COUNTERPOINT the wellesley college journal of campus life may 2018 volume 50 issue 4
Senior Tribute T
o our lovely seniors,
We are honored to have worked with you on Counterpoint during your time here at Wellesley. Whether or not you joined Counterpoint as a first year or a senior, you have helped shape our magazine into the publication it is today. We love you each so dearly, and we hope you know how much we are going to miss you all! MOLLY, you fierce and brilliant human. You somehow manage to thesis, be a Student Athlete, be Munger’s House President, and continue your work as an incredible editor for our little magazine. We missed you this past semester, but we are so thankful for your two years with us. ELIZABETH, your compassion, selfawareness, and intelligence have been invaluable to Counterpoint’s success. Most importantly, though, you give the best hugs in the world. Thank you for sharing your incredible skills and kind-hearted soul with with us during your senior year.
LANIE, you made a whole movie and you still gave it your all here at Counterpoint. Your spirit, eloquence, and warmth always shape your phenomenal work, both on Counterpoint and beyond. We cannot wait to see what you create next!
NATASSJA, your diligent and beautiful work in our layout meetings renders the magazine a visually compelling platform. We wish you luck taking your dedication and passion to the city that never sleeps, and hope that Sven makes another appearance in Voltron.
JASMINE, you use mindfulness and tenderness in all your work on Counterpoint, and your heart is just as giving. Thank you for your generosity and candor.
OLIVIA, your leadership as Editor-inChief has been bold, decisive, and full of passion. Your friendship, somehow, has been even mightier. Thank you for your loyalty, your beauty, and most of all, your kindness. Counterpoint will not be the same without you.
RACHELE, you never fail to bring laughter to our weekly meetings. You also never fail to bring wonderful contributions to our magazine, both through your expertise in editing and your willingness to try new things! Thank you for always keeping Counterpoint lively, fun, and polished. NINA-MARIE, our first Chief Consultant. Your voice has challenged Counterpoint and Wellesley overall and moved us towards change for the better. Thank you for being a friend to any member of the Wellesley community that needs one.
We hope you enjoyed your time on Counterpoint as much as we have enjoyed your presence on staff. As the magazine continues its publication on campus, we wish you luck in your endeavors offcampus as you find your way through the world. No matter how uncertain the future seems, we know you are definitely capable of great things. Thank you, one last time, for your hard work these past semesters. All the best, Counterpoint Staff
E D I TO R I A L S TA F F Samantha English ’19 Midori Yang ’19
Editors-in-Chief Managing Editors
April Poole ’19 Francesca Gazzolo ’20
Features Editors
Seren Riggs-Davis ’21 Marina Furbush ’21
Staff Editors
Nina-Marie Amadeo ’18 Rachele Byrd ’18 Olivia Funderburg’18 Jasmine Kaduthodil ’18 Elena Najjab ’18 Elizabeth Taft ’18 Lydia MacKay ’19 Laura McGeary ’19 Olivia Strobl ’19 Lucia Tu ’19 Yadira Ayala ’20 Andrea Marenco ’20 Ashley Anderson ’21 Grace Callahan ’21 Sabrein Gharad ’21 Samantha Lai ’21 Natalie Marshall ’21 Libbey Sullivan ’21 Jean Li Spencer ’21 Sage Wentzell-Brehme ’21
D E S I G N S TA F F Production Manager Layout Editors
Publicity Chair
Social Chair Treasurer
CAMPUS LIFE ANONYMOUS
4
THE ROAD HOME
SARAH LEWITES
6
8 OUT OF 8
ANONYMOUS
7
FROM THE LETTERS I WROTE BUT NEVER MAILED
RACHELE BYRD
8
ANOTHER SENIOR THINK PIECE
IDENTITY PADYA PARAMITA
10
FAR CRY
ZILPA ODUOR
12
MY BACK
ANONYMOUS
13
SELF-ERASURE
ELENA NAJJAB
14
SO I HEARD YOU WERE PALESTINIAN
Natassja Haught ’18 Roz Rea ’19 Marinn Cedillo ’21
SUMA CHERU
16
ON AMMA, QUEERNESS & BEING OUT OF HER REACH
OLIVIA FUNDERBURG
17
42 THINGS YOU MIGHT DO AT WELLESLEY
Vanessa Ntungwanayo ’21
Historian
Senator
THE WELLESLEY COLLEGE JOURNAL OF CAMPUS LIFE MAY 2018 Volume 50 / Issue 4
Jessica Maciuch ’20
B U S I N E S S S TA F F
Secretary
COUNTERPOINT
Cheryn Shin ’21 Corinne Muller ’21 Kelechi Alfred-Igbokwe ’19
F E AT U R E S COUNTERPOINT STAFF
18
POLL: SENIOR EXIT POLL
COUNTERPOINT STAFF
20
CROSSWORD: PURPLE CLASS OF 2018
Abby Schneider ’21 Vanessa Ntungwanayo ’21
