The College Hill Independent — Vol. 44 Issue 6

THE INDY*

03 THE HOST-CITY 09 MARCH MADNESS 12 “INTUITION AND RULES”

Volume 44 Issue 06 25 March 2022

THE RUMINATIVE ISSUE

* The College Hill Independent

THE INDY*

Volume 44 Issue 06 25 March 2022

This Issue

Masthead*

00 COMMUNITY QUILT

MANAGING EDITORS Ifeoma Anyoku Sage Jennings Isaac McKenna Alisa Caira

See Bulletin for collaborators

02 WEEK IN SPRING BREAK DESTINATIONS Masha Breeze & Nora Mathews

03 THE HOST-CITY

Sacha Sloan & Carina Sandoval

05 WHY NON-BLACK CREATORS NEED TO STOP USING AAVE ON SOCIAL MEDIA Kara McAndrew

WEEK IN REVIEW Masha Breeze Nora Mathews FEATURES Anabelle Johnston Corinne Leong Amelia Wyckoff NEWS Anushka Kataruka Nicole Kim Priyanka Mahat ARTS Jenna Cooley Justin Scheer Arden Shostak

07 POWDERED SUGAR Nell Salzman

09 MARCH MADNESS

EPHEMERA Chloe Chen Ayça Ülgen

Indy Staff

11 INTERMISSION Maya Polsky

12 “INTUITION AND RULES” Yukyung Chung

13 WE DRESS OUR BODIES IN THE STYLES OF TIME Madeline Canfield

14 BE A BODY Kolya Shields

METRO Jack Doughty Nélari Figueroa Torres Rose Houglet Sacha Sloan SCIENCE + TECH Rhythm Rastogi Jane Wang BULLETIN BOARD Deb Marini Lily Pickett X Soeun Bae

15 “TRACING THE SPINE” Soeun Bae

DEAR INDY Cecilia Barron

16 DEAR ANYONE

LITERARY Alyscia Batista Annie Stein

17 “BETTER WITH YOU HERE”

OUTREACH COORDINATOR Audrey Buhain

Emma Eaton

Ford Haley-Rowe

SENIOR EDITORS Alana Baer Audrey Buhain Mara Cavallaro Anabelle Johnston Deb Marini Peder Schaefer STAFF WRITERS Hanna Aboueid Caroline Allen Zach Braner Rachel Carlson Lily Chahine Swetabh Changkakoti Danielle Emerson Osayuwamen Ede-Osifo Mariana Fajnzylber Edie Fine Ricardo Gomez Eli Gordon Eric Guo Charlotte Haq Billie McKelvie Charlie Mederios Bilal Memon Loughlin Neuert Alex Purdy Callie Rabinovitz Nick Roblee-Strauss Nell Salzman Peder Schafer Janek Schaller Koyla Shields Ella Spungen Alex Valenti Siqi ‘Kathy’ Wang Katherine Xiong COPY EDITORS Addie Allen Evangeline Bilger Klara Davidson-Schmich Megan Donohue Mack Ford Sarah Goldman Zoey Grant Alara Kalfazade Jasmine Li Abigail Lyss Tara Mandal Becca Martin-Welp Pilar McDonald Kabir Narayanan Eleanor Peters Angelina Rios-Galindo

18 DEAR INDY Cecilia Barron

From the Editors All of a sudden, a hundred robins.

Everything on Craigslist is free.

Every day is a Farmer’s Market, somewhere.

Crocuses erupt across the city.

Brand new music floats from windows.

We are applying to j*bs We are kissing and making up.

We are drinking lattes and bubble tea and regular tea.

01

THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

COVER COORDINATOR Seoyoung Kim DESIGNERS Briaanna Chiu Ophelia Duchesne-Malone Clara Epstein Elisa Kim Tanya Qu Emily Tom Floria Tsui WEB DESIGN Lucas Gelfond ILLUSTRATION EDITOR Hannah Park ILLUSTRATORS Sylvie Bartusek Ashley Castaneda Hannah Chang Claire Chasse Michelle Ding Rosie Dinsmore Quinn Erickson Lillyanne Fisher Sophie Foulkes John Gendron Amonda Kallenbach Joshua Koolik Lucy Lebowitz Olivia Lunger Tom Manto Sarosh Nadeem Kenney Nguyen Izzy Roth-Dishy Lola Simon Livia Weiner GAME MAKERS Loughlin Neuert Maya Polsky WRITING FELLOW Chong Jing ‘CJ’ Gan MVP Sacha Sloan — The College Hill Independent is printed

by TCI in Seekonk, Massachusets.

*Our Beloved Staff

Mission Statement

19 THE BULLETIN

It is the end of March!

What will happen next?

DESIGN EDITORS Anna Brinkhuis Sam Stewart

-AS

The College Hill Independent is a Providence-based publication written, illustrated, designed, and edited by students from Brown University and the Rhode Island School of Design. Our paper is distributed throughout the East Side, Downtown, and online. The Indy also functions as an open, leftist, consciousness-raising workshop for writers and artists, and from this collaborative space we publish 20 pages of politically-engaged and thoughtful content once a week. We want to create work that is generative for and accountable to the Providence community—a commitment that needs consistent and persistent attention.

While the Indy is predominantly financed by Brown, we independently fundraise to support a stipend program to compensate staff who need financial support, which the University refuses to provide. Beyond making both the spaces we occupy and the creation process more accessible, we must also work to make our writing legible and relevant to our readers.

The Indy strives to disrupt dominant narratives of power. We reject content that perpetuates homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, misogyny, ableism and/or classism. We aim to produce work that is abolitionist, anti-racist, anti-capitalist, and anti-imperialist, and we want to generate spaces for radical thought, care, and futures.

Though these lists are not exhaustive, we challenge each other to be intentional and selfcritical within and beyond the workshop setting, and to find beauty and sustenance in creating and working together.

WEEK IN REVIEW

Week in Spring Break Destinations: God made us go to our cousin’s house for break because he knew our moms couldn’t handle us as sisters <3 [or: Cousins by Blood, Vacationers by Choice] 5. These are my cousins who really get me. Yeah, I’m the type of girl who hangs out with cousins! Hollywood and the mainstream media (yeah, I said it… someone had to) has yet to tap into the demographic of girls who wear Redbubble graphic tees and hang out with cousins. These cousins are so unpredictable and crazy, but it’s part of their charm. Plus, they really make me feel like I’m one of the guys!

Our favorite game is when they make me put my head in a well in the backyard and I tell them what the whispering voice says. They write down the messages in a leather-bound tome and then we all eat grass from the yard! Actually I’m the only one who gets to eat grass from the yard, and if I’m lucky there’s dirt and a beetle in it.

6. For our jetsetter clients dying to experience the modern wonders of air travel, why not take a plane to visit your Canadian cousins? They swear they “discovered Drake” and they love to ask if you’re ticklish (pay extra and we’ll tell you which answer doesn’t play into their sick little game!).

As Week in Review editors, we’ve wanted to start a travel agency together for weeks, if not days! Let’s be real: we’d look amazing in matching pencil skirts and updos, and we’d bring a new level of luxury to the game by having a rotating cast of hunky secretaries to bring us Vitaminwater.

But we’ve always thought the travel industry has a huge gaping hole right in its revenue stream (and honey, it’s not the one you think!). Get ready for some small talk that’s sure to wow next time you need to talk to your roommate’s boyfriend’s roommate or a group of your middle-aged coworkers: tell them you’re going to your cousin’s house for spring break!

What’s so great about the cousin’s house? It’s glamorous, it’s a world of mystery. There are so many ways to be a cousin’s house: with endless customizable variables for ambient smell, niche-hobby-specific decor, and general familial animosity, you’ll never run out of fresh, new options! Here are some of our favorite cousins to visit for your next getaway: 1. Coming in first, why not visit your cousins who fight over who’s the most petite! These cousins are triplets, which gives them an air of mystery and a unique positionality to the idea of being part of a group of three. Not only that, but they’re really into the idea that they can thrift from the kids’ section! Their main activity is standing in front of a leaf blower and seeing who gets swept off their feet and blown into a neighbor’s tree. You can spend the rest of the afternoon getting them down! They’re sooooo tiny.

2. This next group of cousins gave me food poisoning from salad, which you might not know is possible. I love my cousins who give me food poisoning from salad! But I hate that they kiss on the lips instead of on the cheeks because it really freaks me out.

3. If you’re looking for a spring break cray-cray vacay that’s oh-so-cold and off-putting, look no further than your Russian Orthodox cousins who tell you you’re going to hell. Your Russian Orthodox cousins who tell you you’re going to hell combine all the nostalgia and rich experience of your heritage with the bitter, unsmiling apathy of your heritage. My Russian Orthodox cousins who tell me I’m going to hell are named Olga and Ariadne. I tried to make them watch Rupaul’s Drag Race with me and they cursed my dog! They have domain over him now; he’s unrecognizable to me!

4. Coming in at number four in this list and preceded by three previous list items, it’s (*airhorn noise*) your cousins with the weird smelling carpet and the dramatically different political views! You’ll be so overwhelmed by the sound of your parents screaming at each other, you won’t even notice how boot nasty the carpet smells.

