Issue 1 Spring 2019

TUFTS YOUTH Vol. CXXXVIII Issue 1.

OBSERVER

S TA F F EDITOR IN CHIEF: Alexandra Benjamin MANAGING EDITOR: Wilson Wong CREATIVE DIRECTOR: Erica Levy FEATURES EDITOR: Jesse Ryan NEWS EDITORS: Anita Lam Brittany Regas ARTS & CULTURE EDITORS: Juliana Vega del Castillo Alice Hickson OPINION EDITORS: Sasha Hulkower Alexandra Strong CAMPUS EDITORS: Myisha Majumder Josie Wagner POETRY & PROSE EDITOR: Ruthie Block Cris Paulino VOICES EDITOR: Rosy Triggs Fitzgerald PHOTO DIRECTORS: Stuart Montgomery Donavan Payne ART DIRECTOR: Laura Wolfe LEAD ARTIST: Joanna Kleszczewski COLUMNS EDITOR: Sivi Satchithanandan VIDEO DIRECTOR: Emai Lai PODCAST DIRECTOR: Julia Press

Letter from the EDitors 2

By Alexandra Benjamin, Wilson Wong, and Erica Levy

“Just A kid” 4 Feature | Sivi Satchithanandan with Trina Sanyal

claiming our insight s 8 Opinion | By Myisha Majumder

behind the record 10 News | By Tiffany Xie

12 trying to remember some things Poetry | By Liam Knox

13 Have a great summer!

Photo Inset

17 ordinary beauty Poetry | By Sarah Minster

19 Diary of a former kid Voices | By Elise Sommers

22 are you willing to blow out the fire?

Arts & Culture | By Juliana Vega del Castillo and Alice Hickson

24 The burnout generation News | By Caroline Blanton

26 future conside rations Opinion | By Sasha Hulkower

28 my house of black women Voices | By Muna Muhamed

PUBLICITY DIRECTORS: Nasrin Lin Sarah Park STAFF WRITERS: Trina Sanyal Jonathan Innocent Muna Mohamed DESIGNERS: Richard Nakatsuka Brigid Cawley Daniel Jelčić Sofia Pretell Brenna Trollinger Emma Herdman Janie Ingrassia LEAD COPY EDITOR: Sara Barkouli COPY EDITORS: Kate Bowers Aidan Schaffert Leah Kirsch Lola Jacquin Mahika Khosla Akbota Saudabayeva EDITOR EMERITUS: Emmett Pinsky CONTRIBUTORS: Amy Tong Ryan Sheehan Simone Lewis Ella Parekh Liam Knox Sarah Minster Tiffany Xie Caroline Blanton Elise Sommers COVER ILLUSTRATIONS AND DESIGNS BY ERICA LEVY

FEATURE

Feature

We’ve been taught that life occurs in four stages: infancy, childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. Situated between our adolescence and adulthood is the precarious, fleeting position of youth. And in this delicate stage of our youth, we’ve spent a hefty amount of our time cramped in a computer lab above Curtis Hall (R.I.P. Brown & Brew, 2018), drinking week-old, sometimes months-old (usually months-old, yikes), boxed wine while deliriously putting together a 32-page spread until the waking hours of every other Wednesday morning.

Now, as graduation and *real* adulthood is looming ever nearer (at least for Ale and Wilson – sorry Erica) we have a chance to reflect on what our time as young people, young students, and particularly, young journalists, has taught us. One thing we can all agree on about our time on the O is that there is always more we have to learn from each other on staff. We all remember walking into our first layouts as nervous underclassmen, in awe of the seniors who seemed to be so seamlessly running the show – casually creating an entire magazine by themselves every other week – no adult supervision required. Clicking and typing away until as late as 5 AM on a Tuesday (a school night!), just because they cared about creating something beautiful and meaningful. It seemed so complicated, so sophisticated, so grown up, but every other week, time and again, a magazine happened. And every time, to us, it was perfect.

But we soon came to re-learn another age-old childhood lesson: nobody’s perfect (Cyrus, 2007). In the coming semesters, throughout our individual times as staff members and eventually, staff leaders, we watched the O navigate crisis after crisis – from server crashes to budget cuts to unsaved layouts to last minute article pulls.

Some came out of our control, but when they weren’t, we always took time as a staff to talk about how we could be better. And so in those times that came for each of us to face our own mishaps, we knew to take a deep breath and let it go, because looking around, we know we were surrounded and supported by others who had been there before.

Today, as your Spring Managing Board, we are offered one of many opportunities that make all our late nights of endless editing worth it – the opportunity to take 12

Tufts Observer

october 1, 2018

FEATURE

Feature

what we’ve learned from our past experiences and to help others to learn from them too. So if any of our junior staff members out there think we’re perfect (you, uh, really probably don’t), news flash, you are.....so wrong. And isn’t that one of the best parts of being young?

To be able to see and hear and accept yourself for what and who you are in this very moment, and to see yourself with the forgiveness of knowing that there is so much more growing and changing to do.

We like to think that, even if we are teetering on adulthood, we’re still in that place, and we wouldn’t have it any other way. And maybe if we stay in that mindset, we won’t ever really have to stop being young. At least, we hope not.

So for now, to growing up, we say f**k that, we like ourselves fine just the way we are (except, you know, if any of the Powers That Be are reading this, please uh, kindly let Wilson and Ale graduate).

And to all those of you reading our beloved magazine, whoever you may be, from three sleep-deprived and deeply imperfect youth to another, we hope we have something to teach you – about us, about Tufts, about the world, about yourself.

X’s & Cloister ’s,

Alexandra Benjamin Editor in Chief

Wilson Wong Managing Editor

Erica Levy Creative Director

october 1, 2018

Tufts Observer

13

Feature

“just a kid� questioning selective accountability in the media

By Sivi Satchithanandan with reporting by Trina Sanyal 4 Tufts Observer february 11, 2018

Feature

On January 18, online videos emerged of a teenage boy wearing a “Make America Great Again” (MAGA) hat and smirking at a Native American elder who was beating a drum on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The initial clip was about a minute long and went viral within a matter of hours. A clear narrative began to form: the Native elder was resilient in the face of an overwhelming, jeering crowd of disrespectful, MAGA hat-wearing, White teenage boys.

By January 19, the teenagers had been identified as students of Covington Catholic High School in Kentucky, visiting DC for the March for Life, an annual anti-abortion rally. The school diocese apologized to the Native elder. Hollywood liberal elites like Alyssa Milano and Jamie Lee Curtis quickly took to Twitter to condemn the teenagers’ actions.

By January 20, more information and videos came out.

Nathan Phillips, the Native American elder, spoke to multiple news outlets about what had happened, stating that he was trying to diffuse a situation between the crowd of teenagers and a group of Black Hebrew Israelites.

Some people discovered the identity of the teen online, but, as Twitter user Arlen Parsa explained in a lengthy Twitter thread, decided not to reveal his name because “he’s a kid.” But then, Nick Sandmann, the teenager himself, started speaking out.

A longer, almost two hour video taken by a member of the Black Hebrew Israelites gave more context to the situation.

According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, Black Hebrew Israelites are a radical Black supremacist group within the Hebrew Israelite movement who believe that its members are the true Israelites, that Jewish people are imposters, and that White people are evil. Videos showed the group of Black Hebrew Israelites taunting the Covington students at the Lincoln Memorial that day. This is when Phillips stepped in. As he explained it to CNN, “It looked like these young men [from Covington Catholic] were going to attack these [Black Hebrew Israelites].” After entering the situation and finding himself physically confined in front of Sandmann, Phillips decided to start singing. “The song I was singing, the reason for it, was to bring unity and to bring love and compassion back into our minds and our beings as men and as protectors of what is right.”

Phillips and photojournalist Jon Stegenga both say the students chanted “build that wall” and “Trump 2020,” but these phrases can’t be heard clearly in the video. Sandmann released a statement saying he did not hear any chants, but rather asked permission of his chaperones to “begin our school spirit chants to counter the hateful things that were being shouted at our group.” He told the “Today Show,” “We’re a Catholic school…

They don’t tolerate racism, and none of my classmates are racist people.”

Yet in contrast, another video of Covington students harassing a group of girls earlier in the day adds another perspective on the character of these students and the behavior they believe to be permissible. Dr. Julie Dobrow, Director of the Cen-

ART BY AMY TONG AND BRIGID CAWLEY

ter of Interdisciplinary Studies at Tufts, whose research focuses on children and media, noted that “some of what I think of as important issues [in this story] haven’t gotten as much play, like how the ‘tomahawk chop’ some of the Covington kids did [in the videos] is actually emblematic of the larger issue of Native mascotry, a distressing misuse and appropriation of Native imagery, icons, and names.”

