Issue 2 Spring 2021

TUFTS OBSERVER VOLUME CXLII

ISSUE 2

RESONANCE

A LEGACY OF OPPRESSION

AN ABUNDANCE OF YOU

OPINION • BY MOLLY GOULD AND BECCA ROSE

POETRY • BY JULIA GIATRELIS

CHECKED OUT

FROM THE GLITCH TO THE LIGHTBOX

NEWS • BY ELEANOR FUCETOLA

CAMERA EATS FIRST

CAMPUS • BY GRACE ABE

A LOVE LETTER LEGITIMIZED

VOICES • BY GRACIE THEOBALD-WILLIAMS

REALITY CHECK

ARTS & CULTURE • BY ELIZABETH HOM

RESONANCE

CREATIVE INSET • BY EVELYN ABRAMOWITZ

PONDERING PRONOUNS

OPINION • BY LEE ROMAKER

2 TUFTS OBSERVER SEPTEMBER 28, 2020

ARTS & CULTURE • BY SABAH LOKHANDWALA

TAKEN BY STORM

NEWS • BY FERNANDO CERVANTES

SWEET SOUNDS OF GROWING PAINS

VOICES • BY ISABELLE CHARLES

SOLO

POETRY • BY SYDNEY ROSH

PODCAST AND MULTIMEDIA

STAFF EDITOR IN CHIEF: Akbota Saudabayeva MANAGING EDITOR: Josie Wagner CREATIVE DIRECTORS: Brigid Cawley Richard Nakatsuka FEATURE EDITOR: Ryan Kim NEWS EDITORS: Rachel Dong Mira Dwyer

VOICES EDITORS: Anita Lam Lee Romaker CREATIVE INSET EDITOR: Evelyn Abramowitz LEAD ARTIST: Kelly Tan ART DIRECTORS: Kate Bowers Joanna Kleszczewski LEAD COPY EDITOR: Grace van Deelen

ARTS & CULTURE EDITORS: Wyoma Chudasama Brittany Regas

MULTIMEDIA DIRECTORS: Maddie Oh Justin Wang

OPINION EDITORS: Caroline Blanton Aroha Mackay

PODCAST DIRECTORS: Florence Almeda Sofia Pretell

CAMPUS EDITORS: Melanie Litwin Amanda Westlake

PUBLICITY DIRECTORS: Janie Ingrassia Eve Ogdon Juli Vega Del Castilo

POETRY & PROSE EDITORS: Paula Gil-Ordonez Gomez Alice Hickson

ABROAD CORRESPONDENT: Yumei Lin

COPY EDITORS: Grace Abe Claudia Aibel Sabrina Cabarcos Madhi Ibrahim Chloe Malley Tara Steckler Ethan Yan STAFF WRITERS: Juanita Asapokhai Sonya Bhatia Isabelle Charles Rabiya Ismail Mahika Khosla Sabah Lokhandwala Myles Platt Cana Tagawa

Joanna Kleszczewski Carina Lo Sofia Pretell Julia Steiner Brenna Trollinger CONTRIBUTORS: Fernando Cervantes Aidan Chang Eleanor Fucetola Julia Giatrelis Molly Gould Elizabeth Hom Misha Mehta Becca Rose

EDITOR EMERITUS: Myisha Majumder MULTIMEDIA Ben Bortner Anushka Chadha Maddy Keipp Esther Tzau Silvia Wang DESIGNERS: Kate Bowers Janie Ingrassia

Words and sounds reach out to us: fear, hope, anger, and love. They harmonize with the rhythms that make up our own beliefs, and the message becomes clearer when we add our voices to the mix.

DESIGN BY JOHN BRIGID DOE, CAWLEY, ART BY PHOTO JANE DOE

BY RICHARD NAKATSUKA. COVER DESIGN BY RICHARD NAKATSUKA

SEPTEMBER 28, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 3

APARTHEID, PRIVATE PRISONS, AND STUDENT MOVEMENTS FOR DIVESTMENT

A LEGACY OF OPPRESSION:

OPINION

By Molly Gould & Becca Rose

2 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

OPINION

“P

olitical rights and freedoms are seldom if ever granted by unchallenged authority: they must be fought for and won,” the Tufts Observer reported in March of 1986 at the height of the anti-apartheid movement on campus.

The previous summer, then-Tufts President Jean Mayer attended a national conference called “Responding to Campus Disruption,” in which university administrators and legal teams strategized how to suppress student political action campaigns (The Participant: The Newsletter of Tufts Political Action Coalition, March 28, 1986). At the conference, university administrators discussed methods for controlling protests, disciplining demonstrators, and surveilling student leadership. The university’s undeniable fear of student protests clearly demonstrates the potential power that we, as students, hold at our fingertips.

Activism on university campuses has historically been a powerful driver of social and political change in the United States. Tufts’ own history is full of student political campaigns, civil disobedience, and bureaucratic negotiation. Throughout that history, generations of students have focused their efforts on influencing one of the university’s greatest sources of power: its endowment.

At over $1,980,000,000, the Tufts endowment represents an almost incomprehensible amount of money, nearly five times the annual budget of our host communities, Medford and Somerville, combined. This money is invested in various holdings which yield substantial nine-figure profits annually, nearly half of which pays fees for endowment managers themselves. Of the remaining profits, the majority is reinvested back into the endowment. Just 3.85% of the endowment was actually used towards university operating costs in 2019, meaning less than 20% of the university’s total operating costs come from the endowment. Essentially, Tufts holds a roughly 2 billion dollar nest egg and uses a small fraction of it to cover university costs, while the rest sits untouched, continuously generating more money.

Student activism at Tufts has often been motivated by the recognition of the

political and economic power held in the university’s endowment. Currently, student activists are challenging the role of university endowment funds in upholding institutionalized racism and white supremacy by calling on Tufts to divest from private prisons. However, this is by no means the first divestment movement that has swept across the Tufts campus. Historically, the student body has pressured the administration to adopt progressive policies using its vast monetary resources, despite university efforts to keep institutional finances beyond student comprehension or influence.

To curb student organizing, university administrators have developed complex systems to bureaucratize activism. By issuing statements and forming committees, the administration can claim they’re on the “right side of history” without taking any concrete action. They develop intricate processes for student activists to register their complaints, demonstrating alleged openness to student input while avoiding the consequences of direct action such as protests or sit-ins.

These processes are often so drawn-out that by the time students build momentum behind their issue and start actually engaging with the administration, leaders have often graduated, leaving a new class of students to begin the whole procedure again.

As students, we invest countless hours into mobilizing and educating our peers and are left with the performative crumbs

DESIGN BY BRENNA TROLLINGER, PHOTOS COURTESY OF TUFTS ARCHIVES

of progress from an institution that finds more comfort in the ease of the status quo than the virtue of meaningful change.

The Tufts anti-apartheid movement represents one of the most fervent and enduring efforts by students to influence institutional policy. In the late 1970s, Tufts students mobilized around university divestment from corporations actively contributing to racial oppression and white minority rule in South Africa. At that time, Tufts University had an endowment of $110 million, of which some $8 million was invested in companies doing business with the South African apartheid government. Over the movement’s 12-year campaign, students faced many of the challenges that traditionally impede campus activists: the slog of bureaucracy, procedural roadblocks, and high turnover of student leadership.

The 1970s and 80s saw a wave of antiapartheid sentiment that swept through the United States and ignited divestment movements on hundreds of college and university campuses. The Tufts movement for apartheid divestment began in 1977, when students took notice of a report in the university investment portfolio that outlined the extent of Tufts investment in companies such as IBM and Mobil Oil Corp—companies that were actively upholding racist practices in South Africa. An article in the Observer from October 1977 called on Tufts to honor its stated

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 3

OPINION

commitment to “be sensitive to injustice and refuse complicity in it.”

By the beginning of 1978, students had founded the Tufts Committee for South African Divestment. Between 1978 and 1979, TCSAD engaged in strategies of negotiation and protest to prompt action from the Tufts administration and Board of Trustees. A consistent pattern emerged in the university’s response to student activism: the release of written commitments and encouraging statements without any concrete action.