7. Next up, the cousins who treat their dog like a person! Actually, I don’t want to talk about them.

8. This one’s more of a content creation opportunity: Looking for a more streamlined cousin experience? Don’t have time to watch a nine-yearold’s lyrical dance recital with the theme “Poughkeepsie, Je t’aime”?

This package lets you do grill duty at a family barbecue and then post on Instagram about it! If you request ahead of time, we can make sure your apron has a sexual innuendo or a picture of Garfield. Smile, baby, this is Hollywood Lowell, Massachusetts!

9. Hottie alert! I think it’s safe to say that everyone has that one group of distant-enough cousins who are so hot it’s almost like it wouldn’t be weird! You weren’t close growing up, you’re all adults now; it’s fine. Who cares if you call the same person great-grandma? They are so tan and they think it’s cool that you brought a joint. Watch out for their dad, though—he’s kind of athletic and a fucking nightmare to spend time with! Talk about a family affair, haha :/ 10. Last but not least, us! That’s right, the Week in Review editors are cousins. Not your cousins, but still! That’s actually how we got this job; we met through our mutual grandmother who owns the Indy (Monica Indy). Come visit us at the sunny YMCA we always hang out in! Close your eyes and breathe in the smell of chlorine hamburger; listen to the soothing sound of us talking in the secret language we made up. Venture outside, where we’ll feed you a five course meal made entirely out of wild onion grass we found. We’re the kind of cousins who have matching bowlcuts and wear the same brand of orthopedic clogs (jealous?). We’ll probably grow up to be landladies with loooooong nails who share one boyfriend, but for now, we’re focused on our duct tape wallet business.

TEXT MASHA BREEZE & NORA MATHEWS DESIGN TANYA QU ILLUSTRATION JOHN GENDRON

VOLUME 44 ISSUE 06

02

METRO

THE On September 15, 1764, the college that would become Brown University was founded by a group of white men called the Corporation. Six years later, this corporation and the school it spawned moved to Providence’s Prospect Hill, whose name they changed to College Hill.

TEXT SACHA SLOAN & CARINA SANDOVAL

DESIGN FLORIA TSUI

ILLUSTRATION ANNA WANG

+++

03

In the United States, nonprofit organizations are exempt from taxation on most of their property. Codified in the law for over a century, this exemption was intended to acknowledge the beneficent work nonprofits (such as churches, hospitals, and schools) provide to their communities. Large nonprofits, such as Brown University, use this exemption to keep funds flowing to their endowments.

However, as universities—like Brown—accumulate inordinate wealth atop diverse, working-class cities—like Providence—a nationwide movement of activists, academics, students, and host-city officials have begun to ask: should this tax calculus change? +++ As this wave of advocacy swells and notches new victories (such as a recent landmark agreement between Yale University and New Haven, Connecticut), opportunities to open more of Brown’s money to Providence are on the horizon. On the legislative side, two bills introduced this month in the Rhode Island House of Representatives would increase the tax obligations of Brown and other Ocean State universities. The first, House Bill 7813, would establish an up-to-2% endowment tax on institutions of higher education. There’s legal precedent for this move: in 2017, the U.S. Congress instituted a federal endowment tax for universities, which may have motivated the Rhode Island bill (but would be applied separately). Key to the endowment tax bill is a requirement that any collected funds go to the city’s public school district. This requirement would be especially impactful in Providence, whose ailing public school system has been the target of national scrutiny ever since it was commandeered by the state government in 2019. The second bill, House Bill 7956, would give the city more power in determining which properties Brown can shield from taxation.

Beyond taxes, Brown also ‘voluntarily’ gives money to Providence. Such contributions are often referred to as PILOTs, which stands for ‘payments in lieu of taxes.’ Brown’s yearly payments are dictated by two legally enshrined compromises between the two parties: the 2003 Memorandum of Understanding and the 2012 Memorandum of Agreement. Both were created during points of financial tension between Brown and the city. Both are set to expire in

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2023. Ahead of this expiration, city officials have already begun discussing the shape of the next agreement, which will arrive at a challenging time for Providence’s coffers.

These varied opportunities for change are all prongs of a broader yearslong effort to extract more money from Brown. Their results will affect Providence for generations to come. +++ To cut through the jargon and bureaucratic complexity of Brown-Providence relations, it’s important to consider some statistics. Like other cities, Providence depends heavily on taxation: tax revenue constitutes two-thirds of Providence’s annual budget, according to a January 14th report from the city’s financial department. But “relative to other cities,” the report says, “Providence clearly has a disproportionate share of its property that is exempt from taxation.” Approximately 39.3% of all Providence land parcels are owned by nonprofit organizations; nearly a third of that 39.3% is owned by the largest Providence nonprofits, Brown included.

Conflict over money between Brown and Providence is nothing new. In a 2019 interview with the College Hill Independent, Boston Globe columnist Dan McGowan described a constant “game of tug-of-war” that exists “between the city and all the nonprofits, but Brown in particular.” Every few years, Providence officials enter the ring with the university on the hill.

The city’s report and concurrent city council discussions indicate that Providence is preparing for a fight once more. On top of the financial toll of the pandemic—which “alone created a loss of $6.5 million” in 2020, the report says—several financial crises are brewing, posing a severe threat to Providence’s long-term economic health. For its part, the city’s financial department recommends that “the City and large tax-exempt property owners form transparent, collaborative agreements that outline fair contributions and that our anchor institutions can contribute to our shared future.”

Against this dire backdrop, Brown University’s financial fortunes have risen to unprecedented heights. In October, the university announced that its endowment had grown a stunning 51.5%, from $4.7 billion in 2020 to $6.9 billion in 2021. That’s $6,900,000,000. For context, the city of Providence has a total budget of just under $540 million for the 2022 fiscal year. Brown’s endowment is nearly 13 times larger.

Brown currently doles out about $4.4 million in ‘voluntary’ payments to Providence each year through the pair of memoranda, according to the Globe, and $1.9 million in tax on commercial properties. If the university’s properties were

taxed in full, that latter number would be $49 million. +++ Education is both the jewel and the shame of Providence. Students come from across the world to attend Brown, but the city’s public schools are one of the worst-performing in the country.

The oft-criticized Providence Public School District (PPSD), which was taken over by the state in 2019, is doing no better in 2022. “Local funding (state and city appropriations) has not kept pace with increased costs, resulting from growing enrollments, rising benefits, and normal increases in operating costs,” according to the school district’s 2021–2022 budget book.

To pay for the central services universities offer—scholarships, dorms, competitive pay— they begin to focus on building a “big endowment,” Henry Fernandez, a former New Haven city official who worked as New Haven’s lead negotiator with Yale, told the Indy. “And once you start holding bigger endowments, then you start acting like an institution that’s very, very wealthy. And the only thing that kind of holds you at bay is your public service, duties, and ideals… who challenges the institutions?”

When confronted with the question of its financial responsibility, Brown points to its pre-existing contributions, the economic activity it spurs, and the initiatives it sustains for PPSD. “We occupy a substantial amount of land, but we are also a main employer,” Kenneth Wong, an education policy professor at Brown, told the Indy. For Wong, the relationship between Brown and Providence is “mutually beneficial.” On the one hand, he explained, Brown “is providing millions of dollars on an annual basis in voluntary contributions.” On the other, “Providence accommodates Brown, such as giving parking space to Brown employees.”

Wong acknowledged that PPSD is struggling, but attributed its ongoing struggles— such as a teacher shortage—to the pandemic rather than a lack of funding. And Brown, he said, has established several partnerships with PPSD: the university runs a Masters of Arts in Teaching program for the district’s educators, the Annenberg Institute and Policy Lab performs “data analytics’’ for PPSD administrators, and Brown’s Swearer Center puts volunteer students in PPSD schools. “If you put dollar amounts to these programs, that adds up,” Wong said. +++ In the past, Brown has strenuously fought efforts to increase its contributions. For example, in 2012, then-University President Ruth J. Simmons said a city proposal to increase Brown’s contributions was “completely out of line with

METRO

HOST - CITY New fronts in the campaign for Brown to pay more to Providence

what universities do,” according to Inside Higher Ed. However, recently Brown seems to have chastened, perhaps due to its increasing prosperity. University spokesperson Brian Clark told the Brown Daily Herald that Brown expects to cooperate in negotiating a new agreement with Providence before 2023.

Some Brown researchers, including Wong, see no issue in Brown’s current financial relationship with the city. “I think it is appropriate,” Wong said. “An argument could be made on both sides… It depends on who you talk to.”

From one perspective, taxing Brown more could end up hurting Providence in the long run, according to Wong. “Resources being taxed will in some sense be taken away from the mission of the university,” he said. “An argument can be made that because the university uses space and services of the city, the university ought to provide these dollar amounts. But at the same time, the university’s mission is unique—that is, we are training the next generation of learners, productive workers—human capital that will benefit the city and state as a whole.”

