The Stanford Daily Magazine Vol.II Issue 7 (05.22.18)

The Stanford Daily Magazine VOLUME II

•

Issue 7

•

May 22, 2018

CS + Ethics

Does Stanford do enough to help its students navigate the grey areas in computer science? p. 20 A dining worker’s story p. 28

PRoject south p. 6

Volume II, Issue 7 May 22, 2018

On the cover: Illustration by MAX KORMAN

MAGAZINE

06 Project South How students captured the civil rights movement 16 What is W6YX? A look at the Stanford Amateur Radio Club 20 CS + Ethics The long history of teaching ethics to coders

28 Yessica’s story The life of a mother, Bay Area native and Stanford Dining worker

ARTS

FEATURES

Contents

10 Public art Appreciating installations around campus 14 The MEME index An analysis of college Facebook meme pages

CREATIVE

The Stanford Daily

04 Cartoon Staffer Joe Dworetzky reflects on aging 05 Poetry “Stuck in My Head” and “To Be a Giraffe Or, a Tall Order,” by Jacob Langsner

26 Lightroom On the move around the Bay Area

34 Short story “Pacing,” a submission by Marc Huerta Osborn 36 Poetry & prose Submissions from incarcerated writers in a San Francisco county jail STAFF Editor-in-Chief Hannah Knowles Executive Editor Fangzhou Liu MAGAZINE LEAD Sarah Wishingrad Managing Editors Maximiliana Bogan, Alli Cruz, Courtney Douglas, Emma Fiander, Regan Pecjak, Julie Plummer, Olivia Popp, Jose Saldaña, Laura Sussman, Richa Wadekar, Joshua Wagner, Nik Wesson, Claire Wang LAYOUT Kristel Bugayong, Emma Fiander, Irene Han, Josh Wagner, Cathy Yang CHIEF OPERATING OFFICER Do-Hyoung Park Chief Revenue Officer Kevin Martinez 3

Stuck in my Head Yellow light Lasers – daisies – Budding, implicit In thin air – blooming In a bed of powder – white Silk upon your upper lip, Fertilizing growth – Feeding lust – With a sharp inhale – A breath of fresh air, And signal to my fingers – The roots at your hips – Grow deeper.

s ner emngs o p a o bL Tw co Ja

A change in light From yellow – Daisies – To green

To Be a Giraffe Or, a Tall Order A prayer to nature’s altar – Greatest feet, On the ground, of course And head in the clouds And heart in-between – Unseen, And herd Pumping through our common vein Liquid courage, bitter Blood And a wish – For honest time I ask the gentle giant, drowned in former pleasures – final breath, indulgent in the promise of something more, fulfilled – Honest – Not words, but written, still In time that moves like honey, And hands around another Moving all the same A laugh is mine Is yours, a moment Is ours – Reflected, absent – A synchronized exhale And goosebumps Or just a neck Strong enough to stick out but not so long that I trip and lose my head.

5

Project South: How eight students chased the history of

civil rights activism

By Eliane Mitchell

T

he speed of sound is too slow for time

travel. But then you hear her voice.

“My name is Fannie Lou Hamer,” she says, “and I exist at 626 East Lafayette St. in Ruleville, Mississippi.”

She speaks in a Southern twang, in which words like “butter” lose their “r”s and “husband” sounds as if it contains three “z”s.

Fifty-three years ago, Stanford students placed an open-reel tape recorder in front of her. On tape, Hamer’s words still ring out with richness and conviction today.

“I think as much of these children as I do my own kids,” she said, referring to the student activists who came to the South to join the efforts of the civil rights movement.“I’m fightin’ for all human bein’s to make this a great country for all of us,” she said.

Hamer wasn’t making a speech at a podium.

She was answering questions that drew students to the soupy heat of a Mississippi summer in 1965, where the civil rights movement was in midlife. An Uher 4000 Report open-reel tape recorder sat alongside her, catching her words as they rolled into the air.

Audio of Hamer is rare. The civil rights activist often did not speak from notes, so if a recording device was not around to hear her speak, her words vaporized into the sultry heat. But at least in this setting, magnetic tape collected her words like an adhesive.

Hamer launched her career in civil rights activism three years earlier, in a church on a Monday night in 1962. It was there that she first learned that it was her constitutional right to vote, and from then on, she dedicated her life to fighting against literacy tests and poll taxes that kept African Americans from the ballot box.

She suffered arrest, brutal police beatings and a drive-by shooting for her efforts.

None of this stopped Hamer from founding the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party in 6

1964. At the Democratic National Convention, her political party challenged the contemporary Mississippian political establishment that remained exclusive to whites.

Chasing history in real time, two Stanford students on a team of eight lugged the sixpound, Uher reel-to-reel tape recorder to her house. Thanks to their journey, students and researchers over half a century later can hear Fannie Lou Hamer speak in intimacy.

--------In the fall of 1964, Jim McRae, then a sophomore at Stanford, admired and envied the few people he knew who had traveled to the South. As the chief recording engineer for campus radio station KZSU, he worked four to five hours a week setting up microphones and recording campus events. But he knew that the civil rights work of the past summer was important and that it exceeded the bounds of his campus life.

During what was later known as “Freedom Summer,” student activists, white and black, worked to help black voter registration in the South. With the aim of aiding the Congress on Racial Equality (CORE) and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), 40 to 50 Stanford students drove to Mississippi to help with this effort alone.

“The choice to go South is the most direct and complete way of expressing a commitment—a commitment to a dream called American democracy that is yet to be realized,” wrote a Daily columnist in 1964.

McRae did not consider himself an activist— that change would happen later. Still, he was curious to know: What went through the minds of student activists who went to the South?

What thoughts did they have as they navigated hatred and helped dismantle Jim Crow law?

A New Jersey native, McRae initially thought Stanford to be a liberal place. In New Jersey, Rockefeller Republicans dominated the state— people who were progressive on social issues, but conservative on fiscal ones. They agreed with the goals of the movement but hesitated at the civil rights movement’s efforts to picket and hold demonstrations.

But for McRae, the idea that some Americans could not vote due to Jim Crow laws lacked sense. Like the students who had already traveled to the South, he, too, felt an itch to be in the midst of it all. He had traveled to the South only once—to Florida—with his family.

“I didn’t know the South,” McRae said.

--------Hal Williams, then a senior and former station manager of KZSU, and Ralph Peer, a junior and the station manager at the time, put together the team of eight Stanford students who would travel to the South in the fall and winter of 1964. The eight agreed to follow history as it unfolded.

“Our view was that the work in voter registration was happening at a rampant pace,” Williams said. “All of this could go up into the air unless there was a way to document it.”

Interviewing people, operating Uher Report 4000s and making documentaries for radio are KZSU’s trade. Earlier that year, the KZSU team, led by Williams, produced a piece that investigated the case of a Stanford student who had been suspended from the school while studying in Florence. Williams and his team saw recording activists’ thoughts during the civil rights movement as important work too.

As students themselves, they figured that they could capture other students’ motivations to travel to the South better than anyone else.

They aimed to produce a radio series about

Activists campaigned for voting rights during Freedom Summer in 1964.

Photos courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

7

Photos courtesy of Stanford Libraries

student activism in the South that they could broadcast to all colleges and radio stations, said McRae. The students, including McRae, took a course on interviewing and how to collect information from a sociology professor at Stanford in the spring. At the start of summer of 1965, they outfitted a VW minibus and turned it into a mini-recording studio. McRae and Mark Dalrymple, another student, planned to use the minibus to check in with other groups, repair tape recorders if needed and edit the tapes as they were made. The other six drove out in pairs.

The bulky Uher Report 4000 fit into the glove compartment, a perfect place to hide it in case the police stopped them to ask what they were doing. Hal, having a prior commitment to work at the Aspen Institute, came for the first week to help the eight settle in for their expedition — what they would later call Project South.

Their first stop was Mississippi.

--------The first night, McRae and the group stayed together in a church in Tougaloo, Mississippi.

The church was filled with civil rights activists, SNCC members, out-of-state college students and sleeping bags. McRae could hear angry, white passersby throw garbage at the church. What distinguished them from the other Northerners, they thought, were their cumbersome, six-pound tape recorders. They were not activists but journalists who were there to document events.

A few days later, after Williams left for the Aspen Institute, the group split off into pairs — each with a car that they had driven out to the South and armed with a Uher 4000. For a few 8

weeks, McRae and Dalrymple stayed behind, as planned, wandering to civil rights events in the VW bus. It was better to keep the bus moving.

The inside of the VW, amid the humid soupy heat of the South, baked those — researchers and tapes alike — inside.

McRae and Dalrymple visited the other three crews periodically, one in Mississippi, one in Alabama and one in Louisiana, to see if the other groups needed supplies or repairs. To their surprise, despite the heat, dust and dirt in the South, the tape recorders held up well. But it was too hot to edit the tapes that they were able to retrieve. Carefully cutting magnetic tape on the diagonal and then connecting the ends with a small piece of scotch tape required nimble, dry fingers. They would have to wait to edit the tapes until they returned to Stanford.

A couple of weeks into the trip, McRae left the VW bus and traded places with another team member so he could team up with Richard Gillam, an interviewer.

--------For 10 weeks, the pairs drove to towns in Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama, looking first to set up shop at a local Freedom House, which was usually the landmark of the black side of town. For each house that they entered, McRae and Gillam told the black folk there that they were from Stanford and were developing a radio series on student involvement in the Southern civil rights movement. The locals and student activists readily welcomed them, feeding McRae and Gillam the typical Southern fare. McRae didn’t like chitlins, but he learned to like collard greens.

Having a car proved to be a helpful resource.

For the first few days during their visits, McRae

and Gillam drove people to register to vote and chauffeured children to swimming pools.

They bought supplies and tended to their hosts’ requests. After two or three days, they would pull out their tape recorders and microphones and interview everyone they could.

“We were doing civil rights work half the time and talking to people who were doing even more of it,” McRae said.

--------In Tougaloo, the word was that Northerners from Stanford had come to “agitate the Negroes.” A few times, white Mississippians spotted McRae and Gillam walking along the road and threw trash out their car windows at the students as they sped by. McRae feared that the white folk would turn around for another round, or worse, confront them physically.