The Tufts administration first defended their apartheid investments by claiming that Western corporate policies had a “liberalizing effect” in South Africa (Tufts Observer, October 21, 1977). When students protested this response, the administration shifted their stance and claimed that divestment would “destroy the Tufts stock portfolio” (Tufts Observer, March 9, 1979). Even as they openly condemned the South African government, they consistently refused to reform their own financial policies.

In 1983, a group of Tufts students organized a sit-in at Ballou Hall that lasted two and a half days before the group was expelled by police in riot gear (Tufts Observer, April 26, 1985). In 1985, an even larger group of students occupied Ballou Hall. For three days, students took up residence in the building, singing songs, chanting slogans such as “apartheid kills, Tufts pays the bills,” and hanging a sign reading “Biko Hall” in a tribute to Bantu Stephen Biko, a South African anti-apartheid activist who was killed in police custody. This time, law enforcement attempted to smoke out the student protesters by shutting them inside Ballou and denying them food, except for “what little could be lobbed over the heads of policemen standing guard” (Tufts Observer, April 26, 1985).

Despite the growing movement among Tufts students and the increasing amount of universities divesting from apartheid across the country, Tufts continued to hold out. In a 1986 Observer article, one student remarked, “as much as they try to downplay and underscore the role of student voice and protest, we have influenced their policies. However, token gestures aimed at appeasing student concerns 4 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

will not suffice.” In the fall of 1988, student activists presented a petition signed by over 1,600 members of the Tufts community demanding immediate and complete divestment.

Finally, on February 25, 1989, Tufts University divested from all corporations associated with the apartheid government, culminating over a decade of student actions such as referenda, ballot initiatives, protests, sit-ins, and Tufts Daily and Observer articles. William Meserve, then-head of the Board of Trustees finance committee, commented, “This is a symbolic act in many

AS STUDENTS, WE INVEST COUNTLESS HOURS INTO MOBILIZING AND EDUCATING OUR PEERS AND ARE LEFT WITH THE PERFORMATIVE CRUMBS OF PROGRESS FROM AN INSTITUTION THAT FINDS MORE COMFORT IN THE EASE OF THE STATUS QUO THAN THE VIRTUE OF MEANINGFUL CHANGE. ways ... It nevertheless is an important statement about what we believe about equality and civil rights.”

Although divestment ultimately represented a victory for student activists, Tufts lagged behind the national divestment movement. The degree of hostility and pushback from the administration throughout the divestment campaign called into question the university’s willingness to act on their supposed commitment to “equality and civil rights.”

When Tufts divested, the national movement was at an all-time high, and it had become socially unacceptable to

OPINION

refuse divestment. By 1988, over 150 American universities had already divested.

Tufts had the opportunity to be a national leader of the movement in the late 1970s, when students first brought the issue to the university’s attention. Instead, they waited until divestment was practically their only option.

In the 30 plus years since the apartheid movement, Tufts has seen a broad range of student activism, from the movement for dining workers’ rights to the fossil fuel divestment campaign, all of which have run into many of the same setbacks as the apartheid divestment movement. Time and time again, we’ve seen Tufts delay as long as possible, ultimately taking no action or waiting until national momentum behind the issue is so substantial as to render their action inevitable. We stand now at the precipice of yet another student movement for change.

Founded in the summer of 2020, Tufts for a Racially Equitable Endowment (TREE) is a student organization working to hold Tufts accountable to its renewed commitment to becoming an “anti-racist institution.” In under a year, TREE has built a strong coalition of students and faculty who support the divestment of endowment funds from the private prison industry. The group’s mission is based on

the idea that Tufts University cannot possibly become an anti-racist institution while it still has money invested in the private prison industry. The systematic incarceration of marginalized groups has become lucrative, giving corporations that profit from private prisons a financial incentive to increase the number of detainees and the length of their detention.

Tufts University currently holds investments in a private prison corporation, and students are working to push the university administration to align its anti-racist statements with anti-racist action through a policy of divestment. In the fall of 2020, the student body passed a referendum for private prison divestment, which passed with 88% of the vote and the highest voter turnout of any special election in Tufts’ history. Furthermore, on March 14 of this year, TCU Senate unanimously passed a resolution calling on Tufts to divest from private prison corporations. Currently, TREE has a petition with 36 faculty cosigners and is working to pass a faculty resolution in support of divestment. Similar to the apartheid divestment movement, the prison divestment movement will only continue to grow at Tufts and across the country.

Already in 2021, several big banks, including JPMorgan, Chase and Wells Fargo, have committed to ending their ties with

the prison industry, and the federal government recently passed an executive order to terminate Department of Justice contracts with private prison facilities. Furthermore, universities across the country, including Columbia University and the UC system, have already divested. As the prison divestment movement grows on campuses and across the nation, Tufts finds itself in the same position as in 1977, 1989, and countless times before and since. While the movement for prison divestment is strong, it is still young and offers the university the chance to rewrite the narrative.

Too often, the Tufts administration avoids taking action in response to student movements until inaction becomes publicly embarrassing. As Tufts students noted about apartheid investment in January of 1978, “not only do we help build and support an unjust economic system, we also reap the benefits derived from it.” The same holds true today with Tufts’ decision to remain invested in private prisons. Although it might be difficult, Tufts has a moral obligation to put its values before financial gain. By divesting now, Tufts can demonstrate that its commitment to becoming an anti-racist institution is not just relegated to vaguely worded emails, committees, and press statements. Private prison divestment is an opportunity to continue the legacy of anti-apartheid student activism by recognizing—and starting to dismantle—the entrenched systems of racism and white supremacy within our own institution.

For more information about the Tufts prison divestment movement, please visit the TREE website: https://sites.tufts.edu/prisondivestment/

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 5

NEWS

By Eleanor Fucetola

CHECKED OUT

STUDENTS STRUGGLE WHILE AWAITING STIMULUS AID

6 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

NEWS

A

fter months of waiting and congressional debate, President Biden’s $1.9 trillion COVID relief plan, which included a third round of stimulus checks for those eligible, was signed into law on March 11. The stimulus checks are intended to relieve some of the unexpected financial hardships the COVID-19 pandemic has presented for Americans.

However, it will likely not be enough for those eligible and will neglect many US residents, including Tufts students who have altered their lives during the pandemic in an effort to save money.

Financial circumstances caused by the pandemic have forced Tufts students to find innovative ways to meet their educational goals while saving money. Recent Tufts graduate Adrien Hanley was motivated to graduate last fall—a semester early—to save the money he would have paid in tuition this spring. “If it weren’t for the pandemic, I wouldn’t have felt nearly as much pressure to graduate in the fall,” said Hanley. “But I’m going to law school next year, and because it’s difficult to get a paying job right now, I felt like it was in my best interest to spare myself a semester’s tuition.”

For graduating college students, the task of finding a job after school has become even more difficult. COVID-19 shutdowns have caused a historically high unemployment rate in the US, making job loss the primary reason for many families’ and individuals’ financial struggles during the pandemic.

Biden’s COVID relief plan will provide $1,400 stimulus checks to many Americans who have experienced unanticipated struggles, such as job loss, during the pandemic. “Just by graduating early, I am luckily saving much more than $1,400,” said Hanley. “I can’t imagine that that amount would even scratch the surface for the kind of help that a lot of people need.”

The qualifications for receiving a check under the plan will remain the same for the third round of stimulus, meaning that many Americans who would undoubtedly benefit from an additional $1,400 at this time still do not qualify to receive a check. In all three rounds of stimu-

DESIGN BY SOFIA PRETELL, ART BY KELLY TAN

lus check distributions, individuals had to be earning less than $75,000 per year, and couples filing jointly had to be earning less than $150,000.

Tufts has also made an effort to alleviate some of the financial hardships faced by students as the pandemic continues to affect them in unanticipated ways.

The Unexpected Hardship Fund—which helps students who have been hit with an unforeseen expense—is run by the FIRST Resource Center, which serves first-generation, low-income, and undocumented populations at Tufts. The fund covers expenses for students with a family contribution under $10,000 and offers up to $500 in grant awards in total over the course of a student’s four years at Tufts. Student employees at Tufts Telefund are currently asking alumni for donations to the Unexpected Hardship Fund and the FIRST Center alongside the fund for financial aid assistance. Every dollar that is donated to the fund is matched by the university.