What’s more, when it comes to property, “consider the counterfactual,” he argued. “What would have happened to those properties if Brown hadn’t invested in them?” Wong, like Clark, emphasized the more intangible contributions Brown makes to Providence: attracting out-of-state visitors, businesses, and investments. He urged the city to view Brown’s real estate developments as investments in the city’s future, not just reductions in tax dollars.

Overall, Brown consistently argues that it helps Providence a lot—or, at least, enough. +++ Some Rhode Island legislators disagree. In a statement, House Representative David Morales, a Brown graduate who introduced both bills, said, “For decades, Brown University and other wealthy private institutions of higher education have taken advantage of our Providence community by continuously expanding their tax-exempt footprint and forcing our city to manage essential municipal services with less and less tax revenue.

While Providence struggles to adequately fund city services and provide a decent quality of life to our working families, the endowments of Brown University, RISD, and other tax-exempt institutions continue to grow at unprecedented levels. We need to be clear, philanthropy and charitable giving does not make up for the gentrification, displacement, and lost tax revenue that these private institutions have contributed to.”

Recent developments from a comparable university-host relationship may foreshadow upcoming negotiations with Brown. Last November, Yale and New Haven reached an agreement to significantly increase the

university’s contributions to the city. Yale will now pay $10 million more per year than before, adjusting each year to meet inflation rates. “New Haven has a lot of nonprofits… which eat up a lot of the land,” Fernandez said—a dynamic similar to that in Providence. “Almost the only way that a city can generate revenue is through property tax. [University] growth doesn’t inherently benefit the city.” In addition to the yearly contribution boost, Yale will also pay a certain amount of taxes per year on its newly purchased properties, despite the nonprofit exemption. “That mitigates the damage,” Fernandez said.

Brown’s smaller payments to the city come without these provisions. +++ “The university-as-corporation scholarship is insightful for highlighting the shift in higher education policy from public good to private profits,” Davarian L. Baldwin, an author and professor of American Studies at Trinity College, writes in his new book In the Shadow of the Ivory Tower. Baldwin recently spoke at Brown about the complicated relationships between universities and their host communities.

“As schools develop and increase their real estate portfolios, that expansion raises property values in working class and particularly neighborhoods of color,” he said at the lecture.

Universities like Brown “begin to generate wealth in this for-profit research and development that’s all sheltered under a tax exemption in the name of the public good… Where is that research and development done? That private, profit-bearing research? It’s done on campus properties, which are primarily tax-exempt.”

Baldwin sees property tax reform as the antidote to this dynamic. “Part of that prosperity is directly extracted from the taxes these schools don’t pay to their host communities,” he said.

“Be honest about the kinds of activities that go on in your campus buildings so they can be properly assessed and taxed.” Between PILOTs and legislation, Baldwin prefers a legislative route— he balks at the idea of Brown’s contributions as a gift, rather than a responsibility.

Fernandez sees things differently. For him, PILOTs are much more feasible and effective than legislation. Acknowledging that Rhode Island is different from Connecticut, he stressed the difficulty of laws that target nonprofit tax privileges. “Usually you lose those,” he said, “because any nonprofit with any piece of land in the state opposes you. Every hospital in the state is like, woah. And even if [the bills] are passed, you’ll wind up in the Supreme Court, and that’ll take seven, eight years.”

“Like protest, legislation is a useful tool to bring people to the table,” he continued. “But they’re not solutions in themselves—they are

useful as part of a pressure campaign. But once you [introduce] the legislation, it has to be clear to the university that sitting down with you will make [the legislation] go away,” he said. In other words, forcing the university to participate in the discussion through legislation compels it to make a better ‘voluntary’ deal. “You need an inside game and an outside game to inform each other,” Fernandez added, “without the university feeling like they’re getting taken for a ride.” +++ Groups within Brown are also seeking to influence the conversation. Student advocacy groups Students for Educational Equity (SEE) and Housing Opportunities for People Everywhere (HOPE) are working in collaboration with state legislators and keeping an eye on the upcoming PILOT renegotiations. These organizations have come up with a list of demands for the University, and are encouraging both students and community members to sign on.

Brown, and wealthy academic institutions like it, are privileged by age-old tax codes. While Brown does bring about public good, it also is a locus of profit, as shown by its unending appetite for property and its recent endowment windfall.

Providence deserves better than relegation to the losing end of an unnecessary zero-sum game.

Ultimately, Baldwin argues, only concerted activism, coalition building, and community advocacy can “force these schools to offer equitable payment… to communities who are actually paying the cost for this concentration of wealth.”

SACHA SLOAN B’23.5 wants to give a shout-out to Providence’s financial department.

CARINA SANDOVAL B’23 is a co-leader of SEE, whose work you can check out on Instagram @s.e.e.brown.

VOLUME 44 ISSUE 06

04

FEATS

Why NonBlack Creators Need to Stop Using AAVE on Social Media

TEXT KARA McANDREW

DESIGN SAM STEWART

ILLUSTRATION TOM MANTO

This Subtle Appropriation of Black Culture Can and Should Stop

05

“Omg purr.”

The first time that I saw my friend’s text bubble pop up with this common AAVE phrase I was immediately taken aback. Not only did it sound wrong coming out of his cis, white, male mouth, but also there was a complete lack of acknowledgement for where the phrase came from. When I asked him where he acquired his new catchphrase, he revealed to me that one of his (also white) friends frequently uses it to express his approval or appreciation. I was shocked at his casual acceptance of this new ‘slang’ without having any deeper questions about where it came from. And suddenly, it became my responsibility to correct and educate him, to provide a history of AAVE and the context of other cultures currently appropriating Black language.

Logging onto TikTok, I find my culprit.

I am immediately bombarded with Ebonics spouted by non-Black creators and commentators; my feed is filled with stolen words whose original deviance from Standard English has been reduced to a social media trend by white teenagers. Everyone wants to comment “slay” under their friend’s post, but no one wants to talk about where that word came from. It’s not just online either; walking through my college campus, I hear phrases like “woke,” “thicc,” and “rip,” among others.

Increasingly frequent use of African American Vernacular English (AAVE, also called Ebonics) by non-Black people without any knowledge of the history behind the language is infuriating, and also indicative of a larger phenomenon. Black culture has been stolen and reappropriated by white and non-Black communities for a long time, but this specific abuse of language has spread more easily and anonymously due to social media. The speed and casual borrowing of phrases, dances, and content that apps such as TikTok or Twitter

THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

encourage can be harmful; many users repeat trends without dissecting their origins. Social media guarantees a level of anonymity that many people hide behind, making them more comfortable with language or actions that they would hesitate to imitate in real life. Digital content provides a layer of removal, and being able to metaphorically speak without making eye contact or seeing the physical repercussions of your words emboldens many people to let unfamiliar language slip into their mouths.

Twitter threads, Instagram comments, and TikTok videos all reflect instances of non-Black people adopting phrases such as “to have beef with,” and “give props” without considering who created them, or perhaps because of who created them. This lack of accountability enables people to participate in digital Blackface, where they pretend to be a Black person either in speech or in profile. Online, non-Black people use adjacency to Blackness as social capital—an adjacency that can be removed in the real world.

Using Black speech for online clout or personality while condemning that same speech in Black people is not only problematic in the digital world, but in the real world, too.

People, especially non-Black people, have extreme difficulty with acknowledging that certain words do not belong to them and therefore should not be spoken. While there is definitive overlap between many minority groups in terms of language, especially in regions that have significant racial and class similarities, there are still existing power dynamics that non-Black use of AAVE exploits. The problem is that there are implications of privilege for white people who use AAVE without suffering the racism that Black people face; they can remove Blackness when it is no longer convenient or desirable and use Ebonics without the fear of being called “uneducated.” AAVE has a long history as a dialect. One article in the History News Network, a

historical newspaper created by George Washington University students, states that linguists propose two probable beginnings. The first is the Dialectologist Hypothesis, which proposes that AAVE is a direct dialect of English (this Eurocentric hypothesis has become less popular over the years). The second is the Creole Hypothesis, which proposes that AAVE was a creole created between English and various West African languages. Regardless of which hypothesis is closer to the truth, they both indicate that AAVE has existed since the time of chattel slavery and then spread through events such as the Great Migration. The Great Migration, the massive move of many Black Americans from the South to northern cities, was influential in spreading Black culture and dialogue throughout different regions of the country in the early 20th century.

Despite white society disregarding AAVE, believing that it is not complex or systematic, AAVE is a structured dialect that follows specific rules just like English. By perpetuating the racist idea that AAVE is less valid as a form of language, white America mislabels AAVE as deviant and imprecise. The Linguistics Society of America released a statement in 1997 that affirmed the validity of AAVE, writing that “the systematic and expressive nature of the grammar and pronunciation patterns of the African American vernacular has been established by numerous scientific studies over the past thirty years. Characterizations of AAVE as ‘slang,’ ‘mutant,’ ‘lazy,’ ‘defective,’ ‘ungrammatical,’ or ‘broken English’ are incorrect.”

The most-often misunderstood difference between AAVE and English is AAVE’s precise and detailed tense system––AAVE has four past tenses: the pre-recent, recent, pre-present, and past inceptive. AAVE places the word “been” in front of the verb in order to convey past events, which can often be confused for an English sentence with the “have” or “has” removed.