Somehow, what was initially a cut-and-dry event became an increasingly complicated situation as new information, videos, and narratives poured out. The plethora of new information caused many major news outlets to backtrack on their initial coverage denouncing Sandmann. More celebrities and liberal figureheads apologized for their rush to judgement.

Sandmann got a one-on-one interview on the “Today Show.”

Fox News portrayed the teens as victims of the Black Hebrew Israelites; Trump tweeted that the students were “treated unfairly;” March for Life took down a tweet with a statement condemning the students.

While there are countless accounts of what happened at the Lincoln Memorial that day, as observers, we are forced to rely on the media’s response to the events in order to arrive at our own interpretation of the “truth.” It is clear, in any case, that Sandmann got significantly more airtime, which allowed the media to humanize him in a way that obscures and discredits Phillips’ story.

In contrast, David Hogg, a 17 year-old student-turnedadvocate after the Stoneman Douglas shooting, has had his life consistently torn apart by pro-gun, conservative outlets. Alex Jones, a right-wing conspiracy theorist, accused Hogg and others of being actors. Former US Senator Rick Santorum said the teenagers should stop protesting and learn CPR instead.

Throughout all of this, Hogg has persistently pushed back on Twitter and amassed a following of over 900,000. When conservative talk show host Laura Ingraham made fun of Hogg for getting rejected from four colleges, he tweeted out a list of her advertisers, which gained enough traction to have them pull out. Hogg has continued his work for gun control advocacy and has been able to both gain and maintain a platform, despite being subjected to seemingly unrelenting criticism.

Sandmann and Hogg provide examples of the contrasting media coverage of two young White men and the different spins that can be applied to the idea of someone being “just a kid,” but the concept of youth plays out even more disparately when it comes to children of color. Darren Lone Fight, a lecturer in American Studies at Tufts, discussed the asymmetrical implementation of forgiveness for different youth: “the absence of that application of empathy places an unfair and destructive burden on minors of color who are then held to different and unfair standards governing exculpable behavior,” Lone Fight said.

We can clearly see this unfair burden in a fellow classmate turned advocate of Hogg’s, Emma Gonzalez. She also faced a barrage of criticism after she began advocating for gun control,

february 11, 2018 Tufts Observer 5

Feature

but many of the attacks she faced were racialized and gendered.

Steve King, Iowa Representative and defendant of White supremacy, posted a meme about Gonzalez that read: “this is how you look when you claim Cuban heritage yet don’t speak Spanish and ignore the fact that your ancestors fled the island when the dictatorship turned Cuba into a prison camp, after removing all weapons from its citizens; hence their right to self defense.” A Republican candidate for the Maine State House called Gonzalez a “skinhead lesbian.” Conservative outlets tried to assert that Gonzalez bullied the shooter. Again, media outlets and public figures chose to pry into the life of a young person, often in racist and homophobic ways. For Gonzalez, a young, queer activist of color, privacy was not an option.

On the topic of these kinds of media attacks on young people of color, Lone Fight emphasized that “this has ramifications far beyond social judgment: it also relates to the frequency of minors of color being tried in the court system as adults as well as more broadly the disparate rates of conviction and length of sentencing for people of color vs. White offenders.”

In September 2015, high school freshman named Ahmed Mohamed made a clock and brought it to MacArthur High School in Dallas, Texas, as a project he was hoping to show his teachers.

Instead, after being told the clock looked like a bomb, the teen was arrested and faced a threat of expulsion. The internet immediately sprung into action, as a slew of supportive tweets and messages went out to Mohamed and his family. While some officials from 6 Tufts Observer february 11, 2018

NASA and the White House tweeted sympathies, many other prominent figures in media did the opposite.

Sarah Palin, for example, declared that Obama’s support of Mohamed was inappropriate and that his clock didn’t really look like a clock. On the air for his show “Real Talk With Bill Maher,” the host stated that though the student was young, the accusations were not off base, since “so many young Muslim men” had committed terrorist attacks in recent years. “He’s young, 14, but that’s not like it’s never happened before, [they haven’t] blown up a lot of shit around the world,” Maher said. Though Maher acknowledged that Mohamed deserved an apology, for many, Mohamed’s young age wasn’t enough for him to be forgiven, or for his name to be kept out of the news cycle like it was for Sandmann. It is hard to ignore the prejudiced aspects of this dichotomy in the tying of Mohamed’s faith and race to the justification of the destruction of his character.

Hogg, Gonzalez, and Mohamed all show that despite good intentions, they were not afforded the privilege of being “just a kid.” Whether it be because of their politics, religion, or race, when the person in question does not fit the same mold as Nick Sandmann—affluent, white, male, conservative—the narrative in many media outlets is often not one of forgiveness and understanding for youthful ignorance. Anything outside of that mold, as Hogg, Mohamed, and Gonzalez show, yields an outcry of criticism and personal attacks on identity.

Feature

In various situations, the idea of youth has been conflated with a right to privacy and a lack of responsibility. However, these privileges are only afforded to those with certain identities and access to public platforms. While our attention is usually focused on national debates, this has serious impacts on our own campus as well. The website Canary Mission, a pro-Israel platform aimed at “blacklisting” anyone who advocates for a free Palestine, tracks and documents pro-Palestine activists on college campuses. The site gathers public information on students involved in Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP), including screenshots of people’s Facebook profiles and known social affiliations. The organization has stated that it works to prevent these students from gaining employment.

Tufts students and professors can be found on the website, alongside all personal information that can be gleaned from social media. Three years ago, the website’s information was used to gather information about students in SJP and Jewish Voices for Peace (JVP) at Tufts. Anonymous posters were stickered around campus listing 10 students and one professor, calling them “HAMAS TERRORISTS.” More recently, a Tufts senior with an offer to continue her education with a Tufts masters program posted a picture of herself in blackface with the caption “Yeezy 2020,” referring to rapper Kanye West’s potential presidential run. A screenshot of this private Instagram story was shared across various Facebook groups and quickly prompted a response from President Anthony Mo-

naco. In a letter to the Tufts community on January 24, Monaco wrote: “We are fully investigating this incident through our Office of Equal Opportunity and will ensure that appropriate disciplinary processes are followed for violations of University policy.”

Across campus, students have been wondering how this student will be held accountable. At the time this article was written, she has not yet received any public reprimand for her actions.

We need to reframe our understandings of youth and consequences. As Lone Fight said, “the issue here isn’t that White minors aren’t held to a high enough standard, it’s that minors of color are too often held to an unrealistic and unfair higher standard.”

He added that we should “attempt to provide the space and tools to youth and enable them to ask and receive forgiveness for poor choices and behavior.” Nathan Phillips has already expressed forgiveness for Sandmann.

Elise Sommers, a senior majoring in American Studies who taught the Experimental College class “Queering Childhood: Examining Innocence and Identity,” told the Observer in an email that “agency, identity, and accountability (or lack of accountability) are realities for kids. The question is how are adults supporting, empowering, and challenging kids to use their power to build a more just world.” Accordingly, it is our responsibility as adults and consumers of this media to follow Phillips’ empathy, but make sure that we do not apply it only to youth with certain privileges and platforms.

Whether it be because of their politics, religion, or race, when the person in question does not fit the same mold as Nick Sandmann—affluent, white, male, conservative— the narrative is not one of forgiveness and understanding for youthful ignorance.

ART BY AMY TONG AND BRIGID CAWLEY

february 11, 2018 Tufts Observer 7

Opinion

O

n the night of January 23, a screenshot of an Instagram story of a White Tufts student in blackface was shared on “POC Jumbos,” a Facebook affinity group for students of color on Tufts campus. By the next morning, the post had spread across campus and although it was deleted on class pages, it remains posted in the POC Jumbos group. It both serves as a glaring reminder of how racism manifests on our campus, and beyond that, provides an example of where advocacy falls short.

The post was shared by an Asian male student, and a Black female student commented, “Posting this here was a little irresponsible. Black folks really shouldn’t have to be seeing this.”