TRUSTEES Allyson Larcom ’17, Hanna Day-Tenerowicz ’16, Cecilia Nowell ’16, Oset Babur ’15, Alison Lanier ’15, Kristina Costa ’09, Kara Hadge ’08
CAMPUS LIFE
A
s I stepped on stage for my firstever solo, I tripped. I was a gangly fourteen-year-old, dressed in a green head-to-toe polyester robe, our school sash, and my first pair of heels. Fists clenched in my billowing, unflattering sleeves, I delivered approximately fifteen seconds of pure mediocrity and retreated to the safety of the group. I remember, even in my terror, the indescribable sense of peace I felt. I’ve been hooked on choir ever since. For as long as I can remember, my voice has been my identity. One of my first memories is spinning in circles while singing along to a Billie Holiday record my mom had bought when she was in
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BY ANONYMOUS
college. People constantly tell me to shut up when I’m in the shower or to stop humming during exams. I can be found in Jewett at all hours rehearsing with or practicing for one of three different groups. My love of singing is the first thing others know about me and the last thing they forget. It was my first love, the kind of love that starts strong then mellows over the years into comfortable companionship. I associate everything and everyone important in my life with a specific song or a snippet of melody— it’s as though I think in notes rather than words. I wish I could say that this love I have for music has always been simple but, like any relationship, my connection
with music has been both invigorating and agonizing. For most of my life it’s been a source of comfort and joy, but for a time it only reminded me of loss and hopelessness. After being assaulted by a trusted authority figure in my sophomore year of high school, I lost my voice. The friendships I had built, my hobbies, my dreams, were rendered insignificant and unfulfilling. When, two months later, I found out I was pregnant, it took every ounce of my energy and will to stay in school. As the months went on, my nickname of “jellybean” was replaced with “slut.” My peers were judgmental, my parents unable to look at me, my teachers
Images: Elsa Bleda
Content warnings: sexual assault, implied rape
THE ROAD HOME
distant at best and cruel at worst. I took the SAT three days after my son was born. I was undone in every sense of the word. When I arrived back at school, I returned to a place where I was unwelcome. I had given up my spot on two varsity sports teams, dropped my position in student government, and, worst of all, quit choir. Whenever I talk about this period in my life with friends now, they extol my strength and perseverance; I wish they could understand my profound weakness in those months. I couldn’t find within me the resilience to do the thing I loved most. When I arrived at Wellesley, singing was synonymous only with pain. Every time I sang, no matter the song, I felt loneliness and anger. I was reminded of how it felt to watch the choir perform at assemblies and school events without me. I was reminded of how my choir director, who had been my mentor and my favorite teacher, had, under the guise of kindness,
suggested I leave because I was a “bad influence.” When I somehow found myself in Jewett 209 singing “America the Beautiful” for my Wellesley College Choir audition, I felt only resentment. I got in but, unable to separate past from present, sent a curt and dismissive email rejecting the offer. Months later, tears of awe streaming down my face at that year’s Vespers concert, I decided to set aside the fear I had been carrying and audition again that spring. I wanted so badly to be able to touch people the way the choir had touched me that night. I remember everything about my first rehearsal: which warm-ups we did, where I sat, what I was wearing, what we sang. In just two hours, I felt my rusty and underutilized vocal chords open, letting out sounds I didn’t realize I still knew how to make. It was as though I hadn’t properly breathed in three years. From one rehearsal to the next, from one year to another, I healed. After surviving for so long with no advocate but myself, I didn’t expect anyone to help me carry past burdens— or even to show me kindness. My worst fear was that I would somehow let my past negatively affect the people around me; in short, I didn’t care if I was in hell as long as I didn’t drag others down with