ dream and by extension, the American Dream of making something from nothing to obtain success. A feat that seemed impossible for the young woman who grew up on a rice farm in Fujian, China, accompanied by six siblings with hardly enough to eat.

When she stowed away in a tiny boat to come to America, she gave up her paints and brushes for a needle and thread as a factory worker in the garment industry. So, I paint for you mom and for all the years you slaved away working behind the sewing machine and then working to take care of me, George, and Selina.

In middle school, I wanted to take dance classes like my other friends but you both paid for expensive one-on-one violin lessons instead, because the neighborhood aunties said knowing how to play a classical instrument was pertinent to getting into a good college.

I practiced diligently even though it was difficult, because I knew how much dad wanted me to get into a good college. He had been made fun of for only graduating from middle school. Instead of pens and paper, dad worked with knives and food, part-timing for the restaurant down the street from his house. Fittingly, after his first arrival on the docks of Ellis Island, he found

himself in Chinatown working as a waiter in a Chinese restaurant.

When college decisions came around, I knew I needed to leave, so that’s why I chose to go to school in California. You both were happy when I decided to major in Political Science because that meant I was on the pre-law track. I didn’t tell you that I was also majoring in Asian American Studies, because you wouldn’t understand nor could I explain to you why in my broken Mandarin Chinese.

Two years into college and I thought I could escape from the guilt of leaving you both and trying to discover myself, but the guilt stays stuck like gum on concrete asphalt. You both didn’t tell me your story so I had to learn it through my Asian American Studies classes.

Fall quarter of freshman year, I learned about the abuse and discrimination in the same garment industry in New York that mom worked at. Winter quarter that same year, I learned about the different discriminatory legislations. This year, I learned about the Fujianese Americans in New York, read about the work that they put in to create their restaurant industry, the work I took for granted having had everything I needed growing up.

Your dreams came to a halt when you reached the New York harbor, waving hello and goodbye to Lady Liberty. Young and lost, both of you chose to work hard so that your children could live a better life. And now I’ve chosen to carry your dreams on my shoulders, to strike gold in America, and to reciprocate the sacrifices you’ve made.

Today, I was asked about my dreams. Some people create their own dreams; I’ve inherited mine. I inherited them from your blood, sweat, and tears; mixed them with my love for you both and all you do; and I continue to work towards them.

Your daughter,

李芷晴 angela li

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THE STORM THE STORM THE STORM Without a sound, a sudden streak of blinding purple appeared before the clouds. Lighting up the night, it branched out, like blood vessels of the sky, and immediately retreated thereafter. In the days after, the thunders grew louder, the winds grew stronger, and even the sunlight held a bluish tint.

The Storm is approaching.

“Where are we going?”

Younger sister asked after mother told us to pack our belongings.

“The elders of the island predicted that a typhoon was coming, so the people from our village must move to a safe place, a place called Higher Lands, to wait out the storm,” I responded, and then pointed towards the looming clouds.

“For when the typhoon passes through the land, it will wreak havoc, drowning crops and houses.”

Sister became quiet, and unlike her usual cheery self, she had a concerned expression.

Then I realized that this would be her first storm. I bent down, so that my head reached her eye level, and comforted her, “The storm’s winds can blow away crops, houses, and lives, but it also blows treasures onto

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the island.”

I told her that I have scavenging rituals after typhoons, where I would search for trinkets and novelties. Her eyes opened wide as I pique her interest.

“There’s also something better to look forward to — the eye of the storm — at one point when winds become the orchestra, howling in the distance, and the rain will only fall gently, barely sprinkling. During this phase, it is safe to walk outside the shutters, yet you stand in the midst of destruction.”

I paused, tilting my head towards the sky, and started to trace the reddish gold outlines of each shadowy cloud. It makes you feel small and powerful at the same time... The eye of the storm, the tranquility centered among the chaos.

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

Sister questioned.

“Yes, but, that’s why you return before the second part of the storm comes,” I assured.

After everyone was ready, the villagers all began to trod along the red dirt road to the Higher Land. On the way, we came across an unusual sign located in the middle of a seemingly brand new clearing.

“Private Property” was written on it. In the near parameters of the sign, the usual lush foliage was wither trimmed or extracted for the sole purpose of display.

This wasn’t here before, I thought. Others were confused as well, but we nonetheless continued our trek.

On the second day, a majority of people had come down

with a strange disease, where the sick were struck with weakness and fever. Our mother was one of them. The health conditions halted the journey, and even more concerning, all the leaders in the Village Council had fallen ill as well.

“It appears that the older folks are more susceptible to the disease,” said the Southern younger brother. His eyes were red as he spoke of the situation. Not too long ago his grandparents had passed. I avoided making eye contact with him, but I couldn’t help thinking what if the same… mother was shivering this morning while her skin was hot to touch. I shuddered at the thought. It was not until a drop of sweat stung my eye that I noticed the room had became so still that I could hear my own breathing.