According to Telefund supervisor and senior Alexa Rudolph, “The fund is important now more than ever.” Because international, DACA, and undocumented students are not receiving federal assistance, Tufts provides them additional resources through the Unexpected Hardship Fund.

“The fund covers expenses like technology, storage fees, travel, and food insecurity for students too,” said Rudolph, “The combination of virtual learning and limited access to campus computer labs because of safety protocols means that many more students need noise-canceling headphones and laptops with built-in cameras.” Many students who are studying remotely and have not returned to campus also still have their belongings in storage, and the fund can be used to cover that cost.

Though Rudolph recognizes the benefits of the fund, she feels that $500 in aid over the course of four years is not nearly enough financial help for struggling students. “It seems like such a small amount of money for people who might really need the aid,” said Rudolph. “I doubt $500 covers all the unexpected expenses that could rise throughout someone’s four years—es-

pecially when you include a global pandemic.”

Unforeseen financial challenges convinced junior Victoria DeJoy to stay in her home state of New York this semester to avoid housing costs. “My decision to stay home was almost entirely about not having to pay for housing,” said DeJoy. “I receive financial aid from Tufts but don’t qualify for things like the Unexpected Hardship Fund—and to be honest, I didn’t feel like I was going to be missing out on much of the fun of campus life.”

For Americans who do qualify to receive a stimulus check under Biden’s plan, they can expect a slightly larger dollar amount than in past rounds. The IRS began sending out the first round of stimulus checks, authorized by the CARES Act, in April of 2020. Single individuals received $1,200 each, and joint filers received double. Parents of eligible children were also given $500 per child. The second round of checks authorized in December 2020 were $600 for single individuals and double for joint filers, as well as $600 per eligible child. During the first round of stimulus checks that were issued under the Trump administration in April 2020, people waited two weeks for the federal government to begin distributing the money after approval. Checks were distributed beginning three days after the president signed the bill for the second round. While most people received the money automatically, very low-income individuals and couples who do not typically file tax returns often had to take an extra step to register online or file a 2020 tax return. Roughly 8 million eligible people did not receive their first stimulus check. The third relief check will arrive just as extra unemployment assistance and prior pandemic aid expires.

While many Tufts students will not be eligible for a stimulus check as dependents, Biden’s plan hopes to alleviate pressure on some of their families. However, it remains uncertain as to whether the third round of stimulus checks will benefit those who need it the most during this time of economic hardship.

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 7

CAMPUS

BUILDING VIRTUAL COMMUNITY THROUGH FOOD

By Grace Abe

8 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

^

CAMERA EATS FIRST

P

andemic restrictions have greatly altered every aspect of campus life at Tufts, including the dining experience.

As a result, several Instagram accounts have popped up this year that post pictures and reviews of meals at Tufts, with some sharing specific foods, such as broccoli and salads, and others providing a general overview of campus cuisine.

As of February 21, Carmichael and Dewick-MacPhie dining centers have opened for in-person dining at 25 percent capacity. However, the majority of food is still pre-ordered to-go. First-year students Emily Sverak and Sarah Pillone created their Instagram account, @tastingtufts, as a result of these COVID-19-era Tufts Dining policies. They first posted in September 2020, shortly after students returned to campus. Sverak said, “We realized that since you have to order everything online, you can’t see what you’re ordering, and you don’t really know what looks good. So we thought it’d be helpful for students to post pictures, and say what we think of the food.”

Paolo Padova, a sophomore, also noted this difference in the ways that Tufts students talk about dining. “The stereotypical Tufts thing is [asking] are you a Carm person or Dewick person, and now that has changed a bit … Now, people relate through food by talking about what’s good where, which I think wasn’t [as] relevant last year,” he said.

While some accounts take a more serious approach, others use humor in their reviews. Pillone said, “It’s fun to see just a joking post, and also a genuine review. It’s definitely been nice to have that on social media when we can’t interact with others in person.” @tuftsbroccoli is one such account with a more humorous spin on Tufts dining. Sophomore Sean Lim created this account initially as a joke between friends at the beginning of the Spring 2021 semester.

Lim said, “I feel like I eat broccoli every single day on Tufts’ campus … And [my friends and I thought] wouldn’t it be fun if we made something to review it?”

Padova also believes in the importance of humor in these accounts. “It’s like a little running joke … and that creates a stronger sense of community,” he said. This feeling of community is something that can

be difficult to find during the COVID-19 pandemic. “It can definitely be lonely, and you spend a lot of time in your room, and you see a lot less people,” said Padova.

Isolation from the pandemic is another part of what inspired Lim to create @tuftsbroccoli. “I was really stressed and upset and spending time in quarantine but [@tuftsbroccoli] was kind of a stress relief for me … People find a lot of joy from it.”

These accounts have been a bright spot for many students during the pandemic. Lim said, “I think there is a need for some sort of socially connected … interaction more than ever now … We’re all in this together, really, and Tufts Broccoli is just … another Tufts kid that’s trying to make the most out of his time here in college in these weird times.”

Another food account, @tuftspotatotriangles, was created in the fall of 2018 and is currently run by juniors Leila Skinner and Bridget Wall. Although the account existed before the pandemic, it is now part of a larger community of food accounts helping to connect Tufts students to one another.

Skinner and Wall asked their followers to send in their own pictures of potato

CAMPUS

IT’S A REMINDER TO CELEBRATE THE LITTLE THINGS, ENJOY EACH OTHER’S COMPANY, AND BE GRATEFUL FOR ALL THE DINING HALL WORKERS WHO HELP KEEP US FED EVERY SINGLE DAY. triangles, creating an opportunity for Tufts community members to participate. Padova is one such student that has been featured on @tuftspotatotriangles. “My friend took a picture of me and sent it to them, and they featured me … it was pretty embarrassing, to be honest … but it was also exciting,” he said.

Skinner said, “During hard times, food can be a unifying force, and everyone’s in it together. And it’s a reminder to celebrate the little things, enjoy each other’s company, and be grateful for all the dining hall workers who help keep us fed every single day.”

Kevin Zhang, a sophomore, noted the difficulty that the pandemic has added to food preparation for Tufts Dining workers. “Tufts Dining [is] operating under significantly different conditions … I started working [at Hodgdon Foodon-the-Run] fairly recently and they’ve really emphasized how different this is from regular semesters … The pandemic has really made food preparation more difficult for the Tufts Dining staff because it’s logistically a lot more complicated to track incoming orders … But they’re doing their best,” he said.

Members of the Tufts community beyond current students have also interacted with the accounts. Wall said, “Someone’s dad who follows the account … DM’d us homemade potato triangles. It’s actually so funny … it’s just cute.”

The popularity of these accounts has grown so much that their audience invites participation from recently-admitted students, helping to introduce them to the Tufts community. Lim said, “A bulk of our followers are actually from the class of ‘25, so incoming freshmen, which is really exciting because you get DMs and stuff from people who’d be like, ‘Oh, I’m an incoming first year and this is such a useful account … you make it seem like Tufts people are just so funny, and I’m so excited to come’ … Especially for graduating seniors in high school, I could imagine that this is not how they expected senior year to pan out. So it’s kind of like a beacon of hope, something to look forward to.”

In a time when so much of life has moved online, these Tufts food review accounts have created an online space for the Tufts dining experience. Pillone said, “Since we can’t really eat together in big groups … I feel like we’re kind of eating together … And so even though we’re all in different classes, locations, and we don’t interact with each other in person … We all have similarities, by the fact that we’re eating this food and we can comment on it together and taste it together.”

DESIGN BY JANIE INGRASSIA, ART BY AMANDA WESTLAKE

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 9

VOICES

D E Z I M I T I G E L R E T T E L E A LOV

By Gracie Theobald-Williams When I left my house in New Jersey after fourteen years of living there, I was covered in a deep nostalgia. Located on a busy street near a shopping plaza, it had peach-colored walls, pastel-green shutters, and a slightly overgrown garden.

When I lived there, my friends and I made short films and music videos for fun, I stressed out over algebra homework, and I got ready for soccer practice. My brother played video games at the dining room table, my dad sat at the desk in his office, and my mother sang to me while I laid in my bed at night. Standing at the green counters in the kitchen, I made pancakes with my dad on the weekends.