However, there is actually a significant change in meaning related to the placement of “been.”

For example, an article from the online magazine Agorax about AAVE in the classroom gives an example of the nuanced differences between AAVE and Standard English. A group of children were shown images of Elmo eating cookies and Cookie Monster lying sick in bed, and asked “who is eating cookies,” and then, “who be eating cookies?” All of the children answered Elmo for the first question, but only the children familiar with AAVE answered Cookie Monster for the second. Because the second question employs the habitual “be,” the children who spoke AAVE understood that the question was asking about who usually eats cookies, as opposed to who was eating them at the moment.

As Lauren Michele Jackson writes in her book White Negroes: When Cornrows Were in Vogue…and Other Thoughts on Cultural Appropriation, AAVE is representative of America’s attitude towards Black people. She writes that “Black Americans are looked upon as the almost-but-not-quite-assimilated descendants of Africans who arrived as the alleged tabula rasa for the absorption of European beliefs and expressive forms.” This view of Black Americans as outsiders who have not assimilated, when it is enslaved people who built this country from the ground up, embodies the problem with stealing AAVE. Treating Black people as “mutant” or deviant offenders to white America while proceeding to take elements of our culture reveals the deeply entrenched racism and classism which weaves through everything, including our approach to language.

White people are not only exempt from the

FEATS

discrimination that Black people who use AAVE face, but they actually benefit from appropriating Black language and culture. Celebrities such as Billie Eilish have benefitted from using AAVE, with the singer’s brother calling her out on an Instagram livestream and asking her “Why are you speaking in an accent? You sound nothing like yourself.” Her brother’s acknowledgement that Eilish was putting on an accent that is not her own, despite the two being raised together, confirms that she uses a ‘blaccent’ or ‘Black way of speaking’ in order to create a ‘celebrity persona.’ Using a ‘blaccent’ in order to sound more ‘expressive’ or ‘cool’ is tied to a different form of digital Blackface, in which non-Black people use Black phrases or faces (in the form of GIFs) to express their emotions for them. Placing the point of expression onto Black bodies not only perpetuates the harmful belief that Black people are more exaggerated in their words and actions, but it also absolves the user of putting effort into creating a unique or compelling persona. By using Blackness as a tool for profit and fame, non-Black celebrities capitalize upon Black creativity for their own gain.

White celebrities are not the only ones guilty of this practice; Awkwafina has been under fire in the media for using a ‘blaccent’ in her movies such as “Oceans Eight” and “Crazy Rich Asians,” and her lack of an apology reveals another nuance in non-Black appropriation of AAVE. As a CNN article about her use of AAVE reports, Awkwafina issued a lackluster apology, tweeting only that, “I apologize if I ever fell short, in anything I did.” This ‘apology’ not only refuses to address her use of a ‘blaccent’ but also deflects blame from herself to the media for demanding perfection. In reality, Awkwafina’s use of a ‘blaccent’ reinforces the false narrative that Blackness is only something to be celebrated when it’s worn by non-Black people, as evidenced by her lack of credit to the Black community for her performing style or success.

Wearing Blackness as a costume for material gain and refusing to give credit where it is due or return that profit to Black spaces furthers racial inequalities and promotes the minstrel idea that Blackness is a costume.

When non-Black people wear Blackness as a costume, there is a power imbalance because those same derogatory perceptions of Black people who use AAVE do not apply to nonBlack digital creators. Black Americans are more likely than their white counterparts to be discriminated against in healthcare, housing, and employment, and are forced to code-switch (change their method of speaking based on who is in the room) in order to gain respect in white spaces. As James Woods writes in an article about code-switching for the magazine Medium, code-switching is a survival skill that Black people employ in white spaces, often switching quickly between AAVE and Standard English in order to accommodate their white peers.

Beyond the community-wide practice of code-switching, it is important to recognize that many current AAVE ‘slang’ terms that are being appropriated by non-Black people were created by the Black queer community. Phrases such as “werk,” “yaaasss,” and “gives me life” were created by Black trans women and drag queens in marginalized spaces. Ballroom culture––the deliberate creation of queer spaces by people of color where voguing was born––was driven by queer minorities. Therefore, the words that are used casually today by non-Black communities were created and popularized by queer people of color. By minimizing the work that Black trans women put into creating not only safe spaces but also creative spaces, non-Black appropria-

tors attempt to discredit an entire movement.

White artists such as Madonna, whose hit song “Vogue” is often associated with the voguing and dancing that Ballroom culture created, commodify Black queer identities in order to profit.

Jackson argues that Black language represents more than just words and instead forms a basis for a mutual understanding. She writes that, “Black language as much ascribes a community as a grammar: is a diction, a style, a politics all at once.” So this community is violated, and non-Black people take language that has been carefully constructed to deviate from Standard English because “everybody wants the insurgence of Blackness with the wealth of whiteness.” Because “everybody wants to be cool without fearing for their lives,” an unequal power dynamic emerges between the creators of a language and the profiteers of that language.

Social media has only exacerbated the speed and extent of cultural appropriation, especially that of Black language and trends. When popular white creators use AAVE constantly, it becomes increasingly difficult to stop the spread of seemingly harmless slang. This is how my friend arrived at the conclusion that he should respond to my text that day with the ever offensive, “purr.” I can see the logical conclusion of how he arrived there, and yet, an ickiness remains. I have the feeling that this language does not belong in his mouth, just as Black hairstyles like cornrows do not belong on the Kardashians’ heads, and dances launched by Black creators do not belong on Addison Rae’s account. Addison Rae’s career in particular was built upon recreating dances authored by Black people and not attributing credit for her success. Her success reflects the reality that society

celebrates Blackness on white bodies and not on Black ones. Scrolling through my TikTok For You page and seeing white creators copying the “Alors on Danse” trend that initially trended on the app during the summer of 2021, I am struck not only by the ease with which white TikTokers mimic the dance, but also by the lack of credit that the Black original creator Usim Mang and the other participants in the video received. The creator, whose account was just recently verified on the app, argues that he did not receive the same opportunities afforded to white creators in the same situation. When white teenager Haley Sharpe made a viral TikTok dance to Doja Cat’s “Say So” (a song by a Black woman), Sharpe was invited to appear on Entertainment Tonight Live. There is a trend of white teenagers capitalizing upon TikTok dancing, often performing dances created by Black people to songs by Black artists, neither of whom receive the credit.

These are not one-off instances of Black artists not being credited. These indiscretions are all parts of a larger trend: Multiple internet sensations and popular dances have been attributed to white people at the expense of the Black people behind them.

All of this goes to show that putting more thought into the language that we use to express ourselves is crucial to respecting and preserving Black culture. My friend didn’t know better, but he can do better. And so can you.

KARA McANDREW B’24 sincerely hopes that her mom will read this article.

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LIT ILLUSTRATION ROSIE DINSMORE DESIGN ANNA BRINKHUIS TEXT NELL SALZMAN 07

We dance around the yellow kitchen in our pajamas.

Molasses stains the countertops and flour is flung to the floor. The old mixer whips ribbons of light brown batter that we’ll carefully pour into the tin.

The small kitchen is used to burners being frantically turned on and off. It’s familiar with forgotten timers, flying spices, broken wine glasses, and morning coffee disasters. Simple, with white cabinets and wooden floors, it almost feels like it breathes with the inhabitants of the house. But tonight, the uncomplicated spaces feel especially radiant. Snow falls on the overgrown fruit trees outside the window and a quiet sense of expectation lingers. It’s gingerbread season.

The timer goes off and I’m running. With oven mitts two sizes too big, I take the tin out of the oven and set it on the scratched kitchen table. My mom pulls down a silver shaker and sprinkles the top with powdered sugar. I watch, enchanted, as the soft flakes melt into the freshly baked bread. I think about how when it snows, it must be God (or some higher figure) dumping powdered sugar over the globe.

In our household, we don’t take dessert lightly. Post-dinner, my mom and I almost always whip together butter and sugar—a pie, a crisp, a soufflé, a torte, a cake, a batch of cookies. And the best part of our excessive sweettooth-induced habits is that we often invite my godfather, who lives down the street, to come join in on the eating.

“Invite Mike! Invite Mike!” I say, and continue my dance around the kitchen table. My mom calls.

“Warm gingerbread? Whipped cream? I’ll be there.” His voice rumbles over the phone, deep and grounding. +++ Mike is my dad’s gay best friend from childhood, and the retired librarian at the elementary school I went to. He’s an origami master, movie connoisseur, music lover, and unapologetic weed smoker. He cries when his friends run marathons, when his relatives get married, or when he thinks about the inequity of public education systems. At least six foot two, he has the largest hands of anyone I have ever met.

His selection of patterned polo shirts is impressive. He fills his days reading Spanish novels, playing guitar, or going for long walks with his puggle, Pippi.

And he’s famous among our neighbors and friends for his baked mac and cheese.

But aside from his many talents, he’s the type of person you just want to have around. His

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laugh is contagious, and he laughs often. He’s able to laugh at himself, to find humor when things don’t go as planned, and to make others laugh around him.