“Perhaps this had something to do with the strange sign on the path,” I spoke to break the suffocating silence, and stepped forward to stand in for my mother as the North, “We need to investigate.”

The temporary West and East sisters representing the seats nodded in agreement.

“This was the only thing that was deviant from past journeys,” sister East noted.

“But we have come to the Higher Lands every time to seek shelter from storms. It is not a place that anyone claims,” brother South dismissed as he frowned. Regardless, the group could not move because of the sick, who had to be taken care of by the healthy.

On the third day, the winds could bend the sturdy trees and the frequent rain would drop down as if it was whipping. The storm seemed to be approaching much sooner than the elders had

predicted!

“We must hurry,” I said to the council.

We agreed that the journey could not be held off any longer. Sister East and West, who were younger, decided to leave with the young adults and children to go ahead while brother South and I would build a temporary shelter on the spot. Before we split up to carry out the decision, a being with no face appeared out of nowhere. He was transparent, and was so pale that light could be reflected off his body. A spirit?

“This is my property,” he proclaimed. His eyes scanned the group, then stopped at the direction of where the sick were temporarily held, and continued, “because you’ve transgressed, a punishment had been executed.”

Shocked, the new council looked at each other and realized that our guess about the strange sign was right, and our actions must have angered this spirit. As the eldest, I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and paused — for there was much to complain about and negotiate for, but he had the upper hands. I tried opening my mouth but words could not come out. His colorful eyes glistened, as if he smelled my hesitation, “I can give you remedies for the sickness but you must pay a price, and you must also compensate for your transgressions to my land.”

Rage boiled inside me, like a storm. I wanted to fling him far away.

I retreated back with the group to discuss his demands: we agreed that our people would cede all lands that were not drowned and laid waste by the typhoon in return for treatment and shelter. As the spirit nodded in agreement, I smiled for the first time since the journey began. This was my revenge

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— the terms were in our favor because the typhoon would destroy any and all farms and land. That is why the hardest part of survival is finding food after the destructions.

With permission, we arrived and made shelter on the Higher Lands, and by the fourth day, we felt ready for the typhoon to come, and pass.

So, on the fifth day, we waited.

On the sixth day...

More than seven days later, the sun had begun to shine blindingly. The storm did not come, or if it did, it only grazed the island. When the villagers descended the Higher Lands to return to their homes, we had found our land under construction and buildings were being built for the man with no face. Since the storm did not actually come, all the farms and land were untouched by water and therefore belonged to him.

Angry and regretful, we could not return home, our…, no, my decisions had backfired. But the merciful spirit descended again to offer a solution, providing reward in exchange for labor, to which we had no choice but to comply.

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For days, weeks, and months, I cleaned rooms with large trinkets, and by accident, I turned one of the machines on…it produced thunder noises and howling winds. All the blood in my body rushed out of my system. I am sure my face was as pale as the spirit when I realized that we were standing in midst of a false sense of tranquility. The storm that never arrived was controlled by the spirit. He harnessed machines and tricks, The Wizard of Storm, but the pact had been sealed and the villagers, now workers, could not sustain themselves without the man’s provisions. It was too late. Slowly, our souls grew weaker, skin paler, and eventually became hollow. by lucy ma

DREAMSCAPE It seems just yesterday that I used to sit on the porch eyes to the stars and head in the clouds If you asked me what a dreamscape looked like I would say “America” It seems just yesterday I packed my bags to freedom putting in a sunny yellow adulting and a big pink wishlist And told mamma “I’m going to live my dream” It seems just yesterday I hugged my India goodbye before crossing the entire Pacific Two flights worth of distance and no looking back It seems just yesterday But now that I’m here freedom doesn’t seem as dreamy On rainy days, the yellow adulting smudges into pale ochre and I sit there, blowing it dry Sometimes it takes all of my oxygen Now that I’m here I dream again But this time, asleep, about the same porch back home It was easy to see the stars from there Wasn’t it just yesterday?

If there was a dreamseller I would ask him why he sold me America more costly than he promised me for “It is wonderful,” I would tell him but, “it is not mine to keep” by rhea plawat

illustrated by rhea plawat PACIFIC TIES NEWSMAGAZINE

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“Broken Dreams”

PANGARAP NA WASAK

illustrated by allyza quiambao 12

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FU YU NAI NONG “Floating in the River”

I have always felt drawn to the river. With its comforting smell of white Dok Champa flowers that would find its way from the tree into the river to swim alongside and surround me, I felt like I belonged in the water.

Before the war over the new government, my younger cousins Nalee and Boun would join me in tagging along with our mothers to go do laundry every week at the river adjacent to our village. I was born six months before Nalee and took pride in being half a foot taller.