Asian Americans have always teetered on thin racial boundaries in this country, often finding ourselves in a grey space between Blacks and Whites. This struggle leads to anti-Blackness in our communities, as we’re forced to either whitewash ourselves or appropriate Black culture. This identity crisis is shared by many, myself included, but it especially impacts those of us who have sought out roles in advocacy work. As Asian Americans, we must actively work to undo our internalized racism in order to become better advocates for ourselves, and for our Black and Brown peers.

This specific disconnect in the POC Jumbos’ post reveals a larger issue: there is often a lack of vocabulary and understanding in our advocacy, and this can hinder its effectiveness and appearance of sincerity.

In many ways, the post can be interpreted as a performative action—why do we feel the need to share imagery depicting Black violence on social media? To show that these atrocities exist in an echo-chamber?

To make our privileged friends feel better about themselves for not being racist? Or to prove to our other minority friends that we “understand” their struggle?

As the thread continued, I became distinctly aware of how Black women in particular were being tone-policed by a non-Black POC on the thread—a trend

8 Tufts Observer February 11, 2019

By Myisha Majumder People of color develop ideas, beliefs, actions and behaviors that support or collude with racism as we experience it, often as a means to cope.

A superficial show of solidarity with minority and oppressed bodies of people that enables (usually white and privileged) people to reap the social benefits of wokeness without actually undertaking any of the necessary legwork to combat injustice and inequality.

Describes a diversionary tactic used when a person purposely turns away from the message behind her interlocutor’s argument in order to focus solely on the delivery of it.

that has played out for centuries and on many platforms. Black people—and more specifically, Black women—have consistently been at the forefront of anti-racist organizing, despite the emotional trauma and physical violence it imposes upon them. A central component of advocacy is listening to others rather than undermining or questioning their experience just because you think differently.

By posting this photo in a group that has a significant Black membership, the poster not only exposed Black students to one of the many forms of racism they regularly face, but also inadvertently called for an explanation of why it was inappropriate to post in the first place.

As Asian Americans, advocacy for ourselves and for others works best when supporting other people of color; this support comes in many forms, a vital part of which is creating a supportive space in light of situations that subconsciously demand emotional labor from our Black peers. Fighting anti-blackness must begin with understanding that while our experiences share similarities, the differences are monumental. Our advocacy starts with unpacking anti-Blackness within our own community, and helping our peers learn the nuances of intra-racial advocacy.

In other words, Black people have been systematically oppressed in ways that fundamentally differ from Asian Americans. This difference must be ac-

Growing past our preconceived notions and ignorance is the first step towards furthering our own awareness.

Opinion

knowledged both in and out of our communities—more specifically, the Asian American community is full of people of different skin colors, socioeconomic classes, education levels, and more. Our identities are intersectional and unique, and must be treated as such.

The discomfort I felt with how the Black woman was treated spoke to the discomfort I felt from my own previous experiences with “mansplaining;” a sentiment many women can likely relate to. Initially, I typed my own response to the post without much of a second thought. When

when the laws of a place create unequal treatment of a specific social identity group or groups.

the mistreatment of people within a social identity group, that is supported and enforced by society and its institutions based on the person’s membership within that group

I think back to myself two years ago, not knowing as much about the issues other minority groups faced, I thought about whether or not I would have responded.

I don’t think my younger self would have jumped in—even if I had a gut feeling of discomfort. Not only would I have feared confrontation on a widely visible internet post, I would have been unsure of how to even articulate what I thought was wrong about the interaction.

With time, I learned that awareness is one of the most important parts of advocacy—it enables us to back up the gut feeling we have when something racist happens.

Beyond this, intra-community discussion plays an important part in ensuring that we all have the tools necessary to support our peers of color when issues like Blackface posts occur within our communities.

Ultimately, silence costs much more than discomfort. In an ideal situation, a Black student wouldn’t have had to even express their disapproval of the post—any Asian American student would have recognized how the post would be harmful.

An alternative would have been to not post the screenshot at all, but rather a description of the racist incident and create a plan for how to involve administration in getting the student appropriately reprimanded. The intricacies of activism fall in understanding nuances and opportunities to stop unnecessary emotional labor, even if it isn’t obvious at first that labor is being demanded. Through my own personal experiences, I’ve learned that there is an internal struggle between getting others to understand racial issues and rehashing trauma. Growing past our preconceived notions and ignorance is the first step towards furthering our own awareness. We must be aware of the thresholds we contain so as not to force others to overexert themselves—everyone is on their own unique path in engaging with different levels of discourse. We must attempt to understand our differences, and provide educated support with issues like blackface in hopes of continued solidarity.

Fighting anti-blackness must begin with understanding that while our experiences share similarities, the differences are monumental.

February 11, 2019 Tufts Observer 9

News

Behind the the True

of the longest Government

By Tiffany Xie

R

egardless of your views on the President of the United States, Donald Trump, there’s one thing about him that cannot be disputed: he is a record setter. He is the oldest and wealthiest person to ever be sworn into office. He is the first president with no prior military or government experience. And now, he has presided over the longest government shutdown in US history.

The 2019 Federal Government shutdown was the result of a disagreement between Congress and President Trump over the budget plan, particularly concerning Trump’s demand that $5 billion be allocated to building a wall on the US-Mexico border. In a public exchange with House Majority Leader Nancy Pelosi and Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer, Trump remarked in his characteristically definitive tone, “I am proud to shut down the

10 Tufts Observer February 11,2019

government for border security… I will be the one to shut it down. I’m not going to blame you for it.” And just as definitively, he refused to sign the Senate’s proposed short-term spending bill.

While it may seem strange to some that the American government can simply stop functioning at times, federal shutdowns have been fairly common in recent history and often pass almost entirely unnoticed by many Americans. But as the days of the shutdown drag on, the effects have started to wear on some citizens, particularly those in low-income communities dependent on government support. Federal employees and programs deemed “non-essential” were temporarily terminated, while those considered “essential” continued operating normally. Many of those departments that were temporarily closed during this shutdown are ones primarily intended to help Americans who need support. Trying to cherry-pick which departments can temporarily be done away with is akin to choosing which limb we can afford to cut off. And on top of all this, most federal employees during a shutdown will find themselves a few paychecks short.

One of the losses that has hit lowincome people the hardest during this particular shutdown is the closure of the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD). Experts in the real estate and housing industry have stated that business has continued as usual, and the delays for typical loans caused by the shutdown have been inconsequential. But, for people who are homeless or at risk of being homeless, the HUD’s closure has posed a serious problem. Without access to funds to subsidize rent, many Americans were threatened with eviction because of their inability to pay. And while there are some

resources in place for renters to challenge those evictions in court, it often involves a costly and time-consuming process.

The time that could have been spent working to scrape together additional income, or maybe even to take a break from work and recharge, is suddenly interrupted by stressful court appearances and legal proceedings. Worse yet, low-income tenants and homeless people were unable to seek help from nonprofit groups organized specifically to support them during the shutdown. With the HUD out of the picture,these groups lost a significant source of funding and were rendered powerless.

Housing concerns for those in lowincome communities are direct and, unfortunately, inevitable results of a federal shutdown. But there are other ways in which these groups were negatively impacted—notably, transportation. For people without cars, public transportation is an essential means of getting to work, to stores, and to friends and family. With the US Department of Transportation closed, many of the already-weak public transportation infrastructures across the country took a turn for the worse. All local transit agencies rely on federal funding to some degree, and without it, construction projects, repairs, and even day-to-day operations become difficult to maintain. As more time passes during a shutdown, state and local governments will inevitably have to decide between using their own funds to compensate for the difference or putting a temporary stop to programs and projects in the works. And as most procrastinating college students know, if something is not dealt with immediately, it will only create bigger problems down the road.

It was not just people in low-income communities who suffered from the effects

news

of the shutdown. Middle class Americans started feeling pressure to take on second jobs, visit food pantries, and apply for unemployment benefits. Thousands of federal employees faced missed mortgage payments and credit card debt. Some were even seen lined up like it was the 1930s, awaiting food from the World Central Kitchen, a nonprofit restaurant that normally provides free meals to communities affected by natural disasters. Even locals that worked jobs tangentially related to the federal government were troubled, as can be seen in the case of towns in Mariposa County that operate businesses benefiting from tourism in Yosemite National Park.

The shutdown created more abstract issues as well. Government jobs were once considered reliable employment, but increasing instability and divisions in the government in recent years may suggest that our government will become more prone to shutdowns. For someone living paycheck to paycheck, not getting a paycheck at all poses a problem that can’t be dealt with through mere hard work and perseverance. It’s important to remember that the majority of the people living under or near the poverty line in the modern United States as of today are people of color. Thus, people of color with low-income backgrounds may be deterred from pursuing government work that could potentially allow them to create the change that their communities need, and bring much-needed diversity to representative government.

