The College Hill Independent — Vol. 45 Issue 10

This Issue

From the Editors

Volume 45 spoke with a roaring spirit, bringing us from esoteric Providence art scenes to contentious bike lanes, from macabre farmsteads to unionizing cafes, from the Pink Tide to outer space. We couldn’t be prouder.

We spent the evening tinkering, cobbling, soldering DIY merchandise. Previous evenings we’ve taken naps in locker rooms and eaten dinner apart. But each night is a communion in hours forgotten, a whittling of words, despondent reactions just, open-mouthed, bleary-eyed rumored love and then finality. Hit submit –> print.

We don’t know if this third-floor room (far too warm in the winter) will remain in use, but we know that words can be carried into other cities, along the fibers of time. We may not be able to bring our many sets of 10 print copies with us where and when we go, but we—like those before us—will always be somewhere, sometime, poised at each instant to share the Indy with you. -SJC

Masthead*

MANAGING

EDITORS

Corinne Leong Sacha Sloan Jane Wang

WEEK IN REVIEW Masha Breeze Nora Mathews

ARTS

Cecilia Barron Anabelle Johnston Lola Simon

EPHEMERA Chloe Chen Ayça Ülgen

FEATURES

Zachary Braner Ryan Chuang Jenna Cooley

LITERARY

Madeline Canfield Tierra Sherlock

METRO

Jack Doughty Nélari Figueroa Torres Rose Houglet Nicholas Miller

SCIENCE + TECH

Justin Scheer Ella Spungen Katherine Xiong

WORLD Priyanka Mahat Alissa Simon

X

STAFF WRITERS

Hanna Aboueid Maru Attwood Kian Braulik

Mark Buckley

Swetabh Changkakoti

Laura David

Evan Donnachie

Emma Eaton

Danielle Emerson

Mariana Fajnzylber Keelin Gaughan Jonathan Green Faith Griffiths

Eric Guo

Dana Herrnstadt Anushka Kataruka Roza Kavak Nicole Konecke Cameron Leo Sarah McGrath Charlie Medeiros Kolya Shields Julia Vaz Kathy/Siqi Wang

COPY CHIEF Addie Allen

COPY EDITORS /

FACT-CHECKERS

Ava Bradley Qiaoying Chen

Dun Jian Chin Klara Davidson-Schmich Eleanor Dushin Mack Ford

Zoey Grant Aidan Harbison Doren Hsiao-Wecksler

Rahmla Jones

COVER

DESIGN EDITORS

Anna Brinkhuis Sam Stewart

DESIGNERS

Brianna Cheng Ri Choi Addie Clark

Amy/Youjin Lim Ash Ma

Jaesun Myung Enya Pan Tanya Qu Jeffrey Tao Floria Tsui Anna Wang

ILLUSTRATION

EDITORS

Sage Jennings Jo Ouyang

ILLUSTRATORS

Lucia Kan-Sperling Seoyoung Kim Maxime Pitchon

DEAR INDY Annie Stein

BULLETIN BOARD Sofia Barnett Kayla Morrison

SENIOR EDITORS

Alisa Caira Sage Jennings Anabelle Johnston Deb Marini Isaac McKenna Peder Schaefer

Jasmine Li Rebecca Martin-Welp Everest Maya-Tudor Eleanor Peters

Angelina Rios-Galindo Grace Samaha Shravya Sompalli Jean Wanlass

SOCIAL MEDIA TEAM

Klara Davidson-Schmich Britney De Leon Ayça Ülgen

Sylvie Bartusek Noah Bassman Ashley Castañeda Claire Chasse Julia Cheng Nicholas Edwards Lillyanne Fisher Sophie Foulkes Haimeng Ge Elisa Kim Joshua Koolik Lucy Lebowitz Sarosh Nadeem Hannah Park Sophia Patti Izzy Roth-Dishy Livia Weiner Iris Wright Jane Zhou Kelly Zhou

DEVELOPMENT COORDINATORS

Anabelle Johnston Bilal Memon

DEVELOPMENT TEAM

Rini Singhi Jean Wanlass

MVP SJC

The College Hill Independent is printed by TCI in Seekonk, MA

*Our Beloved Staff

Mission Statement

The CollegeHillIndependent 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 New Year’s

Rizz-olutions

#2022 is over party!!!! The past can suck it; here at Week in Review we believe the future is where it’s at. We also believe that the sun revolves around the Earth, attics are for girls and basements are for boys, and most importantly, people can . That’s why we’re partnering with each other to write up the 14 best New Year’s resolutions that will change your

1. Acquire grotesque levels of swag B-) Look at me I’m so swagged up it hurts me in my bones B-) 2. Invent a new type of bagel and call it “the Wonder Bagel.” You’ll make oodles and oodles of benjamins (money)! You are such a slick little business clam. 3. Learn wordplay—adopt some new phrases, like saying “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!” in a Mae West voice. Now that’s what I call endearing yourself to your peers! 4

DJ as a means of seduction! 5

Develop goal-oriented strategies toward the increase of actionable items and workflow potential, and open avenues towards directly proactive synergy! 6. Gird your loins! I’m girding rn. I’m literally girding. I am the gird made flesh. 7. Stop saying no to opportunities, and start saying “Skadoosh!” like Jack Black!

9. Figure out what’s going on with the muppets! I saw one of them (the one that looks like if a tube with hair radiated raw sexual energy) in the audience of the Dr. Pimplepopper talk show and I think something is off there. Figure that out!

10. No Pee 2023!!!!!???? You’ve heard of No Nut November; now get ready for No Pee 2023! Peeing is almost as cringey as farting or bleeding—why not cut it out of your life this coming year, and replace it with a real hobby, like wealth management? 11. Cross me! I fucking dare you! I’m a powder keg and I just need one excuse! Why I oughta… 12. Dupe a museum! 13. Invent a new type of person and call it “Monica.” She will rule this earth for generations, and all will know her name. I knew nothing before Monica; because of her I now know true fear, and for this knowledge I must thank her. I have heard the name of death and it is “Monica, Monica, Monica…” PRAISE HER REIGN ABOVE ALL OTHERS!!!! 14. Try wearing jewel tones!

. Develop an AI that can quickly solve incredibly complex equations with applications in the field of quantum physics, then slowly fall in love with it, build a life together, become threatened by how smart it is, and start dating Jeeves (of Ask Jeeves) instead.

8

ILLUSTRATION ELISA KIM DESIGN TANYA QU TEXT MASHA BREEZE & NORA MATHEWS

Kailin Hartley R’24 “week2 (swatch)”

Wool blend yarn, 36x14 inches

Well, this is one of the first knit things I ever made. The spade was free-hand too! I pretty much moved on from this piece after I made it and never touched this particular idea again but I still used the same technique, which turned out to be something I really hated doing after three seven-hour sessions.

STREETS ON A HUMAN SCALE

A walk on the Broad Street urban trail

“What we’re trying to do here is make it easier to walk, bike, take public transit, skate, or scoot,” Liza Burkin says as she pushes her foldable bicycle over a freshly painted neon green crosswalk. We’re on a walk along Broad Street’s urban trail—a two-way bike lane physically protected from traffic by a row of reflective white posts. Burkin talks about her work as the lead organizer for the Providence Streets Coalition, which advocates for safer streets and additional public transit options in Providence.

We pass a parent pushing a baby in a stroller, two boys racing along with thick-wheeled bikes, and an elderly person rolling a laundry bin. Perhaps a dozen others scoot, cycle, and walk along the trail. Around us are the sounds of construction machinery rattling, a bachata song drifting from a car, and savory aromas wafting from restaurants. A cyclist on a low red bicycle, decked out with silver accessories and a large speaker, approaches us. Burkin stops mid-sentence to shout “Sick bike!”

Transportation generates 40 percent of total greenhouse gases in Rhode Island, making it the biggest source of emissions in the state. That’s why Burkin emphasizes, “The climate option is getting people out of cars, out of gas-powered cars making it easier and safer and more convenient to choose different options.”

According to the Providence Journal, over 3,000 people have been hit by a car while walking or biking in the city since 2012. With the infrastructure for people to walk, wheel, and bike, neighborhood environments are made safer, more enjoyable, and livable.

Across the street, passengers climb into a bright green R-Line bus—part of the city’s yearlong pilot program for a free rapid transit service. The bus line is also scheduled for conversion into a fully electrified one in the next few months. Broad Street, with its urban trail and free public transport, models what the Providence Streets Coalition hopes for the city’s streets. “We’re on our way to building out that cool vision,” says Burkin.

Participatory Planning

The Providence Streets Coalition is an alliance between community groups, local businesses, and individuals who are pressuring the city and state to create walkable, bikeable infrastructure.

The coalition’s website lists dozens of local partner and supporter groups ranging from Youth In Action, a youth leadership group from the South Side of Providence, to In Downcity, a group that supports small businesses in Downtown Providence.

On our walk, Burkin explains that the Coalition carries out community and participatory planning related to streets and then campaigns to local governments who fund the creation of urban trails and bike lanes. Communities were sidelined during the building of highways that displaced so many people in the 1960s. “And so we’re trying to rectify some of that harm by doing all we can to include people in the process,” says Burkin. “We do not claim that it’s perfect, or that we have figured it all out. But we’re trying.”

For three summers before the Broad Street urban trail was built, advocates stood on corners, canvassed shops along the street, joined community meetings, and sent out messages to people in the neighborhood. They asked about changes

residents wanted to see on their streets and discussed plans for creating the trail. “And all of this was bilingual,” Burkin emphasized. The Coalition pushed the city to implement its plans for an urban trail in accordance with public input, leading to the version built earlier this year.

Density and Climate Action

Now, nearly six months after the completion of the trail, a delivery person on an electric bike speeds past us. The Broad Street urban trail is designed not only for recreation and exercise, but also to connect people to grocery stores, schools, workplaces, and libraries. Links to this social infrastructure are part of a vision for a denser city that people can navigate easily. “We need to bring the various aspects of our lives together so that we can walk or bike,” says Burkin. “Climate action looks like denser and more mixed places.” Burkin lives in Providence’s West End and will soon move to Elmwood, near the trail.

These infrastructural changes are part of two bigger plans for the city of Providence, created by Mayor Jorge Elorza’s office—the Great Streets Plan and the Providence Climate Justice Plan. The Providence Streets Coalition holds the city accountable to see these plans “off paper and into the streets,” says Burkin.

“The Great Streets Plan contains a 78-mile urban trail network and we’re about a third of the way to building it all. There is a long, long way to go,” says Burkin. That plan aims to reduce how much families spend on transport and improve safety and public health. The Providence Climate Justice Plan commits to transitioning to clean and efficient public transportation and cutting down the carbon and co-pollutants caused by cars. “You have to reduce the vehicle miles traveled and you have to electrify the miles that are driven,” Burkin emphasizes.