Boun came two years after Nalee and unlike Nalee and I, his hair took on the color of dried brown river mud. The five of us would travel half a mile away from my house to the large stream nestled in-between a forest of eucalyptus and Dok Champa trees. Mom and Auntie Haum would usually perch themselves in a large shady spot by the river bank, while the three of us would sit a couple feet away from them downstream.

When it was hot, Nalee and I would stay in until our fingers

turned pruney and make Boun be the lookout since he was the youngest and could not swim. Our long, needle thin hair glossier than the burnt black pieces of wood from the fireplace floating in the water would be the only clear sign of where we were. At our young age, we could never reach to the other side of the river because the width of the river was the height of both of us combined times two. So, the moment either one of us stepped into the water, mom never forgot to remind us to not go too far because the phaya nak in our village might not be able to save us.

We are so lucky to have the good nak to protect us, but they have bigger things to worry about than naughty kids drowning in water and not helping us do laundry.

I remember crying into my grandma’s sint one day as she ran her fingers through my hair to form a neat braid and gently tucked the country’s beloved white flower behind my ear.

Mom had spanked me for “being foolish enough to waste my snacks to

feed the river ants.” I didn’t even get the chance to tell her that I wanted to make an offering to the phaya nak so that our family can be protected. But grandma understood.

The nak comes and goes as they wish. Some people think the nak are large water snakes, but others believe they can take any form—wooden logs, fish, flowers, and even humans. They are very much real, little one, and will appreciate your offering. As long as you’re a good girl, pray to Buddha, and respect the nak, we will all be blessed.

I never stopped making secret offerings, especially when my dad and uncles went away for a long time. And then my older brother, Kham Chai, left too.

I was seven when the Royal Lao Army promoted my dad to a Major General. I didn’t understand if this was good news or bad. I sat by the open window to watch the rain stream down

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as Auntie Haum and my mom wept. I turned my head to look past them and saw my older brother and uncles surrounding my dad in their own uniforms.

We have support from the United States, so the war should be over soon little one.

the door with our jackets ready to leave. However, the second I opened the door, I was met with a light shower of rain that precedes the usual heavy downfall.

It is now 1975. The war is still going on strong and it has been for the last four years. It didn’t matter how much the United States contributed, Pathet Lao has a strong Communist agenda with powerful allies supporting them and the villages surrounding ours have started to evacuate.

I haven’t seen my father in months and although he sends us a letter as often as he can, it still doesn’t soothe my mother’s worry. Not after the return of Kham Chai’s body at the end of last year. Since then, she rarely lets me out alone. Dark circles began to take over the region under mom’s eyes, as lackluster grey strands weaved their way onto her scalp. Especially with the news that village children around Laos are coming across explosives in the fields and losing limbs.

Grandma has been accompanying me to the market and to do laundry, but she is getting older and Mom’s paranoia of losing me got to the point where Auntie Haum had to move in. She didn’t look any better, despite being a year younger than mom.

At 31, she quickly became a widow a year and a half into the war and found the cost of maintaining the house while raising Nalee and Boun too much for her to handle on her own. Moving in with us was a blessing for both of our households.

Our weekly river laundry visits now consist of only Auntie Haum and I, with Nalee and Boun on house-sitting duty. I still bring fruit with me to sneak offerings for the nak and watch the flowers swim down the stream freely… Some days, I really wanted to join them.

“I don’t know how to swim though,” Boun immediately whispered to Nalee and I.

On the night before my eighteenth birthday, our entire village got the message to evacuate. Pathet Lao was getting close.

“We need to get going if we want to meet the guide taking us to Nong Khai,” Mom yelled.

Grandma, Nalee, Boun, and I huddled together by

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“We need to leave now. We still have to cross the river to meet the group,” Grandma called out with silent tears streaming down her face.

Nalee rolled her eyes, “You’ll be fine, Boun. You’re tall enough now to get in.”

“I’ll be right next to you,” I nudged his shoulder.

The walk to the river was somber and muddy and the rain did not relent. My mom walked ahead of us with grandma as Nalee stuck to her mother’s side right behind them, while Boun and I struggled to catch up with their fast pace. When we got there, the riverbank had not overflowed yet and the Dok Champa flowers were calmly floating around the soft ripples of rainfall hitting the water. Nalee and I immediately jumped into the water to help grandma cross the river first. Luckily, we were able to walk her and her bag over without stepping in any deep potholes. After grappling with the heavy downstream, grandma stood alone on the other side and my mom was about to join. However, the moment my mom stepped onto the platform beside her, the stream began to flood.

“You grab your mom and I’ll take Boun!” I yelled over the rapid water stream, a few meters behind Nalee. “The river is gonna rise. We need to get to them fast.”

“See you on the other side,” she confirmed.

