The College Hill Independent Vol. 41 Issue 4

VOLUME 41 ISSUE 04 16 OCTOBE R 2020

BUDGETS IN DISTRESS

ANCHORED IN FAITH

Unpacking unexpected funding cuts to R.I.’s most at-risk communities

A recollection of time shared between the living and the dead

IMAGINING INDIGENOUS FUTURES The fight to save the West Berkeley Shellmound

Indy Cover

Untitled Louis Fisher

Week in Review 02

Baboons, Bonobos, and the Bros Alisa Caira To All The Cultures I’ve Pinned Before Bowen Chen

Nation + World 03

Imagining Indigenous Futures Nicole Kim

Metro 05

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Don’t Throw Riders Under The Bus Amelia Anthony Budgets in Distress Leo Gordon

Features 09

From The Editors Our city-issued street recycling bin has a large, obnoxious hole in its side. Like a wolf-fanged cavern, all cardboard that enters gets caught in its crooked maw.

The hole is fond of cheerio boxes and wary of intruders.

WHIRR WHIRR BUZZ GRRR the one clawed truck rumbles and shumbles over.

Our little bin shakes and stirs and the cardboard nestles in to stay safe. It came into our lives like this, like some unseemly ghost that has always already been there. The hole that was never anything but always just a hole.

We’ve recently had this dream where the city has taken note of the hole, and by some hyper efficient miracle of municipal goodwill, the waste receptacle is replaced without our even having to lift so much a cheerio.

But we don’t live on Power, and Hope’s a few blocks away.

Our cheerio boxes remain undealt with, held close by the bin. If you want anything done around here, you gotta call.

Offices close when we ring, dictate their schedules by our dial tone. The machine tells us to call another machine, but we have to listen twice to hear the number right. You must show up in person. Bring the serial # of the broken bin.

They say… There is no bin. Never has been.

Anchored in Faith David Sanyour

Arts + Culture 11

An Alternative Reopening Alisa Caira

Science + Tech 15

The Onus On Us Gaya Gupta

Literary 17

the five love languages Mara Cavallaro Sitting Bowen Chen

Ephemera 13

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AMOEBA Iman Husain

X

Buckle Up Mehek Vohra

List 15

Tara Sharma, Sara Van Horn, & Mehek Vohra

MISSION STATEMENT The College Hill Independent is a Providence-based publication written, illustrated, designed, and edited by students from Brown and RISD. We are committed to publishing politically engaged and accessible work. While the Indy is financed by Brown University, we hold ourselves accountable to our readers across the Providence community. The Indy rejects content that explicitly or implicitly perpetuates racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, ableism and/or classism.

Though this list is not exhaustive, the Indy strives to address these systems of oppression by centering the voices, opinions, and efforts of marginalized people in Providence and beyond.

The Indy is constantly evolving: we are always working to make our staff and content more inclusive. Though our editing process provides an internal structure for accountability, we always welcome letters to the editor.

STAFF Week in Review Amelia Anthony Nick Roblee-Strauss | Nation + World Emily Rust Leela Berman Giacomo Sartorelli Anchita Dasgupta | Metro Ricardo Gomez Deborah Marini Peder Schaefer | Arts + Culture Seamus Flynn Alana Baer | Features Alina Kulman Alan Dean Edie Elliott Granger | Science & Tech Gemma Sack Anabelle Johnston Thomas Patti | Literary Kate Ok Bowen Chen | Ephemera Sindura Sriram Anna Kerber | X Maia Chiu Ethan Murakami | List Tara Sharma Sara Van Horn | List Designer Mehek Vohra | Staff Writers Uwa Ede-Osifo Mara Cavallaro Muram Ibrahim Justin Han Izzi Olive Bilal Memon Seth Israel Nell Salzman Victoria Caruso Zach Ngin Evie Hidysmith Kaela Hines Ella Spungen Sarah Goldman Alisa Caira Laila Gamaleldin Drake Rebman Morgan Awner Elana Hausknecht Rhythm Rastogi Nicole Kim Lucas Gelfond Rose Houglet Joss Liao Nicholas Michael Belinda Hu Leo Gordon CJ Gan Vicky Phan Tammuz Frankel Amelia Wyckoff Auria Zhang Olivia Mayeda Justin Scheer Gaya Gupta Eduardo Gutiérrez Peña Marina Hunt Issra Said | Copy Editors Christine Huynh Grace Berg Jacqueline Jia Elaine Chen Sarah Ryan Jasmine Li Nina Fletcher Madison Lease Alyscia Batista | Design Editor Daniel Navratil | Designers Anna Brinkhuis Katherine Sang Kathryn Li Isaac McKenna Miya Lohmeier Clara Epstein | Illustration Editor Sylvia Atwood | Illustrators Sandra Moore Katrina Wardhana Floria Tsui Mara Jovanović Hannah Park Jessica Minker Rachelle Shao Yukti Agarwal Sage Jennings Ophelia Duchesne-Malone Joyce Tullis Charlotte Silverman Simone Zhao | Business Isabelle Yang Lauren Brown Evan Lincoln | Web Designer Sindura Sriram | Social Media Christina Ofori | Alumni Relations Jerry Chen | Spanish Translation Felipe Félix Méndez | Senior Editors Tara Sharma Sara Van Horn Cal Turner | Managing Editors Audrey Buhain Andy Rickert Ivy Scott | Managing Designer XingXing Shou *** The College Hill Independent is printed by TCI Press in Seekonk, Massachusetts.

16 OCTOBER 2020 VOLUME 41 ISSUE 04

@INDYCOLLEGEHILL WWW.THEINDY.ORG

week in furry creatures

BY Alisa Caira and Bowen Chen ILLUSTRATION Jessica Minker DESIGN XingXing Shou

Still nursing a friend zoned–sized hole in your heart? Well, we here at the Indy have fantastic news. First published in Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B, recent findings coming from one of the world’s longest studies on wild primates in Kenya’s Amboseli basin might hold that tiny shred of hope you’ve been waiting for. A way to get out of the friendzone?

Nope, better. Through a study on hundreds of baboons, researchers discovered that male baboons with platonic female friends lived as much as two years longer than those without that special, benefitless bond.

At this point, I’m sure all my eager male readers out there are wondering just how they, too, might reap these same perks from their own unfortunate situations. Well, for the baboons, grooming was the key ingredient in their elixir for a longer life. Bros don’t tend to groom each other—or themselves.

Since male baboons tragically haven’t invented 3-in-1 shampoo yet, they need a few more female hands other than that special someone to help keep them clean. That’s where the platonic love comes in, and, consequently, the longer life. Perhaps there’s something to be said about whether we even want men to be living longer, but that’s a topic for another week.

But why are all my lads out there feeling so excited about this potential for a longer life in the friendzone? After all, these are baboons we’re speaking about; tragically, human boys rarely get grime picked out of their fur by women unless they score a lover with a cleaning kink. There isn’t necessarily a reason to apply this research to human relationships without study first. Yet, here we are with eager men already declaring the end of human loneliness and rejoicing in the start of monkey business. Men seem all too ready to leave basic hygiene to their girl BFFs, even if that means, tragically, that they’re going to have to start showering in the winter.

This isn’t the first time primatology has been utilized to make assumptions about human behavior, and it’ll hardly be the last. Talk of people behaving “like animals” is part of common vernacular. With primates resembling humans since, you know, humans are primates, it’s understandable that people are so quick to look to our nearest biological relatives for answers to our fundamentally biological selves.

Yet, this line of monkey-man reasoning can actually be quite dangerous in contexts more serious than whether or not friendzoned males get a few more years of life. In a study focused on another brother from another mother, the chimpanzee, researchers have utilized the violent, patriarchal societies that dominate chimpanzee social structures as a post–WWII proxy for explaining human society as inherently violent. After Jane Goodall’s research was used in this violent narrative, the simian-loving scientist spent the rest of her life trying to rehabilitate the chimpanzee image. Meanwhile, research on humans’ other closest relative, the bonobo, has been pushed down for nearly the same amount of time as chimpanzee

Once again, it’s that time of year when supermarket aisles are lined with overpriced fog machines, imitation corpses with motion-sensor torsos, and racy ensembles based on everything from fairy tale characters to children’s shows that all beg one question: “Who is trying to show up to the function in a sexy Mr. Rogers costume?”

Most Americans aren’t strangers to Halloween’s unique ability to sell franchise merchandise, sex appeal, and cheap polyester—often times neatly bundled in a package deal. Amidst the havoc that is All-the-CostumesLiterally-No-One-Asked-For, an unlikely corporate hero is stepping up to the plate. Social media giant Pinterest announced that this year, the platform would be taking additional measures against culturally-insensitive Halloween posts. In an official statement, the company announced, “Cultures aren’t costumes. Halloween should be a time for inspiration—not a time for insensitivity.” Searching ‘Day of the Dead costumes’ will now show an initial pin resembling a woke Instagram infographic “Learn More: Cultural appropriation on Halloween.” A quick click will bring you to a list with two pins on cultural appropriation and other important sensitivity information such as “Yummy Halloween-Themed Snacks” and “DIY Halloween Costumes to Impress.” The latter advertises a quick and easy Peter Pan shadow costume, showcasing a young boy in a black morph suit under black felt, cut in the shape of the lost boy’s regular garb.

Going into the fourth quarter of 2020, Pinterest has been this year’s best performing social media platform—and by a large margin. The company’s stock is up almost 125 percent this year, compared to Facebook, Twitter, and Snapchat’s 25, 40, and 60 percent respective gains. As the platform’s net worth skyrockets and more users join the network (which now boasts more monthly users than Twitter), the move leaves some wondering how much of the Halloween decision is aimed at actual systemic change rather than consumer optics.

Pinterest has long been characterized as a female-centric platform, with over 70% of its userbase consisting of women, but has struggled with accusations of workplace gender and racial discrimination. Several Black female

THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

news has flourished. Why? Well, the bonobo’s high sex drive has caused a bit of discomfort among researchers. Apparently, not everyone is into watching the PornHub of the jungle.

But doesn’t bonobo free love culture seem like a better one than chimpanzee violence or baboon hygiene? Well, depends on if you’re willing to consider the possibility of a matriarchy. In bonobo social structures, females are dominant over males and, perhaps not coincidentally, bonobos have a more peaceful society than that of chimpanzees or humans. The fact that these primates are less discussed than their more famous counterparts is not due to any lack of research but, perhaps, instead due to the lascivious implications that those findings could hold for people.

The Indy thinks it’s time to stop looking to primates to figure out what human relationships could or should look like. Even if baboon grooming could mean that the bros can have some benefits if they platonically respect women, no one should have to pick lice out of your hair to earn your friendship. And, really, it shouldn’t be chimpanzees that we blame our violent tendencies on, since at the end of the day, it’s not them—it’s us. In terms of bonobos, we should definitely be using bonobo research to justify more sex. However, that application should be the exception to the blur between monkey and human research, not the rule.

Although, if we’re really going to start taking all of our romantic cues from primates, I’m here for it. So please, no more pick-up lines. A world filled with vine-swinging, banana-throwing, and fur-grooming certainly seems like the better way to go. I’m deleting Tinder, and headed to the jungle. –AC

employees have spoken out against the company on grounds of unfair treatment. One was told to stop speaking in meetings and watched as her manager presented to clients the slides that she had made. Others garnered backlash from their managers after starting initiatives to end advertisements promoting weddings on former slave plantations and anti-vaccination. Following a company-wide meeting regarding the allegations, CEO Ben Silbermann acknowledged that the company’s culture was broken and ended the Q&A assuring his workers that Pinterest employees had “really good hearts.” No further efforts were made addressing reform, except the hiring of the law firm WilmerHale to conduct a review of the company’s culture.

While some Americans are busy cancelling costumes on social media, others have gone on and decided that Halloween itself is in fact, not cancelled.