“In America, we’ve been conditioned to think that transportation means you get in your car, for every single trip that you have to do,” Burkin says. This reliance on cars and its negative environmental and social consequences can only be overcome with infrastructure that gives people options to travel in other ways.

Parking Spot Problems

To build some of the city’s other urban trails, like the existing one on South Water Street and the one proposed on Hope Street, traffic and parking lanes used by cars need to be removed. For a week in early October, to create a temporary urban trail on Hope Street, the Providence Streets Coalition cut down on 132 parking spaces—9% of the aggregate 1,318 parking spots in the area. The temporary trail was designed to collect data and opinions for the viability of a possible trail. In August 2022, Hope Street business owners wrote a letter to Mayor Elorza, demanding that

the temporary trail be called off, fearing that fewer people would frequent their stores with more limited parking. They wrote that “Hope Street is a narrow, commercial corridor that needs to attract customers from far and wide to survive.”

A remarkably similar series of events played out a year earlier. In October 2021, Brown University and several businesses along South Water Street, such as Plant City and Hemenway’s Restaurant, sent a letter asking the Rhode Island Department of Transportation (RIDOT) to intervene and stop the removal of a lane of traffic to create the South Water Street Trail. At the time, the trail was already under construction.

The university and businesses cited concerns about the impacts on traffic flow, saying that with the removal of the lane, South Water Street “will not be able to handle this current volume of vehicles.” In an email obtained via a public records request, Plant City CEO Kim Anderson urged the city of Providence to move the South Water Street Trail into the park that runs along the river, rather than constrict traffic outside her business, causing a “backed-up mess.” She said that the city had used faulty traffic data to decide to make the trail and warned that with a reduction in lanes and parking spots, “No one can predict what will happen to these businesses when locals avoid the whole scene.”

Despite initially taking no issue with the trail, RIDOT intervened on Brown and the business’s behalf, asking Mayor Elorza to stop construction. Elorza refused. Now, the South Water Street Trail has been up for over a year, without major incident. The College Hill Independent reached out to businesses along the street to ask what the impact of the trail has been one year later. They did not respond to requests for comment.

A 2020 meta-analysis from researchers at the Institute of Transportation Studies at UC Davis on the impacts of bike and pedestrian infrastructure in the U.S. and Canada shows that it “generally has positive or non-significant economic impacts on retail and food service businesses abutting or within a short distance of the facilities.”

City Roads, State Roads

RIDOT’s opposition to the South Water Street Trail is part of a wider pattern of resistance by the state-level department to urban trails. Though the Providence Streets Coalition works closely with the city, it’s been tougher to advocate for infrastructure from the state. “What I hear from people in communities that reach out to me, is that they struggle with the biggest widest arterials,” Burkin says. “Most of those are owned by the state and will require state cooperation, which they have really not been open to so far.” Fomenting political will on the state level to create streets that are safe and climate-friendly is an obstacle for the coalition.

TEXT MARU ATTWOOD DESIGN ANNA BRINKHUIS ILLUSTRATION HANNAH PARK

FEATS

Charles St. Martin, Chief Public Affairs Officer at RIDOT, told the Indy that the vast majority of roadways in Providence are owned by the city, not the state. He said that with the exception of highways, where pedestrians and cyclists can’t travel because of safety reasons, “There is only a small number of roads RIDOT maintains and all are busy principal arterial roads that are not suited for lane reductions necessary for an urban trail.”

St. Martin emphasized that the department had spent significant sums of money on dozens of walkable, bikeable infrastructure projects such as the Providence Pedestrian Bridge and the Redman Linear Bike Path on the Washington Bridge over the Seekonk River. “Since 2016, RIDOT has invested more than $200 million on bicycle and pedestrian enhancements,” he said.

Built for Cars

Today, with two highways that slice through its center, Providence is a city built for cars. But, it wasn’t always this way. Seventy years ago, the city was made up of the dense patchwork of city and residential blocks connected by streets and roadways. In 1956—in what was then the largest public works project in American history— President Eisenhower signed legislation that paved the way to make an expansive nationwide highway system, laying the concrete foundations for a Providence segregated by highways.

“Providence is just like every other American city in the 20th century; we decimated many of our neighborhoods in favor of bringing suburban commuters into the heart of the city by car, rather than having neighborhoods where people can walk,” says Burkin.

In Fox Point, hundreds of people, many of them part of the Cape Verdean community, were displaced to construct Interstate Highway 195. In Lippitt Hill, on the East Side of Providence, a thriving African American neighborhood was razed to build University Heights apartments and a massive shopping center parking lot. The construction of another highway, I-95, physically segregated neighborhoods in the south and west of Providence from Downtown and wealthier areas. “This happened to Black and brown communities, on purpose, all throughout the country from the 50s to the 70s, and we are still dealing with the ramifications of that,” Burkin says.

As we walk along Broad Street, Burkin points to where the street was “cut off in two places by the same highway.” On one end, I-95 disconnects

Broad Street from Downtown, and on the other, it loops around to cut it off from wealthier neighborhoods like Edgewood and Pawtuxet Village. “To take walkability away by building highway infrastructure that literally blocks up neighborhoods is an injustice,” says Burkin.

The health risks of living so close to highways and busy roads are high. According to the Environmental Protection Agency, people who live, work, or go to school near busy roads or highways are more likely to develop asthma, heart disease, and impaired lung development. There are higher rates of infants born pre-term, childhood leukemia, and premature deaths. It’s not a risk that is felt evenly. “Neighborhoods near polluting industries and highways in Providence have the highest rates of poverty and non-white populations,” according to the Providence Climate Justice Plan. These same neighborhoods have the highest rates of asthma in the state.

Real Access

There are dozens of issues with Providence’s streets and sidewalks that keep them inaccessible for disabled people, Tina Guenette Pedersen, president and founder of nonprofit organization Real Access Motivates Progress (RAMP), told the Indy For example, she highlighted the sidewalk outside the Providence Place Mall. “I’m there all the time and getting my wheelchair, I get stuck in cracks and crevices and it’s just inaccessible,” she said. “There are so many problems, they have accessible parking on the wrong side of the streets where our ramps would deploy into oncoming traffic.” Pedersen also cited telephone poles in the middle of supposedly accessible curb cuts and wheelchair signs on doors that lack openers.

According to Burkin, protected bike lanes improve mobility for wheelchair users. “Everything that we do to promote better public transit, cycling, and walking includes rolling via wheelchair and using walkers and scooters,” said Burkin. However, Pedersen said that the protected lanes are focused on bicycles and tend to overlook wheelchair accessibility. “I like all of these bike lanes that they’re putting in, but there needs to be rules of the road. A bike is faster than a wheelchair or a wheelchair is faster than a walker,” she said. “There has to be a way for everybody to be included.”

RAMP has worked with the Providence Streets Coalition on several projects across the city to make streets accessible, but Pedersen said that the coalition often ignores her recommendations.

“We’ve had somewhat of a successful relationship. The problem is that I’ll do the assessment and then they go ahead and do what they want,” Pedersen said. “Like on Hope Street, [the Providence Streets Coalition built] a brand new accessible parking spot, which they think is accessible. And it was the only spot I told them not to put it because there’s a bike rack there and a trash can. So I couldn’t use that spot.”

Pedersen continued, “I don’t want to be placated and talked to and then they just do whatever they want. That doesn’t make access. They’re gonna have to go back and spend more money to redo it later. We’re trying to save money by doing it upfront while they’re fixing things.”

A few days after my walk with Burkin, on a bright morning that was far too hot for November, I cycle along the unprotected bike trail on Allens Avenue. I am careful to avoid shattered glass in the lane and keep vigilant with massive trucks hurtling by to a nearby scrap yard.

Allens Ave, running along the industrial Port of Providence, is one of the most polluted places in the city. Burkin says that route is also a “really popular walking and biking route, because it’s flat to Downtown,” connecting neighborhoods in South Providence with the center of the city. Converting the bike trail on the road into a two-way, protected urban trail with accessible sidewalks and crosswalks is a priority for the Providence Streets Coalition.

Allens Ave is owned by the state, not the city. Charles St. Martin, of RIDOT, said that the department would not support the creation of a protected urban trail on the roadway. “Allens Avenue is a principal arterial roadway and a diversion route for I-95,” he said. “We will not be reducing the number of travel lanes.”

As I cycle along Allens Ave, I count four cars parked in the bike lane, pushing me into the road. I turn into a quiet street in Washington Park and reach the Broad Street urban trail. It’s a relief to pedal along a street made for humans.

BREWING SOLIDARITY

Conversations with Seven Stars Workers United

On June 10, employees at three of the five Seven Stars Bakery locations across Rhode Island filed for union elections under the National Labor Relations Board. In a letter to owners Bill and Tracy Daugherty, hourly employees asked the company for formal recognition of the union. By June 20, employees at the two remaining locations had followed suit.

Management responded the same day, announcing that they “officially recognized United Food and Commercial Workers (UFCW) Local 328 to represent all hourly cafe employees.” Notices posted at each location’s back-of-house read: “We are prepared to begin bargaining immediately and are looking forward to a strong partnership. Our continued goal is to make Seven Stars a great place to work.”

Founded in Rhode Island in 2001 by Lynn and Jim Williams, Seven Stars Bakery was sold in 2018 to its current owners, who opened the Cranston and Point Street locations in 2019 and 2021, respectively. Reflecting on their choice to unionize in interviews with the College Hill Independent, employees pointed to low wages, lack of benefits for part-time employees (the vast majority of cafe staff), and lack of scheduled or annual raises. At the beginning of the pandemic, base hourly pay for non-supervisor hourly

employees was cut from $11 per hour to $9 per hour, and employees have not seen a return to pre-pandemic wages since. Though the company states that it will guarantee $15 per hour if tips do not make up the difference, cafe workers lament being treated as tipped employees, when the average customer assumes that counter employees are paid at least minimum wage.

Contract negotiations between Seven Stars management and the cafe workers union, represented by UFCW Local 328, began in October. Since negotiations began, cafe workers have pushed the company for higher wages and a fair contract. On November 19, employees at all five cafes collected signatures and distributed flyers, asking customers to leave Google reviews pressuring the company for higher wages for their employees. Notably, Seven Stars production workers—responsible for baking the breads and pastries which are delivered to the cafes each morning from the Pawtucket production facility—have not unionized.

As a Seven Stars employee myself, I spoke with four cafe workers from across the Seven Stars locations about their experiences with forming a union as well as their goals and hopes for a first contract. I also spoke with Sam Marvin, director of organizing at UFCW Local 328, about

community—but they knew some things had to change because things had changed for them. During the pandemic, people’s wages got cut by the company. And historically, workers would expect a wage increase. And that had changed. Workers’ wages had not only been cut, but they had no idea when or if they’d ever see those increases back. Again, these are workers who love their job and want to create a sustainable

MARU ATTWOOD B‘24 wants you to join a

future, but under this sort of business model of low wages and an even heavier reliance on tips, they knew that something had to change, and that’s why they needed to form a union.