Nalee grabbed her mother who immediately held her bag above her head, just as I got to Boun. With one of my hands outreached towards Boun to help him in, Nalee guided her mom through the heavy current. The moment they surpassed the bustling center of the river, Nalee managed to get them on dry land a couple feet away from grandma and my mom. By then, Boun and I were barely making our way towards the center of the stream which seemed worse than it was a few minutes ago. We were immediately pulled in by the slushing flood and I lost track of any sense of direction.

“You need to be careful!” my mom cried, as she held

on tight to grandma’s hand.

By some miracle, we managed to surpass the center. But when we were a feet away from joining the four on the river bank, the current immediately swallowed me up. I remember trying to push Boun towards the edge of the river, but all my hands brushed were flowers. I tried fighting against the current to get back to the surface, but all I could see were flashes of black and blue. All I could hear was the water and my cries to let me out of its embrace.

I don’t remember when I gave up or when I realized the fact that I should be dead. My eyes eventually opened to see hundreds of white flowers surrounding me. It left me in awe and as the flowers began dissipating, I came face to face with a huge serpent and held my breath. The phaya nak.

You do know you can breathe underwater right? It laughed into my head.

I gasped and one of my hands immediately went to my throat as the other touched my forehead.

Yes, little one, I can read your mind. Breathe. It advised me. You will be fine, you are one with the water now.

I slowly began to open my mouth and felt surprised. What is happening? Am I dreaming?

You chose your cousin’s life over your own.

I...sacrificed myself? I’m dead?

Yes. It replied in a somber tone. In a flash, the nak was by my side urging me to get on and hold onto its neck.

respected and prayed to my clan. You also have a big heart, so I have chosen you to become one of us.

When the nak did a deep dive into the sea, I saw a bright flash of white light that blinded me and for some reason, I could still smell the Dok Champa.

Time didn’t seem to exist in the water. The day Nakee took me under her wing, I began my training as a protector. Now, I look over the river by my old village in the form of local flowers, swimming and floating all day without detection.

On the surface, time moves slowly. For years, there were no visitors to the river. However, people gradually came back to my village and began going about their everyday routines of laundry and swimming at the river.

One day, a Lao woman and her eight-year-old daughter came to the river with a jar and a plastic bag. The woman cried the minute she reached the river bank.

“Luk, this is where your auntie gave her life so your uncle Boun could live.” The woman struggled out to her daughter who was fixated on the lonely white flower floating on the surface, “Do you think you can hold the bag of food for the kun, while I make sure grandma gets into the river safely?”

Her daughter nodded and watched as her mother sniffled and released grandma’s ashes into the river.

Wanting to comfort her mother, the girl slowly made her way towards the river bank. “Ma, can we make the kun for auntie, grandma and the phaya nak now?”

Nalee laughed and wiped her tears, “You know your auntie’s mom hit her for leaving food out for the phaya nak?”

But my family...my mother.

They are heartbroken little one...but they know you did not sacrifice yourself for them to get captured. They have met with the other villagers and are on their way to the boat that will take them to Nong Khai.

Will they be safe? What’s going to happen to me?

They will meet up with your father at the camp and be sent to America. With me on its back, the nak dived closer to the river floor and effortlessly slithered its way downstream towards the sea. You always

by amanda leutmixay Glossary:

1. Dok champa: Frangipani, Lao national flower 2. Phaya nak: naga serpent that is believed in Laos and Thailand to be the protector 3. Sint: Lao traditional skirt 4. Nong Khai: Refugee camp in Thailand for many Laos and Hmong populations 5. Nakee: Queen of Nagas, based on a popular Thai drama 6. Luk: my child 7. Ma: mom 8. Kun: putting together an offering of something for the spirits,

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OH WHAT A PRIVILEGE, TO DREAM When I was five, I decided I would be a writerboatloads of ambition packed into a four-foot frame.

You smiled at me with your twinkling eyes, placed your calloused palm on my privileged head And blessed me with the power to dream.

You dreamed; a ten year old squeezed into a metal can- bus? train?- of flailing bodies stuck together by sweat, tears and undying hope, snaking its way across the border, Away from a home that could not keep you To a new one that did not want to.

“We are dreamers, you and I,” you assured me As we lay on a madur on the terrace, sharing poems, pomegranate seeds, pieces of your past and my imagined future.

At ten, you had to leave home Penniless and barefoot, alone except for your heart’s quiet thud thud thud.

In search of food, water, shoes? A future?

In search of a chance to make it past ten.

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At eighteen, I got to leave home Swaddled in motherly love, plenty of baggage- both emotional and otherwise- and an entourage of well wishers by my side.

In search of what? Satisfaction? “Happiness”? A brighter future?

In search of a chance to chase my first-world dreams.

Me, seven, enamoured of your stories; You, seventy, enamoured of mineyou believed in my dreams Long before I dreamt them, Long before they were mine to dream.

