state press magazine
As the school year begins, I would like to take this special moment to welcome you back to campus.
It feels like yesterday that I was a student at Howard University. I found forever friends, people who shaped me and supported me. I found my beloved Alpha Kappa Alpha sisters. Like many, college is when I started to become politically engaged. Together, we learned that progress happens in our country when young people fight for it.
Throughout my travels as Vice President, I love talking to young leaders. I am continually amazed by your grit, your perseverance, your intellect, and your deep passion for making our world better.
It is because of the record turnout among college students in 2020 that I am Vice President today. And to win this election, I need your support.
This November, so many of our fundamental freedoms are at stake. The freedom to vote. The freedom to live safe from gun violence. The freedom to love who you love, openly and with pride. The freedom to breathe clean air and drink clean water. And the freedom to make decisions about your own body.
Later this semester, you will have the opportunity to vote in an election that will decide the future of our country. You will have the power to shape our future. To continue to build the country you want to live in—one where your fundamental rights are protected—by taking to the ballot box and making your voice heard.
Your vote has never mattered more. When young people fight for progress, it changes the course of our nation. I believe in you. I am inspired by you. And I am rooting for your success.
Sincerely,
Vice President Kamala Harris
state press magazine
Contents
05 Setting sail: The long journey toward ADHD accommodations at ASU
09 No. 1 in imagination
15 A year of war and counting
23 Tears, sweat and stamina
30 Progress piece by piece
36 Forever ‘famous’
42 We live in history – realize it
EXECUTIVE EDITOR
Alexis Heichman
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Savannah Dagupion
MANAGING EDITORS
Audrey Eagerton
Leah Mesquita
DESIGN EDITOR
Lavanya Paliwal
ENGAGEMENT EDITOR
Paulina Soto
WRITERS
Fatima Gabir
Claire Geare
George Headley
Gib Manrique
Bella Mazzilli
Evan Silverberg
Abby Wilt
ILLUSTRATOR
Andrea Ramirez
PHOTOGRAPHER
Ollie Slade
Editor’s letter
Coming out of summer break and into the fall semester is always a whirlwind, but this year, the transition back into school felt particularly lively. As always, students were flooding back onto campuses and adjusting to the rhythms of their new schedules, but alongside move-in boxes and Canvas notifications were the Olympics and Paralympics, fresh seasons for sports, mounting presidential campaigns, ongoing activism and a bunch of other news flooding our social feeds. Simply put: Activity was buzzing this year and we wanted to cover it.
For this issue, writers took the concept of “active” and picked apart what it could represent. Two writers highlighted different advocacy efforts that have continued despite months, or even years, of activism. One writer hit the sidewalks to find out who has the most overactive imaginations on campus while another writer shared their experience as a childhood actor. In an insight piece, a writer shared his perspective on the internet’s fast-paced dissemination of information, and one writer focused on the concept of hyperactivity by covering the process of attaining SAILS accommodations with ADHD. Finally, our feature story dives into what it’s like rushing a sorority, discussing the pitfalls of bid day.
Editor’s note: The advertisements presented in this magazine do not imply any endorsement from The State Press or its editors.
the SPM crossword
3. According to “We live in history — realize it,” a college student’s new painstaking hobby is called ____.
5. This group advocated for queer rights at ASU during the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic.
7. To Yasmin Saikia, a Hardt-Nickachos Chair in studies, a historical event is one that can only be identified after its full impact.
8. Part of the recruitment process involves sorority girls dancing and shouting their house ____.
12. Alexa Carrillo, a freshman studying criminology, had a dream where she met ______ on a rollercoaster.
14. ASU graduate Tabark Abdelhabib is a part of the Sudanese ____ Network that works toward creating a more sustainable Sudan.
Stay tuned on our Instagram for the crossword answers.
Down
1. _____ dysfunction occurs when people with ADHD have difficulty managing their inhibition control, cognitive flexibility and working memory.
2. In “No. 1 in imagination,” the reporter’s ultimate fantasy is to own a dozen miniature ____.
4. The first openly gay mayor in the U.S. was Neil ____.
6. Round 2 of sorority recruitment at ASU is where the true test of ___ begins.
9. Sudanese people have fled to this country following the outbreak of war.
10. Sarah ____ shoved SPM reporter Claire Geare when they were fi ve years old.
11. SPM reporter Claire Geare has a Wikipedia page in this country.
13. ____ is the central campus resource for students with disabilities that helps them get access to necessary accommodations.
Setting sail: The long journey toward ADHD accommodations at ASU
Students find mixed results in accessing SAILS
by Bella Mazzilli
Illustrations by Andrea Ramirez
Chrystal Vazquez Garcia, a senior studying forensic psychology, was doing homework for one of her online classes when she came across a video that she was required to watch but was inaccessible to her. The video did not have captions, nor did it have distinct visual cues, which made it almost unwatchable for her as someone who has trouble processing audio.
presented by her Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, a developmental disorder defined by a few key symptoms that affect one’s behavior: inattention, hyperactivity and impulsivity.
It was this experience that led her to research disability accommodations at ASU, and that’s when she found Student Accessibility and Inclusive Learning Services.
SAILS is a “central campus resource for students with disabilities to ensure access to their education and help increase awareness in the university community,” according to its website.
After getting in contact with SAILS, she learned that this service could also help her with struggles
“ADHD is actually one of the most common mental health conditions,” said Lauren Friedman, an assistant professor in psychology. Friedman is the director of the Hyperactivity, Executive function and Attention Treatment lab, which studies children with ADHD and how they and their families are affected by the disorder.
has difficulty managing their inhibition control, cognitive flexibility and working memory. Other processes affected by executive dysfunction include planning, mental processing and problem-solving. Vazquez Garcia said that executive dysfunction makes her feel frozen and unable to function, even when she knows she has tasks to complete.
Vazquez Garcia said she had always known she had ADHD but wasn’t diagnosed until October 2022. Before her experience with learning accommodations, she would work diligently to ensure her executive dysfunction would not negatively impact her studies.
Executive dysfunction occurs when an individual
She applied for SAILS and started receiving accommodations this semester. Since then, SAILS has helped her achieve her goals without the stress of adapting to an educational system that was not created to suit people like her.
However, she admitted that the process of applying for SAILS was a bit confusing and inaccessible for someone with ADHD.
“The interface, like on the computer, it’s a little bit confusing if you don’t really know what you’re doing,” Vazquez Garcia said.
Her experience isn’t isolated, as other students with ADHD have also expressed that they had difficulties navigating the process to obtain accommodations.
SAILS and its counterparts
SAILS has offices on the Tempe, Downtown Phoenix, West Valley and Polytechnic campuses, but these offices do little to help students on satellite campuses, like ASU online and Lake Havasu, leaving them to coordinate accommodations through professors.
“There’s not an office [for satellite campuses], but we usually have people who we work with on-site that are kind of like liaisons,” said Chad Price, the director of operations for SAILS.
Krasnow has worked for the University for 21 years and said Counseling Services uses what he calls “feedback mechanisms” to ensure that the service benefits the community. This includes student satisfaction surveys, health advisory committees composed of students and university faculty and staff quality improvement studies.
SAILS is not the only service offered by the University that can help students experiencing difficulty with mental health. Counseling Services, like SAILS, is a part of Educational Outreach and Student Services. It provides student support at any hour of the day, free of additional charge.
“We train faculty and staff to be supportive and empathetic,” said Aaron Krasnow, associate vice president and director of Counseling Services.
SAILS also has a process for obtaining student feedback, which is a survey sent out at the end of each semester that asks students about classroom accessibility; however, “that information is actually conducted more from a University level, not necessarily our office,” Price said.
A history of accommodations
In 1973, the Rehabilitation Act established Section 504, which, according to the U.S. Department of Education, is “a federal law designed to protect the rights of individuals with disabilities in programs and activities that receive Federal financial assistance from the U.S. Department of Education.”