Indy: Can you talk about the latest in contract negotiations?

SM: I think we saw a lot of progress to begin with. A contract is made up of both economics and contract language, both very important to workers. We saw a lot of quick progress, particularly on contract language, so within the first few sessions, we got right to economics. Where we’re at right now essentially is, the company has proposed some improvements to economics, but is still holding onto their $9-an-hour starting rate. And we, and the worker committee, have made it very clear to the company that that is not a competitive rate, that is not a fair or just rate, and that workers deserve a fair wage from their employer, and not just from tips.

Jesennia Zamora grew up in Rhode Island and has worked at the Hope Street Seven Stars since the summer of 2021.

Indy: Can you talk a little bit about the move from those first conversations about unionizing to actually forming the union and asking for formal recognition?

Jesennia Zamora: So my partner also works for Seven Stars. As he and I were both getting to know everybody, it started to seem apparent that we were all having the same problems and noticing that, you know, people would go and ask for a raise and that seemed like a total no-go. As we started talking to more people who had been there longer, we heard about how after the company had been sold to Bill and Tracy [Daugherty], things had changed. Benefits had been lost and people weren’t making the same starting wage or getting the barista raise. Sometime around December 2021 or January 2022, a coworker who no longer works at Seven Stars started looking into different unions and came across UFCW and got connected with Sam Marvin. That’s kind of when the ball started rolling. On January 1, we had our first meeting to really talk about, if we were to unionize, what were the things we wanted, how would we start to go about this. From there, Sam really led us and walked us through everything. Before then, I was just Googling “how to form a union,” and watching YouTube videos like, “what are the first steps?”

With how Sam works with us, it felt really employee-driven the whole time. There was never an assumption in the early days that we were necessarily going to go with UFCW. He approached it as, “If you guys want to take the next step, we’re here for you. If you need more resources, we’re here for you,” until it became clear that we wanted to do this with UFCW. Sam always displayed so much trust in us. He knows that we know and understand the business in a way that he doesn’t and that we have a clear read on our workplace conditions.

Indy: How have you explained the union effort to people outside of Seven Stars and what has the response been like?

JZ: When I try to explain the union thing to people outside of Seven Stars, I start by saying, “How much would you assume I’m paid an hour?” The answer is never $9. The response that I often get is surprise because Seven Stars is a local institution. Seven Stars is beloved. It’s thought of as a really community-driven business, as a really Rhode Island business, as a family business. I used to go to Seven Stars thinking that the prices were high because the people were being taken care of and that’s a priority to me.

But so far, the response from customers has been overwhelmingly positive. I’ve had a lot of surprising moments with customers I see every day who learn more about what we’re doing and come to me at the counter and say, “I really support you guys, I hope you get your benefits, I

hope you get your wage.” They value us as a part of the community. So hopefully this makes Seven Stars put their money where their mouth is and value us as part of the community too.

I also want to say that one of the only reasons that this worked out is because we have such a tight network of good people who really love their jobs and care so much about the community that we’re a part of. A lot of us are thinking about this as a long-term investment in the community. Seven Stars employs hundreds of people and is planning on—I mean, I would think—expanding as much as possible. My hope is that if they want to have a big business in Rhode Island, then they have to be willing to provide Rhode Islanders with good jobs. I hope that this signals to the community that if you want to profit off of us, then this is how it’s going to be.

Natasha Brennan graduated from RISD in 2020. They are a part-time keyholder at the Broadway location and have worked at Seven Stars since July 2021.

Indy: What are the main issues that Seven Stars employees are hoping to mediate through the union? What specifically are you looking for in a first contract?

Natasha Brennan: The issues we’re hoping to mediate are problems with on-call shifts, our low wage, our inability to receive hourly raises,

because that’s what we used to have. A better starting rate for everyone. I don’t make $9 an hour like the newer employees, but I still want Seven Stars to be a place where people make good money and stick around. We’re one of the busiest, if not the busiest, cafes in Rhode Island. We’re one of the oldest cafes, most well-known cafes in Rhode Island. We have great coffee and great quality food. I just think that the wages should reflect that, and I don’t want us to be so tip-reliant. People want raises, especially with the economy right now. That’s the number-one concern for a lot of people, and also more benefits for part-timers, since part-time is such a large part of our staff.

I would add that I love being a barista and I love the people I work with. I think it’s a really good company, it just needs some improvements. And I want nothing but the best for my staff and for Seven Stars moving forward, as they’re definitely going to expand. I want it to be a good company for everyone.

Charlie Saperstein graduated from Brown in December 2021. He has worked part-time at the Point Street location since June 2021 and is Point Street’s negotiating representative.

Indy: Have there been other labor efforts throughout Rhode Island that you have taken inspiration from?

Charlie Saperstein: There is a Starbucks store in Rhode Island that’s unionized, but more broadly, seeing the Starbucks unionization efforts is of course inspiring. They work a comparable job, and have similar demands in some cases. But Starbucks workers have faced such a different situation in terms of the anti-union campaign from their company. For me, when I hear about Starbucks employees who are fired for unionizing or whatever Starbucks is doing to fuck with their employees, it definitely makes me feel like, “Well, if that’s what they’re dealing with, no question we can win a good first contract here at Seven Stars.” One of the really awesome things about this wave of new organizing happening across the country is that hopefully organizing begets more organizing. I’m sure lots of people that I work with felt it was more possible to form a union at Seven Stars because there were so many Starbucks that were unionizing.

Indy: Can you talk about the latest in how contract negotiations have been going?

ever; definitely healthcare benefits for part-time workers, vacation, PTO for part-time workers. And I’m hoping there will be some mention of safety precautions. I am really disappointed in how the company has not made hourly raises a possibility. There are people who have worked at Seven Stars for close to three years and have never received an hourly raise, and I think that is really crazy. But, honestly, the thing that most excites me about having a first contract is that hopefully it will be a great thing to inspire the production facility to finish their unionization. Their wages are also too low, and they have even more safety precaution problems than we do in the stores. But there’s a lot more challenges to unionizing production. It’s not a public space that our union representatives can go into and talk to employees and other people. So I’m really, really hoping that their efforts become much more possible after seeing a successful contract for cafe workers.

Stephanie Walker is a keyholder at the Cranston location and has worked at Seven Stars since 2014. She serves as the negotiating representative of hourly employees at the Cranston cafe.

Indy: What are you specifically looking for in a first contract, and what do you think that Seven Stars employees at large are hoping to mediate through the union?

Stephanie Walker: In the first contract, I would hope for the annual raise policy to come back,

CS: I guess I’ll just speak generally and say we don’t feel like the company is stalling. So, at Starbucks, for example, no stores have won a first contract yet, because the company is just trying to take as long as possible to let the energy around organizing die out. I don’t think that’s the case here. I think that Seven Stars does want a contract and came into negotiations with the intention of having a real negotiation. But, you know, they don’t want to pay us more. And we’re looking for a pretty significant raise, because wages have been so low. So that’s been a real sticking point, and that’s why we asked customers to specifically tell the company, “$9 an hour is not enough.” Because we’re not going to come out of this with a contract that leaves us still making $9 an hour.

+++

For a fuller interview transcript, read the online version of this piece!

CLARA EPSTEIN B’22.5 loves a good cheese danish.

The princess Zuleikha dreamt of a man who contained half of the world’s beauty. Every night, the man appeared more beautiful than before, with an unwavering countenance and downcast eyes, lowered not out of timidness but to spare his captive from unnecessary suffering. When she demanded to know the man’s name, he remained silent. When she pleaded to know where he was from, he would not tell her. She longed for the apparition whose existence was undetermined. Zuleikha’s father chained the girl to her bed in fear that she would jump out her window and take flight—searching the lands of Arabia for her beloved.

The 15th-century Persian poet Nur ad-Din Abd ar-Rahman Jami tells the tragic romance between Zuleikha and the man of her visions in an extended allegory on the supreme love between God and mankind. In Islam, God is described with 99 attributes, one which is al-Wadud, the Loving. God himself says in the Qur’an, “God loves the believers and the believers love God.” From the vacuum of meaning created in the wake of this simple proclamation, Jami explicates the substance of love for the divine.

The 12th chapter of the Qur’an tells the story of Prophet Yusuf (otherwise called Joseph in the Hebrew Bible). Son of Ya’qūb (Jacob), Yusuf was betrayed by his jealous brothers, who threw him in a deep well. When travelers

found the boy, they sold him as slave to Al-Azeez (Potiphar), captain of the Pharoah’s guard. God says in the Qur’an, “The woman in whose house he was living tried to seduce him [Yusuf]: she bolted the doors and said, ‘Come to me,’ and he replied, ‘God forbid! My master has been good to me; wrongdoers never prosper.’” The account concludes, “She made for him, and he would have succumbed to her if he had not seen evidence of his Lord.”

In these few pregnant verses has sprung forth a poetic tradition in Islamic literature that dwells on the startling juxtaposition of prophethood and carnal desire hidden in the phrase “and he would have succumbed to her.” Jami penned the most famous exploration of the lust that so overwhelmed the wife of al-Azeez that she risked her honor trying to seduce her slave. In Yusuf and Zuleikha, Jami transmutes the unchaste seductress into the victim of passion, more to be pitied than blamed. Jami expands the Qur’anic verses into an epic that spans Yusuf and Zuleikha’s lives, traversing the ridges that separate love of God from love of Man.

In a continuous stream of lamentations, Jami circles in on a notion of love as unity—the sublimation of the ego until the edge separating the lover and beloved dissolve and two bodies become one. Here, the wary reader may already feel themselves chafe. Discourses on modern love often stress independence and boundaries.

Love

as Allegory in the Story of Yusuf and Zuleikha

But we must remember: Jami is not aiming to dispense relationship advice or even define the perfected state of mortal love. The love between Yusuf and Zuleikha is but a metaphor for the love of God. Admittedly, readers may have trouble keeping track. The centrality of physical beauty in the text prevents a straightforward application of descriptions of man as beloved to God as beloved. The internal conflict generated by Jami’s allegory presents an opportunity to differentiate between earthly love and divine love. Especially when experiences overlap—the sense of urgency so great and the pangs of the gut so cacophonous—it can be difficult to find solid ground.

Longing for her beloved is the perennial condition of Zuleikha’s life. She marries the Vizier of Egypt and eventually buys Yusuf, the apparition for her dreams, as a slave. Despite her best attempts at seduction, Yusuf remains aloof while Zuleikha continues to pine. When the Vizier sends Yusuf to prison under false accusations of rape, agony at the separation forces Zuleikha to retreat from the world even as her husband lays dying. Miraculously, Yusuf and Zuleikha wed after Yusuf is set free, but even then, Zuleikha cannot force the prophet to fully reciprocate her desire.