I go to sleep every night with my heart as full as my stomach, The softest pillow in the house tucked under my naive head.

I go into restaurants without having to worry about the dent it will put in my wallet, I go on vacations to exotic islands and big cities Because you could not.

I speak perfectly the language that drove you out of home, I speak the language you struggled to, at the age of eighteen When white men eyed your brownness in contempt, Unwilling to hire a young man- qualified, promising, fluent but in the wrong tongue.

Now, in a land several borders away When the days seem to drag on endlessly like the Ganga that you grew up by, And my head grows heavy from sheer homesickness And the acute awareness of being an eternal outsider, I swallow my complaints, the desire to hop on a plane and run back home to Ma’s delicious daab chingri, to Bangla gaaner karaoke in the car with Papa.

Instead, I remind myself that I still have the greatest gift: My privilege to dream And thank not my stars, But you. by ayushee roy

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THE THE

NEW O OP PIIU UM M WAR

From the beginning of Chinese America, the fate of Chinese

people in the United States is inextricably linked with the fall and rise of China. Of the early Asian immigrant groups, Chinese people were the first group of Asian immigrants in the U.S. to face major institutionalized and legalized discrimination. Under the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which lasted for more than half a century, Chinese people became the only targeted ethnic group banned from immigrating to the U.S. The Chinese migrant workers were, in fact, a scapegoat for the U.S. capitalist oppressions, and a strikebreaker to divide the working class.

There were many other “culpable” immigrant groups “taking jobs from Americans”, so why were the Chinese migrants the first to be targeted? The simple answer is because of their mother country’s relation to the U.S. (That is, of course, not taking account of the European immigrants who have “innate traits” that allow their assimilation into white society.)

For example, Japan was a rising imperial power and it had just won the Russo Japanese War in 1905 — the first non-European nation to defeat a European nation’s military. The U.S. did not want to be in bad terms with Japan and thus, could not simply ban the Japanese like it banned the Chinese. Instead, the two nations had a Gentlemen’s Agreement in 1907, where they agreed to informally limit immigration from Japan to the U.S. Meanwhile, China’s last dynastic government was at its dusk, and the nation was being cut and carved up by European nations and Japan. A century of humiliation is what Chinese people today call this era: it was officially set off by the English’s demonstration of superior military power in the first Opium War, with the rest of Europe joining by the second Opium War and onwards.

To make matters worse, when the Qing government could not deal with domestic rebellions, it called upon European powers for assistance, giving even more concessions in return. If China had been under a stronger government, or had equal military strength, Chinese people in the U.S. would not have been explicitly legalized in the Exclusion Act nor would Chinese migrant workers have been used as scapegoats in response to labor strikes, and, perhaps, Chinese America might have had a different (or possibly not so much different) landscape.

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Today, the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and the U.S. are engaging in a trade war, which I am dubbing “The New Opium War”. Perhaps this is an exaggeration — there is no guns and ironclads, no mass rebellions and forced drug trade. However, like the Opium War, the current U.S.-China Trade War was likely initiated as a means to coerce China into conceding profits and other advantages to the U.S. After Deng Xiaoping’s Reform and Opening Up of China, the country undoubtedly rapidly industrialized and grew to a world power today. It has thus become a threat to the U.S. ideologically, and, more importantly, a threat economically — the industrial system that the capitalists have set up to affluent themselves have benefited the largest communist nation. It is this irony that allowed Trump to justify his initiation of the Trade War. After all, the capitalist state serves the interest of the rich; it “[pretends] neutrality to maintain order… control[s] lower class rebellion, and adopt[s] policies that would further the long range stability of the system.” China’s growth cuts away the profits of the U.S., and it may do so even more in the long run.

History repeats itself in spiral motion. Right now, China is not in shambles as it was during the Century of Humiliation, yet in comparison to the U.S., it is still lacking in many ways. Simply put, the U.S. has been a world power for much longer, and its influence is much deeper: American ideas and technology are still the avant garde, English is considered the international language, and the dollar is the premier currency. Because of this advantage, the Trump administration went and started a trade war with China despite knowing that it will cause economic instability, which it did in numerous industries, such as in agriculture. When viewing the situation from this perspective, the Trade War may not come as a surprise. The U.S. economy is in overall decline, with an ever widening wealth gap; it has become the “American Nightmare”. To win a trade war against China would guarantee U.S. supremacy and allow it to sustain its capitalist ventures.

Having had the past of a Century of Humiliation, the PRC would be willing to strike a deal, but definitely not at a cost that would “lose face” or put shame to the nation’s pride. Yet, will the U.S. enterprise be willing to make peace at a small gain? The Trade War will most likely continue onto the next presidential election, and even if it stopped, it will still continue under the tables. Since international relations are intrinsically linked with domestic conditions, will the blame of the American Nightmare fall upon the waking dragon and its people?