Fortunately, the record 35-day shutdown came to an end on January 25. Reports have estimated the economic toll of the shutdown to be $11 billion, though some of this amount is expected to flow back into the economy once federal workers start getting paid. Additionally, this end is only temporary, as President Trump has only agreed to resume funding for the next three weeks.

But despite the fact that HUD and the Department of Transportation have re-opened, the fear that the government will shut down again, or that Trump will follow through on his promises to declare a state of national emergency, has been a cause of anxiety for many Americans.

On the topic of the wide-reaching impacts of the shutdown, Laurie Goldman, a senior lecturer in the Urban and Environmental Policy and Planning Department,

ART BY JOANNA KLESZCZEWSKI

emphasized that “our food security, our food safety, all of these are really vital roles that the government plays in everybody’s life… That’s one of the things I’m seeing being a big wake up call and awarenessbuilding function of the shutdown… Especially for this administration, and the supporters of this administration, who have been promoting a discourse that is decidedly anti-government, what is coming to the surface as a result of the shutdown is seeing how much we rely on government for daily operations.”

For many Americans, the future may understandably look bleak. Yet, there is some talk among legislators about outlawing future shutdowns, which might inspire a rare moment of bipartisanship.

Lamar Alexander, a Republican senator from Tennessee, reportedly said, “Shutting down the government should be as off limits in budget negotiations as chemical warfare is in real warfare… We accepted the idea that shutting down the govern-

ment is an acceptable bargaining chip in a budget negotiation and it should never, ever be, and we should resolve that that should never, ever happen.” Despite this, Tufts Democrats’ Co-President Deborah Mayo has stated that they remain skeptical that an appropriate deal can be reached in such a short window of time, and fear that another shutdown is fast approaching.

But whatever the case for the future, this is as good a time as any for all Americans to think reflectively on the purpose of their government and whether or not they’re proud of its current state. With those thoughts in mind, and even an inkling of desire to push the country in a different direction, perhaps the American people can look forward to better days. As Goldman puts it, “Another way of interpreting and broadcasting the message we get from the shutdown is not that government doesn’t work, it’s that government does work and we need it to keep on working.”

February 11,2019 Tufts Observer 11

trying to remember some things

(digging up old memories)

Liam Knox

I don’t remember much about our first apartment. a beautiful old stone planter taller than I yet un-looming a wonderful pale gray fleurs de lis in bold carving on the side. it housed the hydrangea bush its blushing petals in the venetian sunlight beams glancing past and off the tv screen: it becomes an artifact, an antique curiosity among the wicker a worn idol in an ancient tomb.

I begin to excavate

the spring street bookstore holding both (!) of my parents’ hands in radiant sun and post-rain haze when the wood and brick wore the damp’s perfume. there’s more. chocolate croissants strange mystic symbols in the cafes crescent moons with long-lashed eyes cubist figures on neat brown bags of coffee pigeons loitering outside.

I dig further.

my parents, strangely cinematic in their youth. neighbors sitting cross-legged in the living room all of them wine-drunk, bubbling ruddy affection daubed on their cheeks. adoration in the coos of caretakers. gripping a door frame and peeking through each entrance a portal, awed by small things like oddly -shaped keyholes.

I’d peer through them, size up the room eyes flitting behind such odd filters not unlike memory, that strange egress with its claustrophobic periphery, pinhole vision which at once magnifies and obfuscates. my arms are getting tired the artifacts become more obscure, fewer and further between.

I stop digging. memory deludes as much as it reveals, is something that occurs to me as I pack up my site, set down my tools and make some final archaeological notes. but I cherish these vague vignettes, all the blurred edges and their improbable beauty.

12 Tufts Observer february 11, 2019

i

LOLA JACQUIN

CENTER: ALICE HICKSON OUTSIDE: SIMONE LEWIS

TOP TO BOTTOM: ELLA PAREKH, SIMONE LEWIS

TOP TO BOTTOM: JULIA PRESS, SIMONE LEWIS, ALICE HICKSON

Feature

I used to think only - always - of Ordinary Beauty (capitalized definitively) (each time it crossed my mind) I used to think of Ordinary Beauty as my voluntary faith (as my religion of choice that I so gratefully chose) — It was not worshipped in church with my knees scraping against pews (and it didn’t try to tell me who or how or why I should Be) but it was Always Noticed—

ORDINARY BEAUTY by Sarah Minster

and I saw it in the wholeheartedness of lovers and writers and friends (and artists, especially artists) And more than anywhere else, in the butterflies that swooped around trees growing up the sides of mountains (in unending efforts to reach the sun’s grace) …

It was this Ordinary Beauty that was my explanation (for everything) — But perhaps explanation is not quite right I think it was more that, in noticing this Ordinary Beauty, I embraced the opportunity to become a Purveyor — The Purveyor of Beauty in its Most Commonplace Form— And other Forces in this (heart-filling) world were clouded as I stuck solely to my quest to find the Wonder in the everyday and the Magical in the mundane But I have been thinking recently about another one of these grand forces: the Familiar Yet Unexpected (which, let me assert, is much different from the Unexpectedly Familiar) The Familiar, Yet Unexpected: almost like deja vu, except more aware, consisting of increasingly compelling observations of the small (but not insignificant) occurrences I found it in the neighborhood girls walking down Elder Lane: holding hands, running to join the tire swing maniacs (in the backyard across the street)— Familiar, because that had been me on Elder Lane; Unexpected, because I believed that would only ever be me (on Elder Lane) Unexpected, because in the single year I had lived in Boston, families, playground games and the atmosphere of my dead-end street had all changed and I could only observe (and feel my heart fill at) the youngest child copying her older sister’s every movement (playing Tag) Familiar, Yet Unexpected: realizing that parents are people and not the superheroes they once were (or never actually identified as but pretended to be) (for so many years) The overwhelming sense that parents are simply trying to stay afloat in the same way that we are except that it is (more) complicated because of Having A Family (and Paying The Bills) and Who Gets To Keep Which Friends, Even The College Ones From Before The Divorce February 11, 2019 Tufts Observer 17

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Familiar: I know this feeling Unexpected, because my father is not This Man (he never was) Yet now, he is That Guy (wholeheartedly) I’ve decided that I want to become a Listener, to keep my ear to the ground for these subtle intricacies of the human condition (These layers and patterns of empathy that let us understand each other’s souls as pieces of art: the ways we learn and teach about what it means to truly adore) The intangible things are the hardest to hear (but the easiest to feel) and I want to listen for them And I want to absorb these emotions and wear them -I want to carry them with me, their unconventional beauty like jewelry, like pieces of art Maybe other forces will arise (or make themselves known) — like the somewhat dismal (but all-too-rational) sense of Limitation Of Our Wildest Hopes

(why do we stop ourselves from wishing for what won’t come true) (isn’t the wish itself enough) (shouldn’t it be?)

I want to discover more of these feelings that permeate the world (because I want to feel more at peace with the project of being human) I’ve never been one to take a clock apart to see how it works (that is not the type of learner that I am) but I am a person who is interested in the artisan that painted the face of the clock (and when was it made) (and why does it run two minutes fast and it would be convenient to set it back) (but it’s sort of charming in its inaccuracy) I am becoming a Listener for Humanity in the hopes that I will hear an outpour of Love and Hope.

In my 19th summer of living, my home was next to a port where small boats were docked and I swam in the lake (it was radiantly blue) and I could hear the chains of the boats clink together under the water (they chimed like the most delicate bells) (I thought that fairies were gossiping (and I believed (for a second) in mermaids and their songs)) Familiar, Yet Unexpected (its Ordinary Beauty)

18 Tufts Observer february 11, 2019

ART BY AMANDA WILHOIT AND SOFIA PRETELL

FEATURE

voices

By Elise Sommers

Dear diary, I think I interrupted a moment today. K was laying on his belly, rocking back and forth, hands under him in his groin area. The rest of the three- to seven-year-olds in class had already gone into choice time, playing with Legos and bubbles, but he was laying by himself. I kneeled to check in and quietly asked, “Hey K, are you ok?” He appeared intently focused. He nodded as he kept rocking intensely, his eyebrows pulled together like he was straining. I got the gist and stood up to give him the little bubble of privacy he could make for himself in a chaotic classroom.