Zuleikha’s love for Yusuf mirrors humanity’s

pursuit of God. Love involves pursuit and unification with the beautiful. For Jami, supreme beauty lies in God alone. All beauty in the world is a refraction of the ultimate and unified source of beauty, residing beyond physical perception. Any longing towards beauty on Earth is a manifestation of longing towards the divine. As a result, desire is a form of worship in which the beloved is but an intermediary for the lover’s pursuit of God. Jami advises, “You may try a hundred things but love alone will release you from yourself. So never flee from love—not even from love in an earthly guise—for it is a preparation for the Supreme Truth.” Romantic love is an instantiation of, and a way towards, love for the divine. To get close to God requires loving his creations.

Just as Zuleikha empties herself of everything but her love for Yusuf, believers suppress the ego to access a higher plane of existence. Zuleikha exhibits a complete disregard for her own welfare. She lays her mind, body, and wealth on Yusuf’s altar. Even as her attempts at seduction border on assault, Zuleikha maintains an air of pity through the totality of her suffering and the depth of her humiliation. After her desire for Yusuf subsumes all other wants, there is nothing left to identify her. Love liberates the lover from self-preservation. Zuliekha embodies the extreme of an otherwise ordinary experience. In loving, the interests of the beloved substitute the interests of the lover. The zealotry with which Zuleikha renounces her independence reads as both a cautionary tale for the over-eager and the purest form of love—to be envied and aspired to.

Believers, like lovers, must shed part of themselves to make room for the object of their desire. Sufism, the branch of Islam focused on the religion’s mystical or inward aspects, especially stresses the cessation of the self as the path toward properly loving God. The ninth century mystic Al-Hallaj of Baghdad embodied the extreme conclusion of Sufism’s propensity toward self-abnegation when he proclaimed, “I am Truth” (sometimes translated as “I am God”). Although executed by the Abbasid Caliph for heresy, later generations of Sufis revived his reputation. The most famous Sufi in the West, Jalal al-Din Al-Rumi, said of Al-Hallaj, “‘I am God’ is an expression of great humility. The man who says ‘I am God’ has made himself non-existent and has given himself up and says ‘I am God’ i.e. ‘I am naught, God is all; there is no being but God’s.’ This is the extreme of humility and self-abasement.” Given the extent of her self-abasement, Zuleikha all but declares “I am Yusuf.”

In Islam, and especially Sufism, love for God is expressed through constant remembrance by chanting sacred prayers and supplications. Lovers have similar rituals to commemorate their beloved. While the setting of Jami’s story morphs as the plot progresses, the content of his verses remains consistent: the pursuit of unity with the beloved and the pain of separation. After establishing this initial refrain, nothing much new is said. The thousand variations on the same metaphor—of a moth drawn to a flame or a nightingale’s unceasing serenade for his love, the rose—give the poem its heartbeat. The repetitive exclamations create a trance, replicating the mental state of the lover. To love is to

know one thing and to forget all others. It is to never tire of adoration even as the world around changes.

Love for God likewise expresses itself as constant remembrance. As a regular aspect of worship, Muslims recite prayers to God, such as God is great (Allahu Akbar), glorified is God (Subhanallah), and all praises due to God (Alhamdulillah). The worshiper clears her mind of all except the presence of her Creator. As with temporal love, love of God manifests in the compulsion to express an unending stream of exultations. Each phrase, though spoken thousands of times, never feels stale on the worshiper’s lips. Love, then, is characterized by this obsessive pursuit of unity—never able to reach articulation except through simple and unceasing proclamations of existence.

and begins undressing him when suddenly his conscience catches up with his body and he flees the palace like a gazelle from a tiger.

Readers familiar with the Qur’an may be shocked at Jami’s use of profane imagery in such proximity to prophethood. Jami goes so far as to describe Zuleikha pulling at Yusuf’s belt and “offering herself like a target for his arrow.” More troublesome is how close Yusuf stands from the precipice. The latent lustfulness of the Qur’an— “and he would have succumbed to her”—is made all the more explicit by Jami’s thinly veiled euphemisms, “He would have dearly loved to pierce that pearl with his diamond.”

Yusuf’s internal conflict between obeying God and succumbing to sexual temptation undermines the integrity of Jami’s allegory. Since God himself is ever-present in the narration, Zuleikha’s pursuit of Yusuf cannot be a perfect mirror of the worshiper’s pursuit of God. Zuleikha devotes herself to God’s beauty as instantiated in Yusuf but pays no heed to God as he exists. Even worse, in attempting to commit adultery, she runs in direct opposition to God’s commands. Zuleikha forgets, or never recognizes in the first place, that God is the true source of her ecstasy. Elevating the beloved above all else becomes but another form of idolatry.

The moth dies by the flame, even as its life is a gift from the Creator. After one-hundred pages of longing, the final chapter on Yusuf’s death shortens the few blissful descriptions of marital union. As Yusuf approaches death, he eagerly anticipates joining his Creator. Zuleikha, meanwhile, mourns the impermanence of their union. The contrast between the spouses highlights the insufficiencies of temporal love.

Avoiding betrayal, apathy, and changes of the heart, all lovers eventually contend with the finality of their separation. It is reported that the Angel Jibreel (Gabriel) came to the Prophet Muhammad and advised, “Love whomever you wish, for you will surely be separated. Know that the nobility of the believer is in prayer at night and his honor is in his independence of people.” Islam encourages marriage, love, and the enjoyment of sexual pleasure. Ultimately, however, no earthly union can promise lasting reprieve from the sorrows of this world. Without turning to God, the Angel Jibreel warns, we can never break from our attachments to this world. For Zuleikha, death only destroys.

The metaphor between earthly love and divine love cracks under the weight of Zuleikha’s lust. In the Qur’anic account, the story of Yusuf and Zuleikha is a cautionary tale of lust’s power to lead even prophets astray. As his mistress, Zuleikha makes open overtures towards the Canaanite slave. The more excuses she finds to be near Yusuf, the further down he lowers his gaze. To consummate years of unrequited love, Zuleikha hires the best artisans and painters in the empire to build a palace of desire. Each chamber of the building contains increasingly graphic depictions of Yusuf and Zuleikha embracing. Leading Yusuf through the fun house of erotica, Zuleikha hopes to arouse the prophet to where he cannot resist her. In the final chamber, Zuleikha gets Yusuf on her bed

Jami’s genius comes from his ability to recognize romantic love’s deficiencies while simultaneously being completely infatuated with it. He does not shy away from the corrosive effect of love on Zuleikha’s mind and morality, nor the impermanence of earthly love compared to love for the divine. Interspersed throughout the text are stories of other women who abandon their pursuit of appearances to worship the primordial light of God. These believers find peace while Zuleikha’s misery only increases. Nevertheless, Jami writes with such fervor that he clearly sees himself in his muse. Significantly deviating from the Qur’anic account, the retelling of Yusuf and Zuleikha remains a cautionary tale of how love can misguide. Yet the lesson also functions in reverse. Love softens the heart, laying the spiritual foundations for the ultimate Beloved.

BILAL MEMON B’22.5 loves love.

OF HEARTBEATS

I’m used to irregularities in my heartbeats. In elementary school, we were required to take an electrocardiogram for swim lessons, and I was told I had myocarditis. Apart from my fear of visiting the hospital after school and my dad’s inquiry calls to doctors, I only remember taking pills made in Canada and being banned from P.E. in my Chinese public school. “Don’t worry,” he said, and I believed him because everything in my life continued just the way it was.

But even then, I could hear my heart inside my left chest. Whenever I see, touch, hear, taste, and smell, I feel her breath like a song, a calling, a sixth sense—speaking to me the voices and frequencies of my own body. Thump. Thu-mp.

She speeds up as if fast-forwarding time whenever I’m nervous and chokes whenever I’m overcome by sadness, as if I’ve broken her

jealousy, hope—she documents them for me in her own ways. She echoes what I hear—drums in my earphones, squeaks of shattering autumn leaves, dripping of rainy water—and keeps them within me. Even when I write these letters, she’s Thump.

Maybe she’s trying to show me how my life has never stopped—burning its fibers every second as I draw with the ashes, creating colors with black and white. Every emotion, every time I stop and zoom in with my phone camera and try to capture the smell of wind and the colors I see—she experiences them as I do. Every time I choose not to speak my heart, I bear the burning She

beat too fast to the point where I couldn’t

Thump. Thump-thu-mp. I closed my eyes and it became louder,

streams of Chinese people swimming past me and their mixture of Chinese dialects soaked me

wear a Holter monitor, which tracked my heart’s rhythm for 24 hours. When I crawled into bed at 12 a.m. that night—anxious about having to get up at 6 a.m. to return the Holter, chest and skin glued with white electrodes, body tangled in gray wires that transferred my heartbeats to a small black box I wore on my waist—I suddenly hoped that this machine recorded my thoughts instead. I think of too many new things every day and forget even more.

But aren’t my heartbeats my thoughts— merely in another language? One that’s both simple and complicated; one that’s written in endless versions across the world, but for which the world doesn’t have any dictionary. Heartbeat is a human’s most intrinsic, purest voice. To others, to ourselves. An embrace is a conversation between hearts and can never be defined by any human-made artificiality. Sometimes I wish she could speak for me. Sometimes I let her speak.

Thumpthump. Thumpthumpthump. THUMP. THU-MP. Thump-THUMP-thump.

Last year during finals, her voice grew louder and louder. I called health services and was transferred to a nearby hospital’s line, which told me to call 911 if it became more severe. I said “thank you” repeatedly, monotonously, in a rhythm more stable than my heartbeat, and hung up with a face straining both disbelief and fear.

I lay in bed and thought about what to do. I couldn’t bear that I was technically doing nothing and opened a book due a few days later for an English literature class. I read and thought I must be out of my mind and kept on reading. “What are you doing,” I told myself. “Stop now if you don’t want a heart attack,” I told myself over and over again but couldn’t hear a thing.

The only thing I could hear was my heart beating. Thump. I didn’t know what was wrong with me but I wanted to. Thumpthump. It was like someone else was living inside me. Someone who wanted to stop. Thumpthumpthump. For all my life, I’ve feared change and unfamiliarity— feared visiting the hospital instead of going home after school, feared being diagnosed with some heart disease that would disrupt what life used to be, feared sharing my heart’s voice with someone who doesn’t recognize her roots. Thumpthumpthumpthump. But maybe she knew better.