me. When my friends describe what I was like first year, they usually use words like “sullen” and “intimidating.” I had put up so many walls—not to protect myself, but to protect them. I thought that by becoming my friends, people were putting themselves in some sort of intangible danger. It took me almost my entire Wellesley career to bring those walls down, with a lot of help. The family I made in choir, over late nights and glasses of wine, learned and accepted my truths. They taught me that no amount of past damage could overshadow my present strengths; instead of a person defined by her tragedy, they saw me for who I am: someone who loves fiercely and cares
deeply about the wellbeing of others. They helped me to see my inherent good. And then there was our director. I think she saw how much I needed to sing from the very beginning; she’s as empathetic as she is musical. She constantly encouraged me to grow in my music and told me over and over through both words and actions that I had value. She brought humor and laughter to every rehearsal; there wasn’t a day when I wasn’t excited to go, even when life outside of choir looked bleak. Over her career she’s taught hundreds of students, and I’m sure she’ll go on to teach hundreds more. I hope every single one of them realizes how lucky they are to have the opportunity to learn from her. Recently, she told me that she thinks the best part of her job is being able to shape the lives of young people as they move through this space. I am forever grateful to her for shaping me. I came to her missing an integral piece of my identity, and she, whether consciously or otherwise, taught me how to restore it. I thank her in the only way I know how: singing the best I can every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday with the voice she gave back to me. As I prepare to leave Wellesley, like many seniors, I’m sure of very little. I barely know where I’m going, much less where I belong. But I do know about family, especially chosen family. I do know how the actions of a single person can, for better or for worse, alter the trajectory of another’s life completely. I do know my voice—its power and its beauty. Now, instead of loneliness, singing conjures adventure, laughter, and the faces of my friends, whose voices ushered me into this new day.
For information about articles published anonymously, please contact the Editors-inChief (senglis2@wellesley.edu, myang5@ wellesley.edu). counterpoint / may 2018
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8 Out of 8 I
BY SARAH LEWITES
f you know me, you probably didn’t meet me this semester. I’m never on campus anymore. I get up at 6:30 a.m. to start my days student teaching in a middle school. I’ve quit my three jobs and my one org. Even if you know me, you might have forgotten where I am when you don’t see me around. We probably haven’t had lunch in some time. We might not again. If you know me, you know how much I love my kids. Maybe you’ve seen me, bubbly and laughing as I think about what my 7th graders said that day. Maybe you’ve laughed at my story of one student telling me that he doesn’t care how gay I am, I should still consider marrying Zac Efron. You’ve seen my eyes light up when my kids get good grades. You might recognize my teacher voice. You’ve heard me talk about how funny and smart my students are, even after spending Monday mornings with them. I hope you know how happy I am when I’m teaching and page 6
counterpoint / may 2018
interacting with my students. I hope it shows that I’ll miss them. If you know me, you know how I feel about math. Maybe you’ve heard me excitedly telling you why a negative multiplied by a negative equals a positive. I’m always talking about logic and numbers and how beautiful it is to understand math. If you know me, you know I won’t let you say that you’re bad at math. I will tell you it’s hard and that I know you’ve tried. I’ll want to celebrate your mistakes. If you know me, you probably know that I’m not always doing very well. I don’t have the time or energy to have lunch with anyone, to make it to rugby practice, or even to go to therapy. I don’t have income. I can’t go to Pub Nite anymore. I’ve eaten more bag lunches than you can imagine. I’m tired. I sleep for 6 hours and work unpaid for 8, and then do it all again the next day. Sometimes I don’t even know if I’m good at it all.