The previous year, three civil rights activists, one from Mississippi and two from the North, had been kidnapped in Neshoba County. The bodies of James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner were later found in an earthen dam.

Still, McRae was in awe of the people who put their lives on the line. The group, in total, recorded about 300 hours of tape over those 10 weeks, including oral histories (in particular, one with Charles Evers), proceedings of student meetings and speeches by Ralph Abernathy, Hosea Williams and Martin Luther King, Jr. They even captured a speech made by the Imperial Wizard, Robert Shelton, of the Ku Klux Klan at a 40-foot cross burning. As Shelton ranted on a flat-bed truck, McRae and Gillam watched by the press section with their recorders on moonlit grass.

--------The Stanford Eight dispersed at summer’s end. Williams graduated that spring, and everyone else started the year with other commitments. McRae took over as project coordinator for Project South.

But the effort — of distilling 300 hours of tape into a miniseries to broadcast on KZSU — proved difficult. Even worse, classes, palm trees and papers no longer seemed relevant to McRae. “I wanted to drop out of school,” McRae said.

But KZSU negotiated a deal with McRae: They would pay for half of his tuition so that he would continue the project. He recruited a team of transcribers from solicitations in the The Daily to transfer the interviews to paper from sound. They typed away on typewriters in a small office in the Old Union, working on the project over several months.

The tapes were transcribed, and KZSU produced a few shows based off of them, as planned. But to their dismay, the KZSU shows “dropped like a stone,” according to McRae. Few Stanford students seemed to care about the civil rights movement anymore; their concerns had moved to escalating Vietnam War protests and sit-ins. “We all thought we basically failed in some way because we came up with three radio shows, half-hour radio shows, but we wanted to come up with a whole series that we would [broadcast] to all colleges and radio stations,” McRae said.

Discouraged, McRae and the other students donated the tapes to the Stanford Archive of Recorded Sound. There, the reel-to-reel tapes reposed in obscurity for decades.

--------Davis Houck cannot remember where he found the tapes in 2014, but he did.

Houck, a professor at Florida State University, found the words “Project South” cited in a footnote, in a book that he cannot recall. He had researched Fannie Lou Hamer for over a decade, but in that time found that few primary sources related much beyond the mundane facts of her life. Business papers and mail, the majority of which were not intimate correspondences, revealed little about who she was.

But the sound of her voice drums with the fortitude that she lived by.

“I don’t ever try to fight for equal rights cause I’m fighting for all human beings,” she says on the tape. “‘[Negroes] have less to hide than any race in America.”

Hamer ran for Congress in Mississippi but lost after calling national attention to civil rights at the Democratic convention of 1964.

After that, she helped assemble the National Women’s Political Caucus in the 1970s and worked to increase business opportunities for minorities. Twelve years later, in 1977, Hamer died of breast cancer at age 59.

Houck initially found Hamer’s words on microform, in the basement of Florida State’s main library. Tiny pale images of the transcriptions that McRae and his team typed out looped around several reels.

Houck called Stanford, because they held the tapes. Maggie Kimball, the University archivist at the time, had made it a top priority to digitize the tapes, which were at risk for continued deterioration. After she left, her replacement, Daniel Hartwig, took up the charge to make them available online. Hartwig could send

Hamer’s voice to Houck with just a few mouse clicks and a drag.

Luckily, the tapes hadn’t been edited in the Mississippi summer heat that might have degraded the splices and made Hamer’s voice hiccup. Houck quickly composed emails to the Project South students, grateful for what he found.

--------Thirteen minutes into the tape, audio cuts into the roundness of Hamer’s voice like glass shards.

But seconds later, the audio strips the overlay and Hamer’s voice resoundingly returns. For a documentary set to premiere in 2019, the group FLH America will use the tape to tell Hamer’s life in her own voice.

Six of the Project South students met near Stanford after Houck emailed them.

Dalrymple and team member Julie Wells had married. She had been the one with whom McRae switched cars midway through the trip.

After that summer, McRae had gone back to the South, this time, to Troy, Alabama, to work as an AmeriCorps VISTA volunteer. He was invigorated by his trip with Project South.

Fannie Lou Hamer’s voice, among other sounds of the moment, including Martin Luther King, Jr., Charles Evers and James Farmer’s, transcend space and time. They travel from our ears via Stanford’s online library, on permanent URL links. Peeled from the laminate of black magnetic tape, their voices survive history, living in the cloud.

Contact Eliane Mitchell at elianem@stanford. edu.

9

Graphic by KRISTEL BUGAYONG/The Stanford Daily

“L

et’s meet at the string and stick nest

thing at 3 pm.” “Be at the brown, metal sculpture after class.” It’s funny that we go about our day to day lives, rushing between classes and meetings for the longest time before noticing the public art sprinkled around the Stanford campus. The art can scream red or slyly poke out between tall redwoods, but either way, it’s not uncommon for students to breeze past it before even noting its existence. What’s even funnier, though, is that once we eventually do become aware of the art, we are rarely curious enough to actively inquire: Why does it stand there? What is its significance? Who donated it or created it?

Instead of pursuing these important questions, we taint the (more often than not) meaningful and historical artwork with statements like the ones above. First of all, the skillfully placed pipes and cables are actually known as Mozart 1 — a creative imitation of the solar system and its galaxies, representing the idea that something magnificently complicated can also be unified and interdependent.

Secondly, little do we know that “brown,” “metal” and “sculpture” are the unofficially official buzzwords used to describe over half of the art pieces on campus. Of course, there are a handful of people who have followed the Stanford public art map to visit public art landmarks or are genuinely interested in the stories behind such art, but the majority of students fall in the art-wise “unaware” category.

That’s not to say you should feel obligated

10

to ask such questions after passing an art piece on campus. Not knowing the titles of the art around you doesn’t mean you are uncultured or unappreciative of creativity. And no, I personally do not walk up to every sculpturelooking-object and read the accompanying engraved placard. There are 65 sculptures and fountains under the “Public Art” tab on the Stanford Arts Map webpage; it would take quite the investment of time and effort to become familiar with each piece. However, I do wish to simply bring light to the fact that the public art we often pass without taking a second look has layers — stories and meanings that are waiting to be uncovered. From pieces that are obviously recognized as public art to works that seem to serve more of a functional purpose, here are a few of my favorites that I go by often.

Let’s start with a piece that is the traditional depiction of public art.

Near the heart of campus, between the Law School and Meyer Green, there stands the 40 feet of 400 year-old cedar totaling 4,200 pounds that is “The Stanford Legacy.”

Installed in the spring of 2002, this totem pole was carved by Don Yeomans in the traditional Haida style and gifted by Marcia and Fred Rehmus M.B.A. ’61. Made of layers of unique beings and framed by tall trees, the art itself is quite noticeable from a far distance. Deep emerald green, brick green, jet black and shiny copper colors are used sparingly as means of defining only the important features, but the pigmentation is bold. In fact, the large black pupils on each face give the illusion that the eye contact is directed to you and only you. Take a few steps closer, and the four faces are actually joined by several more smaller faces along with a frog and a copper shield. It’s not until you’re standing directly in front of the artwork and looking up that you appreciate its grandeur and feel ridiculously small in comparison.

At first glance, this piece seems a bit out of place because it is surrounded by metalbased, modern-looking sculptures. What is the significance of the faces? Why is there a frog? Is this a worthy location for such a culturally rich piece? After doing some research, I learned that this totem pole represents the narrative arc of how the University was established; it is an ode to the Stanford family and a memorialization of how Leland Junior’s death inspired his

Photos by KHUYEN LE/The Stanford Daily

parents to found our school. Each face acts as a character in the story. Starting from the bottom of the pole, there is a bear figure holding a halfhuman-being, which symbolizes the unfulfilled.

Between the bear’s ears is another small figure reaching up toward the copper shield. This tightly clutched shield represents the power and shared wealth that Leland Stanford Senior, the chief in this depiction, is offering. Next, we have Jane Stanford with the copper tears that the half faces, or children, are gripping on to, which are interpreted as enlightenment and hope for those children. Directly above is a green frog, a spirit treasured for his adaptability, knowledge and power within the Haida community. And to top it all off, there is a raven (the creator-spirit), which supports Leland Junior, represented as a child with angel wings.

Although it was easy to assume that this impressive totem pole was public art and illustrated some story, the content of this story was not obvious. Without aid from its accompanying placard or the Stanford Art map, I would not have been able to understand how the pole related to the Stanford legacy or interpret the intention of the piece. On the other side of the spectrum, but only a mere 100 feet in front of the Legacy, there is the Shumway Fountain. Its purpose is easier to assume, but whether it should be categorized as public art is not as clear-cut. While Stanford is full of stunning fountains, there is some ambiguity as to whether they belong in the same art category

as the other traditional sculptures, partly because of their substantial interactive aspect.

Nevertheless, the Shumway Fountain too has a deeper background.

Right in front of Green Library, squealing children smothered in sunscreen splash around while parents sip on Coupa iced coffee with their feet dangling in the water. Overly excited canines prance around the rectangular body of water, tracking wet paw prints and shaking off their drenched coats all over the surrounding pavement. Students enviously look on as they trudge toward Green with backpacks full of laptops, chargers and Hydro Flasks — reminiscing about their childhood or daydreaming about having the free time to join in on the fountain hopping.

Though not everyone is able to feel the refreshing touch of the water, all passersby are able to hear the bright red pipe spouting hundreds of minuscule streams of water. One stream is not loud enough to be noticed by the usually occupied people nearby, but together the curtain of water’s effect is similar

to that of a calming waterfall.

Historically speaking, the fountain was built as part of the East Wing of Green Library in the 1980s. And though it looks like seasoned abstract art, it happens to be one of the only fountains on campus that was not sculpted by an actual artist.

In fact, while the creators may not have coined the word “fountain hopping,” the purpose of the Shumway or the “Red Hoop” fountain was always to bring people together and not necessarily to provide a solely auditory or visual artistic experience. This is why the fountain is placed so centrally on campus (right in front of the main library) and features a shallow set of inviting stairs that descend into the water. The addition of steps may not seem like anything revolutionary. But it really does encourage students and tourists alike to come together around the falling water, whether or not they are keen on actually getting in. In addition, if the concrete steps aren’t appealing, there is an opening in the amphitheater-style setting with a fresh patch of green grass — the ideal place to sprawl on a picnic blanket with a good read or chill music.