As a result, the 504 plan became one way to access learning accommodations in primary school settings.
Another way to access learning accommodations is an Individualized Education Program. IEPs became available in 1975 “when the right of students with disabilities to attend public schools were legally recognized under the Education for All Handicapped Children Act,” according to an article by Candid Schools.
A 504 plan and an IEP are often used interchangeably in conversation, but they hold some key differences. Both programs intend to help students with cognitive conditions that impact their education. However, Section 504 provides civil rights protections to individuals with disabilities. An IEP is school-specific, sets goals for the student’s performance and sets a baseline for how achievement is measured.
Learning accommodations for people with ADHD can include extra time to take tests or alternative test-taking environments. IEPs are only available for schoolchildren, but services like SAILS try to meet the needs of students who have aged out of the K-12 school system.
their work done,” said Ann Guthery, a clinical faculty member in the Edson College.
received accommodations from an IEP or 504 plan when they were younger, have received prior accommodations at
well if they can focus and get for an accommodation if they another university or have been diagnosed with a condition that impacts their function in everyday life.
Today, the issue is no longer recognizing that students with ADHD need accommodation. The problem arises when a student attempts to access these accommodations in systems that were often designed by those who are not affected by neurodevelopmental disorders such as ADHD.
The bumpy road to accommodations
For Elora Groeninger, a sophomore studying kinesiology, SAILS accommodations were inaccessible.
“The process of just registering is a little, I don’t want to say intimidating, but that’s kind of the word I’m leaning toward,” she said.
cannot navigate the SAILS will reach their full potential in
For students with learning and processing difficulties, a confusing website can be a dealbreaker. If a student cannot navigate the SAILS website, they will not be able accommodations they need and may not be able to reach their full potential in the classroom. The accessibility of the website and its layout directly affect the function of the students SAILS promises to serve.
Groeninger was diagnosed with ADHD right before starting college, and the physician who diagnosed her helped her find resources in Arizona, including SAILS. She had an initial consultation with a representative from SAILS, but when they told her she would have to come up with her own ideas for accommodations, she declined to continue the process.
“I chose not to do accommodations, primarily because I wouldn’t have known what those would have looked like,” Groeninger said. Had SAILS presented her with options for accommodations, Groeninger said she may have continued with the process.
To access SAILS accommodations, documents such as diagnostic forms, letters from
doctors or mental health care providers, and communication with professors must be presented through a registration form, according to its website. Then, students must wait to be contacted by an accessibility consultant to set up their initial consultation appointment.
In research for this story, State Press Magazine published a post on the ASU subreddit asking students to share their thoughts on receiving SAILS accommodations for ADHD. One subreddit user replied: “ You have to schedule an initial appointment that won’t even happen until late October because they’re so backed up.”
This can pose a challenge for people with ADHD because executive dysfunction can cause them to simply forget about following up. Also, students apply for accommodations throughout the semester as needed. If SAILS is backed up, by the time they respond, a student may have gone months without accommodations.
“I currently am trying to get accommodations with SAILS for ADHD… the system messed up my forms to be able to go in and do an ‘intake’ and on the first day I went in to talk with them, and the earliest appointment
was literally more than a month away,” another ASU subreddit user added. “It made me a little upset and frustrated because thinking about other students if someone needed to receive accommodations like ASAP it’s literally impossible from that standpoint.
“Ik a lot of people fake ADHD diagnoses because it’s seen as an easy out for testing or hw accommodations which isn’t cool but as someone that
has it … my accommodations for me look more different than just needing extra testing time or hw accommodations.”
Despite the bumpy road to receiving accommodations, students had positive remarks about SAILS once they were able to get the help they needed.
For Vazquez Garcia, it was Accessibility Consultant Elizabeth Baker who showed her that it was possible to
“Once I was there and I met me
No. 1 in imagination
A look into the thoughts that keep ASU students up at night or haunt them in their dreams
by Gib Manrique Illustrations by Andrea Ramirez
With about 140,000 students enrolled at ASU, there’s bound to be some major differences in the student population. With diverse people come diverse minds.
I wanted to get into the brains of some of these students and figure out what, exactly, makes them tick. I thought one of the best ways to do this would be to inspect their thoughts — put them in a petri dish and analyze them under my microscope, if you will. Whether that be dreams, nightmares, day dreams or ultimate fantasies, what goes on behind someone’s eyes gives a pretty solid insight into who they are.
I wanted to see the nitty gritty. I’m not just talking about your classic teeth-falling-out-of-the-mouth dreams. I wanted to hear about someone’s teeth falling out while they battled people with tubas in a Hunger Games-style arena or someone’s wish to own ten million warships.
I’m trying to figure out which students at ASU have the most overactive imaginations (haha get it? Overactive. Like The Active Issue).
“I’m gonna ask you some questions. You can interpret them however you want to, any possible way that comes to mind. Ready? Okay.
What’s your craziest dream? Wildest daydream? Ultimate fantasy?”
Ultimate
Lisa Chan, a freshman studying nursing
Lisa: “My craziest dream is that I had a younger brother — which I do not have in real life — and he got in trouble for something I did, so to spite me and my family, he poisoned our food with laxatives. I realized what he did, and I ran out of the room. I ran out in the street but he was chasing me! I had to hide behind cars and stuff. I was trying to get to my apartment and he was stomping around in the lobby. I’m waiting for the elevator and then I saw him looking for me. Eventually I think I just hid in a lobby bathroom but then it started levitating.”
old is your fake brother?”
Gib: “Oh! Oh my god. Uhm. Wait, so how old is your fake brother?”
Lisa:
Lisa: “He was like seven years old. I don’t know what he was doing but he had very evil intentions.”
Jackson Colvin, a freshman studying journalism
Jackson: “Oh… ultimate fantasy. Okay, loaded question. I think my ultimate fantasy is just living as absolutely happily as possible — just trying to make the most of this cool little gift we got out of nowhere, and um-” *very loud boom in the background. “Hopefully not get hit by a fucking truck. What the hell was that?”
Gib: “Dude I don’t fucking know.”
Jackson: “Okay well, that’s about it. I wanna be fulfilled, I wanna be happy and I want to experience life.”
Audrey Eagerton, State Press Magazine managing editor
“I dream about my enemies and anyone who has slightly wronged me giving me a heartfelt, sobbing apology. When I’m staring out a window on a road trip, I’m most likely thinking about an argument from two years ago, but in this alternate reality, my ex-best friend realizes that she is wrong and that I am right. In these dreams, I sometimes forgive her, other times I walk away. High ground secured.”
Caleb Butler, a freshman studying community health
“My wildest dream is buying a house and two cars within a day. Because [of] my nursing job, I know it probably wouldn’t work that way. The car I would buy would be a BMW I8 actually, and I would live either in a mansion in the hills of L.A., San Diego or just a big penthouse in New York.”
Brianna Le, a junior studying psychology
Brianna: “My craziest dream [is to be] a comic book artist for Marvel Studios. I know it sounds kind of stupid, but I think it would be really cool.”
Gib: “Are there any ideas of what you would want to write?”
Brianna: “Literally anything. I’ve always been a big fan.”
Idaly Banuelos, a junior studying kinesiology
“If I could do anything with no risk, I would probably be a drag queen. I’ve thought about it a lot — I have so much respect for the artistry. Drag queens have to be skilled in everything: performance, makeup, sewing, managing and booking. But also I want to be an occupational therapist. I really want to work in neurological rehab and pediatrics. Maybe I’ll be the first drag queen occupational therapist.”
Alexa Carrillo, a freshman studying criminology
Alexa: “I had a dream that I met this celebrity called Debby Ryan on a rollercoaster.”
Gib: “What rollercoaster?”
Alexa: “The farm — Knotts Berry!”
Gib: “Why Debby Ryan?”