I went to health services the next day and the nurse kept saying things like, “You are already doing great by getting into this school.” I kept on nodding and nodding. A doctor thump came later thumpthump and listened to my heartbeats thumpthumpthump

“No wonder why you are not feeling well. Your heart is beating really fast,” she said. I nodded and smiled. I selfishly wished she could tell me what my heart was saying, but I knew she couldn’t. Thumpthumpthumpthump. I knew only I could.

She taught me to breathe through my stomach. Thumpthumpthumpthump. She placed her hand on my belly and told me to concentrate on inflating it when I breathed in and deflating it when I breathed out. Thumpthumpthump. “Do you feel your heartbeat slowing down? You can keep doing this whenever you feel that your heart beats too fast,” she said while helping me breathe. Thump. Thump. ”It restarts your heartbeat.” Thump.

I sunk into an addiction of restarting her. An addiction to her absence, to a world that suddenly becomes quiet—quieter—even for just a split second. In those split seconds I try to envision a world without her voice. Without her, even. I breathe and breathe again to erase everything I don’t want in my life: every change I encounter, every unfamiliarity she unreservedly magnifies for me.

In those silences I escape—unliving the past, searching for a point in life where I can merely discard all changes as easily as pressing the “revert to original” button in the photo album on my phone.

But isn’t silence a sound? In high school, a journal prompt urged me to describe the sound of silence, and I sat in front of my desk at 3 a.m., trying to figure out its texture while only hearing my heart beating. When the whole world stopped talking to me, only she persisted.

She speaks no matter if I can hear her or not. Even when I restart her to live through a few milliseconds of silence, I listen to a world of her creation. I am her creation. The absence that I long for is enabled by her existence.

And there’s no escape—no unliving what I’ve lived, no discarding any changes—only doses of anesthetic I take to mask my cowardice. My unwillingness to accept life as it is. My inability to embrace myself as I am, to hold onto and let go of others.

My Holter result said I had premature atrial contractions. Now her voice has a name.

The cardiologist looked at the result and said the frequency was not too high, so I didn’t have to worry. “The only thing is that sometimes you might feel unwell—but this won’t affect how long you’ll live,” he said.

I nodded. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Shouldn’t I feel relieved? Everything would go the way it was. I stood in the hospital hallway, saturating myself as much as I could with the sense of familiarity that didn’t belong there, and focused on the beating of my heart: Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump. All this time, I’ve longed to know the meaning of her words, but perhaps that’s not what I should discern. Perhaps listening is more important.

My heart reflects and embraces all that I experience yet she stays who she is. She never changes but also never beats the same beat twice—even when I close my eyes and breathe hard to restart her, there’s no replay. No matter how much I fear changes, unexpectedness, unfamiliarity, abnormalcy, she preserves every second of our shared lives and beats ceaselessly into the future.

I need to listen for that future.

KATHY WANG B’25 wishes everyone robust and healthy heartbeats.

An indignation:

A tall thin man, rather fanatical, far from dissolute—

It was a contest in hyperbole and carried on for no other reason.

He said:

“I know the truth of my rottage, me a meated spirit of gulped air, And I have never denied life— So, I ask now, supplicant, how could my bill be so high?

Show me your scale of heart and feather, the Laws by which the number and sex of offspring are controlled, And I’ll teach you the ethics of swindling, a recollection of a dream which has within it the rest of the novel, the metallic meat, the iron taste.”

Dining, she must talk now to a man who was ten immensities away— the little emperor of the crossroads. She was the heart, everyone knew and For the space of a thought, she was lit up like a transfiguration:

“Try to blot out some of the unspeakable, go ahead, see what happens. Life is full of reminders, an augmentation easily discarded, like smoking again.”

She paused and said: “I know me and what I’ve done: Commitments were made, Much was asked for (all in a lover’s strange math) that infamous order that would enthrone our maxim.

In French we call them ‘industrielles’,” She leaned over the booth, Smiling her cigarette smile at him: “But knowing the truth about oneself is, unlike the lie, an unforgettable business. I’ve ruined many a nice happy dinner party establishing the proximity of the sea, Crossing the air with a jeweled hand, cleansing myself of my bomb fear— I, too, was not wholly unified— rigorously documenting the process of being…”

She trailed off, looking out onto the midway.

The hand grasps the hand in compatibility: “The ways of love are variable indeed.”

A Damn Miracle, Considering

She settled herself disjointed in the seat across from me though this had all, of course, been consented to and several things had been signed when she came into the office a few days prior. That day, we’d discussed what to use—names, places, identifying details. As these things go, it was pretty muddled in the talks and clearer in the documents and just so it all became a fiction—as these things go. We agreed to talk about her kids—who I was curious about after last summer—and the house and the job. We talked about her, too.

Pulling unconsciously in performance the vertical lines under her chin, she said, “The stuff ages you, you know. Thirty eight’s not old,

but even as a kid whenever it was hot I’d sit out and bake for hours. When I was a kid like that I could close my eyes next to I-95, which is, by the way, where I grew up, and I liked the sounds, like the ocean. I liked watching the cars and kept a log of the license plates, which I liked, too. They go fast, though.”

“It’s been nice at home recently, real nice. John’s been outta the picture for, God…eight months? And since then, the girls have really been a help. The house is clean. I’ve been noticing things for the first time…” I don’t ask questions as a matter of habit and protection, maybe a personal failing toward maintenance (the end these things usually tend toward), and I realized after just a few of these talks, that people say what they want to, and Mom always said you can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do, and I think that extends.

“I’ve been noticing how gold the sun comes in in the kitchen, which doesn’t make any sense because it’s blue outside—you know how it is up north. But in the summer, in the kitchen, the light comes in like honey and I think it’s mostly to do with the wallpaper, but I’ve started sitting in there more.

“And work’s good. They know John and the girls there, they know me, and they’ve never gotten mad when I screw up an order or drop something. I went to high school with the women in the kitchen, I know most of the customers, too, by now, anyways.

“It’s funny, I think about the whole thing collapsing into the river below it when it creaks downstairs and the thought’s bad. I like the place, propped up by those big old beams with a rotting stairway down to the riverrocks—something old and industrial left over from the mills. It’s a good place to be, and the light does the same thing in there except that the windows are old and warped, old glass, and leave patches like reflections of static water. I don’t like the standing much, but what’s there to do?” She smiled, resigned and far away, and after a while she told me about the kids.

“I haven’t been talking to my brother or his. I think they got a lot of bad from my dad and I don’t want them to come around anymore and smoke pot and swear. It’s not like my girls haven’t heard it, but I don’t like the noise. It’d be fine if it were constant or quiet, but the outbursts I can’t deal with. Amy from over here tells me it’s to do with John, but I’ve been like that since I was a kid. Dad used to clap his hands.”

“But the girls are really good, actually. I don’t know why, considering, but they’re good. Justine graduated high school last month, she’s over in St. Johnsbury with some friends and if she were Jess I’d be worried, but the girl has never touched a live wire. She doesn’t look around corners. And Jess is gonna be in her second year. She’s been spending a lot of time at home with me, actually, in the evenings, and sleeps here maybe five nights a week. I’ve always told them things that I thought would keep them from being like me, but they really don’t need telling. They were out for a while,

but Justine even comes back, gets the gas and everything.”

“They’re good girls, they really are, which is a damn miracle, considering.”

The following two collections weave a texture from the strings of words that come from sudden thoughts, conversations, advertisements, and what I’ve read and forgotten – the words that stick to me. The unifying factor is the emotional resonance of the combinations and the mystery of that resonance.

Collection 4.3, Slow

This soft and weighted headdress is intended for social and emotional war—a portable fallout shelter for social exposure & continuing conversations—

Sometimes I open one door and one window or two doors and two windows. I do this only through shrewdness…Some strange sexual fantasy—

When asking if something is read or not we go to express, Forward and to the left, “There are only so many ways to represent data.”

After all, the name is not just draped over the thing

migrating and devouring its way through the pastures of media.

There are others...in dreams, battles, auto-didacticisms— an anticipatory reaching out— It’s as though men had to make an effort to live properly with language, the place of language properly inhabited… And I saw the devil once in an alleyway in Provincetown, He was beautiful.

He turned and faced me while walking, “No shit?”

“No shit.”

Collection 4.4, Fast

As I tortured a delicate blue-pink crawfish, I whispered to it, “It doesn’t matter, everything’s blue, join another order of being!”

I think I encouraged it to death—I told it there’s gold at the bottom of the cave, I made its claw hands into earrings that evening.

LUCY CARPENTER B’24 is overhearing conversations in a diner.

Mathilde and Dan at Diner

From the Corners

CHARACTERS

darius. a younger brother sunshine. an older sister october. a childhood friend PLACE old bedroom TIME that early break of sunlight

SUNSHINE walks on stage with a measuring tape. the space is empty, but she moves in a way that suggests there is furniture we can’t see. as she measures various sections of the floor, we hear her humming. the sound of her stretching the measuring tape starts a slow rhythm. soon, SUNSHINE begins singing.

SUNSHINE before the sun, before the sun, oh who has father sky become

SUNSHINE pulls out masking tape, her measurements become lines. the stretching and ripping of the masking tape quicken the rhythm slightly. she keeps singing.

SUNSHINE before the sun, before the sun, we rise early, we become one DARIUS emerges from a corner. he too has masking tape. they both continue making lines based on SUNSHINE’s measurements. DARIUS and SUNSHINE continue singing.

SUNSHINE greet the beams, feel the streams, listen / to mother

DARIUS before the sun, before the sun, / oh who has father sky become

SUNSHINE before the sun, before the sun, we rise early, / we become one

DARIUS we rise early, we / become one

SUNSHINE greet the beams

DARIUS feel the streams

SUNSHINE DARIUS listen to mother listen to mother DARIUS we rise early SUNSHINE we become one

both DARIUS and SUNSHINE stop laying out tape. they’re surrounded by tape lines. they canvassed two perpendicular lines; four corners. DARIUS and SUNSHINE sit facing away from each other.

OCTOBER enters, she notices DARIUS and SUNSHINE’s frozen forms. OCTOBER attempts to gain their attention, waving, tugging, poking. she drops her head. she notices the masking tape. she starts to pull it off the floor, strand by strand. with each piece removed, OCTOBER speaks a single sentence.

OCTOBER we were ten. removes strand. we sang one song. removes two. their mother disappeared. i was all they had. removes a whole clump. we sang together, weaving our voices, lulling each other to sleep. removes another. we used to talk all the time. each night. each morning. removes the final clumps. but i couldn’t keep them here. no one could. a moment.

some say you can still hear them. their singing falling over each other, just as the sunlight streams in through your window.

OCTOBER circles DARIUS and SUNSHINE. she attempts to get their attention again, poking, tugging, waving. nothing. she sighs to herself and leaves, taking the tape with her. we are left with DARIUS and SUNSHINE. we listen as SUNSHINE starts humming again. pretty soon she’s singing.