Speaking of interactive or functional art, my all-time favorite piece is the absolutely

11

12

stunning chandelier gracing the Lorry I. Lokey Stem Cell Research Building. Although it is true that I considered it more of a light fixture than artwork when I first saw it, I’ve come to realize that functional art can be a form of public art.

I love how the hundreds of navy curls dance among light blue streaks that intertwine with white ringlets, creating a graceful yet Medusaesque image. I almost expect each of the three masses concentrated at the piece’s center to start warping, swirling around and coming to life — the edges extending to cultivate one powerful clump of spirals, big enough to fill the entire building. But for now, the masses hang vertically on nearly invisible cable in order of decreasing size. Visible from all levels of the building, the work’s blue hues match perfectly with the bustling researcher’s blue latex gloves and hefty lab coats. In short, the glass masterpiece could be interpreted as an abstract depiction of the sea, though it is called “Tre Stelle di Lapis Lazuli” — three stars of the Lapis Lazuli gemstone. It is made up of 2,071 individual pieces of blown glass and, surprisingly, weighs more than “The Stanford Legacy.” Enhancing the sense of splendor further, the wall behind it consists of solely windows, letting in natural sunlight as well as providing a contrasting black backdrop that enables the chandelier to illuminate with gold light.

Contrary to my initial assumptions, this work serves a much larger purpose than enticing people to come visit the research building. Rather, it was commissioned to artist Dale Chihuly because — as the director of the Stanford Institute for Stem Cell Biology and Regenerative Medicine put it in 2010 — “[a] rt can inspire people in life’s activities, and artworks provide important symbols that remind us why we are doing what we are doing ... it reminds [the researchers] of the importance of interaction across disciplines, and that such creative interactions are going on in this place.”

It was all made possible by a donation from a non-profit organization dedicated to funding cancer research, My Blue Dots. Instead of a narrative arc or an interactive fountain, this chandelier is more a representation of the important synergies between art and science, whether or not the public realizes it; it serves to both physically light the room and remind researchers of an interdisciplinary concept.

While we may never be fully aware of all the public art around us, even just on this campus, it’s important to understand that the

art stands for something that is more than just physically visible.

Whether it is a narrative of the University’s founders, an interactive social gathering spot or a representation of the relationship between science and art, every artwork has a double identity — a deeper purpose that will stay hidden until actively inquired about. But when its story is uncovered, you will gain more appreciation for a piece that you once just breezed past. There’s a certain added value that comes with knowing the history of something that you pass by every day and having the power to share that enriching story with others. To say the very least, it makes walks around campus more interesting. So the next time you’re biking or walking, take a moment to observe your surroundings. Breathe in the fresh air, take in the sunlight and, if there’s a piece that catches your eye, look for its placard — I promise it won’t disappoint.

Contact Serena Soh at sjsoh@stanford.edu.

13

The MEME index: exploring nationwide university meme pages

By Olivia Popp

A

c a d e m i c a l l y, and loosely socioculturally, a meme (from “ m i m e m e ,” derived from “ m i m e s i s ,” m e a n i n g imitation or mimicry) is any one particular thing in existence (idea, picture, phrase — you name it) that perpetuates the popularity of a certain idea and often transforms through its repeated simulacra. One of my favorite examples is that, truthfully, Jesus is a meme. Think about it — Jesus has been replicated in so many forms throughout history in many cultures and many contexts.

The spread of memes in their current form is an incredibly cultural phenomenon. I argue that I’m interested in memes in an academic context, but I’ll admit that I’m just another one of the sheep in the herd. Ask anybody: I communicate primarily in gifs (soft g, fight me) and memes — GroupMe, Twitter (hit me up at @itsoliviapopp), Stanford’s meme page, emails. I’ll even speak in memes; I’m a purveyor of memes.

I’m not a STEM major, but I managed to create the highly rigorous MEME index, a university meme page scoring system based on the eponymous mnemonic for four different publicly accessible (or accessible with membership in the group) criteria: 1. Membership (weight: 40 percent), operationally defined as meme page members per undergraduates 2. Engagement (weight: 30 percent), operationally defined as the average number of posts per day based on the last 30 days 3. Moderation (weight: 10 percent), operationally defined as three minus the absolute value of the z-score of members per moderator for meme pages in the sample being scored 4. Expansion (weigh: 20 percent), operationally defined as the average number of members added per day (based on the

14

last 30 days) divided by the average number of members added per day (based on total members averaged over the page’s entire existence) I then used a weighted product model, which allows you to makes the units of each criterion different (sorry, I don’t do enough actual statistics to really know how to do anything else!), to create a MEME index score for each university meme page to determine which meme pages are the strongest. There’s plenty of ways to gauge the strength of a meme page, so I wanted to consider page activity, popularity, current growth and how the administration of each page stacks up against that of other pages.

Due to the nature of the index, the scores are constantly fluctuating and are only able to be compared in relation to other pages in the sample.

For those who need a quick summary, based on the MEME index, here are the rankings for the sampled 18 schools, from highest score to lowest score: UC Berkeley Stanford UChicago Columbia Penn Yale Brown Georgetown Johns Hopkins Cornell UCLA Duke Northwestern Princeton USC MIT Harvard Dartmouth (And to all those questioning why Stanford is second, I can safely say that I created the metrics before I gathered all of the statistics, so no, I didn’t work backwards from a list.)

I was able to join all but Stanford’s and UC

Berkeley’s meme pages — which I was already a member of — rather quickly, over the span of a day and a half, which was fun. Take the validity of the MEME index as you may (or maybe it’ll become a socially perpetuated meme of its own!), but at least take the stats to heart. Now enjoy these carefully curated meme highlights.

Fun facts - Thirteen out of 18 of the sampled meme pages included at least one “Naruto Run” event in the meme page’s calendar (sorry Columbia, Duke, Georgetown, Harvard and Penn) - Three out of 18 of the sampled meme pages (Columbia, Cornell and Johns Hopkins) were closed groups, indicating that content is only viewable to members of the page Selected events (alphabetical by university): - Construct a glass box to contain Hurricane Irma (Duke) - Everyone in Boston blow Southeast at the same time (Harvard) - Yell “I am Moana!” at the Lakefill (Northwestern) - Publicly denounce La Croix on top of Hoover Tower (Stanford) - Tide Pod Buffet Dinner (UC Berkeley) - Ask “is mayonnaise an instrument” in Stulberg’s Symphony Orchestra (UCLA) - Yell “I’m Dirty Dan” in UChicago’s Quad (UChicago) - Spin clockwise on Locust to cancel out the wind (Penn) - Reenact the Walmart yodel kid on Old Campus (Yale)

Contact Olivia Popp at oliviapopp@stanford. edu.

College Meme Pages

THE MEME INDEX

BY THE

AVERAGES AS OF APRIL 15, 2018

NUMBERS

41 30,864 POSTS PER DAY DAYS ACTIVE 6 501

NEW MEMBERS per day

MEMBERS

M E M E

embership members per undergrad

ngagement

posts per day (last 30 days)

oderation

three minus the absolute value of weighted z-scores for members per admin/moderator

xpansion members added per day (last 30 days) divided by average members added per day (lifetime)

5

M.4*E.3*M.1*E.2

(me

me

4

inde x)

3 2

th

rt

m ou

M H IT ar va rd D a

SC

et nc

Pr i

U

on

rn te

e uk

th w es

N

or

D

CL

U

el

l

A

s

rn

ki n

op

H

Co

Be

rk

e St ley U an of for Ch d ic Co ago lu m bi a U Pe nn

0

Ya l Br e ow G eo n rg e Jo to hn w n s

1

15

16

‘Welcome to W6YX’: Inside Stanford’s ham radio club

By Jacob Nierenberg “Been a while since I’ve been up here at daylight,” Sasha Maldonado says.

“Usually I’m around here at midnight.”

“Here” is Site 530, a radio station out in the Stanford foothills — the kind of remote location that requires GPS coordinates to find. About a third of the way up to the Dish, there’s a gravel road that splits off from the paved trail, leading to a squat white shack. The rainclouds from earlier in the day have parted, and the setting sun illuminates a herd of deer on a hillside.

“Welcome to W6YX,” Maldonado says.

The Stanford Amateur Radio Club — often referred to by its call sign, W6YX — is a collective of radio and technology enthusiasts. In contrast to commercial radio, which transmits music, sports or news to a wide audience, amateur radio refers to the use of radio waves for the exchange of messages between operators.

(The activity is also called ham radio, a once-derisive term that has been reclaimed by the community.) They’re amateurs in the traditional sense of the word — experienced and competent at what they do, but doing it recreationally rather than professionally. Amateurs principally transmit messages for their own entertainment or as part of a competition with others, though they may also put their skills to use to support emergency services.

According to information from the Federal Communications Commission, there were 819.017 radio amateurs in the United States as of May 5.

We go inside the station and are greeted by president Grant Ayers and treasurer Tane Tatum. Ayers is a Ph.D. student in computer science; Tatum is a masters student in aeronautics and astronautics. Of the three, Maldonado has been in W6YX the longest, having been introduced to the group by a friend in his freshman year. Ayers got licensed last year after learning about W6YX from a professor, and Tatum — one of the group’s newest members — joined last September.

Ayers gestures toward a cluster of shelves in the far corner of the main room.

Boxes of analog tapes, containing atmospheric recordings from NASA missions, are practically overflowing off the shelves into stacks on the floor. Several of the

17

boxes are marked ISEE-1, from a satellite sent into orbit more than 40 years ago.

“This was used as a storage facility for a long time,” Ayers says, surveying the clutter.

“Technically, it still is.”

We go into the adjacent room that houses the very high frequency (VHF) / ultra high frequency (UHF) work station. There are three monitors on a desk, one of which displays an array of red graphs that look like bell curves.

Ayers explains that the graphs pertain to satellites and their path as they pass by the station.

“Orbits are super predictable,” Tatum adds.

“It’s just pretty basic physics: You know where the satellite is, where it’s going, and you can just track forward and predict where it’s going to be for the next however long.”