Shall the next era of McCarthyism be sounded off by the New Opium War? And lastly, where will both conservative and liberal Chinese America stand? by lucy ma

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DREAMS Both of my parents obtained

My parents laughed. They said I was too simple, too naïve. This is a phrase that was used by the former Chairman of China, Jiang Zemin, in 2000, when confronted by a journalist with prejudiced questions. It’s usually used in situations to describe someone who only knows half of the story and attempts to use that half to paint the whole truth.

Studying abroad was their dream, as they told me the night before I hopped on a plane to California for UCLA. I absolutely could not understand. For me, I came to North America when I was 11 years old. I was used to this space. But for my parents, back in the 80s, they had never stepped out of China; the closest they could get to Japan and America was through Yoji Yamada’s film A Distant Cry from Spring or the Hollywood film The Terminator.

By asking my parents why they wanted to study abroad, I became the ignorant journalist in this case.

their undergraduate degrees from Chinese universities back in the 1980s. A few years after they started working, they had the chance to study abroad. My father aspired to attend a PhD program to deepen his study in electrical engineering at a Japanese university; my mother got accepted to an American college.

Perplexed, I asked, “Why would you choose to go somewhere this far away from home, give up the connections and achievements you have already established, and start anew in foreign societies that operate in different languages and customs? Especially since you would not even know if you like the new country, nor if you could stay after graduation.”

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I did not realize that China had only entered its reform era in 1977.

Economic regulation, social welfare, education system, and all other branches of society were developing, after being stagnated for a decade of cultural revolution. In the meantime, when other states like the U.S., Japan, and Korea were innovating and advancing, China was 10 years behind.

As a consequence, Chinese universities back in the 80s were not as equipped for higher education as they are today. Most materials taught were the leftovers from other states. Present day China stands at the forefront of technological developments. There is the Nobel prize pharmaceutical chemist Tu

Youyou; her team discovered 青蒿素 QingHaoSu, or artemisinin, as called in the west. Another iconic example would be 华为 HuaWei, a Chinese multinational telecommunications company. In collaboration with the Japanese company DOCOMO, they were the first companies to conduct large scale 5G field trials.

Yet, back in the 1980s, technological discoveries always lied somewhere outside of the borders of China. As such, those who wanted to deepen their area of expertise always looked for opportunities in foreign states, amongst them were my parents.

Moreover, knowledge not only could feed people’s voracious minds, but also their hungry stomachs. With the cutting-edge knowledge and skills one could obtain from study abroad opportunities, they could earn higher wages when they come back home.

Therefore, by studying abroad, my parents would have the opportunity to broaden their perspective, and potentially be rewarded with monetary means that would ultimately elevate their living conditions. That’s why studying abroad was their dream.

Dream, by definition, is something

hard to achieve in reality. In the case of studying abroad in the 1980s, even if you grasped one of these opportunities, the chances could slip easily. As much as they wanted to, my parents could not study abroad. My father did not want to burden his family anymore with the high tuition and living expenses, so he had to give up his pursuit and continue to work. My mother got rejected for an American student VISA, which was not surprising as the VISA rejection rate was very high in the 80s.

Therefore, when my parents became financially capable, they moved our entire family to North America to have a taste for the life that they had longed for in their youth.

It was a choice they made to fulfill their dream. But for me, it was just a relocation from China to North America. In fact, sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I stayed in China. How would I perform in the stressful environment of high school? Would I panic, pull through, or even, enjoy the process?

How would I do in Gaokao, the pass or fail exam that determines university eligibility? Would I still be me? Why must one leave their home

dream? A curiosity of the foreign world? One does not need to study in a foreign country to fulfill curiosity about it. One could take a trip, a summer immersion program, or an exchange program.

country?

My parents’ dream continues to prevail in China. I see more acquaintances, friends, and family members pursuing the foreign stamp on their résumé. In my recent family trip to China last summer, my uncle inquired about the process for American university admissions and asked me to help him choose an American boarding high school.

He wants to send his daughter to America because he believes the best path for a comfortable life will be on foreign land.

If by best, he means a practical improvement in living conditions, that’s not necessarily the case today.

After 30 years of rapid economic development, China’s infrastructure and societal welfare are not worse than those of the states.

As more and more people send their children abroad, or go study abroad themselves, it is worth thinking why studying abroad seemed to be the only palpable path for better acquisition of knowledge and a quick elevation of living conditions.

In fact, although my parents did not have the chance to study abroad, they nonetheless achieved what they wanted in life, and eventually were able to lead a life abroad – just in a different order than what they initially planned. I, on the other hand, live a life in the dreams of my parents, but often yearn for what they have left behind and given up for me. A dream can be redefined as the other journey that was not embarked on, but think about what will work out best for you.

by ophelia dong

So what’s left of the study abroad

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IT DOESN’T TAKE A HERO TO DREAM “I have always dreamed about becoming a writer. I wanted to record what I have observed in my life; things that seemed wrong but occurred frequently.”