SUNSHINE before the sun, before the sun, oh who has father sky become she starts measuring. again.

DANIELLE EMERSON B’22.5 is from the San Juan region Four Corners area.

TEXT DANIELLE EMERSON DESIGN AMY LIM ILLUSTRATION

Black-Boxed

Knowledge and opacity in the surveillance economy

We can remember the day it happened, even if remembering is an impossible act of resistance.

The beginning might go like this: It was late in 2001, a year into the dot-com bubble’s burst. The specters of bankrupt tech companies haunted Silicon Valley, a city ravaged by speculation and fervor. Google, a three-year-old company founded by Stanford graduates Larry Page and Sergey Brin, survived solely on the basis of its simple interface and effective search engine, which by mid-1999 was processing 500,000 queries a day.

But uncertainty weighed upon Google. Their business model comprised elegant, reciprocal transactions that took place entirely outside the marketplace and generated no revenue: A user searched, and data from that search was used for product improvement. This would not do in tech’s era of reckoning. In the wind-blown valley, Google faced an existential imperative to make money.

We might imagine that, slouched under the weight of lofty expectations and existential questions, Page and Brin walked into their office on 165 University Ave in Palo Alto with grim resolve. It was fall, and the leaves outside of the banal stucco building were beginning to turn. We might imagine that the pair hung up their sport coats by the office entrance, idling in the lobby under hushed whispers. Later reports tell us Brin was much more reluctant about their impending decision. Perhaps final barbs were exchanged before they walked in.

That day, the pair asked their slender advertising team of seven to use behavioral data generated by their search engine—data they hadn’t touched for three years—to create models for targeted advertising. By amassing an understanding of what a consumer would want at a given moment, they reasoned, companies could precisely meet consumer demand and eliminate losses in the advertising process. This was the day that surveillance capitalism, the emergent economic order of the 21st century, was invented. +++

Google is an opaque company by design. We know for the first three years of their existence, they touted a simple slogan—“don’t be evil”—and refused to incorporate targeted advertising into their revenue model. We know in the fall of 2001, there was pressure to show profits, and they changed their minds. The rest—the fall leaves and

sport coats and hushed whispers—I fabricated.

I’ve been trying to write about the surveillance economy for a long time. I can’t quite figure out why it touches me so deeply. I have no interest in tech, but I can’t seem to stop writing about it, and every time I do, I neither figure out why it matters to me nor why it really matters at all. But I know it does. And I know that it feels important to give its beginnings life, to narrate the day Google’s co-founders decided they could capture human behavior and create a marketplace for it.

Perhaps by engaging in this kind of desperate search for transparency in the narrative, I risk mirroring the pursuit of certainty that lies at the heart of surveillance capitalism. But I wonder if by fabricating a narrative from the fragments we have, we might tilt the imbalance of knowledge that defines the surveillance economy a bit closer in our direction. I wonder if we can leverage narrative—however constructed it is—as a form of power.

Surveillance capitalism was not born out of immaculate conception. Its creation was lived; it had texture and shape. It was an act of intention, of ambition, maybe even of ego. It was, to put it simply, a human decision.

In the three years that followed, the company’s profits would increase by 3,590 percent.

We must try to imagine a day, even if it is just that—imagined.

Here’s what we do know, confirmed by scholars, rogue tech workers, and court testimonies: At any given moment, we are being listened to, tracked, and watched for the purpose of creating increasingly accurate models of our behavior that can be bought and sold. This extraction effort transcends the digital realm and reaches into every aspect of our lives, public and private. It requires scope— the surveillance follows us into our front doors, our living rooms, our bloodstreams, our dinner conversations, on our morning runs and our solitary hikes. It also requires depth—it seeks to understand not just our preferences, but also our hopes, insecurities, traumas, lusts, vulnerabilities, and fears.

The goal of this knowledge—and the primary project of surveillance capitalism—is to create an economy of total certainty. When firms can predict our tendencies before we act, they can

intervene to guarantee profitable outcomes. This is the most basic logic of the surveillance economy.

Conditions of uncertainty are at the heart of this project’s conception. For one, the ideology came about in a year of acute economic uncertainty, by a company facing an uncertain future. The dot-com crash provoked a period of striking economic volatility; it would take 16 years for tech stocks to recover. The emerging data economy sought to mitigate these damages and restore investor confidence in the tech sector.

And in a broader historical sense, uncertainty has always functioned as an obstacle to accumulation. Producers lose money when they cannot accurately assess consumer demand; firms take losses from wobbly investments. Surveillance capitalism is unprecedented in its ability to eliminate that obstacle. By accumulating massive amounts of knowledge on consumers—the intimate and the mundane—corporations wield unimaginable power in the marketplace.

As Google brought its new profit model to scale, a budding social media company called Facebook was gaining momentum. By 2008, the platform was being used by 100 million users globally. Faced with the familiar question of how to turn a successful interface into a profitable one, founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg hired Sheryl Sandberg, who had worked at Google since 2001 and led the development of AdWords, their predictive advertising model.

Sandberg saw the same potential for data extraction and prediction in Facebook. The platform’s ‘feeds’ not only created highly visible physical spaces for advertisements, but they also facilitated the extraction of broader swaths of more intimate personal information that could be fed into prediction models. “We have better information than anyone else … [A]nd it’s real data as opposed to the stuff other people infer,” Sandberg said of Facebook.

In the years following Sandberg’s hiring, Facebook honed the mechanisms of surveillance capitalism to greater precision and scope. Its data extraction now extends beyond the details we input, like gender, relationship status, and location, to biometric facial data and the tracking of both users and non-users on third-party sites and apps. Both Facebook and Google have made numerous acquisitions—from Oculus to Nest Thermostat—which expand their sources of behavioral data for ad prediction models.

As the scope of surveillance widened and the predictive algorithms grew more refined, Facebook and its competitors realized they could do more than predict how we will act; through a web of cues and nudges customized to our routines and psyches, they could move us to specific decisions by force.

One report from the Australian exposed an experiment run by Facebook that leveraged predictive knowledge on 6.4 million unsuspecting teenage users. The project aimed to understand when they felt “worthless,” “insecure,” “stressed,” “defeated,” “anxious,” and like a “failure” to micro-target ads that moved them toward purchases they likely wouldn’t have made in more confident states of mind.

Processes of behavioral modification constitute the bulk of Facebook’s data work. One former product manager for Facebook wrote of the company, “Experiments are run on every user

at some point in their tenure on the site … The fundamental purpose of most people at Facebook working on data is to influence and alter people’s moods and behavior.”

Facebook and its progeny force upon us a transparency so illuminating as to lay bare the most intricate mechanisms of our psyches, ones even we do not consciously perceive. Once again, this work aims to pin down and transform fickle human behavior into a reliable source of revenue. It is an excavation of the intimate, an extraction of mundane habits, and a contortion of the human experience—all leveraged in service of wealth accumulation at levels never before seen in the history of capitalism. +++

What makes this commodification of the human experience possible is an unprecedented commitment to obscurity. At the same time that the surveillance economy demands total transparency and certainty of outcomes from us, the technological and business processes that drive the economy are decidedly nontransparent and uncertain. Together, this forced visibility and cultivated secrecy create an imbalance of power that makes resistance nearly impossible.

This opaque design is deeply embedded in the industry’s history: Former Google employees attest to the company’s campaign of secrecy around their early experiments in behavioral extraction and prediction.

Eric Schmidt, CEO of Google from 2001–2011, called it the “hiding strategy”: Employees were mandated to keep secret the mechanisms of their new revenue model. Executives framed it as a method to keep competition in the dark, but more crucially, the hiding strategy prevented users from discovering the company’s extraction of their intimate lives.

Two decades later, even experts in the field cannot tell exactly what companies know about us and how they use that information. Privacy policies are intentionally convoluted, vague, and crammed with legal jargon. And even for the legally literate, the policies offer only a hazy outline of companies’ data usage.

Facebook has gone to infamously great lengths to keep the scope of its data extraction concealed, through communications and successful lobbying campaigns. When reports surface of its tracking of people within and beyond its user base, Zuckerberg typically dismisses the findings as a “bug,” “misstep,” or “glitch.” The company has also denied using concerning patents they’ve filed, including one that would allow Facebook to track user eye movement and emotions. Whether or not anyone believes these assurances seems irrelevant; the confusion they provoke has succeeded in distracting public officials and users from isolated leaks.

A small testament to the efficacy of this obscuring act is the difficulty I have had researching this article and piecing it together with enough coherence to feign certainty on my end. Plenty of people write about digital privacy, but far fewer have painted a comprehensive picture of what it looks like. Even something as simple as the fact that there is no universal name for this phenomenon is part of the obfuscation. Some call it “data brokerage,” others “targeted advertising,” “the information economy,” or “big data”; few refer to the practices in holistic terms like the “surveillance economy” or “surveillance capitalism.”

Setting aside the difficulty of comprehending the mechanisms of data extraction, I’ve found it very difficult to wrap my head around the loss of agency that lies behind these practices. It’s conceptually clear that companies like Google produce certainty by hijacking our decision-making power as consumers. But any attempt to explain what the degradation of

free will actually feels like in a way that makes it personal and tangible twists my stomach into knots and makes my head feel dull.

But maybe the loss of agency is hard to comprehend because it is so obscured. We have no way of knowing which decisions we make each day are influenced by companies, nor do we know what we might have decided otherwise. We cannot see the processes of extraction, prediction, and shaping, nor are we alerted when they’re in effect in our lives. We only experience their outcomes—which, to us, feels like free will anyway.

The imbalance of knowledge pursued by surveillance capitalists has granted corporations unseen experimental power over our lived experience, the effects of which we have yet to reckon with. This is not because we’ve become apathetic to privacy issues, but because both the processes of extraction and its effects upon our ability to make free decisions are relentlessly opaque and elusive. +++

Foucault tells us that knowledge is the source of power. That surveillance is not an act of seeing, but an act of shaping: “Knowledge is not for knowing: knowledge is for cutting.”

It’s been 22 years since Google began commodifying human behavior. Since then, the

accumulation and prediction. Start-ups like Branch and InVenture analyze behavioral data, from social media activity and retail patterns to GPS coordinates and texts, to gauge the creditworthiness of unbanked people in low-income countries. A report on the ventures by the Omidyar Network boasts that their surveillance practices have “the potential to help between 325 million and 580 million people gain access to formal credit for the first time.” The start-ups provide markedly lower rates than traditional microlending firms and a more accessible process for borrowing, an offer the most financially and socially vulnerable cannot refuse on privacy grounds alone. An article about the report adds that, when surveying potential users in low-income countries, “most said they had no problem sharing personal details in exchange for muchneeded funds.”