One of the graphs catches Ayers’ eye, and he pulls up a map of its orbit. The satellite, SaudiOSCAR 50 (SO-50), is expected to pass almost directly over the station in eight minutes.

Unfortunately, the monitor suddenly freezes, prompting Ayers to restart the computer.

While we wait, Maldonado and Ayers delve into W6YX’s history. It’s uncertain exactly when the group was founded, but it has been around since at least 1924, when the group became affiliated with the American Radio Relay

18

League (ARRL). This would make W6YX one of the oldest voluntary student organizations (VSOs) on campus.

Past members of the station include Hewlett-Packard co-founders William Hewlett BA ’34 ENG ’39 and David Packard BA ’34 MS ’39, former Dean of the School of Engineering Frederick Terman BA ’20 EE ’22 and U.S. Under Secretary of State Herbert Hoover Jr. BS ’25.

Though the group is a VSO, faculty and community members are welcome to join as associates. Even so, W6YX is a small group, with Maldonado putting its numbers of students and associates at “a couple dozen of each.”

The computer reboots, so Ayers turns to another monitor and repositions an antenna outside the station to track SO-50. The antenna must point at the satellite — it can be programmed to automatically follow the satellite’s path — and tune into its uplink (Earth to satellite) and downlink (satellite to Earth) frequencies. This allows W6YX to transmit signals to, and receive them from, the satellite.

With everything ready to go, Maldonado picks up what looks like a walkie-talkie — an analogue for amateur radio in and of itself — and speaks into it.

“This is KC3ESZ at W6YX, grid CM87,”

Maldonado says, identifying himself with his FCC-assigned call sign, the station’s call sign and his location according to a worldwide coordinate system called the Maidenhead Locator System.

“W6YX,” he repeats, “anyone out there?”

Seconds later, a crackling voice responds in kind with a call sign and location. It’s the first of four people that W6YX will make contact with in the time what they’re within SO-50’s range.

One amateur gives his location as grid CN85; I consult the Maidenhead Locator System, wistfully noting that this corresponds to the Portland metropolitan area, where I’m from. That wistfulness blooms into full-on nostalgia when I run his call sign later and find that he lives just up the road from where I went to elementary school.

While Ayers and Tatum look for incoming satellites, Maldonado explains the licensing process. There are three different exams for the three license classes: Technician, General and Amateur Extra. Higher license classes allow one to access a greater range of radio frequencies, but the exams get progressively more difficult.

All three exams cover the same pool of topics, including regulations, operating practices and safety. (Sample question: “How is the cathode lead of a semiconductor diode usually identified?” Answer: “With a stripe.”)

I ask Maldonado about what draws him to amateur radio — a habit he describes as generally being “an older person’s thing.”

He initially says that there’s value in getting younger people excited about the practice.

Then, after some thought, he expands on his answer: If amateur radio goes extinct, the radio frequencies on which it operates may be sold off to telecommunications companies.

“We’re competing with cell phone companies and broadcast companies for use of these radio waves — continued usage is the only thing that keeps the hobby alive,” Maldonado says. “It is sort of the electromagnetic wilderness, where it’s preserved for collective use, but only so long as people use it and use it well.”

Ayers leaves for the night, so Maldonado

and Tatum offer to show me the Earth-MoonEarth station, a short walk away from the main facility. The temperature has noticeably dropped since sunset, so we’re relieved when we reach the station, which looks like a militarygrade equipment shelter. (It is.) Behind the station, there’s a massive satellite dish that, at eight meters in diameter, is about as tall as a giraffe. We go inside the station, turning on the space heater before the computer.

This station is where the club engages in an activity fittingly called Earth-Moon-Earth bounce, where they reflect signals off the moon as if it was a giant satellite. This is one of the ways that radio amateurs and stations will compete with each other, striving to exchange the most moon-mediated messages with others during a set amount of time.

In one contest last summer, W6YX spent hours fixing a donated satellite dish, only to discover the night before the event that rats had chewed through some crucial wiring.

(According to Ayers, they were ultimately able to fix it, and placed second in the competition.)

But we won’t be doing any Earth-MoonEarth bounces tonight. The moon won’t be visible for at least another hour, so Maldonado and Tatum decide to call it a night. Besides, everyone’s got work to do; Maldonado is building a laser driver with a friend, while Tatum has rocket propulsion homework.

Maldonado steps out of the station and back into the cold. He pauses as he walks back to his car, turning to look at the streetlights of Silicon Valley, forming a constellation far off in the distance. *** One month later, Ayers invites me back up to Site 530. W6YX has several new members, some of whom have just been licensed, and they have decided to host their monthly meeting at the station. (Meetings are usually held, appropriately, in the David Packard Electrical Engineering Building.)

The VHF / UHF antenna is only picking up a handful of satellites tonight, so Ayers and some other senior members set up the high frequency (HF) operating position in the main room. HF waves have a smaller frequency than VHF or UHF waves; this gives them a greater wavelength, which in turn allows the waves to travel further.

We find an amateur out in Minnesota, so the

new members pass the microphone around to talk to him one by one. What was meant to be a quick demonstration becomes a 16-minute conversation as he tells us about everything from his struggle to make contact with Indonesia (though he has heard from Australia and New Zealand) to his moon bounce setup.

We even pull up his profile on QRZ.com (think of it as Facebook for radio amateurs); there’s a photo of him on a tractor, which, he informs us, has been retrofitted with radio equipment.

Finally, he signs off with a cheerful “73,” radio lingo for “best regards.”

Ayers describes the whole exchange as a “typical conversation” between amateurs, who talk about everything from what kind of gear they use to recent surgeries. My phone vibrates and an email notification flashes on the screen; I marvel at how effortless it seems in comparison.

As with my last visit, the night ends with another visit to the Earth-Moon-Earth station.

While it’s too early to see the moon, we all cram inside the station to see how a moon bounce is done. A senior member manipulates the eight-

meter satellite dish, which groans in protest as it turns to face the heavens while the new members look on in awe.

As I leave the station, I say to Ayers, “73.”

“73,” Ayers replies with a smile.

I look up at the night sky as I turn to go.

There are stars and satellites twinkling up there, but I don’t know how to tell them apart.

Contact Jacob Nierenberg at jhn2017@stanford. edu.

Photos by LUCY BREWER/ The Stanford Daily

19

s c i th

E + S C

20

By Anna-Sofia Lesiv

E

Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

arly this year, research fellow Hilary Cohen and professors Jeremy Weinstein, Mehran Sahami and Rob Reich were pictured in a copy of The New York Times. They stood together in the atrium of the Gates Computer Science Building, a determined look crossing each of their faces. “On Campus, Computer Science Departments Find a Blind Spot: Ethics,” the headline read.

Pre-empting the “techlash” that would soon engulf Silicon Valley with reawakened concerns over tech industry transgressions, the article identified “a common Silicon Valley attitude that has generally dismissed ethics as a hindrance.” Academics like Stanford’s Cohen, Weinstein, Sahami and Reich, however, were finally trying to change that.

“At Stanford, the computer science department will offer the new ethics course, tentatively titled, ‘Ethics, Public Policy and Computer Science,’” the article read. This news seemed exciting, if not a little strange. After all, a class called “Computers, Ethics and Public Policy” already existed.

Though perceived to be new, Stanford’s computer science department had in fact been offering this class for the past 30 years. Celebrated, forgotten and soon-to-be redeployed once again, this is the story of ethics education in America’s leading computer science program. This is the history and legacy of CS 181. *** When the computer science department packed its things from the School of Humanities and Sciences and moved into the School of Engineering in 1985, it was the only Engineering major that did not have an ethics in society requirement. The department was small and wasn’t graduating many students. Computer science was still a niche area, a field that nobody bragged about at cocktail parties, much less one that attracted throngs of impressionable youth to its ranks.

It was the height of the Cold War and a period of mourning for the United States. The U.S. had lost the space race, and believed that a flood of military money into science and engineering labs would somehow compensate for a bruised national ego. At the time, computer science was a new field with unexplored boundaries, but its researchers were already highly sought after.

Terry Winograd joined Stanford’s faculty in 1973. He had just finished a Ph.D. in artificial intelligence and natural languages at MIT. While there, Winograd took note of the military funding that powered some of the university’s labs. As a staunch opponent of the Vietnam War, the Department of Defense (DoD) funding made him uncomfortable.

After all, in Cambridge, Winograd had been a member of “Computer People for Peace,” a group that staged protests outside of Honeywell, the manufacturer of thermostats, computer monitors and cluster bombs.

The cluster bombs, of course, were the true source of CPP’s disapproval.

And while Terry protested, his wife Carol, a physician that would later teach at the Stanford Medical School, brought up the rear by caring for those injured.

When the couple first arrived at Stanford, Terry Winograd was merely filling in for a faculty member who happened to be conducting research in Winograd’s exact field of expertise. Winograd thought the position would be temporary, but when the faculty member never returned, he stayed on the research and teaching staff, never having received a formal interview for the job.

In a few years, Winograd made it onto the faculty committee for symbolic systems, a major that combined the study of philosophy, linguistics and computer science. It was there that he met Helen Nissenbaum, a recent Ph.D. grad and a philosopher in a non-tenure track position at the university. Their mutual interest in computing sparked a unique partnership and they endeavoured to expand the interdisciplinary nature of symbolic systems into the insular, highly specialized department of computer science.

Winograd was intimately acquainted with the dangerous applications of computers. He was aware of the strong presence the DoD had within departments like Stanford’s and MIT’s. He and Nissenbaum realized something was missing from the equation; they seemed to have “[found] 21

CS 181, taught by Dev Bhargava.

Photo by MAXIMILIANA BOGAN/ The Stanford Daily

a blind spot — ethics.”

The class they introduced together, merely a few years after Stanford began graduating computer science majors in 1986, was called “Computers, Ethics and Social Responsibility.” The inclusion of “social responsibility” was a nod to a larger movement among professionals who decided to leverage the authority of their discipline to steer society away from dangerous paths. It started in the sixties with physicians who announced their opposition to nuclear weapons, hoping their medical degrees would convince people of the health risks associated with nuclear war. By the time President Ronald Reagan established the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) in 1983, the movement would have caught on to computer scientists.

The SDI was meant to be a piece of software that could identify and destroy any oncoming nuclear missile, effectively securing the U.S. from nuclear attack.