Masturbation comes up as an almost daily topic at preschool. This surprises people who don’t regularly spend time with four- and five-year-olds, but for the young people I am lucky enough to work with, this fascination with bodies is very present. I get it. I was a body-focused kid too. My curiosity and shame partnered as I figured out what this unspoken but overwhelming focus on vaginas and penises and butts was in myself and my young classmates. Now, as a teacher, I feel a conflict, a gap, in how to support these young people in growing healthy relationships around their sexuality. All of us deserve to have fulfilling relationships with our own sexuality, and kids are no exception. All of us, including kids, deserve access to holistic, accurate, and inclusive information about our bodies and identities. Many of us, especially kids, have not been given space or information to learn about our sexuality in a way that embraces our genders, cultures, disabilities, traumas, and other pieces of ourselves that inform how we relate to sexuality.

I felt this silence intensely as a kid. I started masturbating in early elementary school. I would read and re-read steamy excerpts from middle grade fiction, feeling my body get hot and tingly. Then I would slam the book shut and hide it in the very back corner of my bookshelf, hidden behind my pile of dirty clothes. This was the same corner where

February 11, 2019 Tufts Observer 19

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voices

I hid any brochures the doctor gave me about bodies. I wasn’t scared my parents would find them—they’d even given me some. But I felt frozen by some level of shame, and to this day I’m still confused about where it came from. The information I got about sexuality came late into middle and high school. Even in my progressive hippie community of South Minneapolis, it included no information relevant to queer sex or trans identity.

The racist curriculum only showed Black and Brown kids when it came to sexually transmitted infections and drug addiction, and White kids when it talked about anything else.

The first time I talked about masturbation to anyone else was in college. I was certain I was the only one who masturbated.

Dear diary, I can point easily to the White supremacy, transphobia, and queerphobia present in my sexual education. What often goes unnoticed is the deep ageism that denies children vital information about their bodies and sexualities. Ageism is the systemic discrimination, disempowerment, and violence targeting people based on age. For children, ageism takes its form in the systemic and interpersonal ways they are denied bodily autonomy, and choices in medical, legal, familial, economic, and educational systems. Under the guise of protecting innocence, this system is deeply shaped by White supremacy, patriarchy, capitalism, ableism, and other systems of oppression and, in turn, actively shapes these other systems by providing a template of how to strip people’s autonomy.

Ageism blocks children from accessing information about consent, bodies, and healthy relationships that all of us need in order to make safe choices. Confining sexuality to secrecy creates toxic vulnerability; child sexual abuse occurs at epidemic rates, particularly impacting children who live at the intersections of marginalized identities of race, disability, class, and gender.

Dear diary, My body’s nobody’s body but mine!

You run your own body, let me run mine!

I introduced an adapted version of Peter Alsop’s song during our meeting at the rug. The kids signed “body” as we sang, then brainstormed other parts of our bodies that we “run.” My elbow’s nobody’s elbow but mine!

The song is gleeful, celebratory, and brings a beautiful silliness to such an important message.

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voices

Kids are systemically dependent on their guardians, treated as property, as extensions of their adult. They are dependent for food, housing, medical care, transportation, education, and are denied the legal agency to make choices about these human rights. While the Declaration of the Rights of the Child is recognized internationally, the United States remains the only country that has not ratified it; within this country we lack even a basic rhetoric of children’s rights. Children impacted by intimate violence have very few options or power to resist, especially when their perpetrators are members of their close communities, which they most often are: according to child sexual assault prevention group Generation 5, over 85 percent of children know their abusers.

I love watching D and E in the very front of the group working so hard to match each word with an action. What happens when our young bodies learn from the beginning that methods of control are normal? What will it take for this song’s message to become true—to realize a world where all of us, including kids, truly run our own bodies?

If kids could choose where they live, they could take action to remove themselves from dangerous situations. If kids could make choices about schools, they could remove themselves from toxic bullying and predatory adults. If kids had access to legal pathways, they could have some real power in the face of violent adults. If kids had medical autonomy, they could make informed choices about their bodies, and the medical care that impacts their genders, their relationships to illness/wellness, and in some cases, procedures that align with their beliefs (not only their parents’). For an example, look to the recent emergence of kids seeking advice on how to get vaccinated without the consent of their anti-vaxxer parents.

Dear diary, I am feeling hopeful today. We wrote a letter to Congress about the theft of Mashpee Wampanoag land, and it was filled with clarity, passion, and direct calls for justice. We’ve spent the past few months learning about indigenous peoples. We’ve read Wampanoag stories, watched music videos made by indigenous youth, cooked Wampanoag recipes, and looked at pictures from the #StandWithMashpee rally at the capitol. These young humans bring incredible compassion to their work. My heart felt so soft and warm transcribing their letters to our “decision-makers.” They may be young, but they are already changemakers. They are powerful, and they remind me that we all have a responsibility to use our power to make the world more just for all of us.

I draw hope from the possibilities ageism offers politics of solidarity. Ageism is the base that all other systems of oppression grow out of. It is the only system of oppression that all people are born experiencing. If every person were to draw from personal memories of the violences they experienced as a child, what fertile ground it could create for organizing!

Adults are former children; I believe that accessing these personal spaces of how we were denied power as children creates potential for mobilizing towards liberation for children, and for all of us. Remembering how autonomy over our bodies was denied to us as children can help challenge how bodily autonomy is denied to current children, to disabled people, to trans people. Our lived experiences of restrictive and intrusive discipline practices lay out the opportunity to act in solidarity with people of color targeted by harsh state surveillance.

Remembering and naming our own powerful acts of resistance to reclaim our autonomy as young people could urge solidarity with the young people working right now to create systems that give children the space and freedom that is their right. A world that is just for children is a world that is just for us all.

ART BY DANIEL JELČIĆ

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ARTS & CULTURE

Are you willing to blow out the fyre?

How Millennials Got Sucked into a picture perfect scam

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his January, two competing documentaries set the internet ablaze; FYRE: The Greatest Party that Never Happened hit Netflix January 18, while Hulu’s Fyre Fraud, dropped four days prior. Both films tell the infamous tale of a luxury music festival gone wrong that was meant to take place in the Bahamas in April 2017. FYRE Festival was the brainchild of charismatic but previously lowprofile character Billy McFarland and his business partner, well-known rapper Ja Rule. The promo for the festival promised an elite gateway to top musical acts, private villas, and lavish meals.

McFarland enlisted the help of over 400 international models, influencers, musicians, and actors to promote what FYRE media described as “a cultural moment created from a blend of music, art, and food,” taking place over two-weekends in Exuma, a private island in the Bahamas.

Before the official lineup was announced, several famous models including Kendall Jenner, Bella Hadid, and Emily Ratajkowski posted pictures and videos of themselves frolicking around the island, enjoying secluded beaches and crystal blue waters.

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FYRE Festival recently re-emerged as a trending topic when the documentaries were released in mid-January. Both films refer to FYRE Festival’s advertising as “the best coordinated social media campaign in the world.” The festival’s signature burnt orange fire tile was strategically posted by dozens of famous Instagram users at the same

“[Whether] it was not actually amazing did not matter. Just the fact that it looked amazing was enough to get everybody there.”

time, on the same day in December 2016.

The pictures, captioned “Join me at #FyreFestival,” garnered international attention and created a frenzied craze around an event now poised to be “the next Coachella.” Tickets sold out in a matter of minutes, selling for prices as high as $250,0000.

FYRE Media’s astounding and immediate success in their debut festival was unheard of in the music industry.

Immediately, McFarland was hailed as a genius for tapping into the appeals, insecurities, and desires of an entire generation constantly in search of extravagant novelties to provide them with instant gratification. But what exactly was McFarland giving his customers? When asked why peoWple were willing to drop such large sums of money on a brief music festival, Tufts junior Eric Metaj answered with one word: “clout.”

“In a society that places such high value on materialistic things, people are willing to spend anything to climb the social ladder,” he explained. In other words, the influx of posts fueled the campaign’s success of marketing a luxurious lifestyle that many young adults and teens were eager to buy into. One of FYRE Media’s workers perhaps said it best when they described the festival as “Instagram com[ing] to life.” “[FYRE Festival] was about posting this thing that looks amazing,” Akshat Rajan, a senior at Tufts who has over 20,000 followers on Instagram, added. “[Whether] it was not actually amazing did not matter.

Just the fact that it looked amazing was enough to get everybody there.”