I remember thinking when I was little that if both of my parents died, life wouldn’t be so bad. Living with Mike was my dream. His small reddish bungalow at the end of our block smelled like plants, he had a cookie jar in the shape of a wave that played Beach Boys songs when you opened the blue plastic lid, and he was always working on a folded paper diorama or a knitted hat for a newborn baby of a friend or a relative.

Because Mike doesn’t have kids himself, the milestones of my brother and me were his milestones too. He came to my soccer games, cross country meets, graduations, plays, and concerts.

When I forgot my lunch in elementary school, he came to deliver it. When I locked my keys in my car at the gas station in high school, he broke into our house to get the spare and drove it across town. +++ It’s springtime on Hayward Place. The leaf residue from the tall maple trees has turned into dust, and green leaves poke through the frozen ground. As always, crocuses are the first to bloom, then daffodils, then lilacs, then tulips.

I’m turning six and feel that I’ve reached the pinnacle of maturity. Plus, it’s a special year. We haven’t had a late frost to kill the buds on the wisteria vine, and as a result, purple flowers drape through the trellis in our backyard. A cloth covers the wooden table that sits underneath the vines. It’s laden with a birthday feast: pesto pasta and shortbread cakes with berries.

Springtime means more than just thawing ground and flowers. It means sweaty shin guards, kick-the-can games, cherry pies, Mother’s Day, and croquet tournaments in the park.

And for me, it means being one year older, a little closer to adulthood.

I sing “Happy Birthday” to myself as I walk down the stairs. The house is humming with people.

Above the familiar drone of voices, I hear a distinct, deep laugh and see Mike coming towards me. He cocks his head to the side and smiles cheekily, then pulls out a long, narrow package that rattles when it’s picked up. It’s wrapped perfectly, in Mike fashion.

I tear the paper and pull out a

purple stuffed snake, with a real-life rattling tail. Mike shakes the snake and puts it to my ear.

“See? It’s real!” he says, laughing.

It still sits on the top shelf of my closet now, long after the other stuffed animals have been given away to the neighbor next door. +++ When the pandemic hits in early March and I am forced to abruptly fly home to Denver, I am not able to stay with my parents because they live with my 91-year-old grandmother. Traveling across the country from a college campus, the chance of infection feels too risky. So, we call up the next closest thing to family.

Mike is an extrovert who lives alone, so he agrees immediately. I move into the guest room on the second floor and stay for the next two months.

Ten-year-old me could never have predicted this unexpected reality. Though the Beach Boys cookie jar broke years ago, the house still smells like plants, and there are bits of origami scattered on the coffee table.

There are a lot of things that I feel in that first week living with Mike: fear, then anger, then sadness, then denial. But most of all, I’m lonely. Not even Mike’s presence can make me feel better about the world crashing down around me—the plummeting economy, postage-stamp faces in place of classes, and the unexpected distance from my parents and the people I love.

On one of the first nights, Mike and I get high and watch Contagion, a movie about a world-wide virus spread by respiratory droplets. The parallels are uncanny.

Within the first ten minutes, we are rolling around on the ground, crying and laughing. After Gwenyth Paltrow vomits, we just can’t do it anymore. We turn the TV off.

We settle into a routine. More often than not, Mike and I make French toast and bacon for breakfast. He teaches me songs on the guitar and we listen to Joni Mitchell. Her words feel especially poignant right now. “Oh, I wish I had a river, I could skate away on,” we sing.

I ask Mike questions about his childhood, his parents, what meal he would eat if it was his last, who he would choose to live with if he was trapped on a desert island, and what he misses most from pre-pandemic life.

“Hugs,” he says.

For his 57th birthday, I make him a chocolate cake with raspberry filling. We eat it, just the two of us.

LIT

+++ On a cross-country ski trip in high school, Mike, my dad, and I forge up the side of a mountain.

The trees are dense and the snow is deep. We find a trail that goes behind an old mine. It’s a serious path, tall and winding. When we get to the top, we debate the safest way down.

It’s steep, but Mike is unconcerned. My dad warns him to stay close to the mine shaft to keep from getting lost, and he nods in half recognition before shooting down the mountain.

We hear a loud scream, then a thud, and see his long limbs pop up in all directions out of the heavy snow.

“Are you okay?” my dad asks in a panic.

Mike is in his mid 50s but has a childlike audacity. He stands up with snow in his beard and shakes out his pants.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, taking a chunk of ice out of his shirt.

Then he takes off again, and only gets four or five feet before wiping out, limbs flailing. My dad skis quickly over to him, but I am doubled over laughing until tears stream down my face.

Mike’s invincible, I think to myself.

“Mike, be careful,” my dad says.

“I am being careful!” he yells back.

His ski pops off and slides down the slope.

“You’re being ridiculous,” my dad warns.

“Just take off your skis and walk down.”

But nothing can stop Mike from sliding down on his skis. He must fall at least ten times or more making it back to the car. At this point, snow is ingrained in every crevice of his body— it clings to his pants, his neck gaiter, and even the wrinkles in his forehead. He lifts his head to the sky and laughs.

He’s shivering from the cold, but he smiles triumphantly and undoes his boots. +++ The sun in the east streams into our eyes at breakfast. We drink mango juice and laugh about the idea of wearing underwear for an entire day. Then we put on Joni Mitchel and sing along as we lay on the couch.

After breakfast, Mike gets a call from a friend who drills him about how he’s been doing with his quarantining, how many people he’s been seeing, and how often he wears a face mask.

Something flips inside him. He gets up and stands in the kitchen. His eyes flash as he opens the refrigerator and paces back and forth between the pantry and the cabinets. His steps are clumsy and his sentences are not strung together coherently. He’s sweating and lifting his shirt up and down to air himself out. He starts crying.

“They tell us we can go to the hardware store, but not that coffee shop! They say that we

can go for walks but we must wear masks. But cloth masks? Plastic masks? Oh, and I have a plastic mask. Well, I’m sorry I’m a slacker. I’m sorry I don’t care about the world.”

He swings his arms around as he talks.

Suddenly, looking at him, he is no longer six-feet tall and built and strong. He is an anxious nine-year-old. His cheeks are flushed, his feet slightly askew, his hair sticking up in all directions. +++ It snows on the first day of spring in the first March of quarantine. A full blizzard. Big, fat flakes drop from the sky and coat sidewalks.

Mike and I make breakfast, and he plays guitar while the thick flakes fall.

I walk outside. My eyelashes get heavy and my cheeks freeze in place. I immediately lose circulation in my fingers and hands, but it’s worth it to see how the snow sits on the branches above me, and how the sky seems to open its soft insides out onto me.

Much like a pandemic, a blizzard humbles you.

Growing up, I always liked how after an especially bad one, people had no choice but to stay inside and watch movies, make cinnamon rolls, or do puzzles.

Now, we face this same situation daily, but without the extraordinariness of the snow to make us jump out of bed. It’s a repetitive, self-isolating existence.

When I get back inside, I look out the window for a long time at the snowflakes drifting down.

Later, I go for a walk. It is still snowing from the morning and my feet leave little light tracks down the block. I notice with satisfaction how the snow seems to fall faster when it’s illuminated by the dim street lights. I close my eyes and turn my face to the sky, letting the wet flakes cover my eyes and ears and nose. +++ A week after Mike’s breakdown, I come back from the park where I’ve been reading a book for class and open his front door. He isn’t on the first floor.

“What are we thinking tonight for dinner? Rotisserie chicken?”

I yell up to his bedroom.

I hear him rustling around upstairs, but he doesn’t come down for a few minutes. I ask myself if I should go check on him, but decide to sit down instead. I figure he’s probably just tired.

Then I see his tall figure clomp down the stairs. He seems to be under the influence of something. His movements are jerky and uncontrolled, and he can barely speak.

“I’m taking an early one,” he mutters under his breath, avoiding eye contact.

When I do see his face, I notice that his pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed.

“I’m not that hungry, are you?” he asks.

“No, I’m not that hungry,” I lie.

I ask him if he’s doing okay.

“World stuff?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s hard to know what to do.” He sits down in the big chair in his living room, moving his knee up and down and tapping his foot on the ground.

In the coming weeks, Mike has trouble getting out of bed, can’t do his work, and stops cooking for himself. At the end of July, I move in with a friend. +++ The person that Mike loves the most, aside from his puggle, is his mother, Rosalie. She has a generous soul and adores him more than life itself.

One year, when I’m about twelve or thirteen, Mike passes on Rosalie’s shortbread recipe to me. He knows it by heart: butter, baking powder, flour, sugar, vanilla. We mix all the ingredients in a bowl and press the sweet dough into a pan. He lets me poke holes in the top with a fork.

We put it in the oven for twenty minutes and sit and talk while we wait. Then we pull it out and cut it into small rectangles.

I had more wonder then, because I remember still being enchanted by the powdered sugar we sprinkled on top. +++ Now, I understand that we invite Mike over for dessert partly to check in on him, to make sure that the loneliness of living alone hasn’t gotten to him. We ask him questions about his aging mother, about how he’s feeling about the state of the world.

