How the girl who ate bugs and the girl who washed her shirt in a birdbath made a magazine: the story of SMEAR. It’s a Tuesday night at 8 p.m. and we’ve both got sweat stains on the armpits of our t-shirts. We’re nervous because we’re holding our first SMEAR meeting at Tom’s Tabooley, a spot we picked after much deliberation. We’d plastered flyers all over UT’s campus – with white out from where we corrected the date, and most of which got taken down because they violated campus rules – but we were still nervous no one would show. People showed. Roughly 30 people came for our meeting, on top of the crowd that was gathered inside for the restaurant’s weekly jazz night. Which we did not know about. Really, the first SMEAR Magazine meeting was officially held in the parking lot of Tom’s Tabooley to the soft wail of a saxophone. It took a lot to even get to that meeting. For weeks, we debated everything, even the name – “does it sound too much like pap smear? Or smear campaign?” A late-night phone call from Wyoming to Texas, both of us in pajamas, settled it: SMEAR was the name. A smear is imperfect, haphazard and striking in a “not quite right” way. We had to convince everybody we were just crazy enough to pull it off, but we hadn’t even really convinced ourselves. Even the dude at the Home Depot paint counter, Kyle, only had to say “….and are you successful?” upon hearing we’d started our own magazine. A family friend wrote it off as “a very Austin thing to do.” What we didn’t realize was: things don’t simply become. We started to understand that pulling something like this off while maintaining your vision is a struggle, because your ideas are almost constantly being picked apart. Regardless, we felt a persistent need to fill the parts of ourselves that were left artistically unsatisfied. The immense creative energy inside both of us had to be funneled into some sort of tangible thing. After four months of closing out countless coffee shops, getting to work with our sexy staff and arguing about fonts, we’ve arrived at our first print mag. And if this magazine isn’t fit to wipe your ass with, sorry. Letter From the Editors/03
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CONTRIBUTORS 1. Emily Gibson editor/writer 2. Mary Cantrell editor/writer 3. Crystal Garcia designer/illustrator 4. Nathan Burgess designer/illustrator 5. Josh Malett copy editor/writer 6. Darby Kendall writer 7. Frances Molina writer 8. Sam Hays writer 9. Cody Bjornson photographer 10. Hannah Vickers photographer 11. Jenna Million photographer 12. Marshall Tidrick photographer 13. Mason Endres photographer 14. Michael Tatalovich photographer 15. Annyston Pennington artist/illustrator 16. Brogan Foley artist 17. Chloe Gillmar artist 18. Dylan Moss artist 19. John Le artist 20. John Pesina artist/cartoonist 04/Contributors
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Yarn Bomber one-on-ones
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The Two Lips jams
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Ouroboros moody musings
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Brogan Foley visuals
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Kathie Tovo current issues
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River & Winona visuals
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John Le visuals
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smearmagazine.com
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Table of Contents/05
An Interview with Magda Sayeg Written By: Sam Hays On a cool, Saturday evening in the hills surrounding Austin, Magda Sayeg is sitting on her second story landing with her son, Isaac. They’re talking with a happy, lively demeanor — you’d probably mistake them for best friends before realizing they’re mother and son. They share a few beers in the waning hours of daylight, while the panorama of the canyons winding in and out of southwest Austin gradually fades from view. Take one step into the second story of Sayeg’s home, though, and there is a stark contrast to the calm balcony outside. Boxes, electrical wiring, materials for crocheting and knitting, and other miscellany litter the bare floor – a byproduct of Sayeg’s renovation project. Amid this “chaos,” — as she calls it — are large yoga balls covered in yarn, weaved in bright, comforting patterns designed by Sayeg herself. Sayeg, 42, is a textile artist known among her peers worldwide as “the mother of yarn-bombing.” It’s become a very distinct form of street art, now recognized from Bali to Mexico City – and it all started with her. With one idea. Cover an object with yarn — the idea is simple at its core. A simple idea started with an equally simple beginning. In 1993, after deciding not to finish her mathematics education at the University of St. Thomas, she and her then-husband started a coffee shop in Montrose, Houston — Café Brasil, which remains today a staple of the community. They ran the café together and she worked as a cook in the its kitchen. Though she drew the ire of her father, who expected her to get 06/One-On-Ones