As the festival-goers discovered, Rajan was exactly right. Attendees eager to arrive on Exuma and post about their A-list experience at FYRE Festival were severely disappointed when they saw the lavish villas were nothing but leftover hurricane tents, and the promised gourmet cuisine was ham and cheese sandwiches slapped together in a lastminute panic by the FYRE Media employees. Their craze to live a seemingly perfect life on Instagram had failed, at a high cost.

In a statement to Billboard, McFarland claimed that the reason FYRE Festival crashed and burned was a lack of proper planning, and the inability of the island’s infrastructure to support thousands of people. As the Netflix documentary depicted it, the promo shown to ticket holders was FYRE Festival as it was marketed, but instead of happening for the festival’s marketed 40,000 attendees it simply became a party for the 60 celebrities filming the shoot. This is why it worked; the marketing campaign tapped into what people wanted—access to exclusivity.

“What [influencers] post is not who they are. The whole thing is a big human experiment because the followers will make it all about the [influencer’s] lives,” Rajan explained. He went on to note how Instagram influencers have the power to lead their fanbase into thinking: “‘all I want Tufts Observer FEBRUARY 11, 2019

arts and culture ARTS & CULTURE

to do is be this person,’ ‘all I want to do is live this life,’ ‘all I want to do is show that I am having fun.’”

Rajan also referenced British-American Author, Simon Sinek, who compared the thrill of being validated through Instagram as similar to the dopamine that is released when you smoke a cigarette or have a sip of alcohol. What happened with FYRE Festival was “the equivalent of opening the liquor cabinet to teenagers and saying ‘here have a go.’

When the attendees of FYRE Festival took to the internet to vent about their disappointment, they received widespread critique around the world. Various media outlets referred to the event as “Rich kids of Instagram meets Hunger Games.”

When comedian Ron Funches appeared on the talk show Conan, he referred to the people who spent thousands of dollars “to go on a trip to see Blink-182” as “darwinism at its finest.”

Adding to the money splurge, festival attendees spent thousands of additional dollars during the days leading up to the event when they were notified about the cashless policy and additional exclusive packages. This was a a desperate move from the organizers of the festival in an attempt to replenish the money that was quickly running out. “[People were willing to pay] for social validation because they must have thought ‘this is a once in a lifetime experience, and I will be able to brag about it for the rest of my life,’” claimed 2018 alum Kevin Lustgarten, who has over 50,000 followers on Instagram. Various media outlets further idealized the festival by calling it the “most FOMO inducing event of the year.”

Eventually, McFarland was charged with a $100 million class-action lawsuit, and has since been sentenced to six years in federal prison. Although McFarland was the mastermind behind FYRE and its eventual disaster, some say his intentions in creating the event were sincere, and have even attempted to alleviate some of his accountability.

ART BY EMMA HERDMAN

Bella Hadid was one of the few celebrities who reached out to her fans via Twitter, apologizing for the festival’s failure to deliver on its promises. “Even though this was not my project whatsoever...I do know that it has always been out of great intent and they truly wanted all of us to have the time of our lives…” Hadid wrote, excusing herself from accountability, in addition to assuming the best intentions of McFarland.

“It is a job, like any job,” Rajan agreed, speaking specifically of influencers. “When you really get into that job, you feel really passionate about it, you’ll do anything for it.”

Alyssa Lynch, a highly valued influencer for FYRE Festival, did not advertise the disaster that was the actual festival on her Instagram. Instead, she posted a picture of herself and friends on Exuma with the caption, “Maybe Fyre Festival didn’t happen, but insane adventures with these three are about to.” Despite the failure that it was, Lynch continues to advertise her life as though it was perfect, setting unrealistic expectations for her 500,000 person follower base.

“I believe [celebrities] could have done better research before accepting a paid publicity offer,” Lustgarten said. “At the same time, due to the motion of the moment and seeing other celebrities posting, if they would have asked me, I probably would have posted it.

Lustgarten further emphasized the impact an influencer’s posts can have, whether it be negative or positive. He concluded that, “We all make mistakes [but] that does not make you innocent.”

Additionally, Rajan commented on the high expectations of maintaining his social media presence, and how trying it can be to be constantly sharing your life with thousands of people.

“I no longer feel comfortable with these thousands of people seeing my life with my friends,” he said. “I feel like my own Instagram has created an expectation out of me.”

Rajan depicts a cycle that many social media influencers fall into— needing to document their lives for their jobs, but simultaneously needing to document their lives for constant personal validation.

This phenomena is often hyperpresent in younger generations, due to the constant presence of social media in our daily lives as a platform for expression and generating self-worth.

The Netflix documentary concludes by reflecting on McFarland’s behavior and his motivation behind creating FYRE Festival. One of his employees at FYRE Media said, “I think it was important to him not just to be on a plane with a model, but to feel like that was his life. That he belonged there, and not because he owned FYRE, but because that’s who he was.”

In this way, McFarland fell victim to a similar cycle to the one Rajan described— despite likely knowing the festival was destined to fail months before, he was determined to perform his luxurious celebrity lifestyle as long as he could, to prove that he belonged there, both to himself and to others.

By Alice Hickson & Juliana Vega del Castillo FEBRUARY 11, 2019 Tufts Observer 23

The BUrnout generation

By Caroline Blanton

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hat does it mean to be exceptional?

For many millennials born roughly between 1981 and 1996, as well as the generation that follows them, being exceptional is not just an aspiration. It’s a way of surviving under the increasingly volatile political and economic conditions that define our reality today. In Buzzfeed News’ “How Millennials Became the Burnout Generation,” senior culture writer Anne Petersen writes, “I never thought the system was equitable. I knew it was winnable for only a small few. I just believed I could continue to optimize myself to become one of them.”

Now, as internship application fever sweeps the Tufts campus, a similar culture of anxiety descends upon us. To be anxious about employment is not necessarily unfounded, considering many of us have grown up under unprecedented capitalist acceleration and a definitive takedown of the public safety net. However, as the standards for reaching the traditional markers of adulthood grow increasingly higher, the behavior we associate with “adulthood” becomes more performative. Rather than being stigmatized as a sign of weakness, our anxiety has become something we acknowledge publicly to prove how hard we work.

Additionally, in the age of social media, millennials have become hyper-aware of their own status relative to others, which further fosters a culture in which they must 24 Tufts Observer FEBRUARY 11, 2018

be constantly affirming their existences online. According to a 2017 study by British psychologists Thomas Curran and Andrew Hill, millennials display higher rates of perfectionism than previous generations. Social media influencers, especially, have expertly refined and monetized this performance.

While millennials are not the only ones who use social media to cultivate and sell a brand, their work ultimately emphasizes the fact that the millennial self has become a product. There is no “clocking out” of social media documentation. Everything from emails to Slack messages, Instagram stories to Facebook live, and countless other means of online interaction facilitate what Petersen calls “the labor of performing the self for public consumption.”

While many lament social media as the source of this anxiety and perfectionism, it is important to recognize the unique political and economic climate that provides the context for our shifting cultural values. In their study, Curran and Hill argue that the neoliberalism of the 80s and 90s prioritized competitive individualism over national collectivism. An entire generation of people internalized the message that self-optimization is the only way to succeed, no matter the cost. This also leads to convoluted narratives surrounding wealth acquisition, as popular culture uplifts the narratives of “self-made” billionaires like Kylie Jenner.

Tufts Professor of Mathematics and wealth inequality expert Bruce Boghosian explained this belief. “[It] buys into the standard free-market mythology that financial success is due entirely to individual hard work and strong character. The corollary to this myth, of course, is that lack of financial success is due to a lack of hard work, or weak character,” he said.

“These ideas have become so ingrained in our national psyche that, in today’s US, wealth is regarded as a virtue, and poverty is regarded as a vice,” Boghosian continued. “The trouble with these notions is that they are nothing more than an economic ideology that empowers a certain class, and so they are jealously guarded even when they are demonstrably wrong.”

Boghosian also pointed out that the dramatic increase in wealth inequality in the US over the past few decades has led to the creation of upward immobility, or the idea that the average time it will take a millenial to climb the ladder of financial success is not only far greater than that of their parents, but is also slowly becoming longer than a human lifetime, rendering upward mobility effectively impossible.