On a recent gingerbread night, I notice that the wrinkles on his forehead look more defined.

I pay attention to the way that he anxiously moves his arms when he gets riled up.

I love Mike, but I know he’s not perfect.

He’s ambitious, talented and fun-loving, but I know he can also be anxious and afraid. He can make the best French toast and can play Joni Mitchell on the guitar like no other person I know, but I know he also gets sad. I know he has bad days, and I know sometimes his cookie jar breaks and he doesn’t have the energy to fix it. +++ I don’t know when exactly I stopped believing that God made it snow when he spilled powdered sugar from silver shakers, but I know that I don’t anymore.

NELL SALZMAN B’22 has a sweet tooth.

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Leeches Postmodernism Goo goo Gah gah Non-binary

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TEXT INDY STAFF

DESIGN ISAAC MCKENNA

Getting railed in a sundress Masks Mascs Paper straws Hatred of turtles Timothee Chalamet A fancy little porcelain doll Hedge funds Over the Hedge (2006) Pronouns Proper nouns Adult circumcision Foreskin regrowth serum Planting seeds Artificial insemination Earth without art is just “Eh” The Rhode Island School of Design Kellyanne Conway Connie Converse The draft BTS Army Sting operations Bees

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Being real BeReal Gay rights Finding the right gay Monkey say Monkey do Gatekeeping Gated communities Erectile dysfunction Dysfunctional projectiles Yerba mate Cigarettes He/theys She/theys Brooklyn to Manhattan Providence to Boston Rats Rattails Gender Sexuality >:-) :-O Cancelation Daily affirmations Indy hoodie Indy tote IBS IRS Bangs Bang EnergyTM Intuition Social anxiety

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DESIGN ISAAC MCKENNA

ILLUSTRATION SAGE JENNINGS

Intermission: Crossword

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Mode of transportation in “Luca” Fire fuel American bird Spreadsheet starter “One way __ _nother” If they’re flat, you’re in trouble * Bloqueo Unit that weighs a lot “Live __” Taco Bell slogan Skater Nathan Complain Stevie Wonder or Pavarotti Heaps Ife, Sage, Isaac, and Alisa for the Indy this sem.

One of three, in a triathalon *Fossé Year, in Madrid Smell “It’s the end of an ___” Ski lift type Yik __ *Want Make a mistake Pet Dr. Movie suffix Metro Nails, for one Thing to crack Something a saxophonist might take It gets waged Health org.

Something that might lead to miscommuniction... or a hint to the starred clues Ed Sheeran oldie Thing ending in .com One of eight, in a cup Author Jules Something that can be graphic or distressed Days turn into them

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7 8 9 10 11 12 13 18 19 23 24 26 27 28 30 31 32 33 34 38 40 41 42 44 47 48 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

It’s got no arms Dry erase marker brand CAT, for one Ballpoint, or epi Best boxer Lindsay who starred in “Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen” Spheres Actress Gadot Carves Famous Clay Nature Valley product Charged ahead Language suffix Early 2010s TV show about Broadway It’s one less than a nonet Pianist Thelonious Advil, e.g.

Kidney-related Abstract expressionist married to Pollock “Yes __” Gru catchphrase in “Despicable Me” Boot brand “___ its ugly head”; idiom Join Hockey player Bobby Wes Anderson aesthetic Salami type Ancient Greek meetup spot Say yes without saying anything Thing to turn up Actor Lerman or Boston airport HDMI, for one “Where __ we?”

What comes with a parking ticket Sunbathing spot Greek god of war Bathroom abbr. in the UK, maybe Consumed Feeling locale Column counterpart Euphoria protagonist

X

YUKYUNG CHUNG “INTUITION AND RULES”

Yukyung Chung R'23 “Intuition and Rules,” Single-channel video projection (12:07)

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S+T

We Dress Our Bodies in the Styles of Time

TEXT MADELINE CANFIELD

DESIGN ANNA BRINKHUIS

ILLUSTRATION HANNAH PARK

I know two forms that bare openly the stain of time: the earth and the body. These are retentive forms, which hallow themselves through the art of reflecting memory. Experiences of the past manifest onto the places and people impacted.

Because pure time is an invisible phenomenon, history latches itself onto the contours of physical beings, whose transformations render experience indelible.

With these two forms—a cohabiting family of sorts, in which land is the parent of the bodies that walk upon it—I am thinking of trauma and climate change. In my family our little bodies contort their way through the generations, in perpetual homage to the clenches of the past. Stray bones and concave chests: today, my relatives cannot shed the imprints of starvation force-fed to us decades ago, nor the beatings incurred over centuries before that. Our bodies expose all that our ancestors endured before they birthed us. Perhaps epigenetics makes such a shedding impossible: fear can induce our bodies to coil our DNA in unique ways, which influences gene expression (like weight) and is heritable. My familial past predisposes my body to react to future anxiety with familiar aesthetics—in my reflection, I see the shape not simply of my ancestors themselves, but the shape of violence, the concretization of immaterial things. But perhaps the reason is more sentimental than mere science. Perhaps we simply do not want to forget. When time isolates us from the sight of past events, when death discards the figures of the ones who came before us, a present-day body is a photograph in motion. At each instance when vestiges of historic suffering recurs, time contains itself in recognizable forms—the shape of the old hatred, and the shape of the sadness as it wears on my flesh.

Traumas of the past beat on the body. But the body is not only human. The climate crisis wreaks a modern metamorphosis onto the fig-

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ure of the earth. The lacerations I watch strike outside my window target oceans and forests, pavement and pastures: landslides scramble hills into sinkholes, wildfires cremate woods into dust yards, hurricanes drown highways into rapids. Because climate chaos results from decades, if not centuries, of exploitative monetary structures and systemic oppressions, the degrading bodies of the environment adorn themselves in the consequences of an unmitigated past. Growing up in a place on the frontlines of this crisis, where friends suffered foot-long scars from wading in sewage flood waters during hurricanes, I watched the bodies of the ground and the bodies of life commingle to represent lashings that reach out from before us and do not leave. I cannot see the advent of the corporation. I cannot rewatch the desecration of sacred Indigenous land into an oil rig. But I can view natural phenomena as they sit here in front of me, lachrymose, yet enduring in their reminder of what they have witnessed.

These environmental reconfigurations are new, where familial traumas preserve old markings, but both expose a rebirth of projects that began long before the conception of those of us who will watch decay. Retention and divergence each orient themselves outside their current forms. Bodies look the same and bodies look different, but either course wears heavily the pains of history, the weight of memory. No visual is a static representation; no moment reflects only the immediate.

Really, these markings insist on the endlessness of time. Some people, some structures, some decisions from long ago abide through the years, so they may haunt the expressions and movements of our bodies as they exist today.

Nothing invisible ever ends. It is only recycled.

MADELINE CANFIELD B’24 is learning to time travel by looking in the mirror.

S+T

Be a Body An Ethics of Embodiment sexed, and sexualized socially, historically, and relationally. When pop star and producer SOPHIE sings in her song “Immaterial,” “You could be me and I could be you / Always the same and never the same,” I’m reminded of the immateriality and exchangeability of our hierarchical identities.

While sex, gender, and sexuality are rooted in material conditions, labor relations, and long histories of binary-policing gendered violence, they’re still constructions, as much as any technology or medicine that alters our experience of being. Maybe a more inclusive, radical ethics of embodiment fosters a critical relation to our bodies as these socio-cultural Ships of Theseus. Rejecting naturalized, codified identities, and instead only using labels in ways that are useful for us—as a tool and way to move through the world, not an essential characteristic. Here, embodiment is grounded in both autonomy and history—holding onto identities and categories that feel liberatory, and rejecting those that hang on like dead weight.

Embodiment must instead be a radical act of creation and recreation, a reminder that “I can be anything I want,”—not that I don’t have restraints and starting points in this shifting frame of a body, nor that this body and its biochemical processes don’t impact my social perception, but that what the body has to mean is infinitely mutable. This infinite potentiality encompasses femininity and masculinity, deep communal bonds, and different cultural structures of identity, all while pointing towards the radical autonomy of abolishing gender. My self-conception, my transition, and my body will never be extricated from historical matrices of race, gender, body type, and colonialism, but that’s all the more reason to cultivate an embodiment that seeks infinite possibilities for a whole new world. Given these roots, it might be more a horizon than a destination, but this process—of zeroing in on the gaps between labels and bodies, the traces left in the violence of hierarchical binaries, and finding these ruptures that create possibilities for new social relations—seems to me the only way to ever grapple with our inconstancy.

TEXT KOLYA SHIELDS DESIGN BRIAANNA CHIU ILLUSTRATION SAGE JENNINGS

I am a Ship of Theseus—a biological frame constantly taken apart and put back together, planks of being, technology, flesh, and signifiers ripped out and hammered back into place, the overall shape constantly morphing. I’m also a cyborg, composed of modular parts, appendages, tools that never quite fit into a cohesive whole. When my very sight is interpolated by the specter of personal cameras, and pharmaceuticals course through my veins, how can I be anything but this bio-social-machine hybrid?

I can be a shipbuilder sometimes, a programmer of my cyborg mainframe, but I am forever assailed, imbricated, oozing outwards. This shifting, contested body is a challenge that traditional notions of embodiment don’t quite account for.

Sometimes I play a guided meditation when I’m feeling particularly stressed, but one line of it tends to bring more anxiety than peace: “Get in tune with your body.” While I love the feeling of grass on my legs and bass in my bones, what does it mean to embody something inconstant?

Embodiment is often presented as a way to find a purer, more natural self in the midst of cold, alienating capitalism. Everything from yoga retreats, morning routine videos, meditation exercises, and diets proclaim to guide me on this journey of connecting with my body. This is usually presented as a way to get closer to myself, to align something more essentially and authentically me, in contrast to harmful external influences that teach us to flee and reject our bodies. But what exactly is there to connect to?

If it’s simply my mutable trans body and my biological processes, what does it mean to get “in tune” with a frame that doesn’t quite fit, and maybe never will? Sometimes it does feel truly shitty to be embodied as a trans person, in the most literal meaning of embodiment that is having a body. Like I’m dragging this noncompliant husk behind me, constantly bringing me down to earth from my inner and social conceptions.

Being a cyborg also carries bodily irreconcilability—My glasses aren’t part of my body, but they certainly aren’t not me—wouldn’t it be more ridiculous that the ‘me’ with almost inoperable vision is more essential than the way I’ve moved through the world since childhood?

Slippage between body and self-conception is in many ways what it means to be human— to be cyborg. Even if you feel at home in your body, this home is never secure from the outside world, and starting with the non-biological aspects of selfhood can be a way to better understand your own inconstancy. Sometimes it’s easier to see the contingency of technology—the assembly lines and capitalist diet regimens that mechanize our bodies seem less natural than something like sex and gender. However, the flesh of the cyborg is just as much a contested, social space as any piece of technology. No body is inherently male or female—flesh is gendered,

KOLYA SHIELDS B’24 is a cyborg goddess (sometimes).

VOLUME 44 ISSUE 06

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X SOEUN BAE “TRACING THE SPINE”

Soeun Bae R’23 “Tracing the Spine,” 8"x10" Silver Gelatin Print.

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THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

LIT

Dear Anyone ekphrasis for Jetty Listen.

TEXT EMMA EATON

Everything is gospel, out here on the flats.

DESIGN ANNA BRINKHUIS

I picture you: a figure in the act of meditation, the posture of want.

You come pockets empty and the color pink. Then begin. However you pages all erosion, or blank. walk or requited What abstain, vast and bear your are unoriginality. solitude, you sky, here For I time, to have searched salt, gather? you and you: The film I know moves camera you. divinity is around And pass through me whichever your neck as I have passed through you. so choose or tossed invitation— on the here—only dashboard, of spectacle your expectations There is little in your throat.

Disappointment will lay down with awe.

ILLUSTRATION LIVIA WEINER

EMMA EATON B’24 is not unacquainted with entropy.

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EPHEMERA FORD HALEY-ROWE “BETTER WITH YOU HERE”

Ford Haley-Rowe B’24 “Better With You Here,” Poster Paper, Tissue Paper, White Glue I planned this work a year before I could make it, but used to think about my sketches all the time. When I did make these pieces I used techniques I'd learned five years before and had to relearn from memory. From testing the colours and techniques, to the raw hours of effort it took daily, the overall process took me 1 month to complete. Better With You Here is a way to express to the people that I care about that I am with them in the here and now, and to show them that the work I put into our relationships is love. I don't think I know very well how to tell people that in real life, or how to show them that I mean it. There is some part of them that is now a part of me that I am thankful for, and what I hope for most in the world is that there is a part of me that is now a part of them, for which they might be thankful for too.

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THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

DEAR INDY

’s Interview Tips The summer is almost here, and so many of you are still unemployed! You are stressed, I’m sure, and for good reason. I, personally, will be spending the summer fetching coffees for David Remnick, editor of the New Yorker and my father’s favorite brother. But I know that not everyone has the natural talent for writing and niece-ing that I do. Maybe you keep sending out applications into the internship void with no luck. Maybe when talking to the recruiter you forgot what a “hedge fund” is. Maybe you don’t have influential uncles. Whatever the reason for your joblessness, I’m here to help you nail your interview. Truly, it’s easier than it seems. All you need is a little bit of personality, confidence, and a willingness to work for free.

What to wear: I see you reaching for your mom’s Ann Taylor blouse. Stop it! Put it back.

Close her closet doors. We’re not doing that.

Employers today want young, they want fresh, they want juvenile, they want baby. You should give them what they want. No suits or blazers.

No heels or purses. Instead, opt for a playsuit, one you would wear as a tot. Stick some Cheerios in the pocket so they can fall out when you enter the office. Wear a sunhat like those babies on the beach. You won’t look a day over four.

Then, when they ask you about your experience, they’ll be shocked to learn you’ve spent years in the field.

What qualifies you for this position? Well, bossman, I think a better way to pose this question would be to ask, “What doesn’t qualify me for this position?”

I am already loving your confidence and tenacity! Ok, what doesn’t qualify you for this position?: Ah, that’s a hard question. I am, honestly, way too young to have this much ambition. It’s a problem, and I am prone to making my older colleagues look bad. Besides that, I’m also incredibly productive. Employers find it hard to give me enough tasks. Because of this, I often leave a few hours early.

To answer your original poorly phrased question, though, I took Econ freshman year. I am also passionate about the state of banking.

I would be honored to have the opportunity to bank.

Why do you want this job? I’ve wanted to work at the New Yorker/Facebook/Raytheon/the CIA since I could walk. I remember vividly hearing my parents talk about the company and asking, “Mommy, what’s dat?” From then on, every last drop of my being has gone into preparing myself for an internship like this. I’ve studied the company, I’ve read up on all the partners.

I know the boss’s wives and their children. I know where the children go to school and what drugs they’re into. I know who gives them those drugs and how cooperative they would be in an investigation were someone to tip off the squash coach about said boss’s child. I know all these things not because I had to learn them, but because I honestly care about this company and its mission. To work here would be the opportunity of a lifetime.

What’s your biggest strength? Well, see, here again, I’d rather answer with my biggest weakness.

Again with fortitude and bravery! I love a woman who knows her worth. So, Indy, what is your biggest weakness: I find it a bit arrogant to talk about all that I’ve accomplished. I guess, that being said, my biggest weakness is being too humble. I often let others take credit for the work that I’ve done. During a group project, for example, I did the whole assignment the day it was released and turned it in a few weeks early. My groupmates complained that I hadn’t even asked for their input, and now they would get a bad grade for not collaborating. So I wrote their names on the project, too. I was punished for my punctuality! Looking back, I shouldn’t have sacrificed my hard work for their laziness.

My other weakness would be collaboration.

I am so passionate about my work, I often find myself undermining my coworkers. If they really get in the way, I start biting them.

What do you struggle with the most? Ok, weird, I, like, just answered this. Next question please.

Where do you see yourself in ten years?: I see myself sitting in your chair, if you don’t mind me saying that, sir. You, by then, will be dead. I will have studied your lifestyle. And, just on a cursory glance, your vices—smoking, drinking, tuna poke—are sure to lead to an early demise.

I will position myself precisely to take your role upon the sad news of your passing. From there, I’ll clean house and reinstitute my own staff to make up for your mismanagement.

After the Interview Once the interview is over, make sure to give the interviewer a firm handshake before you leave. Immediately upon returning home, write a follow-up email making your interest in the opportunity clear. Include a file with all of your schoolwork dating back to 9th grade, in case they need more material to make a judgment.

Then, the worst part, waiting. Uncle David was kind enough to send me an email within a few minutes of our interview. But in my past experiences—especially with unresponsive people like Greta Gerwig who, despite being the maid of honor at my mom’s wedding, didn’t tell me I could work on the set of The Marriage Story until weeks after my mom had asked—employers can take weeks to respond. Remember, though, that either way it will all work out. Jobs, employment, income—what do they even mean anyways... you’ll be fine without them!

I wish you the best of luck.

DESIGN SAM STEWART

What time to arrive: Bosses know that our generation is all about leveling the playing field.

Time is only a collection of numbers, it holds no power over Gen Z. So show up whenever you have the mental capacity to show up. Maybe it’s early, maybe it’s 15 minutes late, maybe it’s the day after, maybe you just don’t come at all because you’re going through a lot right now.

That’s okay! It’s crucial to show vulnerability when applying for a job. Your employer will appreciate this.

You’ve made it this far. You’ve got your playsuit with your Cheerios, you’ve meditated and manifested, and you’re now appropriately an hour late. Talking with your possible employer should be the easiest part. I’ve given you some typical interview questions and the responses that have always worked for me. These tricks can be used whether you’re applying for an unpaid gig at a local nonprofit—good for you!—or a suspiciously vague job in “fintech.” Either way, you’ll have access to a WeWork snack bar by June.

They’re doing well. Jack’s applying to law school and Charlotte just got into Brown! Senior year is so stressful. That’s amazing! At least she’s done with applications. I should text them.