a more traditional job after college, she stuck to cooking at Café Brasil and also took side jobs designing floral arrangements for weddings. “It was just always working with your hands,” she explains. “To me, everything that I’ve done that I’m really passionate about is working with your hands — the food, the flowers, the knitting.” She eventually amassed enough capital to explore a more creative outlet, looking into a side of herself that her path through mathematics hadn’t allow her to. “I always wanted to live, breathe and exist in a creative environment – there was never a moment where I was like ‘get me in a cubicle – I don’t want people to ask me a lot of questions.’” She opened up a clothing store next door to Café Brasil in 2004. She called it Raye — her middle name. On what she describes as a normal, gray day in Houston, she made an impromptu choice that without question altered the course of her life. “I just decided that I wanted to put knitting on the door handle… it was really just about me – total selfish pursuit there – I liked it, I thought that was it – I just liked to see it.” Her affinity for the yarn covered door-handle turned out to be shared. Customers continually remarked on the door handle over the next few days. She decided she’d push this idea a bit further. She wrapped the pole of a stop sign across the street from Café Brasil and Raye in yarn, wondering if it would elicit a similar reaction to her door handle. It did. “It was insane. I saw people get out of their cars, scratch their head and look at it, I saw them take pictures in front of it, because the stop sign pole was
Photo By: Marshall Tidrick
in view of the store, it was right there, and that’s when I knew ‘ah, this is so exciting.” She wanted to keep this momentum going, so she quickly started covering more stop sign polls in the surrounding area in yarn. That’s when the pace quickened. Local Houston news couldn’t get enough of Sayeg’s yarnbombing and within days she was receiving inquiries from Sydney, Australia, as images of the poles had been circulating online, tagged in her name, during the “Myspace days,” as she puts it. To Sayeg, yarn-bombing started out as a way for her to reclaim a Houston that to her had been marred by overdevelopment throughout her childhood. She felt Houston was out of her control, and even something as small as wrapping a stop sign pole in yarn seemed a way to win a little bit of Houston back. That winter, in 2005, she traveled to New York with a group of friends with a single goal: to continue to push yarn-bombing as far as she could. Together, they covered the park benches in Central Park, the “Welcome to Manhat08/One-On-Ones
tan” sign, even an old phone booth. They were hoping most people, New Yorkers and tourists alike, would see the curious, multi-colored objects – despite the illegality of all of it.
“I’m using this material that evokes these emotions of love and nurturing and childhood and nostalgia and putting it on something that is so completely inanimate and even ugly.” In the decade since, Sayeg has taken yarn-bombing to almost every corner of the Earth. In 2010, she opened an exhibit at La Museo des Esposizione in Rome, Italy. Famously, in 2012, she covered an entire public bus in Mexico City, Mexico, drawing the attention of
Photos By: Marshall Tidrick
BBC World News and the Guinness Book of World Records. Two years later, she covered an iconic double-decker bus in London, England in a projected sponsored by 7Up. Here in Austin, she left her mark by transforming the blue panels on the Lamar Bridge, close to Whole Foods and By George. A once failed initiative by the Austin Alliance was now catching the attention of Austinites, who were just as captivated by Sayeg’s work as audiences worldwide. What started as a personal project to reclaim the streets of Houston had evolved into a phenomenon, drawing the attention of global audiences as well as major brands from across the spectrum. She has worked with Comme Des Garçons in Paris, Mercedes-Benz in Germany, Mini Cooper, SKYY Vodka, Siemens Corp. and countless other companies. As the scope of Sayeg’s work has evolved, so has her message. She finds changing the perception of public objects, as well as people’s gendered assumptions about yarn, to be particularly poignant, even as other artists have taken to yarn-bombing without her.
“Women are supposed to make [knitting] — they’re expected to do this without any real appreciation. To take it out of that world and into this world of creativity and art by doing something that’s completely renegade and subversive is fucking cool. It doesn’t matter if I like what [other yarn-bombers] are doing, I still think it’s cool that a grandma is tagging her friend’s mailbox.” On why people are so fascinated by yarn in public places, Sayeg says it’s a matter of changing the way people view their everyday surroundings that they normally take for granted. “I’m using this material that evokes these emotions of love and nurturing and childhood and nostalgia and putting it on something that is so completely inanimate and even ugly, it at least makes people kind of unexpectedly have this dialogue with themselves, like ‘what is going on?’”
One-On-Ones/09
Written By : Mary Cantrell & Emily Gibson A delayed set time. A plastic backdrop of a desert scene. Ripped black jeans. A neon glow. Crowds of people craning their heads to peak at the stage inside. A crowd of about 50. The Two Lips are playing their first show at Austin’s Hotel Vegas. It didn’t take long for them to get to this point – they’re not even a year old yet. People approach them before and after their set to congratulate them. A girl remarks that they sound better than ever. Front row, a boy is wearing one of their t-shirts. A few weeks earlier, on a winding street of quaint houses in San Marcos, we followed the soft sound of a drumbeat into the garage where the band was practicing. The space was clean, but lived in, with stolen street signs on the walls, a maroon rug and a washer/dryer filling the only space not occupied by the band’s instruments. We made small talk while we followed the trio out into a spacious backyard, which was littered with random objects – a stack of old phone books, a wheelbarrow and supplies for a fire pit being built. It was a Sunday morning and we were all trying to pretend like we weren’t hungover as we sat around a white metal table to discuss the San Marcos music scene and their work. Across from us, the three people that make up the Two Lips – guitarist Stephen Scholz, drummer Connor Oakley and bassist Ashley Graves – seemed completely at ease. They teased each other about past arguments and disastrous shows, completed one another’s sentences and settled their minor disagreements with an eye roll and a smirk. “We’re a lot like siblings, which 10/Jams
sounds weird because I’m dating Ashley,” Oakley says. “We’re a family, I guess.” The group met in a very stereotypically college way: through parties. After Scholz and Oakley started jamming together in a band they called “James C” they decided to mix it up for a performance at a friend’s art show. Oakley moved to drums and Graves joined the band as a bassist. Though neither Graves nor Oakley had ever played the instruments they decided to take on, this became the band’s permanent lineup. Propelled by the energy from their first performance, they began practicing a few times a week in Scholz’s garage and quickly released their first EP, “Wrong Way,” under their new band name: The Two Lips. Influenced by a mixture of garage rock and punk, the three-song EP is a noisy, feedback-fueled expression of three young musicians channeling the bands they idolize. The band admits their eagerness to put out music made them rush production on their first EP. For their second release, “The Two Lips Care,” they are taking the time to develop their sound and create something that better represents them. Oakley describes the trio’s new sound as a “garage rock band with psychedelic and punk influence. And a lot of fuzz. And a drummer who hits too hard.” While the band has recently started playing more shows in Austin, they credit the San Marcos scene with helping them get established. Shortly after they formed, they met Mich D. White of dogfight! Records who helped them book shows and record their material. Then, they started frequently playing at house shows and local venues. Their hometown remains a good backbone for the trio as they continue to grow.
Pictured from left to right: Stephen Scholz / guitarist, Ashley Graves / bassist, Connor Oakley / drummer. Photo By: Mason Endres
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“I want to go beyond San Marcos, but it’s good roots,” Graves says. “We’ll always have San Marcos. We have places here that will always want us to play.” The band gets nostalgic talking about San Marcos house shows, where the relative newness of the rock scene drives people’s enthusiasm for it. “Here if there’s a house show, people are gonna be there,” Oakley says. “I think that makes San Marcos more humble, I know bands in Austin think they’re famous sometimes.” Careful not to appear pretentious and disconnected from their audiences, The Two Lips acknowledge that performing a memorable live show requires something beyond technical skill. “People aren’t going to sit there and listen to your lyrics, they can’t hear the lyrics so throw that out the window,” Scholz says. “When you’re playing a live show, you gotta get people’s attention in other ways.” They capture people’s attention by deep throating microphones, breaking guitars and once performing in nothing but their underwear. Their love of playing music translates to their audiences – especially at intimate house shows – who tend to get rowdy. “At our last show there was a circle of kids just pushing the shit out of 12/Jams
each other. And I was like ‘we play garage rock, simmer down a little bit,’” Oakley says. Scholz’s ultimate goal is to channel a Jay Reatard performance he watched, where the crowd was looking at the musician in awe instead of going crazy. He says that type of reaction is the ultimate form of being “into it” – that being stunned by the music is more moving than thrashing around. On eliciting this type of reaction, Scholz says, “I’m not saying our music is deserving of that, but that would be amazing. You can’t create that or expect that, you have to work for it. We’re nowhere near that but that’s a long term goal for me.” The Two Lips are continuing work on their new material and gearing up to tour this summer. Oakley says they are trying to earn their stripes in the local scene without putting too much pressure on themselves. “What’s important now is that we have a strong group of friends, supporters and bands that want to see us and work with us at home,” Oakley says “Austin is a big, musically over-saturated city and it really takes a lot to cut out your place here. We’re having a great time though and it would be pretty hard to change that.”
Illustrations By: Annyston Pennington
Written By: Frances Molina From the start, my existence was partisan. I was an only child, born in between, to a white woman and a brown man, with nothing alike so far as I can tell. They were born in the ‘60s, although that’s no longer considered a mark of any real progressive thinking. My mother was Irish and Catholic, a hard ass, who believed hard work could heal you. My father was a Tejano, but he would deny it to your face. I was raised “white”. To clarify, I mean that I was raised to believe I wasn’t anything other than white, raised to believe my Hispanic last name was only a coincidence. My father, who carried the weight of three generations of internalized racism, kept me steady and straight. His critical, angry view of the world told me that to be brown or poor was unacceptable; to be uneducated, to be drunk,
or to speak another language loudly was sin. The only words I learned in Spanish were the bits and pieces slipped to me by my mother, a scholar of language, who just couldn’t resist. They were juvenile words and phrases – foods, body parts, no me gusta, tengo hambre, me duele enough to establish me as a playful tourist of the language. None of this was ever spoken aloud, of course. Race was never talked about, not at home and not in school. But I paid attention. I can see myself as a child now, alone, observant, as things happened around me, to me. My father instructing me not to get pregnant, not to leave school like his sisters. My friends, white friends, pink and perfect, straightening my hair, burning my scalp. My own round brown face in the mirror, quiet and horrified. Moody Musings/13
The Otherness crept up inside of me before I knew how to stop it and turned my body into something obscene. Tits and hips on a twelve year old. Dark hair and dark skin in places too tender to cut away. A growing horror and a loudness, a meanness, a sexiness in me that I detested. For the first time, I was unable to hide and therefore relegated to the margins of whiteness– an unconvincing imitation, not quite enough.
“The more I learned about myself, the more I gave away. The more I learned about my place in the world, the more it threatened to consume me.” I tried harder, driven by the belief that my body and my blood had turned on me unfairly and only needed correcting. I shunned my Hispanic family. I starved myself, diligently, and shaved myself raw. I changed my name to something white strangers would find less complicated. I turned my attention away from anything or anyone that I felt reminded me of the Otherness, the dirty brownness in me that just wouldn’t die. I did this for years in secret, gleefully shredding and burning away the parts of myself I did not think I would need. Until I was older and decided that I didn’t want to hurt myself anymore. I don’t know what convinced me to stop; certainly not some epiphany of self-love and acceptance. But my new friends and new surroundings helped; they filled my life with a pressure that didn’t want to 14/Moody Musings
crush me but uplift me, working underneath me with a soft but persistent sureness. I stopped wanting to be perfect, just somehow more whole. After I left home, I realized I had been starving for this wholeness. I was just beginning to develop myself as a feminist and with each new thing I learned, my voice grew louder, angrier, and more radical. I read as much as I could, made myself an online presence where I could swallow and digest as much discourse and ideology about race and gender that I could stomach and I got stronger. I was full of new meaning and still hungry for more. When I first began to explore the duality of my racial identity, I spoke a lot about racism, discrimination, and cultural inequality using the language of anti-black racism, which seems to dominate conversations about race in the United States, and rightfully so. Later on, I would read Gloria Analdúa’s Borderlands and my vocabulary would expand to include the particular marginalization and violence experienced by Mexican and indigenous peoples. Suddenly, I had the language to name the anger deep in my gut, the weight on my heels, the eyes on the back of my neck. I felt confident in this new knowledge, invigorated by it. It was then that I began to understand how very few parts of myself were mine to keep. The more I learned about myself, the more I gave away. The more I learned about my place in the world, the more it threatened to consume me. My private life was public, the personal entwined with the political. Being a person of color, particularly a woman of color, means being unable to separate yourself from a Greatness. Great history, great pain, great sorrow, great love. Like many others, I am eclipsed by the shadow of this Greatness. Sometimes it is shelter. Other times, it is oblivion. It is hard for me to explain this
to people close to me, especially white men who I think underestimate the lux-ury of anonymity. My boyfriend struggles to understand the way I still control and weigh and measure myself like an animal bred for some special purpose, how I cannot detach myself from history. That to be too submissive, too demanding, too anything, I risk stepping into a role that my gendered and racial history (and also his history, it is important to note) has prescribed for me. Carefully, I began to reclaim my brownness, at last accepting the racial identity I had tried so long to repress. I stopped cringing when I looked at other Mexicanos. I pried the hate from where it had lived, rooted, parasitic in my chest for so long. I learned about my ancestors, their pain and their glory and the pride that I knew was still burning in my blood. I cried when I could finally speak Spanish, savoring the warm curl of it on my tongue. My handle of the language was nervous, but the words came out trippingly, excited; I felt as if another part of me was finally, exultingly, breaking her silence. But this was still one half of the wholeness I craved. I understood it like this: learning to eventually love myself and validate my experiences as a woman of color meant being critical of whiteness and white supremacy. This didn’t mean criticism for the sake of criticism. It meant finally expressing the pain and the anger I felt toward the social and cultural mechanisms of white supremacy that had kept me and my father and my family in shame and in silence for a very long time. Of course, a lot of white people in my life got very upset by this. My mother, my boyfriend, some of my friends, and a lot of strangers on the internet. Everybody was suddenly very concerned with my anger. What before had been cool and even sexy to some, had become a threat. I refused to be the fashionably angry white feminist; I refused to be the feisty Latina. And when people couldn’t pin me down with a label, they got confused and afraid. To be fair, I didn’t waste a lot of time with tact. I said whatever I was feeling online
or out-loud, complaining openly about “white people” and almost always receiving a litany of outraged accusations in return. No amount of corrective niceness or academic language seemed to help. I remained a bitch and an agitator and a racist. My father reacted differently. When I talked with him about how I was working to understand myself as a Chicana, he was only confused. He didn’t see the point. He might’ve been impressed or proud of my intellect and my passion but that was all. In his opinion, there was no merit in celebrating an identity that for him had afforded him neither success nor acceptance. I learned, eventually, to make peace with the new conflict in my life and I realized that I didn’t necessarily want to be right. These conversations were not for others, but for myself. By speaking these things aloud, I was trying to teach and to reach myself. I was trying to empower myself and others like me, trying to be the fierce and affirmative voice I needed most in moments of doubt and self-hatred. It became a personal sacrament that I could share; the fierce breaking down and building up of who I was, born and then re-born with my words and my knowledge of self and Other, in order to create a public communion with myself. After all this time, I haven’t reached any fantastic revelation of truth. My body and mind have been very bent and I’m still working out the tension. How do I love the people in my life while they struggle to understand the changes in me, when they rebuke or resent those changes? How do I reconcile my identities, the whiteness in me and the privilege this continues to afford me? How do I protect myself from the people who see my self-love and my strength as a threat and threaten me back? For now, I don’t know. But I’m anxious to find my way. And to anyone I may have hurt or confused in the last year, with my emotion or with my words, know that I was never trying to hate you; I was only trying to love myself. Moody Musings/15
BROGAN FOLEY
Sacred Geometry Photos By: Cody Bjornson
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Written By: Darby Kendall A mixture of professional, friendly and progressive, Tovo represents District 9 on Austin City Council. Chances are, if you are a student at The University of Texas, or if you live in Central Austin, Tovo serves as your voice in the local government. A resident of District 9 herself, Tovo lives near the city center with her husband and two daughters adopted from China. In many ways, she represents the classically liberal mindset of Austin. Through a combination of attending local events and tweeting her support, Tovo has rallied behind gay marriage, Wendy Davis, Planned Parenthood and pay equity for women. However, she has to deal with topics decidedly less agreed on in the capital city as well. District 9, which spans from Riverside to Hyde Park, contains an essential area of downtown Austin, and along with it, countless businesses. Not only does Tovo hear from her constituents, but she also deals with feedback from hundreds of others who have a stake in the district. “Representing District 9 is interesting because there is [a lot] going on,” Tovo says. “One other thing that I think is a little different about nine than some other districts is that a lot of people consider themselves [to be] stakeholders in District 9 issues though they may not live here. So you have a lot of individuals who may live in other districts but have businesses downtown, or they may have children at the university. I hear from a lot of people from all over the city.” Not only does Tovo represent District 9, but as Mayor Pro Tem, a position she was elected to by the rest of the 18/Current Issues