The summer after eighth grade, my family and I moved to Connecticut—to a house in the woods. There was no busy street, no shopping plaza, no peach-colored walls. Nostalgia revealed itself in my writing like a tell-tale flower that consistently bloomed. Throughout high school, I couldn’t stop writing about the significance of these two different places, and I fondly thought back to the busy surrounding streets and cheerful colors that characterized my childhood house. So much of my writing was a love letter to my old home.

10 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

For my tenth-grade English class, I wrote a personal essay describing the objects and memories that I brought with me when I moved. A significant portion of my piece was dedicated to recounting the details of my old house. I wrote, “I carried only the house in summertime, when the sun was hot against my back, and the garden was in bloom with tall white lilies and plants with leafy stems looping out.” In a later paragraph, I wrote, “I carried the feeling of looking out of my upstairs window, over my backyard, and being level with the swaying pines. I carried the sound of the wind chime that hung on my porch.” I longed for the sensory details that I associated with my old home.

While I reminisced on my old surroundings, I resented my new surroundings in the woods. For my eleventh-grade English class, I described the new environment I lived in: “We drove down winding roads lined thickly with towering trees, unlike the busy street I grew up on with the gentle rush of cars and the plaza a few houses down.” I felt trapped in these woods.

In the summer after ninth grade, I wrote another narrative about my experience moving. In describing my old location

in New Jersey, I created a map of my life: “I was used to living on a busy road and being only a thirty-second walk from Watchung Plaza, which was filled with shops and restaurants, and a ten-minute bike ride to some of my friends’ houses. Here, the nearest store was 15 minutes away and I barely knew anyone in the neighborhood.” While I was describing mainly the aspects of my physical environment, these details directly pertained to important parts of my life: the proximity to my friends, the shops and restaurants I spent time in, and a sense of connection to others in the world around me. In the woods, I did not have any close friends in the neighborhood, nor a sense of being connected to the outside world. The isolated and depressing nature of my surroundings was suffocating.

At the time of my writing, it was not clear to me why I was so focused on my old house and neighborhood. I worried that it seemed a bit superficial to be mourning so heavily the loss of a place. I had heard others say that certain people create a home, rather than objects or a house. I was told that it was important to focus on yourself—since you always had you—and your sense of self would ground you no

VOICES matter where you went. I had not heard as much about the concept of place being important. Because a place is external, tangible, and composed of physical objects, it seemed potentially superficial. It felt odd or shallow to me to be so emotionally attached to the physical features and sensory details of a space. I did not want to feel odd or shallow. Therefore, putting so much weight on my old house and neighborhood felt far less legitimate. My confusion remained until I took an improvisational dance class during my first term at college.

One day, during that class, my classmates and I traveled to the Science and Engineering Complex’s patio. The purpose of the class was to explore movement in a way that was natural to us, rather than using specific techniques or styles. On that particular day, we were doing something called “site-specific” dance, which involved creating a dance using the specific elements of the space that surrounded us.

After my classmates and I arrived, we were told to start moving about and exploring the space. I crossed over to the shiny, red chairs that were placed at tables interspersed throughout the patio. At one end of the space, I found long benches with thin, wooden slats. At the other end, I noted the long, wide stairs. I also noticed a number of black, flat squares, as tall as a person, on one face of the building.

The space’s tangible objects and clear geometric shapes provided an easy inspiration for the dance as we began to brainstorm and figure out the sequence. Once we had agreed on the guidelines for our dance, we rehearsed once and performed.

We started sitting down in the chairs.

Then, we climbed up the stairs and each did a series of poses at the same time. In the middle of the dance, we used the long benches as a place to congregate, with some of us sitting and some of us lying down. The benches were right in front of tall grasses, and as the wind blew the grasses, we swayed with them. Later, we ran and jumped around the chairs in all different directions. At another point, we posed against the black squares on the facade of the building. I finished the dance smiling and sweaty from moving around in the bright sun. It was my favorite day of class that term. Working with specific elements of the environment allowed us to

DESIGN BY CARINA LO, ART BY AIDAN CHANG

construct a dance in minimal time because the environment gave us inspiration and made the experience fun and satisfying. I loved being there on the patio and working with the different aesthetic elements of the space.

During a meeting with my dance teacher at the end of the term, she asked me which exercises had been my favorite.

I immediately named the exercise at the SEC. She remarked, “Oh, it seems you like working with place.” It struck me that she was right. While my classmates and I had done a number of exercises throughout the term, some based on mirroring or working with different types of music, the exercises I had most enjoyed were all about using the elements of a specific space.

I thought back to my love letters to my old home. Although in the past, part of me had felt confused and superficial for mourning the loss of the house itself and its surrounding neighborhood, my dance teacher’s comment had suggested to me that putting weight on and gaining meaning from place was justified.

My time in my dance class helped me come to terms with the fact that place is important to me and showed me that my focus on place was not only limited to my old home. This experience ultimately legitimized my emphasis on my old house and its surrounding neighborhood throughout my writing.

As I saw when performing my dance exercise, place can ground me and my actions and add an extra layer of meaning to my experience. Using the space as a map for physical movement in my dance class harkened back to the map I created of my childhood neighborhood.

The house that I live in now is peachcolored and resides on a busy street. When I first moved there, it was the most I’d ever felt at home in years. While I no longer actively mourn the loss of my childhood home, places that have familiar elements to them still make me feel comfortable. My nostalgia-soaked love letters still remain a part of me.

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 11

ARTS & CULTURE

THE BACHELOR ’S RACIAL RECKONING

A

By Elizabeth Hom

fter 25 seasons on the air, ABC’s The Bachelor may have finally seen its “most dramatic season” yet.

With millions of viewers tuning in for their weekly dose of drama and romance, The Bachelor remains one of the longestrunning reality dating TV shows on air. Formerly hosted by Chris Harrison, the series follows a single Bachelor who attempts to find a wife from a pool of women in under 10 weeks. As the show progresses, the Bachelor goes on lavish dates, eliminating candidates until the season culminates in a marriage proposal to his final selection.

The current season of The Bachelor features Matt James, a 29-year-old real estate broker from New York City. Groundbreakingly, James’ season is the first to feature a Black lead and a cast made up of a majority of women of color. Unlike the leads from prior seasons, James has never been featured on any Bachelor franchise show. James’ season has been riddled with petty drama and bullying among the women. Worse, racist controversies involving James’ final pick, Rachael Kirkconnell, and thenhost Harrison have recently come to light.

A front-runner since the beginning, Kirkconnell was the only white contestant remaining of James’ top four women. Given her skyrocketing social media fame since the season began, fans of the show have uncovered pictures of Kirkconnell attending an Old South Antebellum-themed sorority party in 2018.

Antebellum parties pay homage to the Confederacy and the preCivil War period. Kirkconnell has also been accused of cultural appropriation, donning an Indigenous peoples costume, and liking Instagram posts of friends posing with the Confederate flag.

Despite mounting pressure from viewers since the controversy surfaced, Kirkconnell remained silent on social media for six weeks before eventually releasing an apology on Instagram. During her silence, Harrison came to her defense in a public interview with Rachel Lindsay. Lindsay was the first Black woman to star in The Bachelorette and has been an outspoken advocate for greater diversity within the franchise since her 2017 season. Harrison and Lindsay discussed the photos of Kirkconnell attending the Antebellum-themed party. While Lindsay said it was “not a good look,” Harrison made excuses for her actions: “Is it not a good look in 2018 or is it not a good look in 2021? I’m not defending Rachael, I just know that 50 million people did [similar things] in 2018.” As Lindsay responded to Harrison’s questionable comments

12 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

by discussing her lived experience as a Black woman, Harrison continued to speak over her throughout the rest of the interview.

Lindsay pointed out that Kirkconnell had had over six weeks to address the controversy, but Harrison fired back: “Who is Rachel Lindsay and who is Chris Harrison and who is whatever “woke police” person out there, who are you [to tell her to speak out]?”

Not only did Harrison make excuses for Kirkconnell’s history of racism, but he belittled Lindsay and viewers of colors who took offense to the situation. Kirkconnell has since released a public apology and a statement of commitment to anti-racism, but only time will tell if her words will be followed by actionable steps.

Harrison faced public outrage after his racially charged comments, culminating in a petition calling for his removal as the host of The Bachelor.