TEXT CECILIA BARRON

How to prepare: I was super anxious before my interview with Uncle David. I didn’t know what he would ask me, what he would want me to say, what he was even looking for. When he called me into his office and asked me how my dad was doing, I could barely respond. Kindly, he gave me a hug and told me to relax. Only 10 minutes later, I got the job! This all goes to show that anxiety is a state of mind. Before your interview, meditate for a few moments. Imagine yourself sprinting around the city, grabbing poke bowls for the management. Picture yourself inputting social media captions for scheduled Facebook posts. Manifest sitting in the far back during meetings your boss thought you would be interested in. This life could be yours.

Just take a deep breath.

The Interview

How’s your dad? I tried to call him to schedule Grandma’s surprise 90th! He told me to mention that he’d call you back. He’s just been busy with work. How are Jack and Charlotte? I haven’t seen them since grandma’s 85th!

VOLUME 44 ISSUE 06

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BULLETIN Upcoming Actions & Community Events Friday 3/25 @ 12 - 1 PM: DSF Negotiate: Teach-in with the Fairlawn Tenants Assoc.

See the message from the Fairlawn Tenants Association below!

Sign-up: https://tinyurl.com/fairlawntenants

DESIGN SAM STEWART

BULLETIN

Friday 3/25 @ 1:30 or 3 PM: Walkout Against S2051 and H7539 Show the Rhode Island government that you do not stand for anti-trans and anti-LGBTQ+ legislation and discrimination in our classrooms.

Folks will be meeting up at Memorial Park in Providence at 1:30 PM and marching down via S Main St. to the State House, where you can also join them at 3 PM. Saturday 3/26 @ 3 PM: Community Conversation on Police Free Schools - Spring Fling Edition The Providence Alliance for Student Safety (PASS), a coalition of youthled organizations advocating for the safety of our students, will be hosting a community conversation on the ways police disproportionately criminalize youth of color, why students deserve restorative practices, and how we can make police free schools a reality.

Location: 42 Lexington Ave., Providence.

Thursday 3/31 @6 PM: Make Films Not War screening of Dr. Strangelove Join Red Ink for the third film of their anti-war film festival. Feel free to bring snacks and drinks.

Location: Red Ink, 130 Cypress Ave., Providence Sunday 4/3 @ 12 - 3 PM: Queer Archive Work Open Library Hours The QAW’s Open Library Hours are back. The library is free and open to anyone for drop in browsing, reading, chatting, resting, etc etc etc. Open every other Sunday this Spring!

Location: 400 Harris Ave, Unit F, Providence, RI

Mutual aid* & community fundraisers *Mutual aid is “survival pending on revolution,” as described by the Black Panthers. Join in redistributing wealth to create an ecosystem of care in response to a system of institutions that have failed or harmed our communities. +

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Support a Black mom who is grieving Donate at tinyurl.com/Black-mom-grieving This fundraiser is intended to raise money for a Providence community member who has faced several trials this past year: assaults on her family at the hands of police, traumatizing DCYF raids, and the passing of close family members and friends, including her father. While battling cancer, she is also the primary caretaker of several grandchildren, and needs the funds to provide for them and pay for her father’s service.

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Queer and Trans Mutual Aid PVD Venmo @qtmapvd, PayPal.me/qtmapvd Support mutual aid for LGBTQIA people in Rhode Island! There are currently 16 outstanding requests for aid, equal to $1600. Help QTMA fill this need!

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Kennedy Plaza Survival Drive (by Wide Awake Collective) Venmo WideAwakes-PVD, Cashapp: $MutualAidMondays Support weekly survival drives on Saturdays at Kennedy Plaza! This drive distributes food, water, hygiene materials, warm clothing and other important items to folks in need.

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Community Support Needed Donate at https://givebutter.com/amor4sol AMOR is fundraising for Sulayman, “Sol”, a Gambian father to an 8-year old boy from Providence. Sol was detained by ICE in late 2018, and ultimately deported to Gambia in March of 2019. Now, his family are beginning the process of getting Sol back to the US to reunite with his wife and son. Any help would be appreciated.

Railroad Fund PVD Venmo: theorytakespraxis The railroad fund provides sustainable support to people currently incarcerated in Rhode Island. Please donate and help Railroad support a friend who is in need of continued survival and support this winter.

Ocean State A$$ Mutual Aid Fund 2022 Venmo: OSA-funds Support local sex workers by donating to the venmo above and consider buying an Ocean State A$$ calendar, on sale at Fortnight Wine Bar, Hungry Ghost Press, Symposium Books, Mister Sister Erotica, and RiffRaff.

COYOTE RI Closet (Call Off Your Old Tired Ethics RI) Now accepting donations of hygiene products and new or used clothing at the Love and Compassion Day Health Center; 92 East Avenue, Pawtucket RI, 02904. Contact Sheila Brown (401) 548-3756 to donate or collect items.

THE COLLEGE HILL INDEPENDENT

To Brown University, the Trinity Repertory Company, and the Providence Community Fairlawn Apartments in Mattapan, MA has housed primarily black, low-income, and immigrant residents for decades. In 2018 the corporate landlord DSF Group bought the 347+ unit apartment complex. DSF raised the rents steeply, by as much as 50%, as part of a larger “development” plan to gentrify the area, even renaming Fairlawn Apartments as “SoMA Apartments at the T.” Since the DSF purchase, many residents have been evicted or priced out, while serious problems remain unfixed.

DSF is co-founded and chaired by Brown alumni, donor, and Trinity Repertory trustee Arthur P. Solomon.

Fairlawn residents live with untreated mold and pest infestations.

Children tenants of the complex are effectively banned from playing in communal outdoor areas through new DSF building policies. DSF has persisted in this negligence and exploitation throughout the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic which necessarily heightened the impact of this mistreatment. The poor living conditions of low-income, black, and immigrant folks within the U.S.A. is one well-documented form of systemic violence with equally well-known impacts. DSF is a perpetrator of this violence and oppression.

DSF chair and co-founder, Solomon, has donated enough money to have the Artistic Director position at Trinity Repertory Company named after him. This named position is held by the Brown University professor and Artistic Director of the Brown/Trinity MFA programs in Acting and Directing. Therefore, Brown University, Trinity Repertory Company, and those affiliated are complicit in profiting from the continuing exploitation of the residents of Fairlawn Apartments.

In response to this ongoing harm, residents formed the Fairlawn Tenants Association, and the Boston community has rallied behind them. Members of the Fairlawn Tenants Association have: demonstrated outside of the Fairlawn management office many times, outside of DSF headquarters in Boston, petitioned with community support, refused to sign new leases with unjust rent increases (becoming tenants at-will), and withheld rent with the hopes of forcing DSF to negotiate more livable conditions with them. DSF continues to refuse to bargain with tenants.

At their most recent demonstration, Fairlawn residents marched to the onsite management office, operated by Winn Residential on behalf of DSF Group, to deliver a petition demanding negotiations during business hours. Management responded by locking the doors, closing the blinds, turning off their office lights, and calling the police. When the police arrived, they escorted management employees to their cars and away from any deserved conversation with the Fairlawn Tenants Association.

In light of the connection between Solomon, Brown University, and Trinity Repertory–the Fairlawn Tenants Association has decided to take their fight for decent housing here. The Fairlawn Tenants Association are joined by the undersigned members of the Brown University, Trinity Repertory Company, and broader Providence community to agitate and demand for the following: 1. That DSF Group negotiates with the Fairlawn Tenants Association in Mattapan, MA for a long-term, fair contract that keeps increases for market tenants to a cap of 2.5% for the next five years.

2. That DSF Group works with the city of Boston to bring subsidies and affordability to the complex.

3. That Arthur P. Solomon’s name be removed immediately from the title of the artistic director position if DSF does not meet with Fairlawn Tenants by May 1, 2022.

4. That Arthur P. Solomon be removed from the Board of Trustees at Trinity Repertory if DSF does not meet with Fairlawn Tenants by May 1, 2022.

The Fairlawn Tenants Association will continue to demand their right to live in comfortable and affordable housing. The undersigned graduate workers, faculty, students, staff at Brown, Trinity Repertory, and members of the Providence community will continue to support Fairlawn tenants demands and take further action if our joint demands remain unmet.

Please sign this petition in support of the Fairlawn Tenants Association: https://tinyurl.com/fairlawnpetition

Do you have an event, action, or other information for the Providence community that you’d like to see shared on this page?

Email us at indybulletinboard@gmail.com!

Community Quilt Collaborators: Santiago Alvarado, Clara Boberg, Larissa Celi, Martello Cesar, Zenona Darrow, Lillyanne Fisher, Natiana Fonseca, Leslie Gonzalez, Julia Hames, Izaak Hernandez, Mindy Kang, Sarah Khadroui, Joanne Kim, Edrea Martin, Shreya Patel, Jacqueline Qiu, Jan Rybczynski, Olivia Stoltzfus, Sarah Turkus, Dhirey Vivar, Hazel Zhang, and Osamequin Farm’s Sheep.