Throughout my fourteen years of living in China, I have seen many injustices and distress. In schools,

teachers forced students to stand outside of their classroom for forty-five minutes because they talked during the lecture. On streets, vagabonds asked their children to beg for money, even though they were physically able to find a job. In bars, primary school students could easily enter and get a drink, regardless of the poster hanging outside that stated, “minors are prohibited from drinking.” In hospitals, the elderly lay on the beds, yet their children hardly came to visit...

Observing these incidents, I knew that they were wrong, but because they happen so frequently, they became normal or even expected in society. Because I see myself as an upright person, I want to write down what is wrong and make others realize what needs to be changed.

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What I have never really thought of is, who should engaging in this leadership experience. Some of make the change? I knew it wasn’t me. them came to school an hour early everyday to collect empty bottles and donate the money to the In literature courses, I have always come across poor. Some went to Peru and actually built houses stories about heroism. Soldiers sacrificed their for the local people. lives in the war for the country and philanthropists donated billions to the poor. I am just a pedestrian, Maybe I was also able to make some change, so how will I be able to change the pervasive even as a student. Later on at college, I joined a injustices in the Chinese society? Who am I to make mental health protection organization on campus a change in others’ lives? that was founded to reduce stigma and encourage students to seek professional counseling, Sticking to this dream of becoming a writer, especially those that are from China. I was ardently I came to the U.S. to attend high school. At the searching for various mental health counseling end of my first year in high school, my English resources and earnestly writing to invite people to teacher approached me on the last day of class seek help, when the word “leadership” sporadically and told me, “Some people are born to be leaders, crossed my mind as I exhaustedly lay on my bed and you’re one of them.” I took it as a very nice while deliberating new services for advertising compliment, but I could not grasp what this meant. the organization after completing five hours of Leaders, I thought, was the word conferred to elites recruitment. Although encountering impedance to make a change in society. You know, only the and misunderstanding by others, hearing one extremely intelligent and successful people. person’s gratitude or acknowledgement was enough for me to continue my work. I slowly came During the following three years of high school, to realize that people don’t need to be a hero to I continued observations in my new environment. help others. They don’t need to be wealthy or Injustices and violations occurred in the U.S. just intelligent in order to make a change. as they occurred in China: students sometimes faced bullying at school, people experienced After six years of living in the U.S., I still like discrimination, the income gap was enormous, observing and taking mental notes of things that and waste of resources was pervasive. Meanwhile, are wrong in society. However, my dream has one thing has changed. Compared to the stories of changed from someone who simply wrote down heroism that I was often educated about in China, things that needs to be changed to be the one who the concept that I have heard the most in the U.S. is makes the change. “leadership”.

It started with a vague idea, and then I gradually became familiar with what leadership means. At my high school, there is a program that targeted new students and helped them adapt to the campus.

My task was simple, making friends with those who were new to the school and sit with them during lunch or guide them to certain offices. I was also required to do community services, such as volunteering at food banks and the boys and girls club. When I was handing out food to the homeless, or helping the children draw a pink rain, I felt that I was actually able to do something that will positively influence others. My peers were also actively

“...people don’t need to be a hero to help others.” by snow zheng

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DETENTION AND OUR FAMIL

The story of a lawyer who beat

the odds through multiple parttime jobs, long nights at the library just to get her bachelor’s and law degree is related to the story of a family man who grew up in Long Beach, served time for gang related charges as a youth and was picked up by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and deported thirty years later.

In fact, they are cousins.

Distant cousins that do not talk to each other, but family nonetheless. We hail the success of the first cousin, but the latter is the black sheep of the family. Introducing our Asian American family and unpacking a few of our well kept secrets: we have brothers and sisters that have been incarcerated; some who are undocumented and families that are separated by detention centers and deported by ICE. We do not talk about this because that means we have to admit that Asian Americans might be imperfect, that we are not the Model Minority after all. But the truth is — we never were.

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bootstraps — the good immigrant who played the game and won the American Dream. The other Asian was a criminal — the bad immigrant — who dropped the ball and now gets to “go home” with nothing but an order for deportation. We glorify individuals who achieve the Dream against all odds without considering the systems of oppression that ensure those individuals are only ever the exception and never the rule.

Here’s the issue: the American dream is not as simple as an equal opportunity and hard work. We are preoccupied with preserving our hopes and dreams, maintaining a “so long as it’s not me” mentality, and pretending that poverty, detention, deportation are only punishments reserved for those that deserve it. The illusion of meritocracy is only maintained by our attachment to the little we have gained in this racist, classist society. In this game of winners and losers, we focus our gaze on the prize rather than realizing that there is something inherently wrong with a system that sets people up to fail.