He has since released a public apology and announced his temporary leave as host.

Though he remains optimistic about returning, ABC announced that Harrison will not be hosting the upcoming season of The Bachelorette, and it remains unclear whether he will eventually return as host or not.

This is not the first time The Bachelor has found itself in hot water due to allegations of racism. James’ season was intended to mark a turning point in The Bachelor franchise, featuring the first Black Bachelor

ARTS & CULTURE

and most diverse cast yet. Before his debut, the show was incredibly white. Only white or white-passing men had been selected as leads for 24 seasons, and the diversity amongst the contestants left even more to be desired. Between 2009 and 2015, only four of about 25 contestants, on average, were women of color. Even then, those contestants were tokens and often eliminated early on in the season, if not during the first episode. In response to the show’s continued lack of diversity, a class-action lawsuit was filed against ABC in 2012, after the 2011 seasons of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette featured zero contestants of color. The lawsuit argued that ABC’s casting practices violated racial discrimination laws by favoring white applicants, but the case was dismissed shortly after. In the years following the lawsuit, the show had hardly seen changes to the number of contestants of color until James’ season.

Because The Bachelor is predicated on the fantasy of finding a perfect soulmate, the show sends a damaging message about who is more deserving of attraction and love when only white people are

BECAUSE THE BACHELOR IS PREDICATED ON THE FANTASY OF FINDING A PERFECT SOULMATE, THE SHOW SENDS A DAMAGING MESSAGE ABOUT WHO IS MORE DESERVING OF ATTRACTION AND LOVE WHEN ONLY WHITE PEOPLE ARE REPRESENTED. represented.

Furthermore, Kirkconnell is not the first contestant from the franchise with a history of bigotry.

Most recently, two contestants from the 2018 season of The Bachelorette, including the season’s winner, came under fire for writing and liking racist content on social media.

Senior Sonia Groeneveld, who took a course focused on the show at the Experimental College in Fall

DESIGN BY JULIA STEINER, ART BY MELANIE LITWIN

2017, said, “The show keeps failing to screen their contestants.

[Kirkconnell’s] Instagram was public and had [these pictures].

I’m sure the show’s production saw her Instagram and they were like, ‘That’s fine,’ and still put her on the season.”

The announcement of James as the first Black Bachelor came shortly after the murder of George Floyd and worldwide Black Lives Matter protests during the summer of 2020. Many, including Lindsay, have expressed discontent with the convenient timing of the first Black Bachelor being announced shortly after demands for greater diversity within the franchise during the height of the Black Lives Matter movement. Junior Amma Agyei said, “After 20-something seasons, this is the first Black Bachelor? Isn’t that mad suspicious? After the Black Lives Matter movement, they are trying to show they’re allies. They want more POC to watch. It is a strategy to improve their ratings and reviews because they’re going to have white people watching, Black people watching, and other races too.” Furthermore, many found the choice of James surprising. Senior Bennett Fleming-Wood, who was in the same class as Groeneveld, said, “[The show’s decisions] show a lack of understanding or care about what antiracism work actually looks like. They went out of their way to select a Black man to be lead, completely circumventing the typical methods of picking someone. Then they do absolutely nothing to support him, and instead put him in a dangerous situation” by allowing someone with a history of racism to appear on the show.

Especially because he is an outsider to the franchise, the choice of James as the lead appears tokenizing. Agyei said, “I feel like he’s the typical Black person that American society likes. They think other Black people are ghetto, loud, angry, and they pick someone who’s Black, but ‘acceptable’ to American society,” especially since James is biracial.

Though the show has taken clear steps to become more diverse, its history of racism and continued problematic decisions raise difficult questions for viewers. Groeneveld said, “It’s hard, because for us, how can we as people who obviously want to support anti-racism still enjoy watching a show that has so clearly not stood by their Black leads and not stood by POC involved in the show?” The show’s continued prioritization of viewership at the expense of the well-being of its cast members of color poses serious issues for the future of the franchise as it attempts to cater to its varying audiences. As junior Margaret Cook put it, “The show tries to walk this fine line between appealing to a more conservative fanbase and appealing to a more liberal fan base. They’re trying to appeal to both sides, but really should be condemning some of [these controversies]. The show has been very white and heteronormative; I definitely think they could be doing more.” It is particularly disappointing, but not necessarily surprising, that a season that finally highlights people of color and their stories has been overshadowed by harmful white ignorance.

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 13

FEATURE

resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance resonance 16 TUFTS OBSERVER SEPTEMBER 28, 2020

DESIGN BY EVELYN ABRAMOWITZ

3. JULIETTE WU, WANGZAI MILK, DIGITAL ART

2. LEONARDO RUIZ SANCHEZ, DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY

1. AISHA CATENA, DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY

resonan resonan resonan

OPINION

PONDERING PRONOUNS: A REFLECTION ON TRANS ALLYSHIP AT TUFTS

By Lee Romaker

A

fter decades of organizers fighting for a cause that many queer activists criticized as too moderate, marriage equality became law in the United States in 2015. In contrast to campaigns for marriage equality that circulated images of nuclear families with same-sex parents and suburban fantasies, the origins of the queer rights movement were far more radical and overwhelmingly led by transgender organizers. Trans women of color, many of them sex workers and homeless, demanded housing, equitable healthcare, and freedom from police brutality.

Now, as the issue of marriage equality has faded from the public view, transgender visibility has exploded into the mainstream after decades of being brushed aside for more “palatable” causes. The rise of transgender people in the mainstream media has called into question how we talk about trans people. More specifically, wellintentioned cis allies may wonder: what do trans people want you to call them?

A common response to this question has been the practice of sharing pronouns, 16 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

whether in social media bios, during group introductions, or in one’s Zoom name. In many spaces, sharing pronouns has become the norm at Tufts. For many students, Tufts is the first place where they are asked to share their pronouns. While the ritual of pronoun-sharing signals consideration of trans people, it does very little to actually combat the structural oppression and limited material resources that trans people contend with at Tufts and beyond.

It is important to acknowledge who benefits when sharing pronouns is established as a norm. Primarily, the practice is meant to equalize a burden that was once felt primarily by trans people that either do not fully pass as their gender or whose outward gender expression does not align with their pronouns. For those who do not “look” like their pronouns, the normalized act of sharing pronouns can be a relief from having to single themselves out as gender nonconforming.

I remember bringing up the act of sharing pronouns week after week during my summer camp job. During counselor

introductions at the opening campfire, I found myself the sole counselor sharing pronouns—not as a noble act for trans equality, but because, if I didn’t, I would almost certainly be called the wrong ones. In the summer heat, I couldn’t safely bind my chest, and testosterone had not yet caused my voice to drop, so campers would always refer to me as a woman unless I told them otherwise. In this case, other counselors sharing pronouns would have established the practice as a camp norm, rather than me needing to single myself out as the trans counselor at every campfire.

However, there are several limitations to the practice of sharing pronouns as a blanket act of trans allyship. On a smaller scale, sharing pronouns can be difficult or even painful for those who either do not yet know what pronouns they wish to be called or are not yet ready to share with others. This can cause awkward situations where those who are questioning their pronouns may have to share pronouns that feel incorrect to them or are forced to make public that they are unsure, thus

OPINION

creating situations where trans people feel unwelcome or unsafe through practices that are meant to include them. On a grander scale, while sharing pronouns is a good initial act of allyship—as it is relatively quick and free—it may also lead people to feel as if they have done what is necessary in order to call themselves trans allies. Sharing pronouns should not be an opportunity for cisgender people to publicly display their support of the trans community while shirking the responsibility of taking tangible steps to improve the living conditions of trans people.

I speak about this issue with a certain level of detachment allowed by my white privilege and other socioeconomic advantages. For years, as a trans child who did not have to worry about getting a job or applying for housing, my primary concern was what people called me. Few things were more painful than finally being able to articulate my sense of self after wading through feelings of doubt and self-loathing, only for a chasm to emerge between what I thought of myself and how the world perceived me. During those sensitive years, having others affirm how I was making sense of myself would have signaled to me that they respected my autonomy in choosing what I wanted to be called. Moreover, that simple gesture would have affirmed my right to self-determination during a time when I sincerely doubted that I had it. Simply put, if I had been called the right words back then, I would have had more confidence in my ability to decide for myself who I am. That confidence is life-changing.