The cost of this mindset is woefully underrepresented in national discussions of labor, mental health, and inequality. The common prescription of “self-care” is, in reality, just another means of self-optimization sold to us by an $11 billion self-care in-

NEWS

dustry where self-optimization is presented in the form of an expensive skin care regime or a lengthy juice cleanse under the guise of leisure and wellness. While other means of combating burnout, such as medication and therapy, are more normalized today than in the past, they are still quietly stigmatized, particularly by older generations who are inclined to dismiss seeking professional help as a sign of weakness.

Furthermore, recent research on the cognitive burden of financial insecurity in the United States points out that for the millions of millennials living in poverty and millions more on the verge, poverty hugely impacts one’s ability to make decisions ranging from what to eat for dinner to which insurance plan to choose, and making the wrong decision often inadvertently furthers the cycle of poverty. With these stressors in mind, those living in poverty have very little mental bandwidth left over to engage in “self-care culture,” regardless of whether or not it could actually alleviate one’s cognitive burden.

That’s not to say that there are no strategies for combating burnout. Oftentimes, relief can come from simply listening to your body. Junior Han Lee says that when faced with burnout, she tries to “devote at least an hour of my day entirely to myself, especially if I feel like I might not make it to the weekend. This means setting aside my phone and my computer and taking a walk or reading something non-academic, as long as it gives me the space I need to clear my head.”

In today’s world, the act of stepping back and logging off can be incredibly difficult, but also incredibly necessary for maintaining one’s mental health. Particularly on a college campus, Lee explained, “there’s an expectation of joining all the extracurriculars you never got a chance to participate in high school, on top of voicing activist movements you’re passionate about, in addition to the five rigorous courses you’re taking.” We often forget that our bodies are not machines, and we trade taking care of our own mental health for submitting those two extra applications, signing up for one more club e-list, or even just agreeing to one more social obligation that we realistically cannot fit into our schedules.

Ultimately, as Petersen explains in her Buzzfeed News article, “The problem with

ART BY RYAN SHEEHAN AND JANIE INGRASSIA

holistic, all-consuming burnout is that there’s no solution to it… The best way to treat it is to first acknowledge it for what it is… and to understand its roots and its parameters.” Furthermore, Petersen argues that no individual action can truly combat burnout. Instead, she calls for paradigm-shifting change in the way we think about work and success. While a face mask and ten minutes of meditation in the morning will not fix large-scale socioeconomic changes, taking an actual break from the demands of school, work, or social media is a small but significant act that contributes to the breakdown of our “always-on” mindset.

It is important to point out that Petersen’s personal experience of burnout as a White, upper-middle class, college-educated woman is not universal, and the burnout phenomenon is further amplified for those who do not share her privileges. For those facing different structural disadvantages and discrimination based on ethnicity, sexuality, and religion, burnout often means feeling like you have to work three lifetimes just to get to the start of the race.

Millennials who are not from a culture where duty to one’s parents or grandparents is very strong may not feel the particular kind of burnout that accompanies taking on the role of caretaker for one’s family members. Millennials who fit Eurocentric beauty standards will not experience the type of burnout that comes from cultivating a “socially acceptable” appearance for many workplaces. As Jia Tolentino

writes in The New Yorker, “Hiding poverty and difference, performing Whiteness and middle-class-ness, and simply not talking about class or race is seemingly a requirement of American culture, a baseline behavior that acts as a condition of survival, let alone advancement.”

Which takes us back to Tufts and the feeling of trepidation that naturally accompanies the question “What are you doing this summer?” for many college students. In a world where work is increasingly unstable, our political system is in flux, and basic expenses like health care continue to grow more expensive every year, it is understandable that the quest for secure summer employment weighs heavily on the minds of Tufts students. However, it is also important to consider the ways in which we are complicit in the commodification of ourselves, our work, and each other.

As Sophie Gilbert writes in The Atlantic, “Millennials have had to become less inhibited about the pursuit of self-gain… amplified by social media, such perfectionism urges the posting of absurdly idealized images, which, transmitted, reinforce the cycle of unrealistic ideals and a sense of alienation.” Instead of perpetuating this cycle through our Instagram feeds and LinkedIn profiles, let us instead ask ourselves why we feel the urge to market an idealized version of our lives for consumption, and instead start frankly discussing the root cause of the millennial burnout ideology.

FEBRUARY 11, 2019 Tufts Observer 25

Opinion

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s I’m sure many Tufts students did, I spent the majority of my winter break with my family. While family time is something I’m always grateful for, it also means spending a lot of time and energy arguing with my family members whenever topics of social or political importance come up. During one of many such conversations with my mother over break, I was accused of being naïve and overly simplistic. Her words made me feel petulant, and especially more so as I tried to defy her by arguing back, like a child attempting to use what I’d learned in school that day as ammunition.

One particularly memorable argument centered around bioethics—an area in which neither of us can claim expertise—and as we flung anecdotal evidence and stubborn opinions back and forth across the gum-smattered sidewalk we strolled down, the roots of the differences in our arguments became increasingly apparent.

We were discussing the pivot towards widespread use of pesticides that occurred in the US during the 1940s––a move that came decades after pesticide regulations were first enacted in 1910. I commented that leading scientists of the time should have invested in more sustainable methods, rather than pour resources into an industry with relatively unknown and potentially dangerous environmental impacts.

Immediately, my mother told me that I was being naïve, and while she agreed that what I said was technically right, it was also idealistic and ignorant of the historical context in which these developments occurred. She reminded me of the era’s reality of the closing World Wars and the fear that characterized those years. She argued that the excitement sparked by innovations in chemistry and other sciences

26 Tufts Observer February 11, 2019

as a means of security was so overpowering that no one was pausing to consider their implications. Although she did agree with me to an extent, she also defended the historical actions that led us to the environmental crises of today.

I’ll admit––the evidence she brought to the argument was illuminating both in terms of the subject itself, and in helping me to understand the social and cultural contexts that informed her opinions. My mother was born in 1955. Consequently, she was influenced by a combination of her own personal experiences and the experiences of the adults in her own young life. My mother’s birth year clearly marks the transition between the first and second cohorts of the Baby Boomer Generation–– categories that bear subtle, though distinct differences.

The first cohort, born between 1946 and 1954, counts the Civil Rights Movement, the Women’s Rights Movement, the Vietnam War, and Woodstock among its defining events. In response to their rapidly shifting world, “Early Boomers” became known for their social and political progressivism and a youth-driven counterculture reflective of the optimism of the period. Cohort 2, born between 1955 and 1964, saw the assassinations of both John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. early in their lifetimes––two national tragedies that were then followed by Watergate, the Iran Hostage Crisis, massive economic downturn, and with it, rapidly declining post-war optimism. This group came of age amidst intense unrest and widespread fear; as a result, they began to rely more heavily on stable institutions and traditions to quell the sense of vulnerability they felt in response to these seismic events.

This generation entered the voting population between 1964 and 1982, and throughout the following decades, many of significant modern social and political issues began to cement. These issues included consolidation and stratification of wealth, acceleration of environmental degradation, White flight, and subsequent disinvestment in urban centers and communities of color. This all took place during my parents’ lifetimes. From my observations, it feels as though the fear and subsequent resistance to question authority characterized the political complacency of their generation.

Just as my mother toggles the cusp of the two Baby Boomer cohorts, my birth year, 1996, places me on the border between millennials––a group infamous for their narcissism––and the more recent Generation Z, commonly nicknamed “iGen” or “the Pluralist Generation.” While I don’t want to ascribe too much value to these arbitrary generational labels, I do find them useful in terms of understanding what may be some of the bases for my own political beliefs.

As I reflected on my conversations with my mother, I found myself drawing parallels between my experiences and those of another “young” group: the new freshmen members of the U.S. Congress; and more specifically, that of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (often nicknamed “AOC”).

AOC is the recently elected U.S. Representative for New York’s 14th Congressional District, and made history as the youngest woman to ever hold a seat in the House.

Her win upset 20-year incumbent Joseph Crowley, whose history of accepting financial contributions from Goldman Sachs, Facebook, and Google, among other high profile corporations with vested political interests, places him in stark contrast with AOC. Since her election as a Congresswoman, Ocasio-Cortez has faced widespread criticism, as Republicans have

Opinion

Future Considerations

By Sasha Hulkower

attacked her with statements embedded within racism, sexism, and ageism.

In addition to Republicans berating her policies, establishment Democrats–– especially during the earliest days of her tenure––lashed out at the young Congresswoman for various reasons. Exactly a week after AOC’s swearing in ceremony on January 3, Emanuel Cleaver, a Democratic Representative from Missouri, told Politico, “I’m sure Ms. Cortez means well, but there’s almost an outstanding rule [in Congress]: Don’t attack your own people.”