Computer scientists referred to it as “Star Wars.” However, the fact that the program was unfeasible and certainly untestable didn’t stop it from recruiting top talent from academic institutions and industry, lending its mission a dangerous veneer of legitimacy.

“Computers had a role in warfare,” Winograd tells me. He made it his responsibility to ensure that computer professionals were aware of this and intentional about the projects they worked on. In the same year that Reagan announced the start of the SDI, Winograd followed the physicians and established Computer Professionals for Social Responsibility (CPSR). The group was formed from industry consultants at Xerox PARC, where Winograd worked part-time, and a few academics at Stanford concerned about the program. They published newsletters, opened chapters across the country and even published a book. All to raise awareness about the responsibility computer professionals had to their field.

This was the environment in which Winograd and Nissenbaum taught “Computers, Ethics and Social Responsibility.” It was a time when the stakes of computer science research were higher than they had ever been, when the consequences were existential and broadcast on a daily basis. It was a time when faculty members suddenly became engineer-cum-activists.

The class was discussion-based and populated by students that self-selected to hear Nissenbaum talk utilitarianism and Kant, and to listen to Winograd lecture on professional responsibility and computers. It would be the first and only ethics class offered within Stanford’s department of computer science.

Within a few years, Nissenbaum would be offered a tenure track position at NYU and move on from Stanford, leaving Winograd without a philosopher.

Feeling that he was not sufficiently expert to cover all the material on his own 22

— “I’m not a philosopher,” he tells me today — Winograd could no longer continue with the class. Luckily, a newly hired colleague was eager to take over. *** Eric Roberts had already heard of Terry Winograd before arriving at Stanford in 1990. After all, he was a member of the CPSR chapter in Boston.

Frustrated and concerned with the developments around “Star Wars,” he submitted articles to CPSR’s newsletter, even contributing a chapter to “Computers in Battle,” a book written by CPSR’s inaugural president. “Can we develop software for SDI that takes into account the inherent complexity of the problem and yet allows us to trust that software to perform correctly the first time it is used under realistic conditions?” Roberts wrote. In the following years, Roberts would come to serve as CPSR’s national secretary for three years and its president for six.

Roberts and Winograd shared very similar sensibilities. Both were deeply troubled by the exaggerated role played by the military in the development of computer science. At a time when a majority of research at Stanford was funded by the Department of Defense, Roberts and Winograd decided categorically this was money they were not going to touch. Memories of the U.S.’s war in Vietnam were still fresh on their minds, and the consequences of conducting research for the military were too great.

After 28 years of teaching at Stanford, an illustrious career as a computer scientist and multiple publications including “The Art of Java Programming” and “Programming Abstractions in C++,” Roberts is now retired. He’s slowly moving boxes out of his office to free the space for a future faculty member.

But he has a long way to go.

In front of his desk sits a copy of “Utopia” by Thomas More, among a series of other philosophical texts — course material from a class Roberts taught on techno-utopias. Apart from teaching the 106s and other technical courses, Roberts has also taught intro to the humanities, a class on CP Snow’s essay “The Two Cultures,” and of course, Winograd’s class, the one that became known as “Computers, Ethics and Public Policy.”

Roberts picked up exactly where Nissenbaum had left off, injecting healthy doses of Kant, Mill and Bentham into the syllabus alongside treatment of topics like intellectual property, hacking, civil rights and the right to privacy, and monopolies. With this much ground to cover, the course was used to satisfy the Writing in the Major requirement, and the writing ramped up quickly. In the first weeks of the course, Roberts asked students to compose essays comparing Kantian ethics to utilitarianism. By the end of the quarter, students were expected to submit final projects along with 10 to 15-page papers.

By the time Roberts took over, ethics in society had become a major requirement, and eventually the tone of the class began to change. In a report, Roberts wrote that his first year of teaching the course proved a “negative” experience. Students no longer self-selected to study ethics.

Instead, as enrollment grew, it increasingly seemed to Roberts as though for many students, the class was merely “time taken away from their start-up.” *** Three decades following its inception, “Computers, Ethics and Public Policy,” or CS 181, continues to be the only ethics class offered within the computer science department at Stanford. Though the name has stayed constant, everything from the subject matter to the pedagogical approach has varied.

What has changed the most, however, is the environment in which the class is taught. Today, computer scientists hold an unprecedented amount of sway over the most important functions of our lives and our society. In the past few years, we have witnessed internet companies started out of America’s dorm rooms become powerful enough to influence elections anywhere in the world. We’ve read increasingly alarming stories detailing how a handful of technology companies have become proprietors of personal information we’d be surprised if even our closest friends and family knew. The stakes were high when Winograd and Nissenbaum, both experts in their field, started their class. Those stakes are even higher today.

Teaching CS 181 today has meant staying on top of new controversies, new technologies and new ethical issues that arise within the field of computer

Illustrations by CATHY YANG/The Stanford Daily

23

science. It has meant trying to hit a moving target, rather than following a step-by-step instruction. This has made the class particularly challenging to teach, and even more important to get right. Unfortunately, for many coming out of the computer science major today, ethics once again seems as though it is merely being “dismissed as a hindrance.”

Winograd tells me that with the increasing pace of progress, and research that is fundamentally low-level and difficult to extrapolate to precise applications, ethics remains a peripheral concern for many computer scientists and researchers today. In the words of Winograd, it’s an attitude of “Oh yeah, I guess I should be thinking about that.”

That’s certainly not the case with Dev Bhargava, the current instructor of “Computers, Ethics and Public Policy.” He thinks that lack of ethics education in the computer science curriculum is a serious problem, and he’s eager to address it. In the past, Bhargava has TA’d CS 181 three times and found it one of the most influential courses he has ever taken at Stanford. And though Winograd’s Ph.D. did not prevent him from feeling unprepared to teach the class on his own, Bhargava finds himself having to do this with, so far, only a bachelor’s degree in CS under his belt. Bharvaga is a coterm, but if it weren’t for him, CS 181 would not even be offered this quarter.

As the number of requirements satisfied by CS 181 has grown, the class has become a crucial nexus for many in the computer science major. Not only does CS 181 satisfy undergraduates’ Ethical Reasoning requirement, it also fulfills Technology in Society and Writing in the Major for CS students. Required classes are notorious at Stanford, as the amount of effort it takes to motivate students eager to check off boxes is often overwhelming for instructors. Nonetheless, Bhargava has tried to take after Keith Winstein — who taught the course in the winter — and adopt a case-based approach to ethics, assigning contemporary readings and short memo responses to students — a significant departure from the class’ early days when students had to write essays comparing the categorical imperative and utilitarianism. He tries to evoke meaningful discussion and treatment of the topics, but leading such dialogue is an art in itself. Dev realizes how fickle the knowledge drawn from the course can be. He tells me that the slightest change in instruction can significantly affect how students perceive the material.

Lecturers in CS 181 are given maximal latitude in course preparation to let them address the most contemporary ethical questions. However, what might be seen as latitude could also be construed as disinterest.

Over the first four weeks of the quarter, no one from the department has ever come to observe Bhargava lecture to his class.

Enrollment in “Computers, Ethics and Public Policy” is capped at 50 this quarter, providing a classroom dynamic somewhat more intimate than the class of 150 instructed by Winstein in winter. The class to be offered by Hilary Cohen, Rob Reich, Mehran Sahami and Jeremy Weinstein is expecting many more students in the fall. They’re planning for hundreds. Unlike CS 181 this year, the class will no longer be offered multiple times per quarter. It will only be offered once.

Presently, the instructors and their teaching staff are busy constructing a syllabus that will provide an integrated interdisciplinary perspective on ethics in computer science. It will treat the question of ethics from the disciplines of philosophy and political science. The case-based approach to ethics will remain. After all, “you can’t get students engaged by asking them to write an essay comparing Kant and Mill’s utilitarianism,” Reich tells me. However, it’s likely that students will be asked to solve technical problems as well. Debugging a biased neural network is an example of an assignment that might feature in the class come fall.

It remains a question, however, whether the class will succeed in being as impactful an experience for students as possible. “An ethics class really should be discussion based,” Roberts said when reflecting upon

24

Eric Roberts Courtesy of Stanford News

his experience. Indeed, it’s unclear whether the sheer size of this class will prevent the kind of discussion required in a course meant to teach critical thinking and good decision making. Reich, however, tells me that the physical architecture of the space a class is taught in can be more conducive to meaningful discussion than merely class size. He envisions teaching in a space where students can break up into smaller groups to discuss topics raised in lecture.

A great deal of effort and energy is being deployed into making the new form of CS 181 as rich and educational a class as possible. However, it is a difficult job. As the only ethics course in the department, CS 181 must completely make up for all the ethical material not covered by other classes, placing a heavy burden on the instructors and syllabus of the class. “I think technical classes should incorporate units on ethics too,” says Bhargava. That way, students would be exposed to ethics in more than merely one CS class. In fact, as it stands today, CS majors can satisfy the Ethical Reasoning requirement by taking any other class that treats ethics broadly, without particular application to computer science.

They can complete their degree without ever really having to confront computer ethics issues at all.

The secondary nature of ethics in computer science is not only a sense many get from the composition of the curriculum. It’s also the sense students get from the department itself. “It seems as though some professors are unaware of the conflicts of interest that may arise when they accept money from industry to conduct research,” says Noah Arthurs, a CS major who started EthiCS, a Stanford student group eager to incite more discussion on technology and ethics.

Indeed, faculty members in the department of computer science are granted one day of the week on which they are free to work part time or consult tech companies, an arrangement without which it would be difficult to incentivize qualified CS faculty to remain in academia.

Winograd himself went on to consult at Google for a few years. After being Larry Page’s adviser at Stanford, he helped work on the early stages of the company with his former student.

It goes without saying that the porous boundary between the tech industry and Stanford’s CS department poses a host of ethical issues that beg further examination.

Reich agreed there were ethical questions with the current arrangement but stated it is unclear how the issue should be addressed. He did say, however, that “Stanford’s reputation has been bolstered by its proximity to Silicon Valley,” and that “continuing to maintain this proximity means that should Silicon Valley’s reputation decline, Stanford’s reputation could follow.”