Today, one of the checkpoints for achieving the American Dream is to attend an elite institution of higher education, an undeniable

win after countless hurdles. As we celebrate all that we have accomplished just by getting here, I would like to suggest a refocusing of our lens, such that we can recognize our individual hard work and success while simultaneously advocating for those who continue to be excluded. We can listen and learn and lend our voices to larger issues, supporting the rest of our community members in challenging the rigid financial, political and academic structures that ensure only a handful can ever succeed.

One of the goals of the student-led class on Southeast Asian Deportations is to use our privilege of attending an institution like UCLA to listen and understand the stories and struggles of those who are seized by ICE and deported “back” to countries they may or may not have ever known.

Our hope is to bring light to this issue, amplify their narratives and learn all we can about the history, policies and resistance efforts involved in the schoolprison-deportation pipeline.

After America’s imperialist actions in Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, refugees came here

D DEPORTATION, LY SECRETS and resettled with few resources or supports to help them acclimate, learn the language and ways or even deal with their trauma. Not knowing the consequences or how exactly to obtain citizenship, many remained Legal Permanent Residents, leaving them vulnerable for deportation. For those that sought comfort and community and might have fallen into crime, regardless of serving their time in jail, making changes to their lives or becoming a reputable member of society, are now being tracked and apprehended, thanks to the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act of 1996 and repatriation agreements in which the United States pressures other countries like Cambodia to accept immigrants it wishes to deport.

As Jordan York writes in his dissertation, “A document they all were eligible for but few obtained is the only difference between being deported and not.”

The threat of deportation looms over the heads of millions of undocumented immigrants, perpetuating a state of limbo for

not only these individuals but also their loved ones and dependents.

We responsibility to not only care but even more, to advocate for those affected. The solution is not figuring out which conditions should really be the basis for deportation, incarceration or even citizenship; it’s time we recognize that there are no appropriate conditions for the right to live, to be free and to pursue happiness. More than anything this should serve as a call to action for increased coalition building and more effective community organizing, in order to challenge deportation orders, demand support from representatives and policy makers, and push for change in laws and the judicial system. Let there be clarity in our mission: no more policing undocumented folks, let people fight their current deportation orders, and let those who have been deported return to America and their homes here. As empty as they appear today, justice, liberty and human dignity are truly beautiful goals, but only when they are inclusive of everybody. There is nothing dignified about incarcerating so many black and brown folx, refugees and poor people, profiting off of bodies in detention centers, and separating families and terrorizing communities.

We want to believe we live in the United States, the land of the free, founded in democracy, a progressive, post-racial society. But we do not. The American dream is an attractive and exciting concept, but our current dependence on detention and deportation in the pursuit of justice and security is heartbreaking and inhumane, and serves as a reminder that what we really have is more akin to a nightmare. What will it take to wake us up?

“Prison abolition does not mean letting rapists and murderers go unpunished.

Rather, it means not entrusting an inherently unjust institution with carrying out justice.

Prison abolition means prioritizing justice and liberation over profit and racism.” @angryyellowgirl by katherine ha

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Angela Li | staff writer |

Yingtong Guo | staff writer |

Ophelia Dong | staff writer |

Lucy Ma | editor-in-chief |

Rhea Plawat | staff writer |

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Amanda Leutmixay | managing editor |

me m

Cristelle Hugo | graphic designer |

ST

Allyza Quiambao | graphic designer |

Snow Zheng | staff writer |

eet the meet

TAFF

Shayleen Singh | copy editor |

Ayushee Roy | staff writer |

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HARMONY

illustrated by cristelle hugo 28

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About PACTIES As the the oldest student-run Asian Pacific Islander Desi American (APIDA)

newsmagazine in the nation, Pacific Ties seeks to showcase the rich and diverse stories about the APIDA community on and off campus through news and commentary.

First published in 1977, the name “Pacific Ties” was choose as a representation of what the publication seeks:

“to encompass all Asian groups non-discriminantly; to include each in their individual sense, to engulf all in a collective sense.” (Pacific Ties Volume 1, Issue 1)

Today, we continue to create on-going dialogue that offer insight into the dynamics of being an APIDA, to challenge the perceptions of APIDA identity, as well as to celebrate the achievements of the communities we all have ties to.

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AGAZINE PACTIES M S W E 9 SPRING ISSUE 2019 N S N E I E T WS PAC MAG AZINE PACTIES NEWS

AM DREAMS 1 U S S I G SPRIN

ISSU E 20

R E D A S M M S A E D DR RE E 2019 SPRING

JOIN US! Interested in joining Pacties? We are seeking staff writers, copy editors, social media managers, and graphic designers!

Find us at: pacificties.org pacties@media.ucla.edu