Alexa: “Because I was compared to her recently!”
Athena Asselin, a freshman studying public service and public policy
“My ultimate fantasy is living in a little swamp and having a lot of little critters around me — having a lot of little friends. And maybe positively influencing local education, specifically policy making.”
Savannah Dagupion, State Press Magazine editor-in-chief
“If you’ve kept up with any of the content I’ve written for State Press Magazine over the years, you’d know that I’m Native Hawaiian. Therefore, my ultimate fantasy is that people stop exploiting Native Hawaiian culture and land, travelers visit respectfully and lose their sense of entitlement, and foreign investors stop driving up the housing prices and forcing many locals into homelessness.
I fantasize that people understand Hawaiʻi’s history — how the United States government illegally took over a sovereign nation and turned it into a state. I also fantasize that we can implement a more sustainable economy rather than one that relies on tourism. I hope Native Hawaiians can have more autonomy over their land, the government and the issues that affect them, and I hope Native Hawaiians are excited to perpetuate their culture through ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, traditional practices, oral history, education, advocacy and policy.
Either that, or like a flower and succulent farm would be cool.”
Leah Mesquita, State Press Magazine managing editor
“I have a recurring nightmare where I’m going to give birth and I’m about to die. I’m almost always lying down, sometimes in a bed, but never in a hospital. I’m always alone. It’s like an exorcism. I’m not sure why I dream about it, but it’s never anything pleasant. Maybe because I’m a lesbian or maybe because the idea of motherhood scares me, but I’m always having a psychotic break when it happens. I have so many questions for this pregnant version of myself. Am I straight now? Where is my girlfriend? Did she sell my body to the devil and now I’m carrying the antichrist? My mind only knows.”
I guess it’s time for me to answer my own question. Make my bed and lie in it. I have yet to reveal my wildest dream or ultimate desire.
Well, I often have a dream about being in a house. Not a particularly fancy one, but it’s good enough. I’m drinking tea and watching the wind blow through the fl owers and leaves outside. Everyone I love is an easy 10-minute walk away. It’s always 75 degrees in this dream. I guess this dream means I want peace for myself or something lame like that. Not a million dollars or fame or whatever. Just some kind of peace.
Sorry gang. I left this on a weird, melancholic personal note. I take back everything I just said. My ultimate fantasy is to own a dozen miniature horses and create my own miniature horse farm and then make one bo-billion dollars with my multi-level marketing miniature horse scheme. There we go. Much better.
A year of war
Sudanese Americans living in Arizona reflect on their advocacy efforts over time
by Fatima Gabir
Photos by Lavanya Paliwal
Over a year of war in Sudan and nothing has changed. Sudanese people all over the diaspora are drowning in grief as their home country suffers widespread destruction and the world ignores their screams. Sudanese activists continue to speak out against the war despite being thousands of miles away, while struggling to get bystanders to care about the atrocities of sexual violence, famine, destruction, displacement, death and horror on the ground.
That’s exactly what people in Sudan, South Sudan and Chad have faced since the war began.
On April 15, 2023, fighting between the nation’s military group, Sudanese Armed Forces, and the paramilitary group Rapid Support Forces broke out in Sudan’s capital city Khartoum. Since then, almost 15,000 people have been killed and Sudan has faced the worst displacement crisis in the world.
My mother visited Egypt this past spring and noted the somber mood among Sudanese people — including her brothers and sisters — who had to flee to Egypt for safety. She saw how depressed they were from financial problems, experiencing trouble with their stay visa and getting no help from the government since they were displaced in April 2023. My family’s hardship is just one example of the struggles Sudanese people are facing worldwide as a result of the war.
Imagine the region you currently live in has over 25 million people at risk of the world’s largest hunger crisis.
Tensions rose following the Sudanese Revolution in April 2019 when former President Omar al-Bashir’s 30-year regime ended, which was riddled with humanitarian crises. The dictator is wanted by the International Criminal Court for crimes against humanity, war crimes and genocide.
After the revolution, an agreement on a transitional government was signed between civilian forces and the military, forming the Transitional Sovereignty Council. In October 2021, SAF leader Abdel Fattah al-Burhan led the Sudanese army in a coup to seize power from the civilian representatives in the council, interrupting Sudan’s path to democracy.
Al-Burhan repeatedly said the military would return authority to elected civilians, and he ended up striking a deal with Sudan’s prime minister to reestablish the council and share power; however, the prime minister’s role dramatically shrank as part of the deal, and he resigned, leaving de facto control of Sudan to al-Burhan.
Al-Burhan is now leading the SAF in the war against his former second-in-command, Mohamed Hamdan “Hemedti” Dagalo, who turned against him and is now leading the RSF. The RSF originated as the Janjaweed, Arab tribal militias armed by Omar al-Bashir to fight against ethnically African rebel groups in Darfur. Both sides are fighting for control over the country and its resources.
Significant destruction has hit Khartoum’s infrastructure, leaving education, healthcare and even clean water inaccessible to civilians. Meanwhile, fighting spread to the Darfur and Kordofan regions, increasing violence and unrest. Civilians continue to be threatened by physical and sexual violence as well as looting, destroying and people taking over their homes.
and counting
The atrocities in Sudan may seem far away to many, but Sudanese people in Arizona and at ASU are in a constant state of mourning. At the same time, they are still working tirelessly to advocate for their country. The war in Sudan is not “forgotten,” it is ignored. If you are advocating for Palestine, you should be advocating for Sudan. If you are a women’s rights and climate activist, you should be advocating for Sudan.
‘Advocate for humanity’
Heba Saad, a senior studying entrepreneurship and finance,
noticed a need for an organization in the Valley primarily dedicated to Sudanese advocacy. In March 2024, she founded Sudanese Youth For Change Arizona to create a unified platform for fundraising, planning action items and providing information about what’s going on in Sudan for people interested in advocating.
Within the first few days, Hazaar Sharif, a sophomore studying neuroscience, and I joined Saad and became the first members of SDYFC. Sharif felt discouraged by the lack of support for Sudanese people in
activism spaces, especially in the Muslim community.
“I felt like the activism around [Sudan] was performative — people would put flags in their bio and not really know what they’re talking about,” Sharif said. “When Heba asked me to join, I thought this was a great opportunity to show people how to help Sudan.”
SDYFC, which initially started as an Instagram account, received many contacts from community members for collaborations on their fundraisers, protests and events for Sudan.
However, Saad came across challenges when it came to working with other groups, saying that organizations looking to collaborate were trying to center their own political agenda and using Sudan and Sudanese people as a platform.
“[They’re like], ‘I advocate for Sudan because I am an abolitionist, not because I care about Sudanese people,’” she said.
“They hear about [the war], they see the surface information and think ‘this fits into what I believe’ but not take the time to actually learn about Sudan is what I realize is a problem,” she added.
“What is the culture like? What are their beliefs? What are some of the smaller things that led up to this war? You need to understand those perspectives to understand what’s going on in Sudan and to fully center Sudanese voices.”
Saad, Sharif and I also experienced challenges within our own communities.
“It’s this endless excuse and shift of responsibility when it comes to advocating for Sudan,” Saad said.
Not only that, but Saad has come across people at events about Sudan who don’t even know where or what the country is.
“I feel like people need to give more attention to Sudan on an individual level,” Saad said.
SDYFC wanted to focus on the Muslim community by having events at the mosque but haven’t had much luck with participation. Saad said that many people are making excuses for not wanting to talk about Sudan, often blaming the Sudanese community for not being involved.
“If you feel a responsibility for something, you wouldn’t need [a person involved] to go and tell you [to have one],” Saad said. “Why should I have to go and beg you to advocate for humanity?”
Sharif also noticed that people have become “desensitized to the idea of African suffering when advocating for African countries.”
Sudan has seen many wars throughout history, often causing people to believe that war is normal for the country; however, no matter how many problems a country has, a war is not something anyone should be used to.
“We need to be able to lean on one another and care for each other as Muslims,” she said.
“You can’t just abandon one person while helping others and call that unity.”
going to do to get their votes? They’re going to try and fix the issue.”
Faithful
“It’s still war, and people are still reaching out and Sharif said.
Sudanese people who have been displaced, like my family, lost their money from bank or house robberies and from leaving everything in Sudan behind. My family in America continues to send money because many members of my family are out of work. Those still in Sudan are also reaching out for help to flee and to support their families.
One of the best ways to help Sudan locally is to talk to local government officials on the United Nations Humanitarian Aid Committee or those who vote on public international affairs. In Arizona, it’s representative Greg Stanton. By reaching out, people can push him to support bills for humanitarian aid.
“You need to have [government officials] know that Sudan is a red line and a big political issue,” Saad said. “Especially during election season, if they see that constituents care about a certain issue, what are they
In Islam, we have a Hadith from the Prophet Muhammad (SAW) about the Ummah being one body. This essentially means that when one Muslim hurts, so does every Muslim. But for Sudan, “you never see [Muslims] feel that suffering,” Sharif said.
Tabark Abdelhabib spent the summer abroad in Cairo, where most of her family was displaced. The visit was an opportunity to check on her family and understand what they went through.
“A lot of them are depressed, probably a little bit in shock, but faithful — faithful their situation will change and things will get better,” she said. “Their faith, Deen and Iman, are pushing them through this moment.”
Abdelhabib graduated from ASU in 2020 and is a member of the Sudanese Diaspora Network, a global initiative that “[unifies, mobilizes, and empowers] the youth towards a better, more sustainable Sudan,” according to its website.
Abdelhabib and other members bring action items and events from the network to Arizona, like the annual Layali Ramadan Iftar dinner. At this dinner, the community comes together to celebrate the holy month of Ramadan and initiate fundraising campaigns and charities for Sudan. Abdelhabib was one of the leading organizers for this year’s Iftar, which was held in the Memorial Union on March 30 and partnered with the Sudanese American Association at ASU and SDYFC.
“What made it unique [this year] is that we brought more attention to Sudan from the non-Sudanese community,” she said. “I would say there were maybe 70% non-Sudanese and 30% Sudanese folks.”
Saad also discussed the success of the Iftar. The event had a large volunteer team and support from the community. According to Saad, the event raised over $7,000 for Sudan.
SDN and other Sudanese organizations, such as Nas Al Sudan and SDYFC, participated in the Sudanese Action Campaign to raise awareness for Sudan. While everyday people are interested in learning more and finding ways to help Sudan, Abdelhabib said it is difficult to get responses from bigger institutions like the media.
“The response is none,” she said. “Big media outlets are the ones that don’t invest in Sudan. We have a lot of Sudanese-based journalists
who emphasize the importance of interacting, sharing and boosting these posts. I’ve been getting many more responses from everyday people than from institutions.”
This is not the first time the media has been criticized for the lack of coverage of Sudan. Last year, The Nation released an article saying that the lack of media coverage of the war may promote the perception that the conflict is improving.
Due to little media coverage on the war, Sudanese people in
the diaspora have taken education and advocacy into their own hands even amid dealing with survivors’ guilt.
“One of the only ways we can support and engage in advocacy work is to care for ourselves so we don’t burn out,” Abdelhabib said. “I think the exhaustion comes from family members, loved ones, experiencing displacement and not knowing how much you can help.”
Tears, sweat and stamina
The pitfalls of sorority recruitment
by
Abby Wilt
Photos by Ollie Slade
The curls in my hair were falling perfectly. My nails matched my white dress and heels. This was an outfit I picked out months ago. My whole ensemble, orchestrated to guarantee acceptance. I was hopeful the fourth round of sorority recruitment would fulfill its promise of helping me find my “forever home.”
A couple minutes after I arrived for my 8 a.m. call time, I found myself making a decision I never thought I’d make — to leave. Walking away, my face was damp with tears and sweat. My mind reeled with doubts about my self-worth and girlhood.
I passed girls smiling from ear to ear, a reaction I can only assume meant hopes fulfilled. It was another sting.
Then, I passed other girls. Ones who looked like me. Eyes swollen with tears, clinging to the comforting embrace of their Rho Gamma, an unaffiliated sorority member who helps Potential New Members navigate recruitment, and debating whether to make the same decision I did.
weekends and demanding an immense amount of stamina and social battery.
The process is divided into four rounds, each with a different theme and focus. During each round, PNMs meet with girls from a handful of houses. Houses select which girls are invited back for the next round and PNMs rank which houses they want to return to or drop. Each round, the selection pool gets smaller until girls are matched up with their final house on bid day — a grand unveiling and celebration for girls who are offered a bid to join a sorority.
The hope is that girls end up with a house that aligns with their personal values and is a place they envision themselves making lifelong friends. Before signing up, current sorority members share heartfelt stories with PNMs about how their sorority helped them find friends they now call “sisters,” a second home and a place of belonging.
In this whole process, they never told me I would have to grieve. All of the time, effort and emotion I invested was now buried in the back of my closet with the brand new $50 dress I never got to wear.
As I ruminated over the disappointment and confusion, one thing comforted me — I knew I wasn’t the only girl who felt like this.
Round 1 - Open House
Sorority recruitment is like a festival, spanning across two
“When I was going through recruitment, what I was mainly looking for was my home away from home, and I told multiple people that during recruitment. I just wanted a community of girls that I could lean on, especially being an out-of-state student,” said Tinley Strittmatter, a member of Alpha Phi and vice president of recruitment external for the Panhellenic Association.
Freshmen cling to these stories, expecting the recruitment process to bring them the same thing. So they pay the $85 application fee, buy new outfits for each round’s dress code and let their anticipation build until it’s time for round one — open house. During this round, girls watch
trailers made by each house and rank their favorites in their PNM Companion app. The rankings are then locked in by the Rho Gammas.
That’s round one.
“Success in the recruitment process is members finding their sorority and our sororities growing in their membership,” said Bridgette Wynn, coordinator of sorority and fraternity life, in a written statement.
Round 2 - Philanthropy
On the morning of round two, girls are given a schedule of the houses that selected them. They may have all of the houses they selected or none. Out of all 12 chapters, I ended up with seven.
This is the first round where PNMs talk with girls who are already members of the houses. The conversation topics center mostly around the house’s chosen philanthropy. This round has the shortest time slot for conversation.
Before PNMs enter the house, they are asked to line up single file under the boiling Arizona sun. Makeup is melting, sweat stains are forming and the true test of stamina begins.
As PNMs chat with the girls next to them, hoping to distract themselves from the 100 degree heat, a rumbling starts from inside each sorority house. Suddenly, sorority girls can be seen dancing and singing from atop the balconies. The doors of the house swing open and more girls are seen shouting one of their house’s chants.
“ALPHA ALPHA ALPHA DELTA PI LIKE IT, LOVE IT, ME OH ME OH MY I’M A MEMBER OF A GREAT SORORITY IT MAY BE ON EARTH BUT IT’S HEAVEN TO ME
SINGING ALPHA ALPHA
ALPHA DELTA PI (LA LA LA)”
PNMs then file in, each one paired up with a member of the house. The member walks the PNM down a tunnel of other members, who are still dancing and chanting, until they reach a seat.
Conversation begins. The only caveat is, the room is about as loud as a concert. Mouths hover over ears, vocal cords fry and the timer starts ticking.
PNMs repeat the process for however many houses they were invited to that day. Some stay all day, some only part. After their last house, they rank which ones they want to return to for round three which are then locked in by their Rho Gamma.
Round 3 - Sisterhood
One of the main selling points for sororities is the social opportunities they provide. Instagram feeds are filled with pictures of girls hand-in-hand with their sorority sisters and captions that read:
“We are so proud to be Alpha Phis, and love spending our days with our sisters by our side!”
Or
“Our best friends were waiting for us when we went DZ, and now yours are waiting for you too!”
Starting college is scary. The idea of finding a community of people that feels like home is appealing and exciting.
“ASU is such a big school, and I [felt] like [joining a sorority was] a really beneficial
opportunity, so I ended up going through recruitment [that] fall,” said Ella McDade, president of Kappa Alpha Theta.
Round three mimics the same process as round two, except for this round, PNMs learn about what unites the girls in each house. This is when PNMs start deciding which houses align with their values and where they see themselves fitting in.
After the round, PNMs, once again, rank their favorite
houses and lock them in. Round three is when stakes start rising. Girls have a clearer idea of where they want to be and begin investing their emotions.
“During Theta’s sisterhood round specifically, I was able to see how every individual member had something unique about them, whether it was something they were involved with outside of the sorority or just something from their past that makes them the person they are today,” McDade said.
Round 4 - Preference
Preference is the fourth and final round of recruitment. For this round, PNMs have only two houses. One of the two will be their final house.
This round is like a ceremony. Members put their house on a pedestal and gush about how it changed their lives. Some houses can be heard softly serenading PNMs or performing traditions unique to their chapter. This is the most formal round and the longest.
For some girls, they can end up with two options that go against what they were told to look for: a house that feels like home, lifelong friends and a philanthropy they are passionate about.
The illusion of choice sinks in for these girls. Some feel robbed of it completely. This is the round when many girls decide to leave before they are contractually obligated to wait one year before they are allowed to join another sorority if they choose to not accept their bid or drop out of their house after they join. This contract is called the Membership Recruitment Acceptance Binding Agreement and PNMs are required to sign it after preference.
This is the round when I decided to leave. I couldn’t justify spending hundreds of dollars every semester to be a part of a house I didn’t see myself fitting in.
“I actually had one girl who, on the last day, had two houses she said she didn’t see herself in and that the conversations never really clicked. I told her to go through the day. Preference, in my opinion, is such a great experience,” said Kata Owens, a Rho Gamma during fall recruitment and a member of Alpha Omicron Pi.
“That’s how I fell in love with my chapter. Unfortunately, she went through those two rounds and decided the houses really weren’t for her and that maybe Greek life wasn’t for her at all, so she withdrew.”
Morgan Walton, a junior studying communication, withdrew from formal recruitment in Fall 2023 because she was also assigned houses that she felt didn’t match her interests. Eventually, she found a home at Kappa Alpha Theta in Spring 2024 through a less formal recruitment process called continuous open bidding.
“When it came down to pref, I was a little bit surprised that I didn’t get back who I expected, so that’s when I decided that I will wait and hopefully my time will come again soon,” she said. “It was definitely heartbreaking. As each round is going on, it gets more personal. You feel more toward that house, so I think I was definitely brokenhearted that I didn’t get them back.”
Sororities have perfected the process of blinding people with bright smiles, polished personas and flagrant displays of womanhood. What isn’t seen are the girls who are tossed
aside and forced to contemplate why they weren’t good enough to be a part of a seemingly accepting social club. It’s a type of rejection that will haunt them.
Bid Day
Bid day — the final day of sorority recruitment and the most exciting.
Nervous ripping of envelopes, girls skipping to their new
home and into the embrace of their new sisters. Parties are thrown to welcome the new member class of each house. It’s a swarm of squeals, happy tears and relief.
The girls who decided to leave watch from social media and cry more tears for the opportunities they now have to miss out on.
For the majority of girls, going through sorority recruitment was one of the best decisions they made in college.
“The friendships I have made have been unmatched,” McDade said.
“Being in a sorority is one of the best experiences I’ve ever had,” Strittmatter said. For others, it’s a process that left an indelible mark on their sense of self.
During Fall 2024 recruitment, around 1600 girls signed up. Out of the 1600, 1200 girls were offered bids. That left around 25% of girls who withdrew or didn’t get a bid at all.
“The PNMs can’t drop a house, it’s only the sororities that can drop a girl,” Strittmatter said about the “mutual” selection process. “Each chapter does it differently, and it’s not something we can really disclose.”
The recruitment process isn’t a promise of a forever home. There is a fulfilling social scene for the girls who reject or who were rejected by Greek life. Weeks, months and now years have passed, and I look back on my recruitment experience with gratitude for showing me that there are other people, places and traditions that make my college experience valuable.
Progress, piece by piece
Current and former ASU students reflect on the institution’s progress toward establishing an on-campus LGBTQ+ resource center
by Evan Silverberg
Photos by Ollie Slade
In 1996, Tempe Mayor Neil Giuliano was reelected just months after coming out as gay, making him the first openly gay mayor elected to office in United States history. But as Student Body President at ASU in the early ‘80s, Giuliano had not yet gone public about his sexuality. He described the experience of being a gay student at ASU in the ‘70s and ‘80s.
“It was a double life. It was closeted,” he said. “I would say the vast majority [of gay students] were closeted.”
Because of this, finding other queer students was difficult. The most common place to do so were run-down gay bars, but some chose more drastic measures.
openly gay students on campus. Free Spirit was a small group of gay men who advocated for queer rights at ASU during the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic.
“The gay activists at the time, quite honestly, they gave us who were closeted sort of the safety of the closet,” Giuliano said about the relationship between Free Spirit members and closeted gay students. “They knew who we were, we knew who they were, and they played such a valuable role in shifting society and moving the culture.”
“There were these ads in the back of the New Times — almost like gay romance ads … and you could kind of very clandestinely try to meet people that way,” Giuliano said.
According to Giuliano, there was one organization of
Since then, the landscape for queer students at ASU has improved dramatically. The University now has a massive community of openly LGBTQ+ students, and Free Spirit has been succeeded by the Rainbow Coalition, the umbrella organization for LGBTQ+ clubs on campus.
Now, Tempe’s new Undergraduate Student Government President Mason DoVico has achieved exactly what Giuliano avoided doing in the ‘80s: becoming the first openly gay student body president.
DoVico, a senior studying political science and business, announced after being elected in April that he is “Arizona State University’s first openly gay, Latino Student Body President.” A feat that would’ve been considered unthinkable a few decades ago, it is a testament to the substantial progress made by gay rights movements both at ASU and nationwide in recent years.
Due to the work of Free Spirit and subsequent queer rights organizations on campus, the stigma surrounding being a member of the LGBTQ+ community has mostly faded.
DoVico has touted his win as a victory for equality and inclusion at ASU and has committed to help make the University an inclusive space for all students.
“I find pride in who I am,” he said. “I wouldn’t apologize for it in any way, just as I expect nobody else to apologize for who they are in any way.”
Giuliano had encouraging words for DoVico: “I’m glad that it’s not a big deal,” he said. “I’m glad that it’s not an issue and that he’s not being judged by his sexual orientation, he’s being judged by the job he’s gonna do, the work that he wants to get done.”
Although DoVico’s position suggests that stigma is fading, it certainly hasn’t fully disappeared, and queer rights activists at ASU argue that the University is still chronically behind the times in implementing institutional change that would benefit queer students.
One example is the push to get an LGBTQ+ resource center established on campus.
An LGBTQ+ resource center at ASU was first proposed in 2006. Nearly two decades and numerous failed proposals later, students are still trying to get it approved.
‘An investment in queer students’
Students and staff advocating for the resource center are requesting the creation of an on-campus safe space designated for queer students where they can feel comfortable, avoid harassment and seek necessary resources while at ASU. In addition, they are calling for a room and dedicated staff specifically for this purpose.
decades.
“[The LGBTQ+ resource center] can be a place where those who feel isolated, or don’t feel like they belong, can come to break isolation, to feel connected, to cultivate a sense of safety, to enhance their sense of belonging, to partake in activities, to help build community,” Adelman said.
Michael Kintscher, a Ph.D. student studying computer science, has firsthand experience advocating for an LGBTQ+ resource center on campus as a former officer for the Rainbow Coalition and a founding member of GRADient, the only queer graduate student organization at ASU.
Madelaine Adelman, a professor in the School of Social Transformation, has done extensive research on LGBTQ+ issues in schools and has been fighting for queer rights on campus for nearly three
“Right now, I would say queer students are tolerated on campus, but not welcome,” Kintscher said.
Because of this, they feel a safe space would be important to many queer students on campus.
“This student center is a physical manifestation. It’s an investment in queer students,” Kintscher said.
Its existence, they claim, would not just provide queer students with a safe space and sense of community, it would be a sign of good faith to LGBTQ+ students and a vital step in making queer students feel welcomed, not just tolerated.
“Space conveys visibility, existence and power on a campus, and not having a dedicated space contributes to invisibility,” Adelman said. “The absence itself can be interpreted by students, faculty and staff, that the population — the community — is not a priority.”
“We know that there’s a disproportionate number of queer students who are facing hardships, like harassment, or lack of housing, or issues with financial aid based on family estrangement, so a resource center can also be a conduit for information that some students don’t even know where to start, to go,” she added.
Queer rights activists on campus argue that an LGBTQ+ resource center at ASU is far from an extreme demand.
Countless colleges across the country have adopted such centers, including schools with fewer students and less money than ASU. Even UA has one, which was established back in 2007.
many queer students coming to ASU may expect the University to have such a center and that those students may feel ignored when they find out that the space does not exist.
‘We’re not building separate spaces for separate groups’
Kintscher described the school’s response to calls for a resource center as a mix of ignoring them and saying a lot of words but not backing it up with action.
ASU has, at multiple points, rejected proposals for an LGBTQ+ resource center, and University President Michael Crow on several occasions has told students, the public and The State Press that he is opposed to one.
“[An LGBTQ+ resource center] is a common component for universities and colleges to contribute to a better climate for queer students on campus,” Adelman said. She added that
According to Kintscher and Kelly Baur, a Ph.D. student studying linguistics, last year the Graduate Student Government President Megan McCaughan offered to create a temporary queer safe space in the Graduate Student Center, and GSG approved the decision; however, Kintscher and Baur said that they, along with many student activists and members of GSG, claim the University sent “veiled threats” to take the entire Graduate Student Center away. Because of unrelated
GSG infighting, this temporary resource center is no longer open to students.
The school’s grounds for rejecting the concept is the belief that all spaces at ASU should be a safe space for all students.
“We want every person in every building to be treated the same, and if you start building buildings for this group or that group, all of a sudden you’re now saying, well, that’s who can go into that building,” Crow said in a meeting with The State Press last year.
Baur argued that the existence of several churches on campus contradicts this attitude.
Crow reaffirmed his position at the President Crow Student Forum on September 10. “We’re not building separate spaces for separate groups,” he said. “We have the student pavilion on the Tempe campus.”
“[Crow’s stance] is great on paper, but that’s not the lived reality of people from marginalized communities,” Baur said. “It’s this very neoliberal understanding of inclusion, where we just include everyone … but it doesn’t take into account that if there’s white supremacists or fascists or homophobic people, that inherently doesn’t make that space inclusive for all of those marginalized groups.”
For certain queer students, there is no safe space on campus — nor is there a safe space for queer faculty.
In October 2023, David Boyles, an openly gay English professor at ASU, was harassed and then physically assaulted by two members of Turning Point USA, a right-wing political organization with a heavy on-campus presence. The professor sustained injuries, which he later said were “relatively minor.” Although the attack sent shock waves through the LGBTQ+ community at ASU,
Crow and the administration’s response left much to be desired in many of the eyes of those who advocated for the professor.
“A lot of members of our queer student community were quick to point out that, while President Crow did use some strong language in his statement, that it was never backed up by any action, and as of today literally nothing has changed,” Kintscher said.
“If our University is going to treat their literal employees like this, how are they going to treat us as students?” Kintscher asked.
The new president’s stance
and said he will place heavy focus on making the resources ASU already has more accessible.
“ASU has so many resources,” he said. “I think working with ASU admin is definitely going to be a big priority to ensure that we can refine those resources, to ensure that students have an easier way to go about [accessing them].”
“There are so many different avenues that we can explore with a possible [LGBTQ+ resource] center,” DoVico said; however, he avoided taking a hard stance on the issue.
Hope for the future
Despite the University’s aversion to the idea, queer activists at ASU remain hopeful about the prospect of a queer student center. Although getting the space that meets students’ demands is important, this issue is about more than the room itself.
“Visibility and representation really matters,” Kintscher said.
“My main thing would be that I sort of ensure that ASU as a whole is a place that LGBTQ+ students feel safe,” he said, echoing Crow’s sentiments. DoVico said he feels 100% safe as an openly gay student at ASU
When asked how students can help, Kintscher said “talking about it and asking questions is the single most important thing — making sure that the administration and the University knows that this isn’t three students in a corner
asking for this. This is something that there’s general interest in and an expectation that students, especially in our generation, have when they come to a campus.”
“I’m surprised and sad if queer students today think they need that,” Giuliano said on calls for an LGBTQ+ resource center, but he indicated that he supports queer students at ASU advocating for what they think is necessary. “If there’s a need,
students are going to need to mobilize and support each other.”
Students and staff agree that the creation of an LGBTQ+ resource center would not mark the end of the fight for inclusion for LGBTQ+ students, but it would show ASU’s commitment toward real change.
As a gesture of good faith to other LGBTQ+ community
members, Kintscher always wears a rainbow wristband to class.
“I got this at Phoenix Pride in 2019, and I wear it almost every day on campus. And that’s just because it’s my small way of being like ‘Yeah, there’s queer people on this campus.’ The University doesn’t show it, but we’re hoping that other students attending the University like myself will know that they’re not alone on campus.”
Forever ‘famous’
The life of a former child actress and current wannabe by Claire Geare
Photos by Ollie Slade
When I was five years old, Sarah Paulson shoved me. When I was eight years old, Owen Wilson threw me off a roof. When I was ten years old, I faded into obscurity.
just — strange. I was being picked apart 15 years ago by strangers on the internet. Told I should starve, that I’m not funny, that I should be physically hurt over a fish stick commercial — you know, typical things you say about a 3-year-old on the internet.
I have a confession to make. I, Claire Geare, was a child actress. Not community theater, not local commercials, not school plays — I appeared in front of millions of people. It’s strange to say that now. I go to ASU. I work in a cafe. I barely make enough to cover rent each month, just like every other person on this planet. But for a few years I barely remember, I lived like a star. Billboards across Hollywood had my face on them, national commercials ran with me in them, I worked alongside real celebrities. From ages three to nine, I was the shit.
One of my very first memories is spitting fish sticks out into a cup held by a man twenty times my size. The commercial was for Mrs. Paul’s, a frozen fish company. I remember the line clear as day — “Minced? You feed me minced? You ever catch a minced fish?” I was meant to play a precocious little girl, too smart for her own good. I remember feeling like an asshole. Even 3-year-old me knew not to talk to my mother like that.
Years later, a curious boyfriend of mine decided to find the commercial on YouTube. Underneath were about a dozen threats of child abuse. It’s not that I care, it’s
The comments aren’t all bad. In truth, most of them are good. People thought I was cute, or funny, or interesting, or something other than deserving of a good smack across the face. But that feels strange, too. It all feels strange. No matter if I’m loved or hated, there’s just something weird about being perceived at that age. Most 3 year olds get to live life pretty much anonymously, being known only by their family and daycare. I was known nationally.
The illusion of choice
To achieve this national notoriety, acting wasn’t just a part of my life, it was my life. I’d wake up in the morning and be handed a script by my parents, explaining that the audition was the next day. From the morning until night time I’d learn and recite my lines. I remember pacing around the kitchen island, whispering words to myself that I hardly knew the meaning of. Practicing my delivery, nailing my body language, getting into character. I couldn’t have been older than six.
Do you ever think about those family vloggers? You know, the ones constantly shoving a camera in their kid’s face —
documenting every toothache, bad grade and meltdown as the poor child learns to better recognize a camera lens than their mother’s facial features. Well, I think about them. I think about them a lot. Maybe it’s out of sympathy, or maybe it’s out of disgust, or maybe — just maybe — it’s because I know what it’s like to be that little kid.
Most kids remember being pushed on the swing by their parents, doing the day’s math homework or going to the neighbor’s house for dinner. The most time I ever spent with my father was on the way to auditions. That’s not to say these memories aren’t happy ones, for a good deal of time they were. But still, my quality time with my family was work.
There’s something really beautiful about being born. I mean, besides all that mushy
miracle of life shit. Because for a brief moment, maybe for the one and only time in your life, you’re blessed with the gift of anonymity. You’re just a baby in a hospital, unknown to the rest of the world. But maybe I say this and it isn’t true anymore. There are tons of parents who post on Facebook moments after giving birth, ending my utopian dream of privacy at the click of a button. Or there are celebrity babies who never had a chance. But when I was born, way back in 2004, I was nobody for a while.
That didn’t last long.
It’s hard to have a projected image of yourself for all to see. These days we do it voluntarily, building a brand for ourselves in an increasingly pervasive digital space. Not to sound like an old geezer, but creating an imaginary version of
yourself can’t be healthy. Yet, this is a choice we make. Sure, it doesn’t feel like a choice — it seems that sometimes you may as well be a hermit if you don’t have an Instagram — but it’s a choice all the same. We could all choose to denounce our made-up versions of ourselves, delete our Instagrams and Facebooks and LinkedIns at the drop of a hat. Yet for me, this imaginary version of myself is what kept the lights on.
The point is, it sucks to be known. It hurts. It hurts to have a public image from as far back as that age, and sometimes I feel like it hurts to have one at this age, too.
Life on film
My parents used to say I was a “method actor.” I’m not exactly sure what that means at that age. They used to tell me that if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up like Heath Ledger. I don’t know why you’d tell your 8-year-old that because what “method” really entailed was post-traumatic stress disorder.
One of the last projects I ever worked on was a film about a coup taking place in a foreign country. I remember endless blood, gunshots, rape and violence. It’s hard for kids to separate what’s real from what’s imaginary at that age. It’s why parents don’t let them watch scary movies. But my life was a scary movie.
I saw the blood. I heard the gunshots. I remember the violence. Sure, I knew it was fake blood, fake violence and unloaded guns — but try telling my brain that. When all you see every day is horror, how is it not supposed to impact your development?
There was also a sense of degradation in my career. In one movie, my character pees her pants. In others, I was forced to play dumb. I felt so ashamed. I was at the whim of writers, directors and producers constantly telling me what to do and how to act. Once again, the freedom of choice was ripped away.
There are many ethical questions surrounding child stars — too many to get into here. Should a kid that age even have a career? Should they be exposed to adult content?
Should their money be used to support a family? The truth is, I don’t know. You’d think I’d have stronger opinions, being that I’ve been through it, but truthfully I couldn’t tell you what the right thing to do is.
There are many aspects of my former life that I deeply regret. I don’t know if regret is the right word. Can you regret something you had no control over? Yet, the feeling reeks of it.
I missed my childhood. I had no friends besides my brothers and sister. Instead of school, I was tutored on set. I was constantly working. An endless slew of commercials, TV shows and movies demanded my full attention. What kind of childhood is a career?
Even despite the trauma, the degradation, the constant self-awareness, I wouldn’t change it for the world. I spent my formative years doing the things kids dream of. I had purpose. I’ve always liked to succeed and success is what I found. I met wonderful people through my job, people I’ll never forget.
There was a woman on my last film I lovingly called “Fluffy Nat.” She had a ridiculous job, providing me hand warmers in the cold and holding umbrellas over my head in the heat. I was essentially given an assistant at the ripe age of 8 — but she quickly became my closest friend on set. We didn’t speak the same language, but she was my greatest supporter.
There was also a man whose name I can’t remember on the set of another film. He used to
grab hot wax out of candles for me and my sister to play with, just because he knew we liked it. Where else do you meet a man who will stick his hand in a burning candle for you? These grown adults were my friends, filling in for school-aged children and teachers. They taught me everything I know.
I stopped acting when I was 10 years old. That wasn’t my choice either. My parents got divorced, their marriage held together by the thread of my career. We moved to Arizona. I finally went to school. The phone stopped ringing.
From “was” to “wannabe”
When I was 14 years old I made my first choice. I joined the school newspaper and the literary magazine, which began my second career: a writer. As much as it feels strange to be picked apart for something you had no input in, it feels even stranger to be picked apart for something you did. I began to get published, my writing out there for the whole world to see. It’s such a personal thing — it’s your thoughts, feelings, opinions, all recorded on a page. This work is still out there today, online on my school newspaper’s website, written in an award-winning magazine. God, how embarrassing that is.
I’ve learned throughout the years that 14-year-olds really shouldn’t have a platform. I had trash opinions and shit satires. Half-baked reports and poor movie reviews. Out-of-rhythm poetry and narrative pieces clearly written by a child. If you can write it, I’ve published it.
And truthfully, I have many regrets. This time regret is the right word. For the first time in my life, I was autonomous. I chose to publish what I did — and looking back, I was an angry, confused little girl.
I wrote a satire every month for my school newspaper, and when I did, it was mostly about how much I hated my classmates. I used to think it was biting commentary, but in reality, it was just pure vitriol on a page.
I recently went back and read some of my articles and, oh
boy, I wish someone had told me how hateful I truly was. I wish I could apologize to everyone in my high school. Nowadays, I still write satire for this very publication, and it’s gotten me into trouble before. When I was a freshman, I wrote an article absolutely trashing an organization I’m a part of. Surprisingly, they didn’t like that very much. I didn’t like myself for that very much, either.
The point is, I made a choice. And as much as I feel regret over the lack of choices I had as a child, I regret the choices I did make as a young adult
even more. It’s scary to have autonomy. It’s even scarier to exercise that autonomy publicly.
I have a podcast. I’m an improv performer. I’m a comedian. I’m a writer. I chose to put myself back out there, and as with every choice you make, there’s bound to be some regret. I sometimes wonder what a life in anonymity would look like for me. I could stop pursuing my dreams in entertainment, get a marketing degree and settle down in Arizona.
I could get married, start a family and forget about my past. But I don’t want that, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I feel I have something important to say, maybe it’s just because I was born this way or maybe it’s just a desperate need for attention. No matter what it is, here I am.
And as with my child acting career, I wouldn’t change my writing career for the world,
either. I’ve made many mistakes, but I’ve also published some truly beautiful pieces. I’ve learned a lot, I’ve grown a lot and I’m not such a hateful little girl anymore.
I’m a human being with a purpose. I’ve written about my autism, my experience with the school’s disability services, my queer experience. I’ve also written dozens of satires —
some of them really fucking funny.
All this brings me to the here and now. I’m just a girl with a German Wikipedia page and a Twitter account impersonating me. A girl with many regrets. A girl who keeps putting herself out there despite the hurt. Despite the shame. Despite the mistakes. I am just a girl in the public eye, and that is a choice I’ve made.
We live in history — realize it
Information exhaustion is real (I get it), but doing nothing about it is worse
By George Headley Designs by Paulina Soto
My mom doesn’t read the news.
Her social media is curated so any news that could make her day feel a little more bleak disappears from her algorithms.
I called her one morning to hear about the shows she binge-watched that day with my sister — a common topic of our conversations — when I asked her if she reads the news. I was curious about how she consumes it. I notice she spends little time on her phone, and when she does, it’s to send me motivational Instagram Reels or watch a show — she likes sitting at the kitchen table where my siblings and I usually hang out.
“I haven’t read the news since 2008,” she said.
My initial thought was how much of a privilege it is to choose not to read the news. We can choose not to vote, not go to city council meetings or not attend school. But, for some reason, choosing not to read the news feels like a punch in the gut — my own mom won’t read the news I write.
My mom and I try to avoid things that cause us stress — emphasis on ‘try,’ since we always find anxiety elsewhere anyway — but her consumption of the news is something she knows she can control. Even if she hears about it from my father, she tries not to look into any topic that she knows would worry her.
She’s an adult who has responsibilities she should pay more attention to.
When I was growing up, her innate fear of a zombie apocalypse could be the reason why she avoided checking the news. Even if that’s a stretch, I think it does offer some insight.
While my dream career is based on viewership, I don’t blame her.
In the span of four years, I have seen a global pandemic, a presidential candidate get shot at (twice), insane bills pass through Congress, free reign of the government and many instances where a world war was lurking around the corner. The cacophony of news stations claiming the death of democracy is near, and the pleas that they’re right this time, exhaust me.
In the span of a year, I’ve been a full-time journalism student and part-time hater of all things political — I only classify as part-time because more often than not, I like the drama. I have seen dozens of fear-mongering posts on TikTok and Instagram that cause me to Google
obscure articles for hours on end, and I have doomscrolled like no other.
With confidence, I can shout from the highest peak of the world to the deepest point humans can reach — I think the aliens orbiting our atmosphere and the ground-dwellers waiting for Brendan Fraser should know — that I do not want to live through another historical event. Yes, it is contradictory of me to say, knowing that I am studying and getting paid solely for contemporary history to happen, but I still worry.
What is a historical event?
The phrase “historical event” is a flexible term. It can mean an event in history, as in everything that comes before us. It can mean an event that makes today’s headlines. Or it could be construed as the day you first saw Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice — don’t worry, we’ve all been there.
However, to Yasmin Saikia, a Hardt-Nickachos Chair in Peace Studies and a history professor in the School of Historical, Philosophical and Religious Studies, it is an event that can only be identified after its full impact.
“In history, there are turning point events, and then there are larger stories behind the scene that create a shift … from what was and what will happen,” Saikia said.
One example, she said, is the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, which is believed to have sparked World War I. While it didn’t seem world-war-level catastrophic at the moment, its impact was large. She also referred to the pandemic in 2020 as another historical event, describing, as many know, its global impact.
This leaves the question: How many historical events have we really lived through this year? The best answer I have (everything should be empirical) is a lot. This year, I have seen many potentially historical moments.
Information is flooding my brain
More or less, I have become aware of these historical moments through the internet. The cosmos of algorithms and Twitter chains; Reuters headlines and The Onion’s satirical stories; TikToks and YouTube Shorts. These make up a college student’s new painstaking hobby: doomscrolling.
When the overconsumption of internet pessimism starts getting trendy, the process of worry, analysis, loss of responsibility
and gloom occurs. It’s a growing epidemic, and it’s not stopping anytime soon. The constant updates on news sites and the extreme awareness of everything happening around us, even thousands of miles away, are unnatural.
Imagine plucking someone from decades ago, foreign to the idea of mobile technology, and telling them that some people spend most of their days in bed, locked into the gaze of magic screens that feed them information. They’d probably call it dystopian, and they’d be right.
According to Douglas Kenrick, a professor in the Department of Psychology, we “inherited a tendency to be wary of dangers in the environment” that increased in the digital age.
Why do I allow the internet to control my outlook on life, and why do I program it to do so? I can blame the algorithm for its impact on me, but it suits itself to my wants, my clicks and my likes. It is the ultimate hub of awareness for everything that I, as a person, want to know.
“At least in terms of the causes of these things, we are kind of creating our own monsters because our preferences are dictating what’s given to us,” Kenrick said.
The fear, the stress, the brain overdrive and the excess of worry lead to the death of my belief in responsibility. I begin to feel nothing.
Losing the ability to care
“There is a desensitization of grappling with the condition of that other person or other community, and what they
are feeling or going through,” Saikia said. “Being able to imagine that problem of the other is becoming a task, and social media does not keep you grounded with that one story,”
It’s the loss of that butterfly feeling whenever I read an article or post that should worry me. Sometimes I even take a step back and try to process why I don’t feel as fearful as I should — from that fear should be a stronger feeling of wanting to get involved.
Suddenly, a monotonous version of myself figures someone else will take on that fight. I no longer think of volunteering my time and energy because I believe others will fill that quota. And even so, I cannot volunteer for every issue that matters to me. The average life expectancy is 700,800 hours — it’s terrifying to see it quantified — and for nearly half of it, we sleep. For the other half, we work.
To cure the world overnight, or even in a lifetime, is near impossible and discouraging. There’s also the most demoralizing factor: I’m able to forget.
“We create this cocoon of well-
being and security because we can walk away from it,” Saikia said. “From the news, from the story, from the social media thing, and go on to something that we want to see and feel good about.”
That urgency is lost when everything becomes catastrophic. When every event is perceived as world-ending, it’ll feel like Earth already ended a decade ago — these lousy generations that came before us, burning the world when we took our first breath and poisoning the water before we took our first sip. And yet, we’ll end up lousy too, berating those who come after us.
Climbing out of the pits of digital despair
There is no solution to not wanting to live through historical events because they happen without your consent. The world spins, and we’re stuck on it.
No matter my pessimism, the solution isn’t restricting your intake. I don’t wish for news to end up a nine-to-five where only some features are shown. I’m also not the biggest fan of censorship. That alternative boils down to ignorance, and that isn’t
experienced a few bad things that allow us to tell the difference?
Instead, Kenrick advised that I should monitor my content intake and make sure to balance bad news with the positive. You don’t want too many empty calories, but you don’t want to starve either. Saikia said the same.
“We need to look at where human beings have actually shown the capacity of empowering themselves, and how the youth can become catalysts in this empowerment,” Saikia said.
I’ve been through this countless times. You’ll put down whatever keeps you busy and find yourself on social media, doomscrolling or looking through forums, and you’ll read a breaking news analysis about why the government is letting companies put toxic chemicals in your food or how the next country over is in distress. You’ll stare at it for a couple of seconds. Maybe you’ll text a friend or family member to see if they’ve heard the news. But what do you do then? Do you join a group fighting against this act or lead a protest denouncing violence? Do you go door to door to get people to sign petitions?
More often than not, you swipe. Because you know the next big, fat, terrible thing that’ll worry you is right around the corner. My best advice is don’t. The bystander effect applies in the digital world too. Get involved and do your part in the fights that matter to you because they continue to exist, even if they’re out of your news feed.
Every day, I see encouragement. I see students working day and night to fuel their causes. There are picket signs and confessions of raw confidence toward a position of conflict. I see people my age, the same people who were once like me, pushing their fights to the forefront of political action.
“In the University itself, I find students are very engaged,” said Saikia. “They seem to be finding the clubs and associations and networks and collectives that speak to them.”
The worst thing you can do is graduate from college and not think critically about your role as a student. This is college. We are a political hotspot.
The only alternative, that I as an individual can implement, is to find my responsibilities — to search for the issues that matter most to me and hold
out a helping hand on my side of the globe. Terrible things exist everywhere, but it is the decision to be involved, instead of witnessing those who are, that defines me.
“We are all responsible for one another. We are a human community, right?” Saikia said. “Ultimately, no matter what labels we wear and what passports we carry, we are (a) human community that has to be aware of our shared world, our shared Earth, our shared beingness, the ontology of being human.”
I am desensitized, tired, pessimistic, ungrateful and downright lazy.
But I am trying to make a difference in my backyard, and there is still much to be done.
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