Studies conducted by the Morning Consult for the National Confectioners Association in September report that 80 percent of respondents felt confident finding safer ways to celebrate the beloved spooky holiday, up from the 63 percent reported in a similar survey two months prior. In a similarly strange turn of events, consumer spending polls conducted by the NCA show that Halloween-themed chocolate sales are up 25 percent compared to the same time period last year. For all the buyers preparing for the generation-long tradition of trick-or-treating, the Indy thinks it’d be a lovely treat to keep a large bottle of Purell next to that candy bowl. The rest of us will stick to hoarding and eating chocolates alone at home. And if you find yourself on the couch with that Snickers, scrolling through Pinterest, you might want to think twice, or even thrice, about pinning that sexy Pocahontas costume to your Halloween Moodboard (font-family: “live_laugh_love”;), right next to Wedding Dresses, Wedding Hair, and Wedding cakes. —BC

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IMAGINING

INDIGENOUS FUTURES

The fight to save the West Berkeley Shellmound On September 24, the National Trust for Historic Preservation (NTHP) released their 2020 list of “America’s 11 Most Endangered Historic Places,” an annual attempt to highlight “the threats facing some of the nation’s greatest treasures,” according to the organization’s website. Included on the 2020 roundup is the West Berkeley Shellmound and Village Site: sacred Ohlone ground located in the region currently known as Berkeley, California. What is now a parking lot on 1900 Fourth Street was once a towering mound, one of the 425 funerary monuments that existed across the San Francisco Bay. Built from shells, earth, and ritual objects, these mounds served as places for prayer, ceremonies, and burials for the Ohlone people over thousands of years. The one that stood at the West Berkeley Site is estimated to have been thirty feet high and a hundred yards long.

At the juncture of a Lululemon and a MAC Cosmetics store, the 2.2 acres of asphalt parking lot is the only remaining open land from the original village. The site was recently featured in an ABC News Nightline episode. “Right now, we’re in what looks like

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a parking lot to everyday people,” explained Corrina Gould, a Chochenyo Ohlone community leader and a spokesperson for the Confederated Villages of Lisjan.

The camera panned over the empty lot as a handful of cars whizzed by on the freeway above. “This is the West Berkeley Shellmound. And shellmounds, for our culture, were burial sites. They were cemeteries.”

The publicity granted by the NTHP’s recognition is an important victory for the Chochenyo Ohlone family clans and their allies. The Coalition to Save the West Berkeley Shellmound has been fighting to protect the site from encroaching developers for five years. Since 2015, Blake Griggs Properties and the “owners” of the parking lot have twice petitioned the City of Berkeley for permission to construct a massive condominium and retail complex over the land. Up to this point, the corporations’ requests have been denied due to the Shellmound’s protected status as a “historical site.”

However, the Shellmound remains under threat, as Ruegg & Ellsworth and the Frank Spenger Company, the property “owners,” continue to pursue legal avenues to gain control of the lot.

BY Nicole Kim ILLUSTRATION Sage Jennings DESIGN Clara Epstein

At the same time, the need for recognition by United States law and by national organizations such as the NTHP exemplifies the complexity of achieving and maintaining Indigenous sovereignty in the present day. Native nations are forced to seek legitimation from settler-colonial institutions in order to protect their land and communities. Non-Native settlers exacerbate this complex problem by accepting “working within the system” as the only path forward. For the Ohlone, however, the West Berkeley Shellmound is not simply a historical landmark worthy of protection. It is also a powerful place that can help us imagine decolonial futures.

The continuing efforts by corporations to seize Ohlone land for the purposes of capitalistic development reflect the ongoing project of US settler-colonialism—a project that, from its inception, has hinged upon the literal and figurative deaths of Indigenous peoples.

Indigenous land was deemed “terra nullius” (“empty land” or “nobody’s land”) by European settlers, who used notions of white supremacy to justify dispossessing hundreds of First Nations of their homelands

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and subsequently enslaving millions of African people in order to work those lands.

White colonizers characterized Native land as a vast, pure wilderness of capitalistic possibility. To fulfill this myth, Indigenous peoples became a presence that had to be erased. Diseases and wars were deployed against the Native Nations, and many of the survivors were forcibly removed from their traditional homelands. The settlers also weaponized blood quantum laws, “last Indian” stories, and boarding schools to paint Indigenous people as historical relics of a faraway past. These systemic and systematic processes aimed not only to physically deprive Indigenous peoples of their living space but also to sever them from their place-based systems of knowledge and ways of being.

Within the context of this ongoing violence, the West Berkeley Shellmound is both a reckoning with history and an opportunity to enact radical change.

Today, the site continues to function as a gathering place for the Chochenyo Ohlone people and the greater Berkeley community. Prayer ceremonies, speeches, and performances are given there by Ohlone elders and artists, as well as non-Native peoples who stand in solidarity with the family bands. “People from all walks of life come there and pray together now. In ceremony and song. And bring their own ceremonies there,” Corrina Gould explains in a Sacred Land Film Project video. “It’s become a palace where people understand their connection to this land and what their relationship should be to the First People of this land.” +++ The name Ohlone refers to over fifty independent tribes and villages across the Bay Area. The tribes adopted the identity in the ‘60s and ‘70s during the Black Power and American Indian Movements in rejection of Spanish colonizers’ term for the Native people of the Bay. Today, the Ohlone are divided into eight different bands, each with their own territory and language, with smaller family clans and tribes living within each region. The Shellmound resides in the territory called Huchiun, the homeland of the Lisjan people, within the region where Chochenyo is spoken.

The Sogorea Té Land Trust, an Indigenous women-led urban organization that provides funding for the Shellmound coalition, writes, “For thousands of years [and] hundreds of generations, the Lisjan people have lived on the land that is now known as the East Bay in the San Francisco Bay Area. We did not own the land, we belonged to it.” The village at the West Berkeley site is believed to be 5,700 years old—the oldest known human settlement in the San Francisco Bay, even older than the pyramids of Egypt. The villagers who lived there led a life between land and sea, thriving off of the rich natural resources of the area. They were skilled hunters and fishermen who maintained a complex maritime culture: dozens of tule balsa canoes transported people and goods across the bay, traveling in and out of an active port.

In the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the Spanish Empire invaded the Ohlone homelands. The Ohlone people were enslaved under the Catholic missions that were created throughout the state—“the first prison industrial complex in California,” as explained by Corrina Gould. These prisons were designed to “civilize” the Indigenous people—essentially, to strip them of their beliefs and culture while exploiting them as manual laborers—and many Ohlone died due to inhumane conditions and diseases. The few remaining villagers who lived near the Shellmound at the time were forced to flee to escape this fate.

Much of the contents of the original mound were then stolen in the mid-19th century by Gold Rush settlers, who used the material as fertilizer and decoration. Archaeologists from the University of California, Berkeley began to study the area in 1902, at which point, the mound had been reduced from its original height of 30 feet to 18 feet. The remaining structure was further destroyed during construction projects in the nearby area throughout the next few decades. Finally, the land was paved over between 1946 and 1958 to be turned into a parking lot for Spenger’s Fish Grotto, a restaurant that operated by the lot until 2018. +++ For the past five years, Blake Griggs and the property “owners” have been attempting to acquire a permit

THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

to build over the Shellmound. Blake Griggs first officially submitted a Draft Environmental Impact Report to the City of Berkeley in late 2016, detailing their plans to construct a five-story housing and retail complex. In response, community members flooded the government with letters opposing the project and maxed out the public hearings held by the city. After months of deliberation, the Berkeley Landmarks Preservation Commission voted unanimously to reject the Impact Report in early 2017.

Following this initial denial, Blake Griggs Properties attempted to negotiate with three Ohlone family bands: the Confederated Villages of Lisjan, the Himre-n-Ohlone, and the Medina Family. The developer offered to monetarily compensate the clans and shrink the size of the project—on the condition that the Ohlone approve the company’s plan to build over most of the site. After consulting with their tribal members, however, all three family bands reaffirmed their commitment to protecting the Shellmound. “[W]e want to let the developers know that they invited us to the table to sell something that is not ours to sell,” the families wrote in a joint public statement in December 2017. “Our sacred sites were never given up by our families—not legally, nor in theory. They are not properties or parcel numbers that can be bought or sold.”

While the family bands were still deliberating, yet another chapter of the fight to protect the Shellmound was already beginning. In the fall of 2017, the California State Senate passed Senate Bill 35, creating a fast-track approval process for housing projects in cities that were failing to meet local housing needs. Under SB 35, Blake Griggs Properties reapplied for approval of 1900 Fourth in March of 2018, rebranding their proposal as a crusade for “affordable housing” for working people.

Section 3 of SB 35 clearly states that the law does not apply to a project that “would require the demolition of a historic structure that was placed on a national, state, or local historic register,” seemingly excluding the West Berkeley Shellmound site from consideration. In response, Blake Griggs used findings from an archaeological consulting firm they had hired in 2014 to “prove” that the Shellmound had not actually existed at 1900 Fourth. The corporation knew from the outset that the location’s status as a city landmark and registered archaeological site would pose a challenge to their plans. Citing Archeo-Tec’s survey data, the developer claimed in a 2018 press conference that “there [was] nothing at all of any cultural or historical significance” on the property.

Archaeologists who had previously studied the area pointed out flaws in Archeo-Tec’s methodology and noted that the data contradicted previous records of human burials. Furthermore, the firm’s strategy depended upon an extremely limited reading of the site, operating under the assumption that only the actual Shellmound itself was a historical landmark. In reality, the term “West Berkeley Shellmound” refers to the entirety of the original Native settlement, which is not considered to be separate from the funerary mound by the Ohlone. Most importantly, the developers blatantly ignored the unique right of the Ohlone to determine whether or not a particular place is sacred to their people.

Ultimately, the project was denied permission once again, and property “owners” Ruegg & Ellsworth and the Frank Spenger Company sued the City of Berkeley in November 2018 (Blake Griggs walked away from the project in August 2018). The Coalition to Save the West Berkeley Shellmound & Village Site met with attorneys and legal advisers over the next year to prepare legal arguments in the city’s defense. And in February of 2019, the Confederated Villages of Lisjan became an official intervener in the lawsuit, allowing for the voices of the Ohlone people to be heard directly in the legal battle.

After two years, in late 2019, an Alameda County Superior judge ruled in favor of the City of Berkeley.

Judge Roesch expressed support for the preservation of the Shellmound in his ruling, stating that “a historic structure does not cease to be a historic structure or capable of demolition because it is ruined or buried.” A California State Senate bill that was signed into law in September 2020 further solidified the decision. AB 168, according to the Shellmound website, “ensures that any project site that contains a tribal cultural resource listed on a national, state, tribal, or local historic register—such as the West Berkeley Shellmound—will

be automatically disqualified for SB 35 fast-tracked approval. Furthermore, under AB 168, developers are now required to conduct a consultation process with a California Native American tribe prior to submitting any application for SB 35 fast-tracked approval.” +++ Assembly Bill 168 marks an important milestone, not only in the preservation of the Shellmound, but also in the Ohlone people’s ongoing fight for survival.

Today, Native peoples exist in a “liminal space” where they must constantly negotiate their status as a racial “minority” group and as independent political entities, as explained by Professor Bryan Brayboy and other Native scholars. The latter component of Indigenous identity is frequently overlooked, and issues facing Native communities often get subsumed into a dialogue around “minority rights,” or worse, swept under the rug altogether.

The various ways the Chochenyo Ohlone have garnered support for the preservation of the Shellmound reflects this complicated landscape of affirming Indigenous sovereignty and self-determination. For example, the recognition by the Nation Trust for Historic Preservation is undeniably an important step toward bringing greater awareness to the site.

However, the inclusion of the Ohlone sacred ground in the organization’s list also promotes a harmful narrative of American multiculturalism. The Shellmound’s power is stifled by its characterization as one of “America’s historic places.” The site becomes subsumed into the “melting pot” schema used to present the US as a diversely harmonious society, erasing the violence that both created this nation in the first place and continues to sustain it.

Indeed, unlike the “full American story” that the NTHP wants to depict, the West Berkeley Shellmound tells a different tale—one that attests to the resistance and survival of Native peoples amidst 200 years of settler-colonial violence and imagines vibrant decolonial futures—in particular, the rematriation of land to Indigenous stewardship.

Additionally, protecting the West Berkeley Shellmound is not only a matter of remembering the past but also of honoring the future. At a ceremony held at the site, Corrina Gould described what is at stake in preserving Ohlone history and culture for future generations: “I have a responsibility to stand my ground in this way because I have children and I now have grandchildren. If we lose the places where we’re supposed to pray and sing, then we lose who we are, and the entire genocide is complete.” +++ Unsurprisingly, the property “owners” of 1900 Fourth have appealed Judge Roesch’s ruling, with a new decision expected to be delivered in the spring of 2021. In the meantime, the movement continues amidst the pandemic, manifesting in phone calls, letter writing, social media posts, and Zoom conferences.

Berkeley was the first city to replace Columbus Day with Indigenous Peoples’ Day in 1992. Now, the Chochenyo Ohlone hopes the city will be “the first place to stand up for [the] ancestors,” as Corrina Gould said in “The Birthplace of Berkeley” video. The Ohlone vision for the West Berkeley Shellmound is to restore the land. They envision a free-flowing Strawberry Creek, a dance arbor for Ohlone ceremonies, and a 40-foot high mound covered in California poppies, “or to recreate a shellmound so people can actually see what these were like.”

“For us as Indigenous people, especially in California, trying to save our sacred sites, we know when land is left like this—covered, but really undisturbed—that our ancestors are at work here in this very special place. That we can begin to dream about saving these places,” Gould said at a past ceremony at the site.

“And we’re trying to send this prayer out for those developers and those ‘owners’ of this land to see that same vision.”

NICOLE KIM B’22 asks that you consider donating to the Shellmound Defense Fund at https://shellmound.org/donate/ .

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Don’t Throw Riders Under the Bus On any given day, Kennedy Plaza bustles with energy.

Between the district court, Burnside Park, a skating rink, City Hall, the Haven Bros truck, and 7-Eleven, a constant stream of people come and go to the familiar warning song: “CAUTION: BUS IS TURNING.” Rhode Island Public Transit Authority (RIPTA) buses drive this life into Kennedy Plaza. A typical weekday sees about 1,400 buses and 15,825 riders pass through Kennedy Plaza. Since the 1980s, Kennedy Plaza has served as Providence’s largest bus hub, featuring 12 bus berths and 44 distinct routes. At nearly any hour of the day, dozens of people are waiting for the bus. RIPTA ridership went down by over 75 percent in April due to COVID-19, but it is currently back up to 50 percent of its normal load. The Plaza is less crowded than usual these days, but it still plays a necessary role in transporting employees to work, patients to doctor appointments, and kids to school.

A new plan announced by the Rhode Island Department of Transportation on July 23 aims to split up Kennedy Plaza into three smaller hubs. The “Providence Multi-Hub Bus System” would decrease Kennedy Plaza’s activity to about one-quarter of its current liveliness. About 50 percent of bus traffic would be directed to a new location named the “Innovation District” hub on the corner of Peck St. and Dyer St. in the Jewelry District, 0.3 miles southeast of Kennedy Plaza. An additional 25 percent of bus traffic would be delegated to another new hub at the Providence train station, 0.3 miles from Kennedy Plaza and 0.6 miles from the Innovation District. The last 25 percent of bus routes would remain at Kennedy Plaza, with the bus presence seriously downsized to a single street.

Construction for the multi-hub is planned to break ground in the summer of 2021, wrapping up two years later in 2023.

Funding for the multi-hub plan comes from a $35 million transportation bond voters approved in 2014, to community groups, like the Fane Tower, were which stated that the money would be used “to fund pushed through with strong support of businesses. enhancements and renovations to mass transit hub The multi-hub plan echoes the sentiments of former infrastructure throughout the State of Rhode Island.”

Providence mayor and business owner Joe Paolino. In Rhode Island Transit Riders, a group of transit riders a 2014 interview with the Providence Journal, Paolino working to improve transportation in the state, helped suggested that the city “decentralize the bus station to pass this bond in 2014. fringe areas.” Paolino has gone further to state that his “RIDOT is now using this bond money to, as we goal is to move the bus stops out of Kennedy Plaza. feel, destroy the central bus hub rather than enhance Several community members—in protests, hearit,” said Patricia Raub, an organizer with RI Transit ings, and interviews—have specifically named Paolino Riders, to the Indy. “We’re not too happy that this is a and his business interests as a driving force for the plan. campaign that we worked hard on, and it seems to be Paolino and other business owners sued the city in 2019 used against bus riders instead of for us.” over the city government’s proposed improvements Throughout the multi-hub planning process, to Kennedy Plaza. They charged that the proposed community groups and bus riders have felt excluded changes, which preserved the existence of buses in the and unheard by RIDOT. The agency has not held a Plaza, would “cause property damage, property devalpublic hearing on this plan—only the City Council uation, inconvenience, annoyance, and an interference has provided the space for public comment. Over 880 with the Plaintiffs’ quiet enjoyment of their properties.” people have signed a petition in opposition, started by Thousands of riders, however, will have to shoulder the RI Transit Riders, urging Governor Raimondo and her “inconvenience” and “annoyance” of a disrupted bus administration to put a stop to the plan. On October 7, hub if the multi-hub plan goes forward. the Providence City Council’s Committee on Urban “As an outreach worker, I’m concerned that Redevelopment Renewal and Planning voted unandispersing Kennedy Plaza will make it harder for people imously in opposition of the multi-hub. The resoluexperiencing homelessness to get around, including to tion will go before the full City Council on October 15. appointments, shelters, and meal sites,” said Megan While the Council has no formal power over this plan, Smith, an outreach worker with House of Hope. “It is since RIDOT is a governor-appointed state agency, its also deeply upsetting that this initiative is so clearly opposition is a weighty symbol. With these decisions, part of Joe Paolino and the Downtown Improvement the momentum opposing the plan is growing.

District’s efforts to push people who are visibly poor Drastically changing bus routes has real-life conseout of downtown to further their perceived economic quences for the thousands of people that rely on public interest.” transportation. By moving ahead with the multi-hub Paolino has been behind some extreme plan, RIDOT is choosing to prioritize business interanti-homeless measures in Downtown already; he was ests over the needs of the already underserved working a vocal proponent of the smoking ban in Downtown poor.

Providence, a controversial measure due to its ability to criminalize poverty. Research from Brown University +++ students states, “Informally, the smoking ban is reportedly being used by police to forcibly move homeless In recent years, development in downtown Providence people.” is increasingly pro-business. Developments unpopular Kennedy Plaza is a common spot for unhoused

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RIDOT’s flawed “multi-hub” plan faces public opposition

Rhode Islanders to seek shelter and community.

The bathrooms in the indoor hub are an extremely important resource for both bus riders and people experiencing homelessness in Providence. During the beginning of the pandemic, the indoor hub at Kennedy Plaza was shut down, cutting off this vital resource.

When approached from the point of view of property values, the issue with Kennedy Plaza is revealed to be visible poverty. Rhetoric surrounding Kennedy Plaza usually holds concerns for ‘safety’ and ‘cleanliness.’ Consequently, there has also been an increase in policing at the Plaza in recent years. However, there’s not many other places for people who gather in the Plaza to go. In Rhode Island, there are at least 1,000 people homeless on any given night. There are not enough beds in shelters to protect everyone.

“They want to push the homeless people out,” said John Prince, an activist with Direct Action for Rights and Equality. “It’s all big corporations and big business people making decisions for the little people.” +++ A different plan for Kennedy Plaza, much more favored by riders, transit organizations, and the Providence City Council, was approved in 2018. The city of Providence developed this plan after months of working closely with the public, making riders feel heard during the process.

“The city of Providence had a fairly lengthy planning discussion about what to do with Kennedy Plaza,” said Raub. “They invited the public in each stage to look at plans, to give their opinion.”

The 2018 plan featured improvements like consolidating bus lines to make transfers easier, ensuring pedestrian safety, and enhancing vehicle circulation around the Plaza. Under this plan, buses were to remain a central component of Kennedy Plaza. The plan’s stated effect was to turn the Plaza into “a vibrant public space where residents, workers, and visitors can

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BY Amelia Anthony ILLUSTRATION Joyce Tullis DESIGN Daniel Navratil

gather to enjoy the city.”

“Why is that not the one being implemented?” John Flaherty, deputy director of sustainable growth at the nonprofit Grow Smart Rhode Island, said to the Indy.

He’s asking the question many share about the seemingly forgotten 2018 plan. Construction was supposed to begin in 2019, but it seems to have been left behind in favor of the multi-hub. +++ The multi-hub plan threatens the efficiency, ease, and convenience of transit that countless Rhode Islanders rely on. Senior citizens, people experiencing homelessness, those with disabilities, and low-income community members all use public transportation at higher rates. A report from the American Public Transportation Association in 2017 highlights that communities of color make up a majority of public transit riders, at 60 percent. Approximately 55 percent of transit riders are women. A survey from the app Transit reported that the share of riders of color has only increased during COVID-19.

I walked the route from the Dyer St. location to Kennedy Plaza during an early October evening.

Along my stroll up Peck St., I noticed a lack of streetlights in some corridors and lots of uneven pavement.

These features will especially impact women, parents with young children in tow, and people with disabilities. Some of the sidewalks didn’t have ramps on the curbs. At one point, two poles stuck up from the sidewalk, clearly preventing a wheelchair user from the path. Accessible pedestrian walkways in Providence are already hard to come by, with harsh winter weather and beat-up roads preventing equal movement around its streets. The multi-hub plan will only further exacerbate existing concerns about who gets to move freely in Providence by requiring riders to navigate dilapidated

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roads—instead of walking quickly across Kennedy Plaza—in order to transfer buses.

RIDOT claims they will redesign routes to mitigate the impact of the split, yet any transfer between hubs would be burdensome. The Downtown Transit Connector, a project to link several major bus stops in downtown Providence with a high-frequency bus route, is supposed to fill in the gaps between the three hubs.

However, the DTC remains under construction despite plans to finish in 2020. The Innovation District hub is not even a current stop on the DTC route. The lack of transparency regarding these solutions makes accessibility seem like an afterthought. Minimizing transfers is an important part of maintaining and encouraging ridership, as more transfers make public transportation far less convenient.

Raub criticized RIDOT’s opacity in an interview with the Indy as well as at several public events.

According to her, the entire plan was first shown to bus riders in late July and a timeline for its rollout had already been constructed. RIDOT’s official public outreach period is set to wrap up in October 2020, but they have not held any public hearings in which riders can give feedback and input on the plan. RIPTA and the Providence City Council have provided these platforms instead. Activists have bypassed trying to reach RIDOT and are appealing to Governor Raimondo directly to put an end to the plan with a petition, letters of opposition, and protest at the state house.

A Providence City Council meeting advertised as a public hearing on the plan took place on September 9. The 45 members of the public who had submitted comments showed up to the Zoom meeting to voice opinions. However, the meeting ended before any of them were permitted to speak. A second public hearing period was pushed back three weeks to September 30, buying RIDOT three weeks to advance with the plan without hearing from the public at all.

“RIDOT has continued to say that it’s listening to the public, but it’s kind of hard to see how it’s listening since it’s never held any hearings,” said Raub. “We’ve managed to get our voices heard but only by rallying in the streets, which is not really the way citizens are supposed to be able to speak to their leaders.”

Feeling unheard and frustrated, activists led a march from bus hub to bus hub on September 19.

Around 75 people gathered in Burnside Park on the one of the first crisp, sunny days of fall. Signs read “Guys please don’t throw riders under the bus” and “Don’t make us take 1,000 steps to transfer.” A huge cardboard cutout from a RIPTA bus was carried by several protesters. In the park, several bus riders gave testimony about how the multi-hub plan would negatively impact their lives. Even the extraterrestrial came out in opposition of the multi-hub; performers from the quintessential Providence performance group Big Nazo dressed in alien costumes were an eye-catching part of the protest.

From Kennedy Plaza, Raub led the group to the future Dyer St. multi-hub location, intended to handle half of all bus traffic after construction is finished.

Riders at the protest asserted the Dyer St. Innovation District hub is too small to handle the proposed traffic increase. There’s no traffic lights or crosswalks, the sidewalk is beat up, and there’s pretty much nothing close by except five parking lots. RIDOT plans to develop the hub to meet the needs of riders. However, Liza Burkin, a commenter at the RIPTA board meeting on Sept 30, expressed wariness toward this initiative: “We know that Rhode Island construction projects tend to last longer than planned.” By contrast, other commenters at the meeting emphasized the need for less glamorous, more practical transit upgrades—like reliable, clean bathrooms inside of the Kennedy Plaza hub, which was last remodeled in 2014.

“Our worst nightmare is that they’ll get started on this project, and move buses out of Kennedy Plaza, and then never finish this Dyer Street hub,” said Raub.

for horse-drawn carriages. They were replaced with trolley tracks that lined the plaza. Eventually, these tracks were replaced by electric buses, then cars as the age of the automobile dawned. The day before he was elected, President John F. Kennedy gave a rousing speech on the steps of Providence City Hall. After his assassination in 1964, Kennedy Plaza got its new name.

In 2020, a year of drastic change already, Kennedy Plaza’s status as Providence’s central transportation hub is threatened. The benefits of preserving a singular central transportation hub extend beyond logistical considerations for riders, a decriminalization of poverty, and a preservation of community: There are also strong environmental incentives to keep Kennedy Plaza intact.

In light of the radical action required to alleviate climate change, public transportation is a much more sustainable investment than automobiles. Rhode Island lacks a comprehensive statewide train or subway alternative, so strengthening the existing bus lines is the best option. Almost 80 percent of Rhode Islanders already live within a 10-minute walk of a transit stop, yet less than three percent use transit to get to work.

“We feel that having a strong public transportation system in RI is crucial, both to getting people to jobs, but also for cutting down on greenhouse gas emissions,” said Raub.

RIDOT should be using the public bond money to improve existing transit and encourage ridership— as it was allocated for—rather than tearing apart the existing infrastructure.

AMELIA ANTHONY B’22 thinks your dislike of buses is probably classist.

+++ Kennedy Plaza has been a site of change, commotion, and contention in Providence for a long time. It sits in the heart of Downtown, perfectly between the East Side, the West Side, Federal Hill, and the Jewelry district. This location makes it perfectly equipped to serve as a hub for transit.

In the early 1800s, “Exchange Place’’ was a hub

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BY Leo Gordon ILLUSTRATION XingXing Shou DESIGN Audrey Therese Cabrera Buhain

BUDGETS IN

Unpacking unexpected funding cuts At the end of July, Rhode Island slashed funding for the Distressed Communities Relief Fund in half, reducing the ability of several RI cities and towns hit hard by COVID-19 to meet the needs of their community members.

Since its creation in 1990, the DCRF has provided financial assistance to cities and towns with the “highest property tax burdens relative to the wealth of taxpayers.” In essence, this program increases state aid to municipalities whose residents have the hardest time paying their property taxes. Currently, seven cities qualify for this funding: Central Falls, Cranston, North Providence, Pawtucket, Providence, West Warwick, and Woonsocket.

At the start of each year, the total dollar amount of the DCRF is an item on the state’s budget proposed by the Governor. That amount is then debated and voted on by the General Assembly before the annual July 1 deadline, the start to the new fiscal year. According to Rhode Island state law, payments are made to eligible municipalities at the start of August and go directly into a city or town’s general revenue. Mayors take their expected DCRF funds into account when proposing yearly budgets for city councils to vote on. They can direct this money towards any area in need of funding, from sanitation worker salaries to affordable housing initiatives to road repairs. Since 2017, the DCRF has received about $12.4 million each year, up from $10.4 million in 2016. Last year, Providence, the biggest qualifying city, received $5.2 million of that funding.

In January of this year, Rhode Island Governor Gina Raimondo released her proposed Fiscal Year 2021 budget, with the goal in mind of ridding the state of its $200 million deficit. To this end, instead of raising taxes, Raimondo suggested budget-balancing measures such as new municipal fees and “scooping” money from the budgets of quasi-state agencies, as described in the Providence Journal. One of these measures was to cut the DCRF in half, from $12.4 to $6.2 million. The Senate Budget office noted in their budget analysis released this May that this was unusual: it was “the lowest appropriation level since FY 2001.”

While the Rhode Island League of Cities and Towns (RILCT) vocalized their opposition to the Governor’s proposals, their associate director, Peder Schaefer, was not initially fazed by the cuts to DCRF. “There was a lot of comfort that the legislature was going to restore the $12.4 million appropriation level,” he told the Indy, adding that the General Assembly usually ends up approving a slightly higher budget than that of the Governor’s proposed one.

Due to COVID-19, the legislature did not convene again until mid-June, when budget negotiations usually conclude, and missed the July 1st deadline to pass a new budget. Raimondo and the leaders of the General Assembly pushed a vote on the budget back a month, and then another. Until the new year’s budget was approved, state funding was supposed to continue at the same level as the previous year.

But it didn’t. At least, not for the DCRF. On July 30, Thomas Mullaney, State Budget Officer, sent a memo to Steve Coleman, chief of the Department of Revenue municipal finance division informing him that because the FY 2021 budget had yet to be enacted, RI General

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Law section 35-3-19 authorized him to “make appropriations available . . . in the same amounts as the final enacted budget for the previous year,” and distribute it monthly instead of in the usual one time payment. But then without explanation, he wrote that the payments had “been entered into the state’s accounting system based on the lesser of the FY 2020 final enacted budget or the Governor’s recommended FY 2021 Budget,” seeming to contradict his previous statement.

Suddenly, Raimondo’s proposed halving of the DCRF was live.

Many spoke out against the unexpected move— including Brian Daniels, executive director of RILCT, Cranston Mayor Allan Fung, and progressive Assembly nominees—and rightfully so. It comes at a time when struggles with coronavirus have already strained municipal budgets. As such, the cuts raise some important questions. Why did the State Budget Officer make these cuts? Who will be most impacted by these changes; is it even legal? But before any of that comes a historical question: What can we learn from the creation of the DCRF in 1990? +++ COVID-19 won’t be the last budget deficit Rhode Island faces, and it certainly isn’t the first. In fact, the DCRF was established in the midst of another budget deficit 30 years ago. Facing an estimated $200 million deficit for Fiscal Year 1991, the state governor at the time, Edward D. DiPriete, had “proposed [an] $11.2 million cut in nonschool state aid to cities and towns,” as detailed in the Providence Journal. Central Falls at the time bore the state’s highest property tax burden and was slated to be hit the hardest by these cuts, with Warwick close behind, according to a report from the Rhode Island Public Expenditure Council.

In response to the impending cuts, the mayors of these two cities successfully lobbied the State to restore their funding using a formula designed to provide “extra assistance for ‘distressed communities’” created by the 1982 Swearer Commission. The Commission sought to alleviate “municipal over-reliance on the property tax,” as described in the Providence Journal.

At that time, most cities and towns in Rhode Island used property taxes to fund a majority of services (and still do today—for example, 70 percent of Providence’s general revenue comes from property taxes).

One part of the problem was that cities lost money to non-profits and other institutions that did not have to pay taxes on the property they occupied.

The Commission’s solution was the precursor to the current state Payment in Lieu of Taxes aid program that provides money to municipalities based on a proportion (currently 27 percent) of the taxes that these tax-exempt organizations would otherwise pay, in effect increasing the amount of property a municipality receives taxes from. Another issue was that when faced with financial crises or expanding need for services, some municipalities could not afford to raise their property taxes to solve these problems. The solution here: a Distressed Communities Relief Fund.

Cities and towns would qualify for this funding by being in the lowest 20 percent in three out of four

categories: 1) per capita income, 2) per capita value of property, 3) ratio of total municipal income to total municipal property value, and 4) ratio of total municipal tax revenue to total property value. As such, municipalities that qualify for this fund are often poorer than their neighbors, either due to lower-income residents or low property value. The same DCRF formula is still used today, and accordingly, “cutting [the DCRF] only serves to penalize communities whose tax base can’t support large tax increases,” as Brian Daniels, head of the RILCT, observed in January, when Raimondo proposed the FY 2021 cuts.

Once qualifiers are chosen, the General Assembly decides on a total dollar amount for the fund; for the past few decades this amount has changed about once every three years. The money is then distributed to each qualifying municipality in a percentage proportionate to their demonstrated need, based on tax revenue. This money goes straight into the community’s general revenue and is distributed between various public services such as parks and recreation, education, and infrastructure. In 1990, this meant that Warwick and Central Falls each received about $500,000.

If enacted at FY 2020 rates, this funding would have amounted to about one percent of each of the seven qualifying cities and towns’ general revenues (these usually exclude state education funding, which can amount to almost a third of the total revenue, like in the case of Providence). That number may seem small, but to put this into perspective, think of that as the average salary for about one out of every hundred non-school municipal employees. According to the City of Providence Human Resources webpage, the municipality employs over 1,400 people outside of the school district. More than fourteen of those jobs could be funded by the DCRF, so to cut the Fund in half is to take away the money for the salaries of seven employees. Seven layoffs. Seven people out of work.

Now add in COVID-19, during which municipalities have already instituted work-share programs to avoid such consequences.

Rhode Island’s administrative response to the deficit in 1990 contrasts with that of today’s—back then, instead of cutting funding for municipalities in need, these two “distressed communities” were the ones whose budgets the state bolstered when the crisis hit. But there are also similarities between the two responses: In both, the governor chose not to raise income taxes in favor of cutting spending. DiPrete had a “no-new-tax pledge,” and Raimondo has made it clear that without more federal funding, “everything is on the table” to be cut this upcoming year. And while Raimondo’s approach can be disputed, the reasons for her fear of today’s deficit cannot. +++ Rhode Island, like all states, faces a massive financial crisis due to COVID-19 shutdowns. The state’s unemployment rate spiked to 18 percent in April. While it has since stabilized at about 12 percent, returns on income and sales taxes—the state government’s main sources of revenue—have shrunk significantly, leading to huge budget deficits. House Speaker Nick Mattiello’s

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DISTRESS

to RI’s most at-risk communities office estimated in early September that the state had a deficit of $835 million, up from the previous year’s $200 million.

While Rhode Island received $1.25 billion from Congress’s Coronavirus Relief Fund, this money cannot be used to make up for losses in revenue; according to current restrictions, it can only be put towards COVID19-related spending. So far, this federal money has helped finance the $1.8 billion increase in spending for COVID-19-related expenses like hospital construction and personal protective equipment purchases included in the final revised state budget for FY 2020 which the Assembly passed in mid-June.

But as written in the Providence Journal, Raimondo has yet to use much of the federal aid, “in case Congress doesn’t come through with more money and decides to let the state use leftovers from the first round of funds.”

The state has between $409.9 and $592.3 million left to spend of the COVID aid, depending on how much money the state receives in FEMA funding, according to an R.I. Office of Management and Budget presentation given on September 2. Other states have taken different routes; for example, New Jersey bit the bullet and authorized borrowing of up to $4.5 billion to shore up their budget, a massive hole from which to escape.

If Congress allows more flexibility in spending the Coronavirus Relief Fund money, Raimondo’s inaction could lift pressure off of state budget officers to attempt similar moves.

Schaefer explained to the Indy that while it is tough for municipalities to not know how much state aid they’ll receive in the coming months, the alternative could be much worse. Raimondo has said that barring new federal funding, a new budget “will absolutely have layoffs, will absolutely have cuts to social services, will absolutely have all the stuff we’re trying to avoid.” Schaefer’s take: “We want them to make a decision, but we don’t want the worst decision. So it’s a two-edged sword.” He said he understands that the government is in a tough spot when it comes to making budgetary decisions, and that they needed to cast the DCRF overboard in an effort to find the money to stay afloat themselves. But others are far more critical of the decision.

Newly elected progressive leaders, including District 4 Representative-elect David Morales, see the inaction and cuts as emblematic of an “austerity budget.” On September 15, he and two other progressive Assembly nominees, Leonela Felix and Meghan Kallman, spoke on this issue on the steps of the State House at a news conference hosted by Reclaim RI, a progressive advocacy group. At the conference, Kallman, Pawtucket’s Democratic nominee for State Senate, said that “raiding funding to communities that are already struggling betrays those in our community who most need support, which is morally unacceptable.”

Examining the data from the Rhode Island Department of Health, six out of seven cities with the highest positivity rates for COVID-19 qualify for DCRF funding, and the seventh, Johnston, qualified for DCRF funding as recently as 2019. Central Falls has the highest COVID positivity rate (18 percent) of any Rhode Island municipality and received $201,648 in funding from the DCRF last year, which amounted

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to over one percent of the city’s budget. Providence has the second highest rate (13 percent) and received $5,155,694 in funding from the DCRF last year, which amounted to about 0.67 percent of the city’s budget.

There seems to be a correlation between DCRF qualification and positivity rates for COVID-19, which Morales and others see as an obligation for the state to not only restore the funding, but to give more. The proposed reductions could lead to layoffs and take funding away from basic services like public works, affordable housing, and parks and recreation. Morales highlighted the fact that non-profits, which serve as key wraparound services for many municipalities, may lose funding. Clearly, these cuts make budgetary decision-making processes for cash-strapped communities tighter during already stressful times.

Of last month’s news conference, Morales told the Indy that they “wanted to send a clear message to the governor’s administration that we would not tolerate an austerity budget that would force the state to cut funding for social services, Medicaid, funding to distressed cities—ultimately, programs that benefit our most vulnerable and low-income communities.” +++

Morales interpreted this quote as emblematic of the lack of accountability in the Rhode Island government. “Who decides when the economy has bounced back to the degree that cities no longer need to depend on state funding to provide adequate services?” he asked rhetorically in an interview with the Indy. “There are tens of thousands of people across the state who are still earning starvation wages of $11.50. That to me does not show signs of a stronger economy.”

Furthermore, a report from the Rhode Island Public Expenditure Council (RIPEC) from before the pandemic found that “despite improved economic conditions and job growth in Rhode Island over the last few years, GDP growth has been slower in Rhode Island than in the New England region and the nation, and the ‘growth gap’ remains wide over time.” Rhode Island’s economy isn’t actually much to write home about. But even if the state’s economy was booming, how would that make the DCRF “obsolete?” Seven cities still qualify for DCRF based on the same criteria that has been in place since 1990; these seven cities have legitimate difficulties with respect to their property taxes and can use the extra financial flexibility that DCRF aid provides. But until legal action is taken, the DCRF will continue to be distributed in lower amounts.

According to Morales, none of this controversy should be necessary. He not only disputes Womer’s claim but also the Governor’s insistence to resort to such budget-balancing measures in the first place. Instead of “scooping” and fees, he wants the state to raise revenue in other ways: make wealthy non-profit institutions pay taxes, repeal the 2006 tax cuts to the wealthiest citizens, and borrow money using revenue bonds. He says that administrators should “reject cutting funding for distressed communities and instead focus on the cost of living adjustment” made necessary by the inflation that pushes up the cost of real estate and essential goods each year.

Morales states that it’s crucial the public understands the consequences of government actions so they can hold officials accountable. That’s why he spoke on the steps of the state house on September 16 to call attention to this issue. He urges residents in the places impacted the most by cuts to the DCRF to contact their legislators and call on them to pressure the governor’s office. “A lot of these well-paid government administrators can go on record to say ‘the economy is doing just fine, these cities don’t need the funding,’ because no one is going to question them and put their feet to the fire like they should.”

If these officials were questioned more often, the Indy thinks that maybe the public would see the lack of empathy in their actions, see that state administrators expect their most vulnerable communities to make do with unapproved levels of funding. And they would understand that even—no, especially—when dealing with the financial repercussions of a global pandemic, now is not the time to cut the DCRF.

Aside from moral questions, the abrupt cuts to the DCRF also raise legal ones. As reported in the Providence Journal, Daniels asserted in an August 27 letter to the head of the state’s Division of Municipal Finance that the Administration did not have the legal grounds to make this budget change “arbitrarily.” He pointed to R.I. General Law 35-3-19, which states that if the General Assembly does not pass the annual appropriation bill, funding will continue at the same level of appropriations from the prior year, which in fact Mullaney acknowledged in his July 30 memo. Mayor Fung threatened litigation.

When the Indy reached out to Robert Dulski, the spokesman for the R.I. Department of Administration, to ask about the legality of the cuts to the DCRF in the Governor’s recommended FY 2021 level, he did not answer directly. “While we wait for further guidance [from the federal government], the Budget Office has authorized monthly disbursement at FY20 levels to allow for maximum flexibility until we know more,” he said, adding that “the legislation authorizes the budget officer to determine allotments . . . but does specifically say the amounts must be equal to 1/12 or 1/4 . We acknowledge that this is not a typical budget year and given this situation, we are applying the laws that have been passed by the legislature.”

While this explains the monthly payment schedule causing municipalities cash-flow problems, the Administration’s legal rationale for the funding cuts remains ambiguous, as $6.2 million is decidedly not the amount specified in FY 2020. Their general justification for the reductions is also unclear. Jonathan Womer, state Office of Management and Budget director, was quoted in a Providence Journal article from January when Raimondo’s recommended budget LEO GORDON B’23 has not looked at this many was released saying that “the economy has improved numbers since high school math. so much that ‘distressed communities’ aid may now be obsolete.” But some find this not to be the case.

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Anchored in Faith

BY David Sanyour ILLUSTRATION XingXingShou DESIGN Audrey Therese Cabrera Buhain

A recollection from time shared between the living and the dead The first days at the cemetery certainly weren’t the hardest. Those would come later, as the temperatures soared to 90 degrees, and after long afternoons carting around the jackhammer. They were the most disorienting, though. As Duke, Alan, and I drove along the winding roads, the three of us jammed into the cab of a rusting pickup truck, the grounds seemed to melt together in the misty heat. I never knew quite where I was. Each section of the tall grass and the cloud of pollen that would erupt when we trimmed at the base of the headstones blended into the next, and there was always another one behind it. The only difference was the next section might be on a hill, or the surnames on the stones might be mostly Portuguese instead of Italian, or Polish instead of Irish. The cemetery’s abstruse organization was partly to blame for the confusion. Section 49 might be next to section 54, which might in turn lie directly across the road from section 51. Section 21 might lie neatly across from section 22, but be situated between sections 62 and 16. Each is marked on one side by a number mounted on a thin pole. I am looking at a map now to write this. Duke, an architecture student, grumbled about the layout at every opportunity.

Each morning, from the first day up to the last, we knew it was time to work at St. Francis when Ralph, the foreman, shouted, “Let’s give it hell, men!” When we heard that, either to start work in the morning or to end a break, we— not only Alan, Duke, and I, but the full timers, Ernie, Zhenya, and Jared, too— would make our way down a set of stairs from the breakroom to the Chapel garage. Two sets of double doors separate the workers’ section of the Chapel from the mourners’. On the garage floor, between the backhoe and the trucks and the riding mowers, we suited up in eye protection, ear protection, and gloves, grabbed our water bottles, threw our trimmers and a milk crate of fuel and twine into the back of the truck, and Duke would drive us off to the sections we were to trim that day. This was the routine so long as we were trimming. Later on in the summer, when we heard, “Let’s give it hell, men,” we might grab rakes instead, or Alan and Duke might grab trimmers while I grabbed a bucket to pick up trash by the street, along the outer fence, or one or two of the three of us might go off to help dig a grave, or Duke and I would take our trimmers and drive off alone because Alan was late, again.

Trimming was supposed to be the worst job in the cemetery, and it was hard work. We had to do it because we were summer guys, and in your first year or two of summer help, that’s what the foreman made you do. Maybe longer, if someone didn’t like you. After a few years, you might ride the mower instead of trim, and do less menial work. Some years later, three or four if you were lucky, but more likely after five or seven years of working as summer help, someone in the hierarchy might decide to hire you full time.

You would trade in your dirt-stained, yellow summer help shirt and your part-time, six-month contract for a blue full-timer shirt and a union contract, with union wages, union benefits, and eventually, after you had mowed continents of grass and dug houses of dirt, a union pension. Whether from there you advanced to become the second-in-command at the cemetery, or even foreman, or higher up the chain, or whether you became the mason, the mechanic, a backhoe operator, or just remained an ordinary laborer, you would retire, with all luck, having hardly touched a trimmer again.

The trimmers had a heft to them that you felt in your shoulders after a long day, and the grass and dirt got everywhere, all over our clothes, into the crevices of our hands, into our hair and our nostrils. The pollen made Alan and I sneeze and wheeze while we trimmed. When I blew my nose I would see dirt particles mixed in with the snot, and every day when I showered dirt would pour down the drain with the water. Against regulations, we would tuck headphones under our shirts and inside our earmuffs. Alan, Duke, and everybody else at the cemetery listened to music, but I couldn’t; my mind

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would drift in too many directions. Between the solitude that settled over us like a damp rag while we worked, and the time for reading I’d lost from exhaustion, I’d find peace of mind listening to interviews with writers. Their many voices blended in with the roar of the weed whacker while I worked through the sections.

As a laborer, you might work for the diocese, in Pawtucket at St. Francis, like we did, in Cranston at St. Ann, or at Gate of Heaven in East Providence, which you might spy out the window of your car on a drive to Tillinghast Place.

Men—and the laborers are all men—work here their whole lives. Sometimes, their sons grow up to work here, too. Many workers have connections to the tangled Catholic bureaucracy that go well beyond the labor pool. We heard about this or that man who was promoted early because the Monsignor was his cousin, and about another man who worked as summer help for 12 years because he’d angered the Monsignor. One day, shipped out to St. Ann, another laborer approached us. He said, “How’d you guys, ah, get this job… Usually you have to know somebody.” St. Francis was established in 1871, and St. Patrick, in Providence, the oldest cemetery maintained by the dioceses, dates from 1844. There has been a long time for close-knit and exclusionary networks of ethnic and family ties to develop and grow into an organism of its own.

Walking up and down the rows every day, sweat dripping down our noses, it was hard not to read the inscriptions on the stones as we passed them by. The dates of birth and death range from the 1800s up to the present day, and almost certainly COVID-19 deaths account for at least a few of them. Others must have succumbed to the Spanish flu 100 years prior. We saw funeral processions make their way through the cemetery, long columns of cars, and masked priests. The headstones’ inscriptions detail complex webs of family relations, as interesting for their yawning gaps in information as for the words provided. What did that woman whose husband died in his mid-twenties do for the sixty years she outlived him, raising the children who themselves would also later be buried beside the two of them? What was the pain for that family for whom the earliest burial in their plot, before mother, father, or anyone else, was marked “The Baby Mildred”? And what of “The First Italian Aviator in Rhode Island,” buried with his wife under a pink marble headstone in the shady northern end of the grounds? The inscriptions say very little about the nature of the lives they mark, whether they were happy or melancholic. Mistresses and paramours are not memorialized alongside husbands and wives.

At the height of summer, many of the stones were caked with lichen and moss, especially the older ones, some too weatherworn to read. Ants crawled in the grooves of the letters, and other insects, too, over and around the stones, alongside the rabbits, mice, and once a lost flock of turkeys, another time even a turtle that ran through the undergrowth and high grass. Every time we got back in the truck at the height of July, we pulled beetles off each other’s shirts, and brushed off ants and spiders. Daily, I pulled beetles from out of my beard. Sometimes, when we would get too near a thick tuft of grass, or a bush with our trimmers, a rabbit would dart out from under it. And no matter how much we cut the grass, it never stopped growing.

Our crew at St. Francis was six men. Three seasonal workers, Duke, Alan, and I, all Brown students, or recent graduates in my case, and four full-timers, Ralph, Ernie, Zhenya, and Jared. The full-timers ranged in age from Jared, 24, to foreman Ralph, in his early sixties. They had worked for the company for as little as seven years, in Jared’s case, or in Ralph’s case as many as 40.

Some come from far away. Zhenya emigrated from Odessa, Ukraine when he was 23, without a word of English. His mother and brother followed him to Cranston soon after, and he’s worked in cemeteries for 14 years now. The rest come from nearer by. Born and raised in Rhode Island, Jared recently

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stepped on a plane for the first time when he went to Disney World in July with his new girlfriend. He sent Duke, Alan, and I into a panic when he refused to take a COVID-19 test upon his return, and we exchanged angry glares for the next week or two. Ernie lives in Massachusetts, and Ralph speaks with a thick Rhode Island accent.

On the bulletin board in the breakroom, next to a set of calendars from the last several years mapping out funerals, burials, Ernie’s jury duty, and other important events, there is a news clipping from the early 1980s.

The photo in it shows a young man. He is on a riding mower between two tall stones on what is unmistakably the wall stretch. He is muscular, with something familiar about his smile, and the twist of his nose. To our left, Ralph sits at the head of the breakroom table. He has the same twist in his nose, and the same crosswise smile. Ralph has worked for the Rhode Island Catholic Cemeteries since he was in high school, at St. Francis since his early twenties. He is still a large man, though by now much of his hair has fallen out, and some of the muscles have turned to fat. He has the same short attention span and impatience of the much younger man, though, and when someone doesn’t move their truck out of his way fast enough, he will say, “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.”

The full-timers know things like how much dirt it takes to fill up a grave and how much loam to put on top of it the same way you know how much oil to put in a pan. They know the grounds so well that when Ralph tells me to meet him at section 16, he is annoyed I don’t already know where to go. They can maneuver their mowers so precisely through the stones that an inch of space on either side might as well be football fields to spare.

Ernie has a motto he tells you each time you can’t start a weed whacker, or mess up a simple task: “You just need to be two percent smarter than the machine you’re using, just two percent smarter.” He can tell what’s wrong with a machine just by looking at it, and just as quickly, he can fix it.

“Country Boy” is tattooed on his forearm in wiry script, and that’s how the barista at Dunkin’ Donuts announces his name, “Country Boy!” He has all the steady energy of a live wire, and if you cut his veins open you might find gasoline. On odd days, Ernie brought in venison jerky he had hunted and smoked himself the previous weekend, and on others he talked about his moonshine, and how someday he’d bring some in for us. When Zhenya was in his fishing phase, buying rods, talking about permits and his friend Angel who he fished with, he followed after Ernie every second, and asked him question after question. With Duke, he did the same about stocks.

Ernie responded in clipped tones. He was never warm, but he always gave detailed answers.

Ernie was a conspiratorial mess of paranoia and the sense that the end is near. He told us he doesn’t take medicine, he just stores it in his house when the doctor prescribes it. His dream is to move to Oklahoma, where he can see nobody apart from himself and his family if he chooses.

After he took a trip there on his vacation to check out some land, he showed me vacation photos of family and hot springs; he talked to all of us with a faraway look in his eyes about the rolling, open land. In addition to the cemetery, he works two part-time jobs. One is as a mechanic in Connecticut, the other is as a PCA, or, personal care assistant, looking after a developmentally disabled young girl. When her father didn’t follow through on a promise to take her to her prom, Ernie donned a suit and took her instead. He shows me a photo. He is wearing red suspenders, his hair slicked back and a smile on his face. She is next to him in a dress, smiling as well. “The dress was my daughter’s,” he tells me.

At breakfast time, Zhenya would always be waiting for us in his car, motioning for us to hurry from behind the dashboard. When he passed us by on his mower, he would always say, “You guys, don’t do so much work, you know, take it easy?” He took us in his car to breakfast every day.

We’d go to Dunkin’ Donuts for our coffee and donuts, and pick up eggs at Amanda’s Kitchen on the way back. Zhenya, his dark, close-cropped hair raked in a sharp line across his forehead, would ask me daily, “DUDE, you call Amanda’s?” to check that I’d ordered our breakfast specials. Ralph would jokingly call him our stepfather, as in “Your stepfather’s here to take you to breakfast,” or, “Oh no! Your stepfather’s not here to take you to coffee!” It made him laugh no matter how many times a day he made the same joke. When Zhenya passed me by on his mower, sometimes he would dance and kiss his biceps, and say again, “Dude, I tellin’ you, don’ work so hard. Take it eeeasy.” Other times, he’d intone darkly about shadowy conspiracies, and about how he was disrespected because he was Russian, and how earlier bosses had viciously abused him, no matter how hard he worked.

The cemetery works on a points system. You get five points for coming in late, ten if you miss a day. Somewhere around 65 points you get a verbal warning, at 75, a written warning. There might be more intermediary steps, but the important part is that at 100 points, you’re fired. In addition to this, sick days require 48 hours notice, and you are not any more eligible for unemployment when you are fired than you were when you started, because the Church is a nonprofit. For Jared, this became a problem after he had come in hours late for a week or two, and then disappeared under hazy circumstances involving an unrecoverable COVID-19 test result and a doctor on vacation. When he returned two weeks later, he stalked resentfully around the grounds. He has a long skinny face topped by curling tufts of hair and shaved down the sides. He has dark grooves under his eyes, and told me he usually only slept four or five hours a night, for no reason other than that he has trouble sleeping. One stormy day, as we rested under a tree while it drizzled with thunder rolling in the distance and forks of lightning arcing across the sky, he looked at me, surrounded by the tall trees, and at the lighting, and said to me in a quivering voice, “Do you think it’d hit us?” +++

and torn up trees, and then accelerated up the eastern seaboard as a tropical storm towards New England. When we biked through the cemetery gates the morning following the storm, clothes still hanging damp in our houses from the previous night’s rain, we were greeted by wreckage. At St. Francis, the storm knocked down trees from the wall stretch to the dump in the backmost section, and across the grounds the wind had scattered plastic flowers, American flags, and the various small ornaments, religious figurines, beer cans, nips, and Dunkin’ Donuts cups that Rhode Islanders leave at their loved ones’ graves across the grass. Tree trunks blocked roads and dangling limbs hung precariously by networks of twigs and ivy.

We were the only visitors to the cemetery that day, which was closed while we cleared roads and removed hazardous branches and hanging trees. We’d continue this work over the coming weeks, and each time we drove around the cemetery, there were more limbs hanging from splinters and more branches lying in the middle of sections. That first day I rode in the backhoe with Ernie. He chainsawed branches and tree trunks into a size small enough that I could haul them to the side of the road, and then he cut more. My arms ached at the end of every day and the crevices in my pants filled with woodchips. Behind us, Alan and Zhenya hauled the wood into the back of their dump truck. Somewhere else in the cemetery, Duke raked the innumerable leaves that the storm had rattled onto the grass. By that evening, the dump was full with lichen-encrusted branches, and green leaves waved out from the brim of the dumpster. Around us, the grass grew unabated, everyone too busy cutting, raking, and hauling to cut it, until it covered the bottom halves of the stones and flat markers disappeared into the dirt.

First Duke quit, fleeing to sunnier climes and a fatter paycheck in Arizona, and then Alan followed him, the start of the school year just around the corner. Almost imperceptibly, the mornings started to get colder again. Two more summer guys arrived to replace them, each the polar opposite of the other. Josh was a mass of muscles with drooping eyes, and always tired out from his second job in demolitions. Meanwhile, Kenny was a hunched over 60-year-old man of small stature, with wiry strands of grey hair pushed around his bald scalp and a short fuse that never blew, but often seemed close to it. He started work during my last two days, and when we trimmed together, he wore his own glasses for eye protection, and refused to wear ear protection, shouting at me, “I didn’t use it all last summer!” He’d say to me, as we sat in the Kubota under a shady tree, “You and me, we’re college guys, we’re not built for this.”

I moved from my sunny apartment and my porch on Power Street to a sunnier apartment and higher rents on brick-sidewalked, tree-shaded Benefit Street, and I decided to quit, too. By the end of August, time had come full circle and I was back to weed whacking— this time, though, on my own. A single section might take hours, and perhaps even more given the amount of breaks you can give yourself when you find you’ve become your own supervisor. It started to become cool again in the mornings, September loomed, and the Wednesday after Labor Day I took my leave, never to return, except to pick up my check the following Thursday.

In one of my final weeks, I went to help Ralph chop down a cedar tree.

He cut, I hauled, and repeat. At one point, chainsawing a section of the trunk, he looked at me and said something like, “I like this wood. It smells nice.” He had a misty look in his eye. He said some admiring words about cedar wood furniture and how it kept away moths, and I remarked how I’d had moths earlier that summer and they’d torn up the backs of my shirts.

A few moments went by before I noticed he was cutting a particularly thin section of the trunk, only about an inch thick. “Here, Dave,” he said to me, smiling into the blue. He was holding out the section he’d cut. Not knowing what else to do, I took it. I rested it by the side of a gravestone. I thought, what is he on? and I hauled more branches to the side. He looked around for a while, as if admiring the sections in the distance as they spilled down the hill, or contemplating the dewy haze of the morning. I heard him rev the chainsaw. When I looked back, he’d cut another, equally thin section.

“Here, Dave,” he said once more, smiling a twinkling smile at something over my head. I biked home that afternoon, over the highway, past the sunny tennis courts on Hope Street, with a weighty backpack, the bottom of it littered with cedar chips.

DAVID SANYOUR B’20 is an aspiring tombstone engraver and epitaph writer.

Hurricane Isaias made landfall in North Carolina on August 4. It had torn through the Bahamas and up the Florida coast in a swirling mass of wind

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FEATURES

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ALTERNATIVE

REOPENING

BY Alisa Caira ILLUSTRATION Hannah Park DESIGN Miya Lohmeier

Major Museums’ Return to the Physical

The way to the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art is scattered with old cemeteries, views of the Hoosic river, small towns, and miles of tree-lined highways. Typically, this three-hour drive from Boston is my favorite part of the trip. This time, however, my friend and I were running an hour behind for our timed entry slot. This lateness didn’t faze the museum attendant who greeted us as we approached the MoCA’s sprawling complex. After being screened and told to social distance and keep our masks on, we entered MoCA’s cavernous lobby which, despite the many months that had passed since my last visit, looked precisely the same.

The MoCA began its life not as a museum, but as a mill in the 19th century. The structure later converted into an electricity plant, with the museum ultimately

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taking over the space in 1986. In the next decade, its industrial interior was molded to become one of the largest contemporary art museums in the world while its outer shell remained that of an unchanged factory complex. However, the museum’s vastness doesn’t necessarily entail isolation; it takes up about one-third of downtown North Adams, drawing tourism and the arts into the city. The MoCA has been one of my favorite spaces to return to, albeit with time spent questioning the ways in which this place engages with the communities around it.

Museums have been facing questions of significance for years. In 2018, the National Endowment for the Arts reported that art museum attendance dropped by 16.8 percent despite population growth and more museums offering free admission. Considering how

it was already unclear whether these museums could maintain a consistent audience, COVID-19 has only raised the stakes.

Additionally, large museums risk promoting gentrification with promises of economic or cultural revival.

While studies have found that art establishments are most likely to emerge in affluent or already gentrified neighborhoods, there are conflicts in areas where this trend doesn’t hold true. In the Boyle Heights neighborhood of Los Angeles, Defend Boyle Heights emerged to fight against an influx of art establishments driving up rent prices; the Chinatown Art Brigade appeared in New York to do the same. Further, many established museums are opening off-shoot locations like the Boston Institute of Contemporary Art’s Watershed or the Museum of Modern Art’s PS1 in the Bronx. These

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museums tend to be aware of their location, and many smaller museums are integral to the communities they are rooted in. However, museum administrations and audiences alike must be cognizant of the tensions that can emerge between larger art establishments and the locations they inhabit. These issues must be interrogated on a case-by-case basis with an understanding of change over time.

The MoCA has a particularly complicated relationship with its hometown of North Adams, the fifth poorest city in Massachusetts. The state grants given to the museum were contingent on the city’s revitalization. The MoCA has made progress towards this goal with tens of millions of dollars being generated, both in museum revenue and indirectly through impact on local business. Other local businesses have also found a home within the MoCA complex, and their Asset to Artists program supports local artists while encouraging other creatives to visit. With that said, the monetary numbers still lag behind the museum’s initial projections, and many visitors to the MoCA are reluctant to explore the surrounding area. Further, it’s unclear where this generated money heads once it reaches downtown businesses and the museum itself.

With the onset of COVID-19, the hunt for solutions to this problem has remained at a standstill for months. +++ Of course, not every museum is the MoCA. During these closures, art museums have had a chance to more broadly reevaluate the impact that their physical space can have as a catalogue of societal norms, unrest, and progress. When this impact is accounted for, prioritized curations can occur, like ERRE’s work “Them and Us/ Ellos y Nosotros.” An entire room is dedicated to his ruminations on the histories and implications of the border wall. Now, museum administrators must center this impact as in-person experiences remain risky at best and dangerous at worst. If museums don’t seize the opportunity to expand their accessibility, engage a broader public, and follow through on stated efforts towards social change in a timely manner, there may not be reason for them to return at all.

Museums, after all, are institutions controlled by trustees and directors. Art access and education isn’t always the primary ambition for their higher-ups.

According to one New York Times report, individuals can attain board member positions by donating significant sums to the museum, cutting off access to these seats for those who, while passionate, don’t have the finances. This disparity can lead to a disconnect between the museum’s actions and those of its board.

For example, Warren B. Kanders was forced to step down as vice chairman of the Whitney after protests regarding his company’s sale of tear gas. More recently, Gary Garrels of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art was forced by employees to leave after his response to questions on curation policies. Both situations reveal a willingness to hold power until wrongdoing makes resignation necessary. These upper bodies of institutions must more closely parallel the people they claim to be serving. Currently, that disconnect is one that makes art museums a place of elitism, leaving no hope for genuine community connection.

There may be hope for museums to reconnect, but not without a reassessment of their physical space.

While so much can be learned digitally, it is physicality that can be felt and remembered. The ways in which eyes move over a space, feet follow specific pathways, artworks work in tandem, and senses unite in a collective experience is actively un-digital and, as of yet, cannot be digitally rendered.

At the MoCA, the unique space of the museum is half of what makes it impressive, and the art tends to require human interaction more than any gallery wall. In a recent exhibition titled “When” by Ledelle Moe, the viewer walks through a warehouse filled with gigantic cement monuments of human faces and bodies. In Laurie Anderson’s exhibition, she invites viewers into a virtual reality project where one is invited to float through an eerie, black-and-white world entirely composed of excessive, near indecipherable text. Meanwhile, In Julianne Swartz’s work “In Harmonicity, the Tonal Walkway,” the viewer walks

THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

through a factory tunnel, not unlike those that were once contained within the bowels of the museum’s ancestor. In the narrow passage, a variety of people sing notes and whisper quick words over speakers hidden through the space. Exhibits like these demand intimacy and interaction at the MoCA and beyond. +++

and brown artists. In Boston, Boston Arts for Black Lives wrote a similar open letter. Protestors are turning their attention to museums and their opinions on these institutions won’t change until the museums do.

Museums can still remain relevant post-crisis.

There is plenty of artwork that requires the tool of space. However, all museum executives must do more than reopen their doors with safety precautions in place. Museum’s administrations must go beyond vague statements of solidarity or old promises to local communities. Museums must take strong sociopolitical stances backed by concrete action. Even if these steps begin small—website highlights of BIPOC artists, hiring more Black and Indigenous curators, taking accountability for who holds power on museum boards—these steps must increase in scale over time.

Museums and the people who control them must present clear timelines of how and when they are going to give back and reach out to their local communities, ensure their larger actions match with the themes of the art they present, and provide access and education to as many people as possible. If not, the severe risk of museum closures will only grow larger as new audiences and artists are discouraged from connecting with these institutions.

Some museums have begun to make steps in the right direction. The SFMOMA, after it’s ill-advised Instagram post, posted a list of actions the museum was taking. At the High Museum in Atlanta, administrators were able to triple the amount of non-white visitors to 45 percent—much more reflective of the cities 59 percent non-white population—after carefully planned outreach and exhibitions. Back home at the MoCA, a new exhibition by Glenn Kaino titled “In Light of a Shadow” is set to open in February; this exhibition responds to the most recent wave of BLM protesting while also drawing in the much, much longer history of fighting for equal rights.

This exhibition is just one of many that museums will need to support to gain the audiences waiting for museums to prove their safety and care. Right now, there are freelance artists in need of opportunity, performers who need help finding ways to work, and a public craving for a safe return to physical life.

Museums can play a role in all of these circumstances and more. A reopening that is communal, innovative, and interactive is the first of many steps. What’s particularly exciting right now is watching museums make them.

When museums were forced to shutter their doors, they lost the ability to meet needs for up-close interaction. Digital art, of course, is vital in its own right and fulfills needs that a physical installation cannot. Digital museum tours have made art spaces across the globe accessible regardless of wealth or location. Additionally, digital art responds to an increasingly digitized world in a way museums do not have the capacity for; the same artists who achieve fame via social media are not always those shown on gallery walls. Without the effects of the pandemic, there would have been considerably less attention focused on how museums present themselves online, less recognition of the importance of digital art, and less public knowledge of digital alternatives to physical space.

However, an awkwardness arises when art that was meant for the digital sphere and art intended for analog exhibits collide. For many museums, the shift to digital came at the expense of their physical infrastructure, as museum industry layoffs and hashtags like #museumfromhome surged simultaneously. The MoCA’s own situation necessitated laying off 120 workers and hoping to safely reopen as soon as possible.

One could debate the success of digital outreach over the past few months. With many art museums— one example being Bass Art Museum in Miami Beach—hosting a variety of online lectures, interactive workshops, and online art activities, it is clear that intent was abundant. Despite promising motivations, determining the impact of these efforts isn’t so easy.

Regardless, art museums were forced to build digital relevancy, many for the first time. Rather than trying to get people through a literal door, museums had to ask new questions about how to keep the public interested.

Now, ready or not—and the answer is not—this door is reopening. America has arrived at the moment where art museums feel obligated to return to a semblance of normalcy. Though it is safer for these buildings to stay closed, reopening brings a rare opportunity for curators and art directors to apply lessons learned from the hiatus to change the ways in which museums operate and interact with artists and their local communities.

Unfortunately, current applications of these ALISA CAIRA B’22 is planning her next visit. lessons are lacking. Few museums have created strategies that truly shift their environments into safe and welcoming places for all people. At the MoCA, many installations had labeled acknowledgement of being planned before COVID-19 or before the Black Lives Matter protests, and their website features a statement on BLM. These efforts left a hole in terms of more explicit responses, even if it somewhat connected the exhibitions to the current cultural climate. Art museum statements, the MoCA’s included, have not proposed concrete steps towards crafting a space for a more diverse and inclusive artistic community. The fact that museum efforts seem to have begun and ended at these open-ended statements and Instagram feed posts (like the SFMOMA’s vague posting of the art of Glenn Ligon, a Black woman) is a monumental failure to stop harmful, institutionalized processes of disregarding marginalized voices. There are some exceptions to this consistency, such as when the Hirschhorn organized to show Arthur Jafa’s “Love Is the Message, the Message Is Death” as a 24 hour, multi-venue installation. This specific curation is still in progress, though.

Most museums still must make clear decisions on how far they will go to highlight marginalized voices from past and present and how they will diversify their leadership. Such action is necessary if museums plan to acknowledge their deeply damaging pasts and move into a truly inclusive future.

Even if there may be affluent populations who disregard the changing needs demanded from museums, there are large groups paying closer attention than ever.

Local art workers in New York City wrote to the city’s cultural institutions demanding respect towards Black

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EPHEMERA

16 OCT 2020

THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

X

14

grateful for our fear, for they lead

airplanes and in some way, I am

hood memories associated with

ings are reflective of our child-

The cartoonish nature of the draw-

and I when we fly.

come flooding back to my brother

sengers, these stories always

endlessly wrapping around pas-

magical potions, to the seatbelts

From the stewardess concocting

ease his nervousness in the air.

entertained with during a flight to

parents used to keep my brother

was inspired by the stories my

ing of over two thousand frames,

This charcoal animation, consist-

Buckle Up

the onus on us weighing COVID-19 responsibilities between students and administration

“The parties are definitely different from last year,” he said. It’s hard to fit 20 people in a Providence College dorm, harder still when Residential Assistants are watching out for people breaking social distancing rules. No masks, but definitely booze. At least it wasn’t a rager like the ‘darty,’ or day-time party, known among Providence College students as the epicenter of the school’s outbreak in September, where almost 100 students were infected with coronavirus.

Andrew Watson*, a junior at Providence College, didn’t go to that darty, though he knows many who did, and he’s gone to his share of kickbacks and dorm parties. He doesn’t want to throw Providence College under the bus, because he and his classmates are grateful to be back. But the outbreak at his school, he admits, was a result of irresponsible socializing and a lack of accountability.

It’s not just Providence College––outbreaks are happening everywhere. It’s happening at the University of Rhode Island, at Johnson and Wales, and at Brown.

Each of these universities has implemented their own set of testing frequencies and protocols. For example, Providence College welcomed its entire student body back until 205 students tested positive within the first three weeks, and the College switched to online classes with a possible return to in-person education on October 12. As of now, the school has a 1 percent prevalence rate, a figure which indicates the number of students and staff who have tested positive overall.

In September, the University of Rhode Island also allowed its entire student body and faculty population to return; with a 3 percent positivity rate, they’ve had more than 188 positive tests since the beginning of the semester. Johnson and Wales recently announced they were switching to online classes after 38 off-campus students were confirmed as positive.

By contrast, Brown opted for a delayed start to the semester, only bringing in the majority of its students once Phase 2, or the point at which many of Brown’s academic spaces would be reopened to students and in-person classes under 20 students would commence, was approved. About 500 students applied to move in early for Phase 1, which allowed students back into the dorms but limited student access to libraries, gyms, and other academic spaces; approval for Phase 2 was contingent on a low positivity rate on campus and across Rhode Island for several weeks. Even after testing negative, Brown students were required to adhere to a strict two-week quarantine, or “Quiet Period” after moving onto campus; Providence College students, on the other hand, were briefly able to bypass a quarantine period if they could show proof of a negative test from before their travels onto campus, but the College soon changed its policies to require immediate testing upon arrival to campus. With 26 students and staff testing positive for a 0.4 percent prevalence rate, Brown has a significantly lower positivity rate on campus than other Providence schools.

It’s no surprise that the start of the fall semester–– with students arriving from across the country and around the globe––brought a spike in cases to Providence. Rhode Island Governor Gina Raimondo said at a press conference in September that without the outbreaks at Providence College and the University of Rhode Island, the state’s total caseload would have declined slightly. Clearly, considering Rhode Island’s

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S+T

BY Gaya Gupta ILLUSTRATION Ophelia Duchesne-Malone DESIGN XingXing Shou

status as the smallest state in America and the presence of 12 colleges, which collectively enroll over 80,000 students, college outbreaks have the potential to disrupt the communities they are embedded within. There are a myriad of factors that contribute to an outbreak, and there’s only so much an administration’s testing protocols can do––the degree to which students follow rules that limit social interaction impacts the likelihood of an outbreak as well. Colleges and their students thus share the responsibility to keep COVID-19 off their campus and out of their respective Rhode Island communities––and with every school implementing and adhering to its own testing program differently, whether an outbreak happens on campus is even harder to predict.

+++ Rhode Island has administered almost 818,000 tests, which means up to 82 percent of the state population may already have been tested. The state is among the top two states leading the country in tests per capita; in comparison, less than half of California, with a population of almost 40 million, could have been tested. When the first outbreak occurred in early 2020, Governor Gina Raimondo acted swiftly; once the state reported its first two deaths on March 28th, she ordered the entire state to remain at home. Most college students were sent home in mid-March, completing the remainder of the school semester online, and graduation ceremonies were either conducted virtually or postponed.

Travel restrictions eased once the summer began, as did other COVID-19 guidelines: masks were scarcely worn on beaches, social distancing was hardly enforced on the Block Island Ferry. Despite summer bringing rising cases around the country and the world, Rhode Island’s caseload remained manageable, with positive cases dipping below 100 per every 100,000 RI residents by May. But with the fall semester underway, Rhode Island’s cases are on the rise. Unlike failing to wear masks on the beach, where people maintain distance and limit contact with one other, breaching COVID-19 guidelines has the potential to infect an entire dorm hall or building. After being hailed around the country as a leader in testing capabilities, Rhode Island is now the only Northeastern state besides New Jersey on Massachusetts’ travel ban, which requires those travelling from out of state to quarantine for 14 days. Rhode Island’s Department of Health data shows a significant spike in cases affecting people aged 18-24 in the weeks of September when colleges were opening up and the outbreak at Providence College occurred.

Julia Glassman, a junior at Providence College, was excited to return. After spending the second half of her spring semester at home, she thought getting an off-campus place with a few of her friends would be fun, even if classes were online. Her school required a strict stay at home order for all students living on campus, but from what she’s seen on social media, some Providence College students are finding ways to party.

“I think these freshmen feel like they’re in college for the first time and they’re so excited to see what everything’s about, so they feel the rules apply to them

16 OCT 2020

a little less,” she said. “Seniors on campus are probably also disappointed about how their year turned out, so they’re trying to make the most out of it.”

Many Brown students were dissatisfied by the announcement on August 11 that the University would be shifting to online instruction until at least October 5th. All freshmen, however, had any autumn move-in hopes dashed with the news that Brown first-years may only enroll in the spring and summer semesters. This year, Brown will offer three semesters of study in the fall, spring, and summer to limit the amount of students on campus; the smaller number of students on campus this fall allows everyone to have a room to themselves.

Providence College students living on campus can live with up to two other roommates, increasing the potential for spread amongst students. Given the Providence College outbreaks that happened while Brown classes were still operating online, the university might very well have avoided a higher caseload and community spread by delaying their opening.

With an endowment of almost 5 billion and its wealth of resources, however, Brown might have had the financial capabilities to stay closed when other schools around Providence didn’t. In an email to the student body describing the different days students could come back to campus, room and board would be “prorated” for those who decided to come back later, a few weeks after the first scheduled move in. Considering most students currently on campus elected to move in later, this move means the University lost revenue they would have usually secured––a loss that Brown, considering its wealth, is equipped to financially recover from. +++ Aside from the loss of room and board related revenue, implementing rigorous testing programs adds a new cost to universities. Unsurprisingly, frequent testing is imperative to keeping COVID-19 case numbers low and isolating those who must be quarantined early. “In general, frequent testing and contact tracing is extremely important in identifying new cases, isolating them from other people, and finding out where they may have infected other people,” said Dr. Patricia Risica, the director of Brown’s undergraduate studies in Public Health. “[Brown’s] current plan, although it’s a lot, is excellent, and I think it will help identify outbreaks when they happen and in real time protect students and staff.”

Students at Brown are tested twice a week through an independent company called Verily. Twice a week, over 6,000 asymptomatic students, staff, and faculty are tested at one of Brown’s two testing locations. Results are often sent back within 24 hours, and students are also required to record their symptoms every day.

Before Johnson and Wales moved online due to an outbreak in off-campus housing, they had decided to conduct “aggressive symptomatic testing,” meaning that students had to fill out a daily symptom tracker every morning before going to class and would receive tests upon demonstrated need. Although students would only take tests based on demonstrated need, Johnson and Wales “has the ability, if needed, to scale up testing for students, partnering either with the State of Rhode Island or a third party health provider if the need arises to test a larger population of students that are not symptomatic,” the University’s Frequently Asked Questions page reports. After 38 Johnson and Wales students living off-campus tested positive, the university implemented a stay-at-home order and a baseline round of testing, where all students were tested once to identify positive cases. The school has not released its testing plans for the rest of the quarantine period.

The University of Rhode Island and Providence College both employed “surveillance testing tactics,” which means students would be randomly selected to take tests every week. But according to Providence College student Julia Glassman, testing was infrequent.

“I was kinda disappointed with the way that they were

THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

testing at first,” she said. “Two weeks went by between my first and second test. After the outbreak, the university has been testing us every week, so why couldn’t they have done that earlier?”

The testing and coronavirus prevention programs cost universities a lot––especially when you work with a third-party vendor, like Brown. Conversely, Providence College and University of Rhode Island have both partnered with The Rhode Island Department of Health. “[Testing] requires significant resources to make happen,” said Brian Clark, spokesman for Brown University and Assistant Vice President for News and Editorial Development, said of such a rigorous testing program. The financial losses from cancellations of programs, such as Summer@Brown, are between $100-165 million, which is in the 10 percent range of Brown’s total operating budget, according to Clark.

Clark also said the university plans to draw $15-20 million more from the university’s endowment than they have in past years; last year, the university contributed $171 million to the operating budget.

Brown’s operating budget, given Clark’s estimations, would be between $1 billion and $1.5 billion— about four and six times more than Providence College or University of Rhode Island’s entire endowment, respectively. Brown’s rigorous testing protocol and flexibility seems to have, in part, prevented a major outbreak on campus so far, raising the question of how much funding affects a testing program’s efficacy.

Dr. Risica believes it’s unfair to consider outbreaks a direct result of underfunding; rather, it’s a combination of several factors, namely effective leadership and initiative. “I’ve not heard of a single report of universities saying we wanted to do more testing and we just aren’t being given the funds to do it. I think it’s a combination of having the resources but also having the political will to make [testing] a priority,” she said. The lack of both a national and statewide testing strategy for colleges and universities, Risica added, makes it even harder to determine whether outbreaks do or don’t happen.

Glassman, a junior, thought the PC outbreak could have been contained if only the university was doing more frequent testing earlier and enforced more social distancing. “It feels irresponsible that they didn’t test like this sooner,” she said, referring to the weekly mandated testing for all PC students. “Plus, there are so many people just walking in and out of campus––just yesterday, I saw someone get out of an Uber and walk onto campus.”

Preventing outbreaks and protecting the community, however, is more than just finances and testing programs implemented by the school. Students have no say in their school’s testing policies, so for students, it comes down to individual responsibility, what Glassman considers a moral obligation. “A lot of people aren’t taking this seriously,” she said. “There are a lot of people who aren’t seeing this as a real thing or who don’t believe the rules are real because they’re not being enforced.”

Around the country, we’ve seen bigger state schools with prominent Greek scenes struggle with COVID-19 outbreaks. Two weeks ago, more than 100 students part of University of Rhode Island’s fraternities and sororities were required to quarantine after seven students tested positive. The University of Rhode Island maintains that the new positive cases were not a result of large social gatherings. While Providence College also has claimed that the ‘darty’ last month did not cause the outbreak on campus, Glassman thought otherwise. “Both PC Security and Providence police saw the darty happening, looked at it, and didn’t break it up. Everyone knows [the outbreak] is from that darty, everyone has come to that consensus––except for the school.”

No one––neither students nor administrators–– wants to be blamed for an outbreak. And surely, there is no one person to blame. But they happened, and will continue to happen––so who takes responsibility?

Where do we, as college students who have an obligation to the greater communities in which we inhabit, go

from here? +++ For many students, college is their first introduction to freedom as young adults. It’s the first time away from their parents, maybe their first time with their own room; parties and alcohol unlock inhibition in unparalleled ways and new friends and classes allow them to explore and find and develop one’s identity.

This freedom for students to make their own decisions (well, maybe not the partying part) is why Brown President Christina Paxson encouraged colleges to do what they could to reopen in her op-ed to the New York Times, despite the piece receiving criticism from Brown students for being hypocritical; this time in our lives is integral to our personal growth, and spending the semester back home could potentially stunt that to some degree. But this same freedom is what could infect campus and send us home.

Tracking and policing students’ every move on campus wouldn’t be feasible. Brown students lack much supervision. Phase 2 students just finished Quiet Period, which means they’re officially allowed to go eat and study outside of their rooms––though many could have flouted quarantine orders earlier.

Providence College is similar: Glassman describes how if she wanted, she could just leave her house or even Providence whenever she liked, defying her school’s stay-at-home mandate for off-campus students.

But she doesn’t. She stays at home, and she hopes others do too.

GAYA GUPTA B’23 is grateful she gets tested twice a week. * All names have been changed for anonymity

S+T

16

the five love languages one. a love letter written in green pen with my favorite kind of punctuation interspersed throughout two. roller blades three. that sweet taste na boca, dos lábios aos dentes molares, when you speak the language crooned to babies, aquela língua das nossas avós, the words that taste like home* four: sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor, memorizing old photo albums, and praying to slow down time five: in the midst of all these eternal constellations, believing i’m your superstar among all this inexplicable wonder you remain my miracle. *line pulled and partially translated/adapted from Sandra Cisneros’ “Bien Pretty”

tangerine dreams she streams in confidently from the window and i face her with eyes closed, red pooling and swirling behind my eyelids, warm honey reviving my skin, gridded shadows mapping my body. a first love—blooming and perfect, eternal if not fleeting. i stay there for hours thinking about nothing and everything at once and follow her when she travels, lifting up to join her by running down the stairs with hands gliding along the walls so my feet can be uncontrolled, going two, three steps at once, flying, never reaching. blink, where did the time go? it’s dark. and if she’s gone to sleep then so should i but it’s hard without her orange tint and though she promised to come back she kept going and i stayed still. so i befriend the moon now and lie in its teary glisten that just barely collapses into my window, tired but trying so hard to bring me cool comfort.

[untitled] there are no graveyards in new york so there must be no dead people is a blind religion in a concrete skeleton where laughing too loud can block the stars where love is taken for granted

MARA CAVALLARO B’22 still writes love letters.

17

LIT

16 OCT 2020

Sitting at the dinner table they watch their words rust and rewind. sweet time who weeps in solitude rustling her tail feathers, the Kid swallows his spit as the sallow face of the question rears its fangs and through its exit wound, he searches for an escape no says December that is not a question that is a Knife.

ILLUSTRATION Hannah Park DESIGN Clara Epstein

Sitting at the dinner table at the bus stop at the library at the end thinking in the house in the rain in the stacks in the end thinking does my ass look fat?

BOWEN CHEN B’21 is standing.

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LIT

18

These community health centers accept all insurance and have a sliding-scale system based on income for patients without insurance.

Designed by Mehek Vohra

HEALTHCARE RESOURCES

BAIL FUNDS & MUTUAL AID

Blackstone Valley Community Health Center: Pawtucket & Central Falls - 722-0081 Thundermist: West Warwick & Woonsocket - 615-2800 Tri-County Health Center: Johnston & North Providence - 351-2750 Providence Community Health Center: Providence - 444-0570 East Bay Community Action Program: Riverside & Newport - 437-1008 These clinics provide free and/or low-cost health services: Clínica Esperanze, Providence - 347-9093 Rhode Island Free Clinic, Providence - 274-6347 If you have COVID-19 symptoms, there are several locations in Rhode Island where you can get tested. For more information, please visit https://health.ri.gov/covid/testing/ Para más asistencia en español, llama a la línea de apoyo de AMOR: 401-675-1414.

AMOR COVID-19 Community Support Fund.

Donations go to support sanitation equipment for vulnerable populations, as well as direct financial assistance to families in need. Donate here: https://bit.ly/2UmYJXr. To get involved as a volunteer, packaging and distributing mutual aid, visit https://tinyurl.com/amor-covid-volunteer.

FANG Collective Community Bail Fund.

As jails and prisons continue to become coronavirus hotspots, they present extremely unsafe conditions for those inside, many of whom are held because they can’t afford bail. Help bail people out from the Bristol County House of Corrections and the Ash Street Jail through this fundraiser organized by the FANG Collective: https://gofundme.come/f/fang-bailfund Project LETS Mutual Aid Fund.

Project LETS is working in coalition with grassroots organizations in Rhode Island to provide direct financial assistance to the most marginalized and vulnerable in our community.

Donate here: https://projectlets.org/covid19

PROTESTS & EVENTS Saturday, October 17: “How will the police be abolished? A Marxist perspective.” Join the Party for Socialism and Liberation at 1pm in Burnside Park for a public reading and discussion on police abolition.

Sunday, October 18: PVD Flea Market from 10am to 2pm across from 345 South Water St. There will be artisans, vendors, live music, and food trucks. Mask required for entry.

Wednesday, October 21: Pawtucket Farmers Market from 3-6pm behind Harvest Kitchen on Main Street in Downtown Pawtucket! Get fresh fruits & veggies from C&M Farm, Friendly Bee Harvest, and Harvest Kitchen!

Wednesday, October 21: Open mic night at Askew (150 Chestnut Street). Live music from local Providence musicians in a socially distant outdoor space. Bar opens at 6; artists begin playing at 8.

Ongoing: Drive-thru Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular at Roger Williams Park Zoo. Surround yourself with a sea of intricately carved pumpkins from the socially distant vantage point of your car. Trail open every night 6:30 to 11pm through the end of the month.

This week, and for the foreseeable future, the Indy will publish community aid funds and other ways you can contribute to coronavirus relief and mobilize for racial justice, in addition to our traditional event listings.

ELECTIONS Sign-up to call voters in swing states and phonebank for the Green New Deal through Sunrise RI: https://bit.ly/3lKhE9q