Both of these examples call into question consent as a solution to the issue of privacy in the absence of reciprocal knowledge. Several proposed and enacted policies espouse ubiquitous pop-ups that let us reject or accept the use of cookies; others go so far as to suggest that users can reclaim agency by monetizing their own data. But consent given to corporations out of necessity—by low-income individuals dependent on low-interest loans or by patients who simply need insurance—is not free consent. Nor is consent without knowledge; no one will opt out of a system they need if they have no way to conceptualize how their data might be leveraged against them in the future.

Consent-based solutions legitimize the exploitation performed by corporations, while failing to address the fundamental knowledge imbalance that has allowed firms to unilaterally harness the human experience.

+++

opacity of surveillance capitalism has allowed it to transcend models of predictive advertising and bleed into nearly every sector imaginable, shaping our lives in unseen ways. Banks purchase personal financial data to make more accurate evaluations of a person’s risk of defaulting on loans; employers use algorithms that analyze personal data to determine candidates’ viability for a job; judges do the same to evaluate risk in granting criminal defendants’ pretrial bail. The opaque “black-box” algorithms that dictate these processes aim to establish certainty in the same way targeted ads do, but because the data fed into them is inherently biased, their outputs reinforce existing patterns of systemic racism and classism through mechanisms impossible to untangle.

Digging deeper into how surveillance capitalism has been applied by companies outside of the tech industry gives us tangible insight into how we’re harmed by forced transparency. It also illuminates how the economy of total certainty has brought disproportionate harm to marginalized communities who have historically borne the brunt of commodification.

For instance, surveillance practices are particularly salient in the insurance industry, who have long worked to reduce their financial risk and guarantee certainty of outcomes. ProPublica reported that various medical devices—from breathing machines purchased by people with sleep apnea to heart monitors—covertly collect patient data and send it to health insurers, who can then use the data to justify reduced insurance payments or to increase patient insurance rates. Patients with chronic medical issues, who are disproportionately low-income and racially marginalized, suffer from hyper-targeted healthcare costs induced by practices that are completely opaque on their end.

Lending firms offer another example of the class-lopsided impacts of knowledge

There is nothing new about commodification or extraction, and the principles of accumulation that drive surveillance capitalism are the same that have driven capitalists for two centuries. But throughout the history of land and labor, past mechanisms of extraction have been visible in the forms of ravaged landscapes, overworked bodies, and physical conditions of unfreedom. Resistance has never been easy, but identifying the shape of the exploitation has never been so hard.

Dismantling the power structures created by this imbalance of knowledge will require a move toward radical transparency that not only necessitates the enactment of policy that exposes the anatomy of the surveillance economy, but also relies upon the work of journalists, writers, and internet-users to cultivate resistance through narrative.

I still struggle to articulate what forms the narrative might look like or how they’ll shape our path forward. And I’m far from grasping the most effective policy solution. But admitting to uncertainty first is the only way to begin to fill in the gaps. By working to make the obscured visible, we can air the issue of privacy in the public, strip it of its abstractions, and bring it closer to our lived experiences. We can tie it to more obviously pressing issues like class struggle, as well as more visceral and physical human experiences through narrative creation.

All of this—the writing and the searching— matters not just because finding the social rhetoric of privacy and the shape of surveillance capitalism is important, but because we can find joy in these practices. And when we see resistance not as a burden or a chore, but as an opportunity to feel empowered in a disempowering system, we begin to cultivate resistance.

Just as we must try to remember the beginnings, we must also imagine an end.

CAMERON LEO B’25 does unfortunately enjoy the occasional Instagram post.

PARA NO MORIR

For three years of high school and for much of my first year at Brown, I held onto a particu larly bold piece of bedroom wall decor. It was a bright green bandana— the Spanish word—affixed at its three corners with Scotch tape. At the center of the cloth was an image of a white headscarf, meant to recall those worn by Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo mothers of children who had been “disappeared” during the Argentine military dictatorship. Above the image are two lines of horizontal text, also in white. They read: Por el Derecho al Aborto Legal, Seguro, y Gratuito (National Campaign for the Right to Legal, Safe and Free Abortion). Lower, circling the image of the white headscarf, are more words: Educación sexual para decidir; anticonceptivos para no abortar; aborto legal para no morir. Roughly translated, this means: Sexual education so you can decide; contraception so you don’t have to abort; legal abortion so you don’t die. +++

The pañuelo verde originated in Argentina in 2003 with the founding of the National Campaign. It has since become a symbol of contemporary feminism and abortion rights advocacy across Latin America and beyond (U.S. activists have recently begun to encourage the use of the color green in protests)—and “symbol” might be an understatement. The pañuelo—inscribed with exactly the same text and insignia—has been printed and worn by hundreds of thousands of people, who, congregating on streets and in front of statehouses, make up what’s been referred to as Latin America’s marea verde, or green wave. When a piece of visual or textual rhetoric is reproduced to such a degree, it stops simply representing a movement—it comes to define it.

No symbol used in the United States abortion rights movement has reached the same level of ubiquity. Here, the closest rival to the pañuelo verde might not be an item but a phrase: “My Body, My Choice.”

The U.S. movement that conceived of this catchphrase has had a rough go of it this year. In June, the Supreme Court issued its ruling in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, overruling the constitutional protections around abortion first established in Roe v. Wade and capping off decades of slow rollbacks in access at the state level. Since Dobbs, 13 states have fully banned abortion, with new restrictions enacted in many more. But it’s not like this everywhere: in Latin America, things have been moving in a very different direction.

I got my pañuelo in Argentina in 2018 during the semester I spent studying in Buenos Aires. At the time, abortion was illegal except for in cases of rape, incest, or a threat to the mother’s life. That year, a bill to legalize abortion passed the lower chamber of Congress for the first time before narrowly failing in the Senate. The night of the vote, my family and I watched on TV as thousands of abortion rights supporters, clad in

green and each with their pañuelo tied around their neck or wrist, flocked around the Capitol Building. I wanted to be there, but my mother wouldn’t let me go, thinking the violence that anti-choice extremists have employed during abortion rights protests in the U.S. In fact, the night proceeded peacefully, and while legalization didn’t pass in 2018, abortion rights advocates didn’t have long to wait: in December of 2020, both houses voted ‘yes’ on a bill sponsored by the executive branch to make abortion legal for up to 14 weeks. Argentina was soon joined by Mexico, whose Supreme Court ruled in September of 2021 that it was unconstitutional to punish abortion as a crime, and by Colombia, whose Constitutional Court made abortion legal up to 24 weeks in February

Less than three months later, POLITICO released a draft of the U.S. Supreme Court’s opinion in Dobbs v. Jackson. The leak made it all but certain that by the end of the Court’s term in June, Roe v. Wade would be overturned and dozens of states would have free rein in their efforts to restrict abortion. The week that the draft came out, I, along with dozens of other Brown students, marched to the statehouse to express our rage and to demand that the legislature take steps to expand abortion access in Rhode Island. We settled on a smattering of chants, mostly call and response:

Abortion is a right! Fight, fight, fight! and

My body—my choice!

As impassioned as we were, the words felt stale. Protesters have been shouting about choice for years, if not decades now; the rhetoric of autonomy and free decision-making has dominated the speeches, articles, fundraising emails, and amicus briefs of the 21st-century U.S. abortion rights movement. But we’ve been losing. And while rhetoric isn’t everything, it matters—both as a tool for changing minds and energizing supporters, and as an indicator of a movement’s central values and strategies. So it’s worth asking: how did we get here? What are the downsides to the way we speak about abortion in the US? And what has Argentina been getting right? +++

To gain popular support and change policy, social movements generally have to reach two different groups of people. First, there are those who already agree with the movement’s goals. In the Argentine abortion rights context, these people are called los verdes, or “the greens”; in the U.S., these are your staunch pro-choicers. Movement leaders need to make sure that los verdes stay engaged with the movement and excited about it—enough to get out onto the streets or to the polls. Then there are the moderates, the agnostics, the undecideds. Here, advocates of reproductive rights are tasked with framing their mission in a way that acknowledges the discomfort that many people feel with the concept of abortion, but then demonstrates how other concerns (bodily autonomy, human rights, the life of the mother, etc.) ought to supersede that discomfort.

The language printed on the pañuelo verde is singularly effective in accomplishing the latter

task. It reads, again, in translation: Sexual education so you can decide; contraception so you don’t have to abort; legal abortion so you don’t die.

There’s important context for this statement. In Argentina, as with any country, prohibiting abortion never stopped it from happening: hundreds of thousands of women had illegal abortions each year even when the procedure was criminalized. Wealthy women often had the resources to ensure that their abortions were safe—whether by traveling to regions where the procedure was legal or through other means. But poor women could be forced to self-manage their abortions using unsafe methods (catheters, needles, herbs, and toxic drug combinations) with sometimes lethal consequences. In 2010, 60,000 women were being hospitalized annually in Argentina because of an illegal abortion, and dozens died. From 2016 to 2017, at least 43 women in Argentina lost their lives to clandestine abortion. Mortality was so central to the debate about abortion in Argentina that many of the activists involved in the national movement to end femicide, Ni Una Menos or Not One Woman Less, have become intuitive leaders of the marea verde.

Understanding this reality, it becomes possible to find abortion distasteful or even morally wrong but still agree with the pañuelo’s statement. “Aborto legal para no morir” casts abortion as a last resort, whose frequency should be minimized, but which ought to be legally sanctioned to minimize the human costs of its inevitable occurrence. While other rhetorical models refuse to see abortion as having anything to do with life (the contested life of the fetus, that is), the phrase on the pañuelo directly engages with life but redirects the issue towards the life of the mother. “Sexual education so you can decide; contraception so you don’t have to abort; legal abortion so you don’t die”: the words cast a wide and well-constructed net.

Again, the United States finds itself lacking in an equivalent: a piece of rhetoric capable of wooing those who don’t already think of abortion as a right and a blessing. Perhaps the strategy most targeted at people on the fence, these days, is to emphasize abortion’s medical nature (“Abortion is Healthcare!”). Framing abortion as a medical procedure not unlike a wisdom tooth withdrawal dulls and diminishes the moral content of the debate, or at least tries to. While I am perfectly willing to understand abortion according to these terms, it is hard to believe that the “Abortion is Healthcare” line would be seen by an abortion agnostic as anything other than a transparent and uncompelling attempt to pretend that abortion is not different—that it is not seen and experienced differently than other procedures, that it has nothing to do with life. It’s also worth noting that unlike Argentina, the U.S. government does not guarantee people healthcare, so including abortion as part of the medical package would still fall short of ensuring universal access.