council, she must serve as Austin’s mayor in the absence of Steve Adler. Tovo says her rough and relatively unplanned entrance into politics was her key preparation for this job. “It was pretty awful. I got involved because I loved the issues and I loved the work I was doing – I did not get involved because I liked the political process of campaigning. I had no idea what that would be like,” Tovo says.“I entered at the very last minute, like two days before the filing date. I was very late in the race, and had an uphill battle... It was a very ugly, very difficult campaign.” Tovo, who is now in her second term as a member of the Austin City Council, never actually planned on being a politician. Prior to moving to Austin in 1991, she received a B.A with honors in Journalism and American Studies from The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill; Tovo then fell in love with the city while earning a Ph.D in American Studies from The University of Texas at Austin. In the early 2000s, upon moving to Bouldin Creek, an area near South Congress, Tovo became interested in neighborhood advocacy, and was named president of the area’s neighborhood association in 2002. It was in this role that Tovo realized politics were the best outlet for her voice to be heard. After having several of her neighborhood association proposals rejected by City Council, she decided that rather than just watching her recommendations get turned over, she would get on the council herself. However, Tovo had a rough ride ahead of her. “Lots of people commented on [my first race] that they hadn’t seen a campaign quite like that in a long time;
it was a really really tough campaign,” Tovo remembers. “But I will say, the benefit of that is it really prepares you well to serve... I did not have a thick skin when I ran for office, but by the end of that campaign I did.”
“I don’t really want to live in a city where the only people who live in these central neighborhoods are the wealthy.” After using her toughened exterior to win re-election for city council in 2014, Tovo is looking to use her term to improve the city government’s outlook toward women in politics. After the internationally recognized “Women Leading in Local Government” training session last March, an ill-famed meeting intended to educate
city employees on how to deal with a new female-majority Council, Austin’s local government is still struggling to copewith women in power. “I think the fact that anybody thought there was a need for that session was problematic, of course, and the content was ridiculous,” Tovo says. “One of the things that really concerned me [about the training session] at the time was that the audience was almost entirely women, and clearly some of them had concerns, because they raised them to the media anonymously. But, apparently nobody had felt comfortable raising them with their supervisor or with the management, and to me that was really a concern.” Tovo herself has also experienced encounters with sexism during her time in local government. “I’ve certainly had the experience of being one of the only couple women in a room, at some of our discussions. In at least one of those discussions, I had another elected male official comment repeatedly, pretty much every time Current Issues/19
Photos By: Hannah Vickers
we gathered, on my appearance, and that’s not something I think that male elected officials typically face,” Tovo says. “When I was running for office, primarily the first campaign... a lot of times [online] there would be comments about my phy sical appearance, and I don’t think you see that as often with male elected offici als... But, I think [having a female majority council] does set a new tone.” Matters regarding gender are not the only thing changing during Tovo’s current term. Austin is a vastly expanding city, and along with that expansion comes a change in neighborhoods. The council member says she feels passionately about this issue, due to her previous experience with neighborhood advocacy. “I don’t really want to live in a city where the only people who can live in these central neighborhoods are the wealthy,” Tovo says. “We’re kind of headed down a path in Austin, especially in our central city neighborhoods, that we might not want to be on if we want to live in a diverse city... We’re really going to have to be more intentional about what’s 20/Current Issues
going on, because there is such tremendous pressure for growth.” The majority population making up swiftly-growing District Nine is young adults ranging from 18 to 34-years-old. Tovo knows the housing changes caused by a growing population affect the younger residents of Austin as well, and she encourages them to make their voices heard. Tovo is not one to shy from constituent contact – in fact, she greatly encourages it. “The city has tons of opportunities for people to just come to a one-time session and just give their opinion... If they see something on the [city council] agenda that they care about, and want to have input, they don’t necessarily need to come down to the meeting; they’re always welcome to call and voice their opinion,” Tovo says. “Students may think they’re only going to live here for four years, but a lot of them do stay... Get involved and communicate on issues you care about.”
JOHN LE
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Photography by Cody Bjornson
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Art by Dylan Moss