However, now that I am older, there are many processes that are part of public life that I can no longer avoid by hiding behind my mother. These processes would be further complicated if I were at the intersection of multiple marginalized identities. As a trans adult, I am now the one who has to go to the DMV, navigate the airport, make my doctor’s appointments, and apply for jobs. Despite my deeper voice (I am still waiting on the facial hair), I feel my transness simmering just below the surface of these adult rituals as if it were a mark on my face or an additional limb.

Snags in these rituals can easily be dismissed as insignificant or as a matter of hurt feelings. My passport does say that I DESIGN BY JOHN DOE, ART BY JANE DOE DESIGN BY BRENNA TROLLINGER

am female, but past the momentary discomfort, I am still able to get on a plane and return to either a loving home or my private university. However, the “F” on my passport can lead to raised eyebrows at the metal detector, and incorrect gender markers frequently lead to trans people being more likely to receive invasive pat-downs.

The issue is not simply that the marker on my passport labels me as a woman, but rather that this incorrect marker can put trans people in danger of physical harassment.

Likewise, there is no amount of diversity training or correct language that can negate the structural oppression of trans people. It does not matter if the pharmacist calls me “sir” if my health insurance does not cover my testosterone and I cannot

WHILE THE RITUAL OF PRONOUN- SHARING SIGNALS CONSIDERATION OF TRANS PEOPLE, IT DOES VERY LITTLE TO ACTUALLY COMBAT THE STRUCTURAL OPPRESSION AND LIMITED MATERIAL RESOURCES THAT TRANS PEOPLE CONTEND WITH AT TUFTS AND BEYOND. afford the hormones I need. It does not matter that my rental application has a line to put my pronouns if the landlord ultimately denies me housing.

Language does matter, and introducing conversations about trans-inclusive language can be a gateway to normalizing trans existence and general trans allyship. However, there is ultimately a limit to how well language alone can protect trans people.

There comes a point where you cannot just call trans people by the right name or pronouns; you also have to take concrete actions to change systems that structurally oppress us.

As a Tufts student, I am grateful that my classmates want to signal to me that they care about trans inclusion by putting pronouns in their Zoom names. However, I

have also noticed radio silence from many of the same students concerning the array of anti-transgender laws that have been proposed across the United States since the inauguration of President Joe Biden. There is no campus group that advocates for trans liberation in the way there are groups that address climate change, inequitable labor policies, or international conflicts.

There has been no fundraising, nor phonebanking, nor even a recent painting of the cannon in response to these discriminatory laws and transphobia as a whole.

I would argue that because Tufts is a predominantly white and wealthy institution, the trans community at Tufts is therefore also overwhelmingly white and wealthy. When many students do not need to find a job to pay for college, or have parents that pay their rent, material discrimination fades into the background and proper language becomes the primary problem. For privileged trans and cisgender students alike, their socio-economic status may shield them from having to confront problems of structural oppression, at least while they are in college. However, it is worth noting that even if trans Tufts students do not discuss structural oppression as much as trans-inclusive language, it should not be their sole responsibility to educate cisgender people in the first place.

Sharing pronouns is a simple and accessible way to honor how transgender people define themselves. It can spark conversations surrounding trans identity and instigate initial steps towards trans allyship. However, there are limitations to this practice as an act of allyship, both in that it can isolate those who are questioning their pronouns and can also distract from more materiallyimpactful acts of allyship. Simple acts of allyship must not stop cisgender allies from taking tangible action by donating money, spreading awareness to other cisgender people, supporting transgender art, and engaging politically. I am grateful for the small changes cisgender allies have begun to take to make trans people feel welcome. Now, I would like to challenge them to not only make trans people feel welcome, but to also fight for trans people to feel safe, secure, and able to live full lives.

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 17

POETRY

an abundance of You

By Julia Giatrelis

i am fully molded crafted contorted by those who have spent even just one ounce of time around Me. each quirk each mark each step I take was carefully choreographed in my brain with the most meticulous of hands the connections dancing through my head the stronger bonds beating out the weaker ones making sure i am full of the strongest good and the strongest bad that comes from those around Me. i only learned spanish because that was Your favorite language. i only wear my glasses because You always liked the way my cheeks would cradle them when i laughed. i only know about kinesiology kuh·nee·zee·aa·luh·jee because i never wanted the effervescent light in Your eyes to dim. i only drove home in a race against the sun rising because Your slightly crooked smile made it worth it. i only sat alone in Your worn-out hoodie in the back of the stands because You played the 9. slowly and slow ly i start to rise up again and grow anew and change into a creature more You than Me yet all of Me and none of You. 18 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

POETRY

smell of cigarettes and stale beer bring Me back to that humid june night broken table half-used bug spray with the top tossed off torn white plastic lawn chairs knocked over tops of my musty vans barely visible over the unruly grass we lay intertwined on the graveled pavement pointing at the brightest stars peeking through the clouds. i thought we could only be young once but You showed Me how wrong i was. these fleeting instances, once the most important thing to Me now weathered and eroded by time and place and circumstance and all the intangibles we never before thought relevant. i am abundantly full, bursting at the seams with You and You sow in the cracks as my skin is pulled apart coarse and dry impact craters crumbling.

Your name just happens to be the same as my favorite playlist to listen to when i think about if we never met.

Your captivating smile and harmonious laugh outside the yellow house on maple street never fades each time i drive by though the door has a couple more scratches probably from the dog though the grass is a little less green probably from the way You could never park quite right in the driveway. but Your influence continues to travel the winding road starting at my biggest toe snaking around my thigh behind my back and up uP UP gently brushing each vertebra until it reaches the topmost freckle on my face.

DESIGN BY KATE BOWERS, PHOTOS BY MISHA MEHTA

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 19

ARTS & CULTURE

FROM THE G L I T C H TO THE L I G H T BO X : RECLAIMING BLACK MEDIA THROUGH ARTISTRY

By Sabah Lokhandwala

F

rom fact to fiction and the blurry inbetween, media documents everything, and individuals are engrossed by the constant loop of information. To make sense of this perpetual consumption, the Tufts University Art Galleries are showcasing Index, a collaborative exhibit between artists Jibade-Khalil Huffman (he/him) and ariella tai (they/them). Huffman and tai reconstruct clips from television, film, and other forms of media to understand how media representation has both helped and hurt Black people in the United States.

Through techniques like glitching and collaging, their work examines how the media has infiltrated human life and how it can be reconstructed to examine race and visibility.

Huffman curated the exhibit alongside Tufts’ Chief Curator Dina Deitsch.

20 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

The exhibit centers around Huffman’s Untitled (Texas) 2017, with a combination of videos from both artists displayed alongside it. Untitled (Texas) uses stills from cell phone videos recording a 2015 incident of police brutality, where a police officer violently restrained a 15-year-old girl. The image, however, is disrupted by a lightbox.

“When you’re standing in front of it, the glare of the light is painful. It’s very visceral, and you both feel the anger and exhaustion [caused by] the cycle of violence and media,” said Deitsch. tai’s piece, cavity, is positioned in relation to Huffman’s Untitled (Texas). Their piece imagines a revenge scene for Kerry Washington’s Scandal character, Olivia Pope, who is caught in an abusive relationship with President Fitz Grant.

“I really wanted her to kill Fitz because he treats her terribly. The actor who plays Fitz had a cameo in the show called Dexter, where he was somebody that Dexter murdered. I took the footage from Dexter and intercut it with Scandal. Out of that, it blossoms [into] these other moments of revenge that I found in other films,” said tai. tai is interested in the portrayal of Black women in mainstream television.

They draw interest from Shonda Rhimes’ productions and her power to create complex narratives for Black women in an industry that is rooted in anti-Blackness.

Huffman and tai comment on media and its societal implications from different perspectives. “[Huffman] is very interested in thinking about representation in media— what does it mean to see yourself reflected

ARTS & CULTURE

in media as a Black man? And what are those impacts on his own psyche and development? [tai] brings a queer, femme approach to that,” said Deitsch.

Despite differing paths, tai believes they have the same goal as Huffman. “A lot of the ways in which Black women…are dehumanized are reflected in the narratives and imaginaries in the media we consume. So in that way [Huffman and I] are [both] seeking the recuperation of agency for Black women and girls, we’re just taking different avenues to do it,” they said.

Assistant Professor of English Kimberly Bain specializes in Film and Media Studies and Black Studies. When she saw the exhibit, she noted, “They’re both trying to comment upon [the] long histories of anti-Blackness and also how Black folk trans-alchemize that anti-Blackness. The work that I managed to view in the art gallery is not simply a replication of certain kinds of balances, but in fact, it’s a celebration of Black life.”

One of the styles that tai experiments with in their work is glitching, a technique where artists intentionally cause digital errors to create a malfunction in their images or videos. “[tai] uses a strategy of the glitch, which is a way to think about fluidity between identities and oneself, and [the] line between the digital and non-digital. It’s an abstraction, and it’s beautiful,” said Deitsch.

For tai, “The glitching is a way to feel like I can materially connect to these images. It feels like I can touch the images.

In a lot of the work that I’ve made thus far, the glitching looks like [this] 80s aesthetic. This aesthetic [is] produced by these analog processes, [but] I’m experimenting [with] more with digital tools for glitching,” they said.

Reflecting on the glitching techniques used by Huffman and tai, Bain said, “Black media is always glitching what we think of as standard media.”

Huffman began his artistic career as a poet and still draws on poetry techniques

DESIGN BY JULIA STEINER, ART BY KELLY TAN

to structure narratives in his visual pieces.

Noting Huffman’s poetry background while viewing the exhibit, Bain said, “The way that images are put together and the way…at times the audio didn’t match up exactly to what was being shown; Black poetics was being displayed at all times.” tai became familiar with Huffman’s work when he used cavity and another one of their videos in a program he did in Portland, where tai is based. “I became really interested in his work because [of]

BLACK MEDIA IS ALWAYS GLITCHING WHAT WE THINK OF AS STANDARD MEDIA.

the way he chose to develop the curatorial statement for the program [through] short video essays, as opposed to writing formal text. These video essays of appropriated images were marked in between each piece, and I had never seen that sort of approach to creating a curatorial statement. I thought it was really beautiful,” they said.

Outside of art, tai is creating a space for Black people to use their voices in film. They curated “the first and the last,” a workshop, screening, and exhibition project in Portland.

“I wanted to create spaces for Black people to have conversations about Black

film that were more intimate and private, so ‘the first and the last’ was born out of that desire as well as the desire to provide concrete material support for people trying to make new video work,” they said.

While tai is cultivating communities in Portland, Bain hopes the Tufts community gains a greater discomfort with stillness after seeing tai’s and Huffman’s pieces.

The videos force the viewer to physically contort their head and to listen carefully for audio changes. This creates a sense of discomfort that Bain also thinks Tufts should be more open to approaching.

“We always should be pushing how we approach media, how we mix it, at the same time, [how] media has to do far better than it is currently,” she said.

Bain also believes Huffman’s and tai’s works bring people together. “I think the pieces are really great for providing a sort of an imagined community…with the sort of effect of collaging or consciously overlaying things. And so producing our own imagined communities as a result of watching or seeing or participating or walking through the exhibit,” she said.

Deitsch sees the entire exhibition as a collaboration of disparate forces, from the different sources of media coming together to the collaboration of both artists. For her, in a world that is saturated with information, the synthesis of existing media is important in creating conversation: “In these moments of trauma, in terms of the uprising this summer, and racial injustice happening in this country right now, it’s important to remind [oneself] about community, and the importance of remembering Black American life as being very joyful. We can analyze the complexity, but also aim to find the space of joy.”

Index will be in the Aidekman Arts Center on the Tufts Medford campus until March 26, 2021. Admission is possible with a Tufts ID. An online version of the exhibit is available at the Tufts University Art Galleries website.

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 21

NEWS

By Fernando Cervantes

F

ollowing the disastrous winter storm that hit Texas on February 14 and revealed systemic weaknesses in governmental disaster preparation, Tufts students are urging for impactful legislative action against climate change.

Caused by an unstable polar vortex, Winter Storm Uri was felt across the entire country. The storm was one of the biggest winter storms to hit the South according to earliest known records. With temperatures as low as minus 5 degrees Fahrenheit, the lowest temperatures recorded for the region in 30 years, the storm caused serious destruction in

22 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

Texas, such as burst pipes and heavy flooding, with estimates predicting that damages could cost over $200 billion.

According to the New York Times, four million people were without power at the peak of the storm. Due to the lack of electricity, safe drinking water became scarce, and boilwater orders were implemented across the state. According to the Dallas Morning News, at least five people were killed in the storm.

Although the storm occurred more than 1,000 miles away from Tufts itself, it hit home for many Tufts students

NEWS

whose families were affected. “My family was very lucky,” said Neil Powers, a freshman from Texas. “I know some relatives who lost everything, but when you’re in Texas you learn to have a decent supply of fresh water and food for situations just like this.”

However, not every student was as lucky as Powers’ family. “It was like [Hurricane] Harvey 2.0,” Priscilla Mach, a freshman from Houston, Texas said. “[My mom] is getting chemotherapy and radiology, so she has to clean her stitches every day, and until two days in, there weren’t people checking in on her to see if she had access to clean water to take care of that.”

Being away from home caused anxiety and stress in students on campus who were worried about their families. “It was hard checking in on people and everybody had bad news to give. There was guilt about not being there and not being able to help,” Mach said.

For many students, the state’s lack of heat, water, and governmental assistance during the storm reflected larger systemic problems within Texas and the United States as a whole. “My two main reactions to the events that unfolded were gratitude and rage,” said junior Elliot Trahan. “Gratitude that my family was mostly alright, and rage at the sheer disregard for human life that the state government exhibited during the crisis.”

Mach shared this sentiment, saying that “the scariest thing was reading and looking into the sewage and electrical systems in Texas [that are] not connected to [systems] out of state, [and seeing] how outdated they are.” In an Instagram post, Tufts’ branch of the Sunrise Movement, a nationwide climate change organization, echoed this: “Texas has a power grid that is deregulated, privatized, and removed from interconnected networks to avoid federal regulation and increase profits to a small number of wealthy individuals …

This is why currently there is a mass power outage across the state.”

The lack of preparation for such extreme weather revealed an urgency for climate action in governmental capacities, said Trahan, who is part of Sunrise at Tufts. “I definitely never imagined that one of the first major climate disasters to devastate my home state would be a winter storm,” he said. “Texas just gave us another terrifying reminder of how much harder climate disasters hit in a society in which profit is valued over human life.”

Sunrise Tufts organizers have urged the Tufts community to help victims affected by the storm. On Instagram, they stated that the storm was “a climate crisis event/class genocide/life-taking disaster,” and listed various organizations for students to donate to. Furthermore, the Tufts chapter also echoed both the national movement and the Texas chapter’s calls for the resignation of Texas Governor Greg Abbott and Texas Senator Ted Cruz. The post noted that Abbott blamed the storm on the Green New Deal, despite it not having been passed into law, and that Cruz went on a family vacation to Cancún while millions of his constituents went without power and water.

Outside of campus organizations, students made personal efforts during the storm to assist victims. Trahan said his partner helped coordinate mutual aid through the Sunrise Movement Austin. “I am not exaggerating when I say that my partner saved people’s lives just by sending check-in texts from her cozy place in Rhode Island,” he said.

While student efforts are important, larger governmental actions are necessary to avoid similar disasters in the future. Colin Orians, the director of the environmental studies program at Tufts and a researcher of climate change and climate mitigation, said, “It is imperative that politicians start planning for extreme events. They will come, and responses after the fact will cost society billions and cause disproportionate harm.”

Sunrise Tufts said, “The failures in Texas’ infrastructure are disproportionately affecting BIPOC, the homeless, and people with disabilities.” According to Trahan, Sunrise Tufts hopes that there will be climate legislation that will be tailored to these groups by addressing issues such as houselessness, healthcare access, poverty, and racism.

Students outside the movement share the need for urgent climate action following the storm. “When you have every scientist in the world going to every media platform that will listen to them and telling people, ‘you need to make changes now,’ how can you not listen?” Mach said.

Ultimately, the sad and disastrous effects of the storm reinforced the need for humility and compassion in times of stress. Trahan said, “As the storm in Texas has made clear, even if we can’t halt any of the effects of the climate crisis, it is still worth it to build a world in which people care about each other.”

“TEXAS JUST GAVE US ANOTHER TERRIFYING REMINDER OF HOW MUCH HARDER CLIMATE DISASTERS HIT IN A SOCIETY IN WHICH PROFIT IS VALUED OVER HUMAN LIFE.”

DESIGN BY SOFIA PRETELL, PHOTO BY THOMAS BLACK

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 23

VOICES DESIGN BY CARINA LO, ART BY KELLY TAN

SWEET SOUNDS OF GROWING PAINS

By Isabelle Charles “Yellow house!” It was a tradition in my mother’s white Infinity every morning for my brother and me to yell the color of one of the houses we passed by in our younger years. There was no prize, just satisfaction and a heightened sense of ego.

The sounds of elementary school mornings were filled with pop music from the local Kiss 108 radio station, our chatter, and the hammering of metal as we passed by the construction site next to the train station.

As I got older, mornings became quieter. I entered middle school while my brother went away to boarding school. My mother and I sat in the car, just the two of us, consumed by our own drowsiness and the crackle of NPR through the speakers.

The news broadcast took over the shrill shrieks of our childhood. “It’s 8:01. Now, the news,” Bob Oakes recited like clockwork. Then, it was always soft, classical music for the remainder of the journey.

I grew up surrounded by sounds, primarily in the form of singing, the car’s radio, my mother’s violin, and a scratchedup, decades-old, Kenny G disc played before bedtime. Car rides to Vermont meant “Electric Feel” by MGMT. Treks to

24 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

New York City were always “Just Fine” by Mary J. Blige and an array of Stevie Wonder albums.

I began singing at the age of four. Singing aided the loneliness of growing up. I was often one of the very few Black children, let alone Black girls, within these predominantly white institutions. My shy demeanor added to this alienation.

We were too young for affinity groups, but I could still feel the underpinnings of racism starting from kindergarten. My first choir director was a Black woman. Our songs focused on uplifting Black voices and people. I had a space that I could call mine after school and during Saturday rehearsals.

Her encouragement and advocacy, even at this early stage, helped me embrace my Blackness at school and my passion for singing. Music defines every aspect of my life and traces my trajectory. Unyielding, unending, and seemingly tangled, but nonetheless, it connects the dots of my path.

In the fourth grade, Saturday rehearsals were traded in for ensemble performances at Saunders Theatre for matinees throughout the holiday season. I added Welsh Christmas songs to my newly-minted repertoire. I accepted my schedule as

VOICES

normal because homework in the car at night and five-hourlong rehearsals became routine for two years. Despite the long hours and nights, I still chose to do it, much to the chagrin of my fourth-grade teacher. I was able to sing on a stage and bond with both children and adults who were just as passionate about music as I was. I dove into historical pieces and treasured with my castmates the simple yet technical quality of our sound.

I once read a chapter of a book about how soundwaves stimulate plant growth. I think, in this same vein, music was a huge part of my own nourishment. I turned to singing when I was coping with the loss of a loved one, when I graduated from high school and moved into college, for creative inspiration, and as a way to reflect during quarantine. Music gave me comfort to be able to reset, renew, and tackle the challenges of growing up.

I went to high school in a storybook town, on par with the poetic musings of Robert Frost and Louisa May Alcott. It was a classically New England scene: manicured lawns peppered with white daffodils and chirping cicadas reverberated throughout the evening skies. With the looming prospect of college, high school was where I continued to participate in activities I enjoyed without realizing the significance they would ultimately have in my life. I was introduced to more musical theatre through mainstage productions. I remember listening to In The Heights for the first time. By the end, I was weeping.

Even though the protagonist is from the Dominican Republic, it reminded me of my own upbringing, as I am Haitian on my father’s side and Jamaican-Panamanian on my mother’s side.

I resonated with the familiarity of Caribbean culture that was produced through the influence of African drum beats in salsa and meringue pieces, the slowness of bachata, the energy of hip-hop, rap, and the cadence of speech. I felt the neighborly warmth and sense of community I was accustomed to within Caribbean immigrant communities. Through this set of songs, I was settling into my own understanding of what it means to be Caribbean-American and how it can be expressed through this cherished art form. I just never thought that this internalization would be captured from a musical theatre Spotify

DESIGN BY CARINA LO, ART BY KELLY TAN DESIGN BY CARINA LO, ART BY KELLY TAN

playlist on my high school’s main quad alongside the buzzing bees of spring.

Since coming to Tufts, I have been thankful for the connections I have made. My favorite memories include dance parties with my roommate that cut through the late-night grinds, the camaraderie and harmony created with The Ladies of Essence, and any free moments to sing in a practice room. As I sit here in my childhood bedroom, remote from campus, I can’t help but think about how lucky I am to be able to draw on such rich memories and experiences. Even given the short amount of time I have physically spent on campus, I have been able to rejoice in music alongside many people who have become my closest friends. In every facet of my life, I find that music harkens back to creating relationships and human connections. I found my voice through music. Being able to sing in a choir and formulate a concrete sense of self formed my foundation for high school, where I was able to maneuver, lead, and explore more of my identity. In college, my closest friendships have been connected through music and this mutual sense of letting go and opening up through song. In a time of isolation, I have music to thank for much of my solace. Despite the individual bubbles in which we reside, I feel the desire and the need to continue making and listening to music for the sole purpose of community and connection. In this shifting and more prominently digital era, it is necessary that we turn to something, anything, that can satiate our souls—something that can connect us all as human beings, whether it be for fulfillment, understanding, or comfort.

Music is personal and intimate in funny ways. It gives us flashbacks to that time we sang a song in the car when the weather was still warm enough to plaster a stickiness to the back of our legs. It reminds us of the tunes we played while walking up the hill to a class. Beyond that, it also has the power to bring out the emotions and sentiments we all feel but are not always able to express: sadness and grief, but also joy and tranquility. Music evokes these feelings without having to say anything in words. In this regard, music is both a human escape and a reflection of reality. For all that it is and all that it has given me, I am grateful. Grateful for all that I have sung, experienced, and consumed.

DESIGN BY CARINA LO, ART BY KELLY TAN

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 25

POETRY

Somewhere you and I The you being Peace and the I my thoughts Love one another and out in front Over and beyond the ledge I sit Is a bubbling brook Whose colors change as it extends towards the sun.

Little waves and motions of the earth Speak through the water’s edge That rest and retreat On rocks Must look like cliffs To the mica That the water trains to carry Surrounded by crisp Untouched air There is quiet everywhere I look And I can hear Osprey wings flap I am seated In the earth Insects inhabit it with me And that feels okay When I lie back The dirt consumes me And the only thing that is scary Is the shadow of the trees But starlight exposes them to me Nothing tries to spiral through my brain When I am alone Waiting for me Outside of it all Is a love Who thinks of me And misses holding me But there is only this earth I don’t know what I’ve looked like For days And I am not bored This small somewhere Feels like everywhere

26 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 22, 2021

Solo

By Sydney Rosh

POETRY

DESIGN BY KATE BOWERS, PHOTOS BY MISHA MEHTA

MARCH 22, 2021 TUFTS OBSERVER 27

The Observer

PODCAST is back this semester, along with three brand new independent podcast series!

The O Podcast is released as a companion to each issue of the Observer. Offering a new way to engage with the content from the Observer, this podcast delves deeper into topics from the articles and uplifts voices from the print issue and beyond.

A collaboration between the Observer and Tufts Sex Health Reps, Dirty Chai Chats is a podcast series all about sexual health, love, and relationships at Tufts.

COVID Lessons is an independent miniseries that explores the ways in which different members of the Tufts community have responded and grown in the face of the pandemic.

The Memory Mixtape invites Tufts students to talk about one song that is meaningful to them and the story behind it.

The

MULTIMEDIA team would like to introduce our resonance project: a sound and graphic-based website you can interact with at a touch. It’s an audio visualizer featuring sounds collected from campus and our daily lives, brought to life with fun animations, and inspired by Jono Brandel. Follow the QR code below to view it online!

dream blunt rotation

nightmare blunt rotation