Aside from “Abortion is Healthcare,” the U.S. is left, again, with “my body, my choice”— our go-to, one-size-fits-all rallying cry. This framing doesn’t reflect the full range of voices that have pushed for different, often more radical approaches to reproductive activism, especially from racially marginalized communities. It should also be a surprise to no one that “my body, my choice” has done little to bring over people who

The rhetoric of life and choice in the United States’ and Argentina’s abortion rights movements

are undecided on abortion rights. By zeroing in on choice, the mainstream movement has left their opponents free to lay claim to the rhetoric of life, which, taken alone, is inarguably more compelling.

Imagine, for a moment, that some part of you believes—even wonders whether—a fetus might be, if not exactly comparable to a child, alive in some meaningful way. Then you’re asked to decide what’s more important: the “life” of the fetus, or the mother’s “choice”? Under this framework it would hardly be a question. Argentina’s “para no morir,” on the other hand, might make the decision harder. When maternal mortality enters the picture, it becomes clear that there are questions of life and death on both sides—and since abortions happen no matter what, you might come to see decriminalization as the truly “pro-life” approach.

There’s a wrinkle to all of this. As effective as the pañuelo’s language has proven to be in Argentina, the demand for “sexual education to decide, contraception so you don’t have to abort, and legal abortion so you don’t die” is, to some activists there, now dated. It’s not only that Argentine women finally can (under many circumstances) access legal abortion, limiting the instances in which they must resort to clandestine procedures. It’s that illegal, self-managed abortions are typically not that dangerous anymore—neither in Argentina, nor in the U.S. The “abortion pill” (actually a series of pills: one mifepristone, followed by four misoprostol) is safe, effective, and accessible even to women living in areas where surgical termination has been outlawed. Already, some activists in Argentina argue that it’s more important to develop structures of information and support (such as “accompaniment networks” like the feminist collective La Revuelta) so women can safely self-manage their abortions than to demand the procedure’s legal sanction.

All of these developments are good, no doubt—but they do mean that abortion rights advocates in both Argentina and the U.S. will need to do more than emphasize the dangers of illegal abortion in the coming years. Neither region should lose sight of its recent history. Nor should they disregard the other real and present danger that’s associated with illegality: women

dying as a result of being deprived abortions necessary for their health. While exceptions for the preservation of a woman’s life are included in most restrictive abortion policies in the U.S. (and apply to post-14-week abortions in Argentina), a restrictive and highly criminalized landscape can make doctors hesitant to perform the procedure until it’s too late.

Abortion rights activists in the U.S. should center these stories and attempt to reclaim the rhetoric of “life” from their opponents. Argentina should not relinquish the claim it’s already laid. But both regions also need to look further. The “para no morir” framework is both dated and limited in the sense that it implies abortion is something to be begrudgingly accepted, which doesn’t allow much room for more radical approaches. “My body, my choice” does little to convert a skeptic. It’s an individualistic statement, not a collectivist one.

We have to acknowledge that some people do and will continue to conceptualize fetuses as individuals themselves, and in a world in which motherhood is often considered more valuable than mothers, a rhetoric that pits the rights of a woman against the rights of a ‘child’ is doomed for failure. Yet there is another category of rights, which go beyond the specific limitations placed on an individual and extend to the conditions that shape, regulate, and restrict the behaviors of a collective.

“My body, my choice” also reflects a very American conception of liberty—liberty as freedom from state interference with personal (or individual) decision-making. Isaiah Berlin, the 20th-century philosopher, referred to this type of freedom as “negative liberty.” Its alternative, positive liberty, takes the collective, rather than the individual, as its subject. It involves having the resources and power necessary to control your own life and accomplish your fundamental goals.

The project of securing positive liberty for a country’s residents is necessarily broader and more radical than a movement framed around removing a single state-enforced prohibition. Through the lens of positive liberty, it is possible to view the right to abortion as inseparable from other forms of social, economic, and political justice. The Richmond Reproductive Freedom Project, part of the National Network of Abortion Funds, urges us to shift our focus to “reproductive oppression”—or “the control and exploitation of

women, girls, and individuals through our bodies, sexuality, labor, and reproduction.”

The opposite of reproductive oppression is reproductive justice, which has three pillars: the right to have a child, the right not to have child, and the right to raise a child in a safe and healthy environment. This framework has the advantage of making room for both moderate and radical viewpoints on abortion. Reproductive justice is relevant and necessary even for people who might never need or want to end a pregnancy, but who’ve been impacted by other forms of reproductive oppression. And as a project driven by the pursuit of positive liberty, it’s conducive to the formation of solidarities and coalitions between the abortion rights movement and other movements—for gay liberation, disability rights, environmental justice, immigrants’ rights, and anti-racism.

+++

Last year, before the march down to the Rhode Island statehouse after the Dobbs leak, one of the protest organizers circulated a simple demand: wear green

The crowd that congregated on North Campus certainly took them up on it. We were awash in green—green T-shirts, green fleece vests, green headbands, and green banners. I was the only one, however, with a pañuelo. And somewhere between College St. and North Main, I realized the pañuelo wrapped around my wrist had come untied. It was gone.

It was an oddly symbolic accident. The whole scene reflected a growing trend in countries around the globe, where abortion rights activists have adopted the color green while leaving behind the precise language printed on the Argentine scarf. That omission leaves us with an opportunity. Now it’s on us to decide: what will the marea verde come to represent?

LILY SELTZ B’25 is rooting for Argentina in the World Cup.

Quinn Erickson B’24 Pieces from “Demo Derby”

Brown University Undergraduate Teaching Assistants Are Unionizing

“The undergraduate teaching assistants in the Department of Computer Science at Brown University have announced their decision to file for unionization with the National Labor Relations Board and are seeking voluntary recognition from Brown.

‘Over 65% of all TAs have signed union authorization cards, giving us a supermajority of support,’ said Colton Rusch, an organizer with the group and a 7-semester TA. ‘Given the overwhelming support from TAs, we expect Brown to voluntarily recognize our right to organize and negotiate as workers. We call on them not to engage in any anti-union action.’

The UTAs will be forming the Teaching Assistant Labor Organization (TALO) as a part of Brown’s Graduate Labor Organization (GLO) to improve working conditions and hold their employers accountable. The TAs are seeking higher wages, better working conditions, and a more inclusive and equitable workplace.

‘CS TAs at Brown are systematically exploited and underpaid,’ said Harshini Venkatachalam, another organizer, a 6-semester TA. ‘While there are stated limits on TA working hours, a majority of the TAs we’ve surveyed report frequently working overtime. A majority also report having logged fewer hours than they’ve worked, often for fear of retaliation. Many TAs play the role of professors: writing handouts, rubrics, and lecture slides, and in some cases giving entire lectures. And we’re still paid less than TAs in many peer institutions such as Harvard and Yale.’

For more information, contact the TALO organizing committee at talabororg@gmail.com or follow them on Instagram @talabororg.”

“Brown/RISD alum are working with a local teamsters union that represents RISD groundskeepers, movers, and custodians. They authorized a strike with 95% in favor last Friday after the RISD admin refused to meet their basic demands of health benefits, equitable wages, and a strong retirement package. These essential workers do so much to keep our campuses clean and safe and are joining the masses of academic workers all across the country—from the UC students to adjuncts to all workers on campus—in fighting to make the university a better institution of higher learning.

You can add your name to the open letter calling on RISD to meet these workers’ demands here: tinyurl.com/fair-labor-contract.”

Upcoming Actions & Community Events

Wednesdays/Thursdays) in great numbers until the EACA is enacted! Fill out this form if you are interested and want to receive more information: tinyurl.com/womxnproject-passeaca.

Location: Rhode Island State House, 82 Smith St, Providence, RI 02903

Arts

Saturday 12/10

@

8-11PM:

Poetic Artist Experiences

The Poetic Circle Movement presents this end-of-the-year poetry event to showcase the variety of talent and skill from over four states. In addition to poets, singers, dancers, artists, and crafters are also welcome to present and be a vendor. Come attend this community event to support small artists and creators in growing their platforms! General admission tickets sell for $18 and can be bought here: tinyurl.com/ poetic-artist-experiences.

Location: 225 Main Street, Pawtucket, RI 02860

Sunday 12/18 @ 10AM-3PM: Homo for the Holigay

Small Format, a queer-cooperatively run open-air gallery, and exhibition room is hosting their 3rd annual market to support all creators, but especially in queer communities. Small Format is also looking for makers or artists selling handmade and/or original work! If you are interested in applying to be a vendor at this market, apply at this link: tinyurl.com/ homofortheholigay-vendor. Applications are due by December 7th by 10PM.

Location: 335 Wickenden St, Providence, RI 02903

Mutual Aid* & Community Fundraisers

Saturday 12/10 @ 2-4PM:

Party for Socialism and Liberation Public Reading

Join Rhode Island’s chapter of the Party for Socialism and Liberation (PSL) for a public reading from Transgender Warriors by Leslie Feinberg. The discussion will address why a united working class movement is necessary to push back against anti-trans hate. Reading materials will be provided, food will be provided, and when indoors, masks are required.

Location: Knight Memorial Library, 275 Elmwood Ave, Providence, RI 02907

Monday 12/12 @ 6:30PM: Rhode Island Create Homes Act

Reclaim RI, a progressive advocacy group, will be hosting their second meeting in a series of two Create Homes Act teach-ins. The Create Homes Act, introduced by Senator Meghan Kallman, would make Rhode Island the first state in the nation to have a state-level public housing developer.

Location: Virtual, Zoom link: tinyurl.com/CreateHomesAct -zoomlink

*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.

+ Support RI Family Donate at tinyurl.com/help-ri-family Support a family that is part of the Pioneer Tenants Union, a group that stood up to a slumlord’s derelict living spaces. Donate to help this young family pay their legal bills and find a new place to live.

+ Donations needed for a Housing Activist Donate at tinyurl.com/donate-2-hope Housing Opportunities for People Everywhere (HOPE) at Brown is organizing this GoFundMe for a fellow housing activist. This friend of HOPE’s is facing eviction, recently lost his job, and had to pay for eye surgery. Donate to help him out of this dire situation.

Tuesday 12/13 @ 6:15-7:30PM:

Brown Student Labor Alliance Kickoff Meeting

The recently started Brown Student Labor Alliance is a collective dedicated to building and supporting worker power on campus. The coalition will be hosting their first meeting next Tuesday which will be a strategy session and include guest speaker Nick Wurst who is a member of Railroad Workers United.

Location: Kassar House Foxboro Auditorium, 151 Thayer Street, Providence, RI 02912

+ Black and Pink Providence’s Fundraiser for Tunji Donate at tinyurl.com/help-tunji

Black and Pink Providence, a nonprofit organization working toward prison abolition, is raising money through a GoFundMe for Tunji. Tunji is formerly incarcerated and recently lost his job.

Email us at indybulletinboard@gmail.com!

RISD and Brown University Alumni, Current Students, and Providence Community Members demand a fair contract for essential workers of Teamsters Local 251

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