I’m in between college and adulthood, and I feel lost sometimes. I’m most at home in my suite, which I have to give up in a few weeks. I spend my daylight hours in a middle school instead of around the lake. I’m counting down the days I have left of student teaching while I try to hold on to the hours I have left with the people I love here. I spend my days worrying about my kids and trying to find the energy to properly worry about myself. If you know me, cross your fingers for me. I don’t really know how to end this semester and be okay. But this is semester 8, and I’m 7 for 7 so far. I plan on being 8 for 8. It’ll end. I’ll be okay.
Sarah Lewites ’18 (slewites@wellesley) is a senior, teacher, math lover, and rugger. Even if you don’t know her, feel free to say hi. For some reason, she loves talking about this stuff.
Images: Sarah Lewites ’18 (left), pinterest.com (right)
CAMPUS LIFE
I
From the Letters I Wrote But Never Mailed B Y A N O N Y M O U S
’ve never felt the depth of the chasm between you and me as sharply as I did earlier today. I say “you and me” because I felt as though I could no longer write the word us. The pen—or more so, my hand—refused. My senses felt overpowered. That minute beep of a notification rang like a shot in my ears. My eyes could not look away from your name, but neither could they focus on it. My hands locked, twitching for the phone, but they could not reach it. And my heart panged. Nine minutes ago, you were thinking of me. Or at least you had me in mind while making your request. But I think of you every day. You hope I am well. Sometimes I say your name out loud in elevators, right before the door closes. A little more closure, a manifestation of sight and sound to let go of you a little more. I’m thinking about the medium on which we rely to communicate: Snapchat.
A phone. You’re looking at the same thing I am: a screen, an app, my name, the same messages. I think we’re doing well, as far as politeness goes. Instant communication, delayed responses—although I think hesitation is acceptable in this situation. I’m trying not to get too friendly, not to fall back into the camaraderie that came from sharing two years of my life with you, but I saw your emoji avatar pop onto the screen while writing to you, and it unnerved me. You were there too. Like we broke an unspoken agreement to only access the app at different times, a joint custody of social media that made separation easier when we were not in the same virtual room. And nothing is spoken. I stare at the screen and the only confirmation I have of your presence is your emoji, hiding his face—your face—while neither of us can spew out any more niceties. Who leaves first? You’re on the other side of
the screen. I can see you. I can sense you. And me, I’m crying, you know I’m crying, you must know I’m crying! I scream into the screen, but I send nothing of the sort. Swipe the app up after saying “you’re welcome.” The Mole Poblano will arrive after you do from Peru.
For information about articles published anonymously, please contact the Editors-inChief (senglis2@wellesley.edu, myang5@ wellesley.edu).
counterpoint / may 2018
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CAMPUS LIFE
Another Senior Think Piece I
thought about making this one of those classic senior pieces where I say things I loved to hear last year—“I don’t know what I’m doing; I don’t where I’m going; I’m just trying to figure things out one day at a time.” And that’s okay. My junior self ate those articles up with a smile, because I knew I’d be that person in a year’s time, even if I was simultaneously trying to convince myself I’d somehow get my act together and NOT be that person. But alas, my past self was right and here I am. Freaking out about graduation, about not having concrete plans, and about passing my classes so I can get the hell out of here. I thought that instead of writing about my uncertain impending future as an Adult, maybe I’d write about politics at Wellesley, or about coming out my senior year, or about how everyone on this campus needs to chill the hell out and stop being so high-strung all the time. I thought hell, maybe I’d even write one of those sweet reflect-over-my-past-fouryears-at-Swelles pieces, where I talk about how much I’ve grown and changed. I’d end it with some sickeningly sweet advice to everyone who remains about how the end isn’t so scary after all. Honestly, this could turn into just that, though I will try not to be a sentimental, crying, senior baby by the end of this. Over the past two months, many underclassmen friends have asked me what I am going to miss most about
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Wellesley. I would start off with my usual “I’m not going to miss shit about this place” joke, pretend to think about it, go “yeah, no, absolutely nothing,” then laugh and seriously ponder the question. At first I could only name one thing: being in close proximity to some of the most amazing people I know. