The Yale Globalist: Home by The Yale Globalist

HOME SUMMER 2020 | VOLUME 21 | ISSUE 1

EDITORS IN CHIEF Mercy Idindilli Nicole Zhen CHAIR Abigail Grimes MANAGING EDITORS McKenna Christmas Nick McGowan Sarah McKinnis Clare Morneau Mao Shiotsu Sasha Thomas

4. THE CRISES BEFORE COVID-19

How the Pandemic Exacerbated Social Problems in Countries Experiencing Civil Unrest BY LICA PORCILE

CHIEF ONLINE EDITOR Yilin Chen ONLINE EDITORS Zelunjo Chumajaegbuu Byron Ma Martina Amate Perez Miguel Von Fedak COPY EDITORS Yasmeen Abed Sean Callahan Claire Donnellan Luna Li

8. HOME?

Poem

BY MARTINA AMATE PEREZ

BUSINESS DIRECTORS Iyala Alai Phoebe Campbell BUSINESS TEAM Kara Liu Shawn Thacker Candy Yang CREATIVE DIRECTOR Sunnie Liu DESIGN EDITORS Alara Degirmenci Ellie Gabriel Sidney Hirschman (Public Relations) Hannah Landau Karen Lu Emma Sargent FIND US ONLINE globalist.yale.edu @yaleglobalist tyglobalist@gmail.com COVER PHOTO BY Sunnie Liu (Brenham, Texas, USA)

10. FINDING A HOME IN MUSIC Personal Essay BY CAROLINE HO

In This Issue

HOME

SUMMER 2020 | VOLUME 21 | ISSUE 1

14. AN ENGLISHMAN’S HOME ISN’T NECESSARILY HIS CASTLE Personal Essay

BY MAO SHIOTSU

16. WELCOME HOME What Makes Yale Home for its Students BY PHOEBE CAMPBELL

Dear Globalist readers, The Globalist is, and has always been, a magazine written and produced by those who desire to see, study, and understand the world together. In the most unexpected way possible, this past spring and summer has pulled Yale students far apart and presented a challenge to not only our Yale community, but also our Globalist community. In the wake of COVID-19, our staff became more “global” than ever before, writing from all parts of the world and resorting to creative, virtual methods to study international affairs and stay in touch with each other. This summer’s issue was originally scheduled to be a collection of works written by those selected to go on Glo’s annual summer international reporting trip—this year to the country of Georgia. This reporting trip is Glo’s signature; it is a tradition that has been sustained for over the last ten years, sending over a hundred students on a fully-funded international trip. It is also a project that our board is incredibly proud to organize and fund, for it breaks down the socioeconomic barriers that often hinder underrepresented students from traveling and studying international affairs.

Unfortunately, GEORGIA will not be written—at least not this year—just as so many other traditions and events around the world will not occur. HOME, instead, will take its place. HOME was born from our current realities. For many, our homes have been the beginning and end of our days for many months now. Many others have had to make homes out of new places. Importantly, many others have not had a home to turn to. We designed this theme to encourage our readers and writers to explore these issues. These times are unprecedented, though that is not the focus of the upcoming issue. Here, we will focus on HOME, and hopefully, you can take a moment to focus there, too. Warmly, Mercy, Nicole, & Abigail Editors-in-Chief and Chair

HOW THE PANDEMIC EXACERBATED SOCIAL PROBLEMS IN COUNTRIES EXPERIENCING CIVIL UNREST BY LICA PORCILE

THE CRISES BEFORE COVID-19

2019 WAS A YEAR OF SIGNIFICANT UPHEAVAL, with over 25% of countries experiencing an increase in civil unrest. One region that particularly endured an uptick in disturbances was Latin America. At the core of these crises were unresolved institutional questions relating to democracy and economic welfare. Civil discord, however, was certainly not limited to one continent. Countries that have experienced years of periodical disorder, such as Hong Kong, had significant escalations in the scale and character of the protests. The Hong Kong crisis resembles Latin American unrest in that questions of democracy and government legitimacy were at the core of protests in both cases. Yet all these instances of turmoil fall short of all-out civil war, which Syria, for example, has struggled with for years, as the government has proved wholly unable to exert control over the territory. At the end of 2019, these countries were ill-prepared to address the everyday problems of their citizenry, much less the challenges of a pandemic. An analysis of these countries’ response to COVID-19 reveals two trends. First, the economic toll of COVID-19 and government mismanagement of the disease often exacerbated popular grievances, further eroding government legitimacy. Second, many countries where democracy was already threatened prior to the pandemic took advantage of their populations’ reduced ability to organize and systematically resist state authority to consolidate power, often dismantling existing checks to executive power and persecuting the opposition. These somewhat contradictory trends of decreased legitimacy and increased authoritarianism set the stage for renewed and intensified civil conflict in the aftermath of the health crisis.

basic economic well-being to their citizenry. In Venezuela, President Nicolas Maduro’s presidency has been characterized by “assassinations, torture and sexual abuse of political prisoners, violent censorship of the press, and a sociopathic strategy to use the hunger of its own citizens as a tool for political control.” Maduro’s legitimacy is so disputed that over 50 countries recognize Juan Guaido, the leader of the opposition-dominated National Assembly, as president, rather than Maduro. Maduro’s support comes not from the people, whose election of opposition parties to the National Assembly was bypassed by a competing legislative body full of Maduro loyalists, but from the military, Russia, and China. Moreover, Venezuela has been in a state of severe economic crisis since 2014, with food shortages so severe that over 4.8 million people have left the country. Ecuador provides a less stark, but still illustrative example of popular unrest in Latin America. Last year, President Lenin Moreno’s decision to end fuel subsidies following an agreement with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) led to popular protests that forced the government to temporarily flee Quito. Underlying the protests are longstanding ethnic and class tensions, as indigenous groups have been particularly affected by Moreno’s policies, and especially benefited from former president Correa’s left wing social programs. The severe clashes between indigenous groups, transport workers, the working class, and government forces only ended once the fuel subsidies were restored.

A common thread in countries that experienced strife in 2019 has been their subsequent mishandling of the current health crisis. This has had a severe effect on government legitimacy, entrenching negative popular opinions. In many places, existing grievances contributed to government failures, such as in Venezuela where many families lack running water. Lack of access to basic sanitation poses a nearly insurmountable challenge to establishing the sanitary precautions needed to combat the spread of the virus. Although the government claims it has extensive coronavirus testing available and that the curve is steady, these claims bear “little relation” to the experience of many health workers, who say In Latin America, popular anger prior to COVID-19 “the nation’s rickety health care system, where some focused primarily on questions regarding the legiti- hospitals lack basics like soap and running water, is macy of governments and their inability to provide ill-prepared to confront the deadly pandemic.” The

existing health crisis, coupled with Venezuela’s years-long problem with rampant inflation, has led the World Health Programme to warn Venezuelan authorities of the potential risk of famine. It is worth noting how contradictions between Maduro’s government reports and the perceptions of segments of civil society, especially healthcare workers, play into a larger narrative in Venezuela. Maduro’s government is considered untrustworthy by two thirds of the population, and his denial of the crisis in Venezuela may well reinforce that perception. The contrast between what the government says and what the people experience is rendered sharper due to the crisis. In Ecuador, “the hospital system collapsed” and several officials and businessmen are accused of price-gouging “hospitals and governments for medical supplies, including masks, sanitizer and ventilators.” This reinforced public perceptions of government corruption, and “prosecutors in Ecuador announced they had identified a criminal ring that had colluded with health officials to win a contract selling body bags to hospitals at 13 times the real price.”

to this crisis. Bashar Al-Assad has managed to instate a long-term policy that targets and punishes civilians in those territories: his government “has blocked humanitarian aid, besieged civilian areas, and bombed aid convoys.” Now, he seeks to similarly weaponize coronavirus. Assad has endeavored to conduct what can only be described as biological warfare, as “his government undermined the ability of rival authorities in the Syrian Democratic Council (SDC) to stem the spread of COVID-19.” Bashar Al-Assad systematically curtailed the SDC’s pandemic prevention capabilities by insisting “that all samples for COVID-19 from the northeast be transported to Damascus to be tested in government labs” and then, when tests confirmed a man “from the area had died from the virus...the government prevented the World Health Organization (WHO) from telling the SDC that the pandemic had reached the northeast for 11 days.” Further, Assad obstructed attempts by the WHO “to build its capacity in northeast Syria, where just 26 of 279 public health centers are functioning for a population of 4 million.” Bashar Al-Assad’s strategy has been to leave the rebel government utterly unable Similarly in Hong Kong, the coronavirus out- to counter the health crisis, in order to present itbreak strengthened popular conviction that the self as the only viable governing authority. Hong Kong government had little regard for its people and prioritized Chinese interests. In particThe difference between Syria and the other ular, many in Hong Kong felt deeply betrayed by countries discussed is that in Syria, the central Carrie Lam, the Hong Kong Chief Executive sym- government needs to meet a relative, rather than pathetic to Beijing, who refused to close the bor- an absolute, standard of state capacity: it does der in China until community transmissions were not need to address COVID-19 well, just better already well underway in Hong Kong. This almost than the flailing governments of the rebel consymbolic resistance to cutting ties with the main- trolled territories. While effective as a war strateland when it was necessary to protect the people gy, Al-Assad’s policy nevertheless erodes popular of Hong Kong, succinctly illustrated what many in trust, as the government not only neglects civilian Hong Kong long accused Lam of: being loyal to welfare but actively hinders the people’s ability to the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) rather than protect themselves from COVID-19. While in the her constituents. short term, the rebel territories may fall to government troops, with people desperately fleeing While in Venezuela, Ecuador, and Hong Kong, a to the relative safety of the government-held arlack of state capacity and pandemic mismanage- eas and few healthy men left to fight, in the long ment pose a threat to state legitimacy, in Syria they term Al-Assad is reinforcing his image as a bruhave the opposite effect. In fact, Bashar Al-Assad, tal, predatory ruler. Much as in Venezuela, Ecthe Syrian dictator whose brutality plunged the uador and Hong Kong, the people, though they country into an ongoing civil war in 2011, has tak- may flock to Al-Assad in desperation in the short en active steps to curtail the ability of the provision- term, are unlikely to forget that their health is not al government in rebel-held territories to respond his government’s priority.

Syria’s example is not only dire because of the pressing humanitarian threat that the disease poses, but also because it reveals Bashar Al-Assad’s weaponization of the pandemic. He is leveraging the well-being of his citizens in order to weaken the rebel government. This might not be surprising, coming from a man who has used chemical weapons against his people, though it is certainly horrifying. However, Al-Assad is not the only leader to use the health crisis as a tool to further his authoritarian designs. While unable to effectively contain the COVID-19 crisis, many countries that experienced serious upheaval prior to the pandemic have used the health crisis to systematically crack down on political opponents and consolidate power. In Hong Kong, protests decreased once the crisis began in January, but in March, support for the protests remained high, at 58 percent. However, COVID-19 did allow the CCP to rid itself of some of the international pressure that had contributed to constraining their response to the crisis, arresting 15 prominent pro-democracy leaders in April. China has also since moved forward with a proposal for a law that would allow the CCP to supervise how Hong Kong police deal with subversive activity—a clear step towards full CCP control of Hong Kong. Chinese ambitions in Hong Kong have been clear for a long time, so much so that Hong Kong protests for universal suffrage and against central government influence have been recurrent since 2003. However, the coronavirus dealt a perhaps fatal blow to the citizenry’s ability to organize and resist Chinese encroachment, provided the government with the perfect opportunity to arrest protest leaders without serious repercussions, and deviated public attention, thus allowing China to act out with relatively little international backlash. Similarly, in Venezuela, Maduro has used lockdown to undertake a series of political maneuvers in order to consolidate his power within key institutions without fear of widespread protests. Venezuela’s pro-Maduro Supreme Court announced new members to the Electoral Council, a committee of five who organize the elections in Venezuela, although this is an explicit violation of the Venezuelan constitution, which states that it is the opposition-controlled General Assembly that names members to the council. Furthermore, the Supreme Court suspended the leaders of Venezuela’s two largest op-

position parties from their party leadership positions, stating that two pro-Maduro congressmen must take the positions instead. Ecuador, notably, does not adhere to this trend. Although organized protests have been impossible due to lockdowns, President Moreno has not taken advantage of this organizational barrier to encroach on popular liberties. Corruption cases are being investigated, and key figures in the corruption schemes have been arrested. Perhaps even more interesting is Ecuador’s degree of institutional continuity: when a debate emerged on possibly moving the presidential elections to a later date, the electoral tribunal decided against it, as delayed elections would allow insufficient time to resolve electoral disputes before the inauguration day. This reveals the strength of Ecuador’s democratic institutions, which, despite the crisis, have continued to fulfill their roles of checks and balances without executive interference. Ecuador is different from Hong Kong, Syria, or even its neighbor Venezuela, and the reason seems to be that despite the unrest it experienced in 2019 and the government’s alleged excessive use of force against protestors, lack of democratic legitimacy was not a prominent issue. While corruption remains a serious threat to popular trust in the government, existing institutions remain robust, democratic safeguards. Thus, while the country remains politically unstable and suffers from low state capacity, future violence is unlikely. As mass movements and organizations are curtailed by social distancing, fear of the disease, and lockdowns, governments in Venezuela, Ecuador, Hong Kong, and Syria experience a temporary reprieve from popular protests. Yet, the way in which these countries have dealt with the coronavirus seems to reaffirm the population’s anger at the government, and further erode government legitimacy. A concerning trend also emerges among the authoritarian countries discussed here. In countries where democratic shortcomings were a key grievance, the coronavirus pandemic has offered a new opportunity to repress the opposition and dismantle constitutional safeguards. In the long term, reinvigorated popular demands will likely come to a head against increased government efforts to quell opposition. After the pandemic, unrest and repression will likely follow.

POEM BY MARTINA AMATE PEREZ

HOME?

Home is what you know will always be there for you

I think about home and I struggle to decide How is it best defined? Often times, home is what’s unseen A curing breath of air that reminds you of routine Or, rather, what is felt A forgiving sunset that relaxes you like a loosening belt The salsa music and exciting beats that embrace you as you step outside Or the tear stained notebook with words you no longer recognize The feel of your favorite chair that allows you to slouch at the perfect angle Or the taste of that homemade dish for which you are eternally thankful The contagious laughter of your favorite person that always ends with a sigh Or the animated jingle of the ice cream truck that always zooms by The piercing voice of your mother that makes silence seem strange Or the swift sound of the train that rushes underground without change Sometimes it takes a global pandemic Sometimes it takes a difficult day To reminisce on all this To appreciate all that you miss But who am I to say? Home is what you long for at night after a day of non-stop stress Home is where you can look your worst but feel your best Home is what makes your most wonderful version bloom

Home is where you’re filled with unmatched comfort and peace Home is what makes your embarrassing, multisyllabic laugh unleash Home is knowing you have someone to care for you Home, as Sandra Cisneros says, is what you always come back to But who am I to say? Who am I to say when millions can’t indulge in such idealistic definitions of home? What do my words mean to the immigrants and asylees being detained like caged animals and torn from their mothers, fathers, and children? To the millions of people who are trying to survive off a dollar or two while some sit on billions? I don’t know. What do my words mean to my queer friend who was forced back “home” from college but was met with no bed, with nowhere to stay? To the thousands of stateless citizens in this world living without basic protections in any way? I don’t know. What do my words mean to Black Americans being murdered under an oppressive system, constantly fearful in their own country, with their tomorrows unclear? To the children whose households aren’t fostering peace, but rather crippling anxiety, abuse, and fear? What does home mean to them? What can I make of home in such an unsettled world where millions don’t have a true home of their own? I’m sorry. I don’t know what home is anymore, I don’t know what home is anymore In a time when home can mean everything Or absolutely nothing I just don’t know.

PERSONAL ESSAY BY CAROLINE HO

FINDING A HOME IN MUSIC

my compositional space is not one that I want to hold selfishly, because I recognize that my musical influences have spanned many different cultures and eras. My accessibility to music that is diverse, new, and rich is a blessing that I am thankful for every day. Even though composing is, in a sense, very personal and ingrained, I describe it as ‘home’ with some hesitation. The compositional process is anything but one of unwavering consistency and predictability. It is rather terrifying, sitting down at a piano and creating something out of nothing, knowing where you are emotionally and trying to convey it through notes on a page. The process is simultaneously technical and emotional. The two aren’t mutually exclusive; specificity need not be over-intellectualized nor emotion entirely impulsive. THROUGHOUT MY CHILDHOOD, I OFTEN sat in a small room in my house for hours on end. Seated at a brown, upright piano, I would practice Mozart and Bach, check-off my rote scale exercises, and when I was done, I’d write

Over time, I have learned that less is truly more. Music can be born out of the simplest of ideas: a two-note motif, a descending scale. Harmony colors these ideas—beds of sounds that paint strokes of emotion amidst melo-

I grew up in Los Angeles, surrounded by the vibrant musical communities throughout the city. Yet, it was not until I left for college that I began to understand the compositional process as creatively healing and immensely personal. my own music. The experience of writing my own music was incredibly special even back then—to hear the rise and fall of melodies, the finality of cadences, and the narrative quality of a tune was to begin to understand music as expression, rather than merely a skill. It was akin to learning a language; I began to understand the natural ebbs and flows of musical “sentences” and phrases and internalize harmonies that I found particularly emotive. Through the years, writing music has become my retreat and the way I make sense of the world around me. This process is my home—a permanence that helps me cope with the transience of time, people, culture, and place. Yet,

dy. Most importantly, these ideas arise from my interactions with the places and people around me. I grew up in Los Angeles, surrounded by the vibrant musical communities throughout the city. Yet, it was not until I left for college that I began to understand the compositional process as creatively healing and immensely personal. Moving across the country was difficult, as I had spent much of my childhood at home practicing, listening, and writing in a very ‘safe’ musical environment. My studies were quite insular in the sense that I didn’t have much musical freedom; rules were learned, foundations set, and the standard repertoire performed. When I

left this space, my approach to music naturally began to shift.

Besides being surrounded by a different musical environment, New Haven and Los Angeles are drastically different places. The fluctuI didn’t feel much at home at Yale until I be- ation of seasons and weather in New England gan writing music. At first, the mere fact of was both exciting and terrifying. The collective physically being in a small practice room in emotional rollercoaster palpable in the student Hendrie Hall, away from the, at times, over- body accompanied the rise and fall of academstimulating and eager nature of the first se- ic strain: fall and spring semesters, finals peri-

Periods when I did not compose were unmemorable, as if the capricious waves of new experiences and emotions rushed past me too quickly to process them. I spent a lot of time improvising and allowing myself to feel unrestricted, untethered to finality or product. Composing is not a finalized workflow, which I was often reminded of, to my frustration. But it reflects so much of my interactions with my surroundings. Some of the best music I’ve written has been in places unfamiliar and unexplored, places that pushed me to find meaning and inspiration in the rawness of their novelty. mester of the first year, was a quiet solace. Over time, I began writing songs with new friends. I listened to different music. I became obsessed with film scores. My musical past, which had consisted of intense studies of the classical canon—Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Tchaikovsky—became somewhat passé in my head, even though so much of its influence was and is so deeply ingrained in my innate musical senses. During this time, extending beyond my known confines of music allowed me to open up to the world and immerse myself in everything that this new environment had to offer. Peers who were both musicians and non-musicians influenced me in numerous ways. Their musical journeys were fascinating to me and I was excited to see what moved them, whether it be songwriting, playing in a string quartet, or finding unknown artists to listen to in the depths of Spotify. I was deeply changed by the way that music—in all of its various forms—played a role in our lives and became determined to write music based on my own experiences that could also have such an impact.

ods, shopping weeks. During these times, the compositional process felt most vulnerable. I feared the process because I knew there was only one path to artistic authenticity: emotional honesty, which can be a very giving process. Periods when I did not compose were unmemorable, as if the capricious waves of new experiences and emotions rushed past me too quickly to process them. I spent a lot of time improvising and allowing myself to feel unrestricted, untethered to finality or product. Composing is not a finalized workflow, which I was often reminded of, to my frustration. But it reflects so much of my interactions with my surroundings. Some of the best music I’ve written has been in places unfamiliar and unexplored, places that pushed me to find meaning and inspiration in the rawness of their novelty. The summer after my first year, I was fortunate to have the opportunity to study abroad in Italy—a country rich in classical music, from the origin of the opera to the plethora of summer classical music festivals. I spent much of my free time at a piano in my host family’s home.

Despite the country’s beautiful landscapes and the generosity of the people I met there, I felt incredibly displaced. I was homesick, and a bad injury had left me with crutches and hospital visits for the summer. I missed my family and simple comforts such as playing jazz with my dad or eating my mom’s home cooked food. Writing music at the piano that summer allowed me to process the displacement I felt, the fact that despite my best efforts at learning the language and history, I was still a foreigner in a temporary home. That summer, I wrote a piece for solo piano, titled il tempo che vorremmo, translating to “the time we would like.” Its concept arose from the notion that time with people—especially those we cherish—is passing, and increasingly so as we get older and navigate new experiences without them. I am inclined to believe we are always yearning for a home base: people and places rooted in comfort and dependability, even as passing time makes it easier and easier to seamlessly waft away from home.

the door, I’d call my mom and heave a sigh of relief. I’d often stop and take a moment to just breathe, knowing that the ability to write music was the ability to be completely and utterly myself, free of external vices and pressures, and to understand the world around me in a space that I could call my own. At the same time, I have to sift through all the noise and find the bits that mean something, the strands of notes that say something and exist beyond simply sounding pleasant. I’m often reminded of a professor who told me that I shouldn’t want people to describe my music as simply pretty. For every one hundred ideas, there may be only one idea that develops into something more. And sometimes, I want my art to be as is… fragments of phrases and notes tossed aside too many times, melodies left unheard outside of the confines of my own mind.

I am inclined to believe we are always yearning for a home base: people and places rooted in comfort and dependability, even as passing time makes it easier and easier to seamlessly waft away from home. I consider this piece to be a pivotal point in my musical journey, as it solidified what the compositional process really meant to me—a creatively healing medium that emotionally memorializes the passing of time and experiences . . . the ability to write music was the ability to be completely and utterly myself, free of external vices and pressures, and to understand the world around me in a space that I could call my own. I consider this piece to be a pivotal point in my musical journey, as it solidified what the compositional process really meant to me—a creatively healing medium that emotionally memorializes the passing of time and experiences. When I returned to college after that summer, I can’t count how many times going to a practice room to sit down at a piano and write saved me, in the way that a parachute catches a person falling through nebulous air. Sometimes the moment I closed

Writing music allows me to create space entirely grounded in my existence, wherever or whenever I am. Many artists try to find home within their work; displacement, discomfort, and distance feed the innate desire to feel whole. But writing music is dynamic, just like our experiences across different places and times. It is as this process becomes recognizable and personal when we begin to see how it becomes more than just notes and melodies—it is home itself.

PERSONAL ESSAY BY MAO SHIOTSU

AN ENGLISHMAN’S HOME ISN’T NECESSARILY HIS CASTLE

THE PERSON I AM AT YALE IS NOT WHO I AM at home. The latter is a little grumpier, a little ruder, a little less patient. When my brothers are being loud rascals at night, I screech “shut up!” at them, but if it were my suitemates, I would probably add a “please” and even an apologetic grimace. I don’t thank my mother for lunch as profusely as I would thank the JE dining hall staff. I tell my father that his new shirt is hideous, but I wouldn’t be so blunt with my friends.

It’s quite disconcerting to think that the relatively unlikeable person I am at home is who I really am, stripped down of all formality and facade. I can’t help but wonder if who I am outside is merely a glorified, painted-over version of myself. And if the “Mao” my friends know doesn’t actually exist. The most frightening thing during quarantine, I find, isn’t being stuck at home all day, but having to reckon with the possible ugliness of my true self.

I guess it’s no secret that people behave differently at home than outside, but being quarantined with my family after months of living as a “better me” on campus has really wrenched my eyes open to this double-personality phenomenon. Maybe you’re that rare angelic person who’s equally polite to everyone, and you have no idea what I’m talking about. I admire you. But I think for many of us, the proverb, “An Englishman’s Home is his Castle” rings somewhat true: the idea that we have free reign over

But what Sir Edward Coke meant in the 1604 Semayne’s Case regarding the break-and-enter rights of Sheriffs, when he uttered, “the house of every one is to him as his Castle and Fortress, as well for defence against injury and violence, as for his repose,” was subtly yet importantly different from our understanding of the old British idiom today. With these words, Sir Coke ruled that Peter Semayne in fact did not have the right to break into Richard Gresham’s London home to retrieve his belongings, and, neither did the Sheriffs.

I can’t help but wonder if who I am outside is merely a glorified, painted-over version of myself. And if the “Mao” my friends know doesn’t actually exist. The most frightening thing during quarantine, I find, isn’t being stuck at home all day, but having to reckon with the possible ugliness of my true self. what we do and say at home, just like a king has free reign over his kingdom. One friend even told me, “at home I don’t care about anything, but outside I have to, otherwise I’ll be ostracized from society.” Another admitted that she’s more “bitter and cold-hearted” towards family than towards friends. Our behavior at home doesn’t stem from malicious intention, but from our confidence that our family, because they’re tied to us by blood, will invariably tolerate us no matter how blunt we are. This somewhat unfounded belief might explain the simmering tensions many families in quarantine face today, like the teenagers who wrote to the New York Times, detailing how “with there being too much time, arguments fill up some of that time.” Recently, I too find myself having more frequent, heated arguments with my mother about things as mundane as leaving the fridge open for too long.

These revolutionary words, now enshrined in English common law, granted protection to the public against abuse of power by authorities. They affirmed that every man has the right to defend himself and his home. Somewhere along the way, we’ve forgotten that part. As our rights became a given and our lives grew increasingly comfortable, maybe we’ve become ignorant, able to understand the phrase only in its most literal sense. If we stay faithful to the true meaning behind those words from 1604—that the home must be a safe place where everyone, meaning every member of the family, is guaranteed security and relaxation—we see that “an Englishman’s home is his castle,” far from justifying selfish behavior towards family, actually tells us that our home, our refuge, is where we must be the most gracious. And perhaps being on our most gracious behavior in the one place where we are not obligated to, is how we can better our true selves.

WHAT MAKES YALE HOME FOR ITS STUDENTS BY PHOEBE CAMPBELL

WELCOME HOME

home when we are away from it. Crucially, how can we reconcile the university as home when it is Yale’s emphasis on safety that forced us to abandon it? The experience of leaving Yale has undoubtedly been one of loss. Regardless of class, age or college, the departure from campus was a momentous disruption in the Yale experience, intensified by the fact that many were informed of the end of the school year as they knew it while away from campus on spring break, and were unable to return. The university is still in the process of reuniting its students with their belongings, left in their dorm rooms on the assumption of a return in late March. However, the Yale community has endured. Through Zoom meetings and other virtual channels, the spring semester was concluded at its original timing, albeit entirely online and with an emergency grading FOR NINE MONTHS OF THE YEAR , YALE scale: universal pass-fail. For many, this continuity University’s campus is the centre of its undergradu- signifies both the strength of the community and ates’ universe. Even though it is at times excruciat- the defining factors in what makes Yale home. ingly hot, and at others bitterly cold, its setting at the heart of New Haven has undeniable charm. Each “I’ve come to realize that Yale is its people,” asAugust, the university’s faculty, staff, lecture halls, serted Enzo Okpoye, a rising junior in Benjamin and colleges welcome its students with open arms. Franklin College. Okpoye remained on campus The slogan “Welcome Home” is everywhere, often during the spring semester due to travel restric-

“In a way, I guess when they say ‘welcome home,’ the slogan doesn’t refer to the campus itself. Instead, it refers to the people and culture that come together to make Yale a “home” for everyone.” directed at the newest first-year intake, but also applied more broadly to celebrate the return of the upperclassmen to campus. The university promises a home away from home, a haven nestled in the aptly named Connecticut city of New Haven. It is a place of comfort, of academic and personal excellence, and most importantly of safety. This spring, however, the university was not our home. The scattering of the student body across the world was inevitable as the coronavirus pandemic escalated in the United States. The actions of the university were focused on the wellbeing of the entire Yale community—in these extreme circumstances, the way to save the community was to dissolve it. As a result, we are left with the question of how we can redefine Yale as a

tions that prevented him from returning to Nigeria, and had a unique experience of campus with its students absent. “With everyone gone, campus was just another empty bunch of buildings and streets—it really didn’t feel like home. In a way, I guess when they say ‘welcome home,’ the slogan doesn’t refer to the campus itself. Instead, it refers to the people and culture that come together to make Yale a “home” for everyone.” Okpoye is not alone in this sentiment. Rising sophomore Veronica Wall described the experience of her first year ending far earlier than expected, commenting on the effects of this disruption on her sport. Wall is a member of the women’s crew

team, whose season never truly started due to the pandemic. Hailing from Ashburton, New Zealand, the experience of being forced to leave campus was especially poignant given that she was so far from home. At the same time, she explains that this is also what has made her shortened Yale experience so special. For Wall, what makes Yale home is undeniably the people.

explained. “And that’s what Yale has emphasized in the months where we were spread apart but still operating under the guise of the Yale community. That it is ultimately not the place but the people who define the school, and that is why its mission would not be lost over Zoom so long as its people were still logging on. Yale graduates often say the same thing. When they graduate, they talk about missing a certain section of the library, a class, a “Being on a team has made me feel like I’m part New Haven restaurant, but they always say what of a family away from home. Especially being they’ll miss most is the people. That’s also exact-

That it is ultimately not the place but the people who define the school, and that is why its mission would not be lost over Zoom so long as its people were still logging on. Yale graduates often say the same thing. When they graduate, they talk about missing a certain section of the library, a class, a New Haven restaurant, but they always say what they’ll miss most is the people.

so far away from what I am familiar with, being amongst a group of such driven and compassionate people has made me feel so included and part of Yale. Leaving part way through my first year was definitely a hard experience as it is hard to come to terms with the memories that I am missing out on. I think that these adversities that we are facing will ultimately bring us together even stronger next year, and these things are a part of life. Being able to handle the unexpected is what will make us more resilient in the long run, no matter how much it may hurt in the present.”

ly what the tour guides say to you when they first take prospective students around Yale’s campus for the first time. They introduce you to its impressive buildings but say that what defines the Yale spirit is the people inside of them.”

Duserick captures this well in her own definition of home. “Home, then, is an intersection of place and people. If it’s the people that make the place, then do you even need the place? Yes—everyone recognizes that meeting your first-year classmates over Zoom in the fall would be insufficient. Even though we are always on the move, you still need In truth, what makes Yale home for most of its the place to bring you to the people. Home is community is likely a combination of the people wherever you meaningfully find people that you and the place. Virtual classes and Zoom meetings bring forward with you into the rest of your life— have somewhat filled the void left by the disper- but that person you find can be you.” sion of the student body, but I am sure that most students would agree that this virtual experience Arguably, an enduring aspect of life at Yale is its does not do our experience of Yale people, while rhythm, and it is in many ways this rhythm that at Yale, justice. Originally from Boston, MA, makes the Yale experience so comforting, so easy Elizabeth Duserick was in the graduating class of to buy into. After the shopping period at the begin2020, and her final remote experience of Yale re- ning of each semester, students settle into a reguflects the idea that home is both the place and the lar routine of classes, mealtimes, extracurriculars, community. “For some, home may be not identi- and social activities. This rhythm persists through fied with a place but with a group of people,” she the semester, repeats in the next, and shapes much

of the student experience. For Charles Bailyn, Benjamin Franklin’s Head of College and the A. Bartlett Giamatti Professor of Astronomy and Astrophysics, the disruption to this routine at the hands of the coronavirus is what has characterised the university’s pandemic experience. “Academic life has very powerful rhythms,” Professor Bailyn explained. “There’s a day once per year where suddenly all the first-year students appear. A couple of months later everything stops for a week for Thanksgiving. Then over the winter break it is as empty as it is now. In mid-January, everyone reappears. In the spring, sure as night follows day, we have spring break, then the last classes, then reading period and finals, then senior week, then Commencement, then reunions. Then the summer programs come and go, and we begin all over again.”

er the rhythm of past years will return at all. Until the university made its official announcement in early July, it was not clear if the student body would be able to return to campus at all, and all the students could do was wait. For the staff, however, the experience was not so quiet. Interlocking planning committees and task forces were in a frenzy, preparing different contingency plans to cover any number of situations that might arise. The July 1 announcement itself did not relieve much of the uncertainty, given that the already limited on-campus residence could be disrupted at any time if the pandemic worsens. The leaders of the university cannot predict how the virus will shape the fall semester, or the likelihood of another peak. On this uncertainty, Professor Bailyn made two things clear:

“First, it won’t be back to normal in September. For Professor Bailyn, this routine has defined In fact, I’m not sure it will ever be exactly as it was. university life since its establishment, and with- But the other thing I’m sure of is that the spirit out it, the university is fragmented. “So it has of the place, in which students and faculty from

First, it won’t be back to normal in September. In fact, I’m not sure it will ever be exactly as it was. But the other thing I’m sure of is that the spirit of the place, in which students and faculty from all across the globe come together to share their knowledge and experiences, and travel together down life’s road for a while, will continue. Whether it is in the form of those Zoom squares that have come to dominate our visual imaginations, or whether we will see each other in the flesh across the courtyard . . . been, year on year, since I first came to Yale four all across the globe come together to share their decades ago, and with gradual modifications for knowledge and experiences, and travel together over three centuries since the place was founded. down life’s road for a while, will continue. Whether it is in the form of those Zoom squares that This year, for the first time in living memory, have come to dominate our visual imaginations, or the pattern was broken. And broken severely— whether we will see each other in the flesh across the seniors saw their Yale experience ended with the courtyard, one way or another we will still seventy-two hours’ notice while most of them cross-pollinate the experiences of a wonderfully were out of town, and we are all now scattered to diverse population. The evolutionary biologists tell the four corners of the Earth.” us that hybrid breeds are often more robust than any of the strains they arise from. That’s the basis Perhaps what makes this experience so unnerv- of what we do here in the university (indeed, that’s ing, then, is that it is still unclear what the campus why we call it a ‘universe-ity’), and what we will experience in the fall will look like—and wheth- continue to do in the future.”

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