The field of computer science today is home to many more gray areas than existed there before. Without the firm guidance of Stanford faculty or a rigorous ethical education, students may graduate with outstanding technical skills but be unprepared to respond to the moral dilemmas they might confront in their careers later on.

It’s remarkable how much of the onus to acknowledge the importance of ethics in this field rests on students. Ever more student groups like EthiCS and CS + Social Good are forming to address this issue, but without strong signals from the department, it’s unlikely that ethics will remain on the forefront of students’ minds. Cameron Ramos, a senior who took CS 181 in the winter, recalls Keith Winstein asking the class on the first day, “How many of you think you will write software that will affect people’s safety?”

Out of a class of 150, only two hands went up.

Contact Anna-Sofia Lesiv at alesiv@stanford.edu.

25

BY CESAR AREVALO JR.

1

LI 2

1. Road sign from driver’s seat 2. Road from driver’s seat 3. Interior of light rail train at dusk 4. Gated entrance to fire lane 5. Truck in the side view mirror 6. Viewpoint after sunset 7. Train station in the afternoon 8. Train station safety line

3 26

4

7

GHT ROOM “THIS COLLECTION OF IMAGES CAPTURES... the area surrounding Stanford’s campus through different perspectives with an emphasis on the driver’s seat and public transportation. Most images were captured during desperate attempts to get away from campus life. These trips served to silence my mind and clear the haze that had developed throughout the week. The winding mountain road featured in the gallery is Page Mill Road, which leads to Skyline Ridge and the viewpoint from the final image. Other car shots were taken somewhere in Redwood City as I drove back at the tail end of rush hour following an unsuccessful attempt to venture out to Half Moon Bay on my own with only enough gas for a one-way trip. The train pictures were from a trip I made out to Berkeley to pick up the car featured in the rest of the gallery, which I share with my sister on a monthly basis.

The highlight of this trip was a feeble attempt at doing homework that came to an end when I made the realization that one can’t connect to Stanford Residences or eduroam while on the Caltrain.”

5

6

8

27

Getting by in the Bay

By Claire Thompson

Yessica Lopez-Ambriz, a hardworking mom, struggles to make ends meet in the area where she has lived her whole life...

“

Mommy, I want you to tickle me!” threeyear-old Evalett wails, twisting across her mother’s lap. Peppy music blares from a smartphone with a shattered screen that Evalett is clutching.

“She’s something,” Yessica Lopez-Ambriz says of her youngest daughter.

Evalett likes to start fights with her older sister, Suleyma – tearing up her drawings, hiding her things, even occasionally biting.

Suleyma asks sometimes: “Mommy, why can’t you take Evalett back from wherever you got her? I want a nice sister.”

Seven-year-old Suleyma is more the sensitive, artistic type. “She’s always trying to make slime, and trying to make all this crazy stuff from videos,” Yessica says. “‘Oh, we need to buy this.

Can we go to the dollar store?’”

If not slime, Suleyma loves making treats like cookies and cakes. (Her mom also enjoys

28

baking, but not when the kids leave a mess.)

Yessica Lopez-Ambriz has been working at Stanford Dining for over 15 years.

“I remember that my son was like a year old. A year and something,” she says, trying to pinpoint her entry date.

Her son, Pedro Giovanni, is now 18—three years older than Yessica was when she had him. When she first started at Stanford, Yessica worked at Manzanita (now Gerhard Casper Dining Commons). She was later transferred to Stern Dining and now works at the Arrillaga Family Dining Commons, the largest dining hall on campus.

“I’ve been switching kitchens, but I’m still here,” she laughs.

Her current station is the grill. She’s in charge of making burgers, hot dogs, fries and other comfort foods that students chow down on (or pass up for the salad bar) at lunchtime. Yessica

is a Number Four — as high as she intends to advance in the food service hierarchy. The Number Ones are all dishwashers, where Yessica started out. The system goes up to Number Fives, the cooks.

Although she has been working in kitchens for a decade and a half, food is not something Yessica feels drawn to professionally.

“I did at first,” she says, “but then not no more.”

A tough start Back in 2004, before her daughters were born, Yessica was going to school to become a medical assistant. She completed some courses, but found that she wasn’t able to get a job in this field. Everywhere she applied, she was told she would have to get a GED. Yessica became pregnant with her first child,

As much as she wanted to pursue her dream of becoming a medical assistant, the realities of keeping up with the bills and childcare kept Yessica’s plate full, and then some.

Giovanni, before she began high school. With a baby to think about, her family didn’t want her to keep going to school. Instead, she had to look for work with only an eighth grade education.

She has tried to complete her GED, but being a good mother took precedence.

“It was always hard for me to go back to school,” she says, “because I’ve [always been] the head of household. I’ve always been by myself.”

As much as she wanted to pursue her dream of becoming a medical assistant, the realities of keeping up with the bills and childcare kept Yessica’s plate full, and then some.

“But I did try,” she adds.

In East Palo Alto, where Yessica grew up, about 20 percent of the adult population has less than a ninth grade education. Income levels also lag behind other Bay Area cities, with average income in East Palo Alto sitting at about half the average for all of San Mateo County. The city has seen many demographic changes over the years, but has predominantly housed communities of color.

Today, almost two-thirds of East Palo Alto’s residents are Latinx.

Things became more difficult for Yessica when her family moved away from East Palo Alto. Her mother and father both work for

Ross, the popular retail chain — her mother is a warehouse manager, and her father operates a forklift. Ten years ago, the company offered them both raises and relocation funds to move to Riverside, California,

six hours south of East Palo Alto. Her parents now own a house there, where all of her five sisters reside with their

children.

Yessica thought about going with them, but she had her job at Stanford, and at the time she was married to her son’s father, so she stayed.

Her husband, however, did not. The pair soon separated, and Yessica was left to raise Giovanni on her own — that is, until she met Alfredo Ambriz.

With Alfredo in the picture, things began to look up. He and Yessica married and rented a house together in East Palo Alto. Rent was reasonable, about $1,600 per month.

Yessica again began going to classes, this time at Cañada College, a community college in Redwood City. She wanted to get her GED and pursue more classes that would help her become a medical assistant. All this time, as she continued working at Stanford Dining and caring for her son and now a daughter too, she managed to find the energy for school as well.

Then, in 2015, Alfredo got deported. At the time, Yessica was five months pregnant with their youngest daughter, Evalett.

“It was hard for me, and then I just stopped going to school,” Yessica recalls.

A single parent again, Yessica was left with few options. She had a newborn baby, a fouryear-old and a teenager — arranging and affording childcare presented a challenge, not

29

to mention keeping up with rent and other expenses on her own.

“I had to ask for loans here, loans there, you know,” she says. “Ask for my fidelity, ask for my bank — like to keep up with the rent and everything else. And right now I owe a lot of money.”

Alfredo now lives just across the border in Tijuana, Mexico. It’s about an eight-hour drive for mother and kids to go and see their father — but they do try to visit as often as possible.

“Every time I have a break here, I’ll go see him,” Yessica says.

Challenges of the job Three years ago, TechCrunch referred to East Palo Alto as “the last 2.5-mile stretch of affordable housing in the heart of Silicon Valley” — but this is becoming less and less of a reality. For Yessica, living in the city where she was born and raised became an impossibility.

In her three-bedroom house, she shared space with three other renters, one of whom resided in the living room.

“There’s houses [with] like, I don’t know how many families living in there,” Yessica says. “And I didn’t want that for my kids, I was stressing so much.”

At Stanford Dining, Yessica gets paid $21.90 per hour. That may seem like a decent wage to

30

some, but for a single mother of three in one of the most expensive areas of the country, it barely makes ends meet.

“And I been here over 15 years,” she emphasizes.

Elizabeth Zacharias, Vice President for Human Resources at Stanford, says that the University conducts a living wage analysis every year, completed and published in October.

“And our union rates are above the living wage,” she adds.

As of last fall, Stanford’s living wage — which applies to employees of the University as well as its contractors — was set at $14.55 with health benefits or $16.54 without.

Yessica’s situation, however, puts an extra strain on her finances. Adjusting for three extra mouths to feed, no partner and no family in the area changes the situation considerably — almost tripling the wage necessary to get by, according to MIT’s living wage calculator, which estimates the living wage for a single adult in Santa Clara County at around $16.95 per hour.

Of course, it isn’t the responsibility of any employer to base wages on every individual worker’s needs. Regrettably, government assistance doesn’t always pick up the slack. The system doesn’t offer handouts to someone who gets paid as much as Yessica does.

The next day starts and ends the same way.

To qualify for the CalFresh food assistance program in Santa Clara County, the monthly income threshold for a family of four is set at $2,665, well under what Yessica earns per month. She knows people who do receive government aid, who either don’t work or work part-time, but Yessica says she doesn’t want that.

“I just want a better job,” Yessica says. “Better pay. I don’t think I’ll get anything higher here.

And we do a lot of work… It’s a lot of stress.”

Commercial kitchens are notoriously difficult work environments. Physical demands, risk of burns, cuts and other accidents, and a culture of sexism add up to make life especially challenging for female cooks. Yessica doesn’t mind being on her feet all day, but she does get hot and sweaty standing over the grill. Without the deep drive and passion that fuels so many cooks, it’s difficult to imagine powering through this demanding job.

Some of her colleagues have a different view of the work. Giselle Clements, a friend and coworker of Yessica’s at Arrillaga Dining, feels that workers need to think more critically about what they’re contributing, and what they’re asking for — “like in any relationship.”

Giselle agrees, of course, that living in the area can be tough and that, geographically speaking, pay is a struggle. “But then on the other hand,” she says, “it’s up to you, your growth, on how much money you’re gonna earn. You can’t just go to a job and be like, hey, I want a raise.”

Like Yessica, Giselle has been with Stanford Dining for 15 years. She is also a Food Service Worker Four — unlike Yessica, though, Giselle’s future pursuits lie in the greater culinary world, and she has been able to take advantage of the career incentives that Stanford Dining offers in this realm. Currently, she’s in an Apprenticeship Program to become a sous chef with R&DE. Giselle also participates in a newly founded Women’s Chef Collaborative, co-chaired by Chef Junelle Fronda and Chef Erica HollandToll. This network invites respected female chefs from the area to come and speak to R&DE workers; their goal is to support and inspire women in the industry.

Giselle, for her part, believes that Stanford Dining does notice and reward hard workers.

She wanted to earn a higher place (and higher pay) in the kitchen, and looks forward to

stepping into the role of sous chef through the Apprenticeship Program.

Yessica, whose career interests lie outside the kitchen, makes do with the job she has now.

A few years ago, Yessica says, she had an issue with her schedule. Even though she was a senior employee by this point, she was getting assigned to work some early mornings and some late nights throughout the week, which made it nearly impossible to take care of her kids.

“They were giving me a really hard time,” she remembers.

When she had a meeting with Human Resources (HR), she says, they told her that her assigned hours were the only option. If this was the case, Yessica felt her only real option would be to leave.

“I’m willing to go back to the dish room,” she recalls trying. “I’m willing to go take the position I used to have, you know, get paid less.”

But “they didn’t want to, they didn’t want to,” she says.

Finally, Yessica recounts, she told HR: “You’re making me decide between my kids and work.

I need the job, but what am I gonna do with my kids?”

If it came to an ultimatum, Yessica knew where her priorities lay. “I’ll just take my kids, you know I’ll figure it out,” she says.

According to Yessica, the HR representative

asked why Yessica couldn’t get someone to watch the kids for her or ask family to help out. But Yessica couldn’t afford professional childcare, and her family had gone. She told them: “No. I don’t have nobody. Nobody here.

It’s only me and my kids.”

It is R&DE’s policy not to comment on specific cases. However, R&DE stresses that all unionized workers have recourse through their union — Service Employees International Union (SEIU) Local 2007 — to address scheduling and compensation issues. Anne Marie Musto, executive director of Human Resources, explains: “If workers have a level of discomfort of coming forward to a manager, or even somebody in HR, they do have the avenue with their union representation. They always have that.”

Yessica’s conflict ultimately resolved in her favor, though she says her boss was not happy with her. She remembers him shoving a piece of paper in front of her and saying, “Okay, okay — here. Write your schedule in this paper.”

She did, she recalled, and that was the end of it.

“I think I am okay,” Yessica says of her situation now. “I don’t have no problems or anything.”

She comes to work, minds her own business, and spends as much time as she can with her family.

For folks who can’t arrange a carpool, make use of public transportation or bike to work, parking and the associated costs remain an issue.

31

The housing problem Yessica and her kids now live in Stanford West Apartments, where she receives a below-market rate as a Stanford affiliate. According to SEIU, she is one of only three Stanford union workers to have secured this subsidized housing in the area — out of a total of over 1200 workers represented by the union.

Staff housing is outside the purview of R&DE, but Stanford as an institution has contributed to the stiff competition for houses in the Bay Area. The University does have programs to secure housing for employees; SEIU Local 2007 worksite organizer Johannes Raatz says he feels that the workers who make the least amount of money are most often excluded from these opportunities.

“If the University is going to say that it’s providing housing for its community, that includes everybody. That includes service workers,” he says.

Yessica happened to be one of the lucky three who managed to secure an apartment in Stanford West, which her kids love. The complex has a gym and a pool and makes for an easy commute for mom.

Moving forward, the union plans to push for expanded housing. Stanford is negotiating a new General Use Permit with Santa Clara County this year, which will guide development plans on the University’s land through the year 2035. The union is hopeful that this plan will

32

include more housing units for University employees and will help address the “absolute crisis” that is housing in the Bay Area.

According to University spokesperson E.J. Miranda, the University recognizes the severity of the housing issue and is taking steps to tackle it holistically. Provost Persis Drell recently created a housing task force — comprised of leaders from the University Budget Office, R&DE, Land, Buildings & Real Estate, Faculty Staff Housing and University HR — in the interest of cross-departmental collaboration on the housing front.

“In the fall, we received approval from the City of Menlo Park to proceed with Middle Plaza,” E.J. says, “a new complex that will add 215 apartment units with an expected priority for Stanford faculty and staff.” However, per the project website, only “ten of the units will be designated in the Menlo Park affordable housing program for below-market-rate units for applicants at low income levels.” Faculty and staff are not eligible to use their priority status on these units as the affordable housing program is governed by the city, not Stanford.

Giselle and Yessica also feel that the University could be doing more to support workers in basic ways — for instance, with something as simple as parking.

“If they give us employee parking, that’s like $600 a year extra in my pocket,” Giselle says.

Union organizer Johannes agrees that parking presents a significant problem for workers, many of whom commute for hours

every day. ‘C’ Parking Permits cost just under $400 per year. However, Johannes says that those spaces are difficult to find after a certain time in the morning, and employees don’t want to be made late to work for lack of a parking space. ‘A’ permits cost over $1,000 per year.

“If you’re making $40,000 a year, there goes 2.5 percent of your income for the year,” Johannes says.

Contract negotiations are coming up in a little over a year for all service worker positions; parking and pay are both likely to be on the agenda.

Parking at Stanford is handled by Parking & Transportation Services rather than R&DE. The University does incentivize various commute options — including free parking for carpools as well as free Caltrain and VTA passes — in efforts to reduce carbon emissions and ameliorate the parking problem on campus. E.J. Miranda says that these programs have drastically reduced the drive-alone rate of Stanford commuters. For folks who can’t arrange a carpool, make use of public transportation or bike to work, parking and the associated costs remain an issue.

Soldiering on Logistically, Yessica’s days are challenging.

Every day at 6:30 a.m., she drops Evalett off at her sister-in-law’s house in East Palo Alto — Alfredo’s sister, who moved to the area about a year ago, takes Evalett to school. This is about

the only time Yessica sees her sister-in-law.

Yessica’s upstairs neighbor, who has a daughter in Suleyma’s class, takes Suleyma to school. Giovanni is old enough to get to and from school on his own. From 7 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., Yessica works, making burgers, fries and other grilled goods for the student patrons of Arrillaga Family Dining Commons.

She goes straight from work to pick up Evalett at 4:30 p.m. Suleyma, on the other hand, gets out from Escondido Elementary while Yessica is still at work, so she takes the bus to East Palo Alto, where she attends a Boys & Girls Club after school program. The program goes until 6:15 p.m. If Yessica tries to take her daughter out early, the program facilitators won’t want Suleyma to come back — they want kids who are going to participate fully. So Yessica and Evalett find something to do for an hour and a half before Suleyma is ready to go. They’ll all be home close to 7 p.m.

“And by that time, you know, they have to take a shower, maybe eat something else, because they’re still hungry,” Yessica says. “So they eat something, read books, whatever. It’s time for bed.”

The next day starts and ends the same way.

“I think I was able to keep up until now because my son helps me a lot,” Yessica offers.

Ever since he was about 12, Giovanni has been helping out with his younger sisters. He babysits them on Sundays, while Yessica works.

He even cooks for them.

“I think without him I would be, like, I don’t

know where,” Yessica continues.

Giovanni will graduate from Redwood High School this year.

“He’s about to go to college, and it’s like — I don’t have no money saved,” she worries.

She’d like to be able to buy him a car and set him up for the future. Still, she has worked hard to make sure he succeeded in school and found his stride. Right now her son’s plan is to attend Cañada College for two years, and from there he hopes to transfer somewhere else. He is interested in engineering but unsure exactly what his career path will be. Yessica has taken him to a few career counseling sessions, and she knows he’ll figure out his path sooner or later.

Yessica provides for all her children. Career counseling for Giovanni, who is now doing well in school, tutoring for Suleyma, “the sentimental one,” and mischief-management classes for Evalett — to “teach her how to be nice, kind.”

For Yessica, the dream is still to one day work in the medical field. Maybe when her daughters are older, she’ll be able to finish her GED and take steps towards the career she has always wanted. Maybe she’ll move to Riverside, to be closer to her mother. Maybe she’ll stay. Her children are growing up in a Silicon Valley very different from the one Yessica grew up in. This is a land of innovation, inertia and intellectualism, struggling to reckon with its ever more massive inequalities.

Yessica with two of her children.

Courtesy of Yessica Lopez-Ambriz

Contact Claire Thompson at clairet@stanford.edu.

“I think I was able to keep up until now because my son helps me a lot,” Yessica offers.

33

PACING

BY MARC HUERTA OSBORN

Across the street, by the sea-wall, an old woman paces back and forth.

With one hand she skims the waist-high wall for balance, her palm gliding over chalky concrete. Her other hand grips a black walking stick. She scoots down the entire length of sea-wall, pausing only where tangled brush swallows jutting rock; turns, scoots back the way she came. And repeats. She wears black sneakers and a baggy grey jumpsuit that ripples subtly in the wind, loose fabric rustling in little leaps as if invisible sparrows are pecking at her clothes and trying to lift her into the air.

I’m pacing along the same sea-wall but probably for different reasons. She does it, I think, for exercise, maintenance purposes.

A daily ritual to keep the blood moving. Maybe pacing soothes the pain in her knees. I wonder if she gets anxious during all those pacing-hours, fearful of squandering too much time by the ocean. Does she feel like she’s pacing toward death? Does she drift into wistful sky-blue memories, or think burrowing black thoughts of how she should be using her scarce time to do other things, nostalgic and artful things, anything other than pacing the sea-wall?

Anyway, she is pacing perhaps to feel less old or more alive, and I’m pacing to be efficient. I walk with my shirt off and a book in my hand, triple-tasking -- getting smarter, getting browner, getting thinner. I figure I’m saving time that way, reading and walking and tanning at the same time. I go out to the sea-wall and become a brownish smear of efficiency.

Another boon of the path out there by the sea-wall is the view.

A good view is important to deep reading. Every once in a while a sentence will crunch your chest so hard that you need to stop reading and think, to set aside a few moments for the sake of recoil and mental health. You look up from the page and let the threads of your scattered emotions knot themselves around the qualities of your view. A good gaze will ground your thoughts, allow some poignant clumps to take shape in your brain. That’s what I think.

I look up from the page and peer over the sea-wall, letting my vague sentiments congeal themselves around the substance of my view. My thoughts excavate the clammy mud and emerge from the seashore oily with mineral richness; they zip out toward the bay, dance on the surface of the water with the sun rays, ping upwards with a surge of Vitamin D; they hydrate in the low-hanging clouds, snatching water molecules as they shimmer in gaseous form amidst the San Francisco fog. With

34

the help of my view by the sea-wall, thoughts congregate around bickering seagulls, pelicans looming like bomber squadrons, gangs of roguish crows. That way, reflections dig deeper, fly quicker, become more likely to thicken into something round and rich and enduring. That way, too, I am saving time. I mustn’t waste the minutes thinking loosely. Haphazard thoughts are indulgent, distracting.

Wasted time.

So, a good view is essential. A real time-saver.

Maybe she’s there for the view, too. Perhaps she’s also trying to save time, think with real clarity and glue, collect her thoughts into some deep bedrock-type final reflections. I wonder if she tries to avoid haphazard thoughts like I do, fastening her gaze to some grounding point above the seawall, focusing real hard because she doesn’t want to waste her brain’s remaining operative time on pointless flights of fancy.

Shadrack worships National Suicide Day. In some weird and ancient way he covets Death. Sula has no moral code, no empathy (at least not in the traditional sense), only an obsession with control over her own fate and security.

A cat slinks across my path. My eyes and thoughts follow, stepping with him into the bushes.

Shadrack knows that suicide is a way to control fate. The town sees him as a devil because he steps outside the natural forces of God and time by advocating self-killing.

He worships suicide because it’s an act of infinite power, the absolute extreme of certainty and control. Sula, too, cares not at all for natural forces, nor emotional ones. She expels her grandmother from her home, watches her mother burn to death, sleeps with the husband of her only friend since childhood — not because she has any lust for men, love for wildness or ill-will toward anybody, but simply because she can. Because pointless provocation is a statement against the world, against the natural flow of things.

Or, maybe she’s just strolling. Not burning with anxiety.

Just killing time. Thinking hardly anything except that the pelicans look like her grandchildren playing in the water, or that the wind feels nice on her skin.

Like recognizes like. Shadrack tips his hat to Sula. She flees from that recognition. Sula has fear.

We are both pacing along the sea-wall, killing time, saving time. A crow shouts. Down below the sea-wall a man slips in the mud as he tries to reel in a fish.

And perhaps that is what they really have in common. Not devilishness, but fear. A time-anxiety and a desperate desire for control in a world that will one day — don’t doubt it for a second — send its little sparrows of fate to pick you up and scatter you to the winds forever.

Since we’re both walking along the same stretch of wall, our paths cross every once in a while. We walk at roughly the same speed, slowly, because she can’t move any other way and because my eyes are buried in the text of a novel and I can’t watch my feet as I walk. I’m absorbed in Toni Morrison’s “Sula,” reading a scene that will lodge in my brain like a stubborn baby-memory. Shadrack, the town’s mad advocate of National Suicide Day, makes eye contact with the beautiful and loveless Sula, their gazes converging over the surface of a deep water-well. Shadrack, the mean old war veteran who shows respect to no one, nobody except Death, tips his hat to her. Inexplicably, unprecedentedly.

Sula drops everything and bolts home.

The scene makes me feel something formless but potent, so I look up over the sea-wall at my mooring view, thinking hard and searching for a word or two, a name for the misty stuff that Morrison’s writing has stirred up in my diaphragm.

I’m close enough to the old woman now that I can hear the crisp impacts of her cane on the concrete — steady, rhythmic. There is also the soft scrape of her palm skimming the sea-wall surface. Her breath is faintly audible. A crow floats up behind her, wings spread out like a cloak, and bashes a clam against the walkway. He squawks victoriously and sets upon his meal.

The distance closes. I see an old woman pacing for exercise, she sees a kid with his nose in a book. Saving time, killing time. And she says to me the same thing she said yesterday, the same thing she’ll say tomorrow. “You might trip,” she warns, her accent unidentifiable, a kind smile creasing her wrinkled brown cheeks. She points to my book to indicate that she thinks I should keep my eyes on the road.

I smile back, quietly. She does not expect a reply. Crossing paths, we both look out over the sea-wall, sharing the sight of the sky.

35

crea

. e v ti

The following pieces were written by individuals who are incarcerated in the San Francisco county jail in San Bruno. The writers belong to a group run by the Stanford Prisoner Advocacy and Resources Coalition and managed by two Stanford law students, Amanda McCaffrey and Sophie Allen (also a Ph.D. student in sociology). The writers’ full names have been withheld to protect their privacy.

My Poetry Rick B.

I use my brain As a tool when I go to school I got knowledge because I could’ve been a fool It’s kinda hard growing Up in these type of days I used to make money In all type of ways Making babies that Don’t really make A man but when You raise them That’s when you Take a stand I wanna be around To watch my Baby sprout teach Her what life is About but I’m Sitting in jail With nothing to say it’s just another day (a) (bay) (bay)

Reality

DeAndre W. My Reality doesn’t seem real. I can’t believe that I’m locked up in a cell with the threat of a life sentenced.

It can’t end like this I’m not finished living. I’m a father now thinking of ways to explain to my daughter how……

Can I Share My Pain

Dedrick D.

Can I share my pain with you?

I want to break the chains that have bound me to suffering. I want to break the beliefs of the people what said I’ll amount to nothing.

Can I share my pain with you?

It’s a shame what a pain will make us do. I could point and blame my pain on you and say, “if you bring me pain then shame on you, because I didn’t have that coming!” But who am I to place blame?

Can I share my pain with you?

I want a woman that’ll nurture me 36

when I’m sad and let me cry in her arms. And when I’m nervous she’ll place her gentle hands in my shaky palms and tell me “it’ll be alright.”

Can I share my pain with you?

What if I said I was molested? Would you understand why I’m coy? Being taken advantage of as a little boy. So while I was loitering, fascinated by her embroidery, I was really uncomfortable while her hands were exploring me.

Can I share my pain with you?

I was shot at 10 years old! I’m still terrified. Not accepting my pain is the reason why I terrorize. But sharing my pain will help me heal inside so I ask, “can I share my pain with you?”

Crack in the Ground

Zejon W.

“They say light is the essence of all creation and with light we could see all of what we can’t see, or all of what we choose not to. Light has claimed the same of beginning, but what was before that?...”

-Béjor “Don’t stare too hard.”

Every day we are parents. We watch the rise of our sun and nurture the fall of our nights. Blessed to see the poetry of life, some of us are paralyzed by the beautiful forever sight. “...You’ll go blind,” Ms. Janet continued to warn. “Little Man you hear me?” She stepped out into the sunshine, exposing her youthfulness. Her chocolate skin melted in daylight, the earth breathed her scent. Little Man always felt when his mama was coming, he heard the song of her vibration in the air. She spoke only to his soul. “Little Man don’t stare into the sun like that, it’s bad for your eyes!” He focused his gaze towards his mother, showing full attention.

“Now look, mommi has a new job, okay? I will be able to make enough money to buy you three toys.” Little Man’s eyes lit up in excitement. “It’s just going to be me and you for a while and mommi is going to need your help. It’s time to be a big boy now, okay Little Man?” He nodded in agreement.

Ms. Janet grabbed onto her Little Man, leading the way. As they walked through the neighborhood Little Man jumped over from cube to cube trying to dodge all of the cracks in the ground. He believed stepping on a loose crack could split the earth in half. He and his mom arrived at their destination. “The Park!” Little said with full amusement.

“This is our new home now, Little, try to make some friends.”

She kneeled down to his height, placing a watch on his wrist. “Listen Man, I will be back at six, that’s three hours from now. I need you to be safe, okay?” She kissed her ten-year-old on his forehead. “Don’t leave,” she added before walking away.

“Tag you’re it!” a kid yelled while running away from Little Man. He waved before turning away to play. Ms. Janet caught the gesture and smiled.

“My name is Twan, what’s yours?”

“Little Man.” Twan looked surprised. “Little Man. What kind of name is that?” Three other kids ran over to meet Little Man, all introducing themselves. “I’m Art.” “I’m Jay Jay.” “I’m Joseph.”

“Where’s your hair?” said Jay Jay, being that he never really met a bald kid before.

“Shut up Jay Jay,” Art said. “You look skinny, Little Man. Come on you

guys, let’s get something to eat,” Twan commanded. All the kids followed his lead but Little Man. “Little Man! You coming?” said Art. “My mom said not to leave.”

“Come on Little, we’re only going down the street,” Joseph shouted.

“But my mom will be back in two hours.”

“Look Little, we only going down the street to the store, we’ll be back before she gets back,” Twan convinced. Little Man hesitated but followed after. “We are your friends now, Little,” Twan added.

“Hey you guys, wanna see something?” Twan asked. They all entered an abandoned building on Woodstock and North Philli. “This is our hang out, Little, you’re with us now, so come here if something happens to you.”

Joe spoke. “Look.”

Twan pulled out a long 9mm pistol from his jeans.

“Where’d you get that? Let me see!” Jay Jay yelled.

The kids crowded around to see the semi-automatic toy. Everyone hovered around Twan but Little Man. “You ever seen one of these, Little Man?” He shook his head no in response. “Here, hold it.” Little Man hesitated before grabbing the gun. He pointed it up towards Twan.

“Watch out! That’s nothing to play with.” Twan took the gun back. “Be careful! Don’t point it at none of us, okay.” Little Man nodded his head.

Twan placed the gun back on his waist. Little thought about what time it was. 4:30. His mom would lose her mind if she seen what he was doing.

He imagined her beautiful face turning from smile to down, like day to night. He wondered what she was doing, where she was at, how safe she was. He thought about how...

“Yo be cool” “No, I wanna see it too!”

“Jay Jay! Let go of the gun!”

Jay Jay and Twan tugged over the weapon. “Yo y’all need to stop!” Art screamed as they jerked the item once more. They jerked the weapon from both of each other, throwing it into the air. The gun flew across the room, landing on the floor. “BANG! BANG!” ...

“Help me pick him up Art!” yelled Twan.

“Hurry up, don’t just stand there!” said Joseph. Art picked up the body and threw it out the window. He looked down as it landed in the bushes.

“Poor Little,” he thought. Hopefully his mom could come to grips with this. “Come on, let’s go!” yelled Twan ...

9:30 p.m. “Have you seen my son?” Ms. Janet roamed the streets for two days till the police found Little Man dead in the bushes. He was shot twice; one in the head, one in the neck. True story.

37

THIS WILL BE AN AD!