Cleaver and other establishment Democrats feared her willingness to call out the members of her own party with whom she differed on policy issues. However, I believe this practice should be lauded rather than critiqued. The tendency to remain complacently in line with party positions against one’s personal convictions is a major shortcoming of modern party politics, and leads only to stagnation rather than change.

At the same time, however, many Democrats are expressing support of AOC and other freshmen Representatives’ more progressive stances. Since November, support for the Green New Deal––a new bill calling for a transition to 100 percent renewable energy in the next 10 years––has garnered vast support among politicians and voters alike. According to OcasioCortez, the Green New Deal would “pro-

PHOTOS BY SASHA HULKOWER

mote justice and equity by preventing current and repairing historic oppression to frontline and vulnerable communities.”

Early Presidential candidates Elizabeth Warren and Kamala Harris are among many Democrats who have endorsed the deal, while more than 80 percent of voters––92 percent of Democrats and 64 percent of Republicans––say they support it.

Additionally, support for Ocasio-Cortez’s proposal to raise the marginal tax rate on the nation’s wealthiest taxpayers to 70 percent has been met with sweeping support from fellow politicians and media outlets. Still others, such as former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan, remain doubtful. Despite this variation, AOC’s widespread backing for her bold leftist agenda is indicative of a new trend almost as ubiquitous as the early criticisms she faced: skepticism giving way to approval.

The more I thought about Ocasio-Cortez’s unique entry into politics, the more I began to relate them to my arguments with my mother. Our disparate worldviews, despite our generally aligned political views, were fairly comparable to the relationship between the young Ocasio-Cortez and an older, veteran Democrat: Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi.

The two have been called “the yin and yang of democratic politics” for bringing “different but complementary skill sets to the table.” Pelosi is one of the most experi-

enced politicians in Washington, and time and again she has proved her astounding capability to use her knowledge and power to play hardball with Trump on issues like his proposed border wall. AOC, on the other hand, has fresh energy, uncorrupted points of view, and a willingness to challenge rather than subscribe to existing systems. Though my mother and I may not have the same public visibility that they do, I still found myself comforted by the significant similarities we shared.

Though in the past I have often left conversations with my mother feeling frustrated, invalidated, and angrier than I had been at the outset, thinking critically about the both the sources and consequences of our differences has given me perspective.

Witnessing the debates of individuals who represent the new face of the Democratic party is encouraging. Developing an understanding of how they can work with members of older generations to most effectively enact change is a crucial step towards more progressive politics.

As AOC recently tweeted, “[Y] outh is not an embodiment of age, but of attitude—a willingness to risk for what is right.” As younger, more progressive politicians find their place in our political system, their approach will work its way into the mainstream. Their new ideas truly have the potential to compliment the seasoned wisdom of longtime party members and create the strongest possible outcomes for not just some, but all Americans. If we look closely at the developing relationships between leaders like Ocasio-Cortez and Pelosi, it is clear that this is not just an optimistic projection; it is already happening.

February 11, 2019 Tufts Observer 27

VOICES

my house of black women This is for Faramola, Kennedy, Nawal, Zuzu, Ewura, and Nathalie.

May we pave the way for our baby sisters to stay children, forever.

Once I chased a frog and lost my two front teeth. I used to get into petty fights with my siblings over who got to watch TV. I used to join my momma in bed in the middle of the night after a scary dream, because scary dreams can’t happen in momma’s bed.

I was a child. But like many others, I grew up fast. At a young age, my place in my family became caretaker, in friendships, mediator, and soon there was little room left for where or who I was myself. Too young, I can remember perfecting the process of washing a dish clean and making sure my younger siblings were fed after school. Too young, I remember the first, and then second, and then third video of police taking the lives of those who felt like family. Countless others followed. I remember my baby sister asking me why this kept happening. I saw my fear of police and authority passed down to my younger siblings first hand. By the time I entered my teenage years, I wasn’t a kid anymore and I wasn’t an adult; I was part mom, part sister, part caretaker; I was a hybrid of sorts, existing in limbo. When you grow up too fast, age isn’t an indicator of experience. When I 28 Tufts Observer February 11, 2019

left home at 17 to move away for college, I didn’t know I would find others like me.

My freshman year of college wasn’t your ordinary gig. It wasn’t fully comprised of reckless stories and silly mistakes (although there were some). I vividly re-

member conversations about transferring schools and taking semesters off. The stresses of home life were overpowering.

How selfish it felt, at first, to be my only responsibility in close proximity. How foreign it felt to come home to a dorm room ART BY JOANNA KLESZCZEWSKI

Voices

By Muna Mohamed

with no younger siblings waiting to be fed, worrying instead about their well-being from miles away.

When Black students at the University of Missouri sparked a nationwide wave of protests addressing racial inequality at our universities, I, along with others—mainly Black women in my freshman class, who would later become my family—organized #TheThreePercent protests at Tufts University. We planned a demonstration in a matter of days, worked with students at Harvard to march with them in solidarity, and fought for a list of demands to be met by the administration. I was missing classes, spending ample time in the back room of Capen house discussing what would be best for our community, yet again placing my needs behind the people I cared about most. Just two months into college, I had already found something to take care of.

My community had quickly become another personal undertaking. But I wasn’t alone. The women around me, all 17 and 18 years old, took on this community as our baby, together.

Exhausted, I remember the devotion with which the women around me took care of each other, held each other.

Amidst all of the chaos and burnout, we found it in ourselves to build each other back up. We were tired, together. We were doing the work we are used to doing—taking care of others for the greater good—and forgetting ourselves along the way. Who would have thought that choosing to live together in a 10-person Wren suite that following year would be my saving grace and the start of a beautiful legacy?

From then on, I’ve been fortunate enough to share my living space with beautiful Black women every year. We

took over Wren 530s our sophomore year, finessed two Hillsides 470s and 380s suites our junior year, and made the ultimate flex with a whole new home our senior year: CoHo, or as we call it, Coheaux. After a not-so-typical freshman year of heartbreak in many different forms, like falling for my first college crush or unpacking childhood traumas I didn’t know I had, I was given sisters as an offering in return for the sacrifices we made. The gag, though, was that these women grew up too fast, too. Some of us oldest sisters, some of us attending predominantly White boarding schools at age 13. Some of us immigrants, some of us always moving around. All of us too mature for our own good. All of us too aware and cautious.

In a way, I think we grew up too fast in an effort to save people. There is salvation weaved into the fabric of this skin. We later grew to become leaders in the Black community, hosting largescale events as well as informal ones, like “TwerkShops” and brunches in our living spaces for the Black underclassmen. All while holding each other up, praying with each other, helping one another take out our booty-length braids.

The way we loved each other felt like magic. Like something we weren’t used to receiving, but felt somehow natural to give. It felt like something only we could do for each other.

In truth, we didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into; we only knew we needed to survive, and for that, we needed each other. It was our shared instinct to do something, to act upon injustice, because if we don’t, who will? To be a Black woman is to do something or die waiting.

But with each other, all else disappears.

We don’t have to wait; we see each other

when no one else does, learning to love each other because for too long we’ve been accustomed to giving love and not receiving it. Through each other, we learned to live again. That in order to become sisters, we must become children again. Or for the first time.

The day we received an email from the Office of Residential Life at Tufts informing us about Coheaux felt like the ultimate resurrection. We were going to be seniors living in a three-story yellow house with a backyard, together, a home.

And now, I look forward to coming back here after long days at work and in meetings and classes. I come home ready to be myself—a feeling I didn’t know I longed for until I had it. In a way, I think being Black is an ongoing process of discovering the blessings buried in what feel like our burdens. It is learning sacrifice at a young age. My house of nine Black women is a testament to that sacrifice, and oh boy, was it worth it. Call it a rebirth, a reclamation of time, a youth reentered. And let it be glorious—because who doesn’t want to be a kid forever?

When I see my best friends play-fight with each other in the living room after a difficult conversation on the phone with family, I feel refreshed. When I walk into our living room and see everyone bingewatching “America’s Next Top Model” reruns in our bonnets on a Sunday afternoon, I feel young again, like when I was four years old and excited for Saturday morning cartoons. We all grew up too fast, yet here we are, getting a return on the years we may have lost: creating secret handshakes and nicknames, scaring each other through the corners of our living room.

In order to become sisters, we need to become children again. Or for the first time.

February 11, 2019 Tufts Observer 29

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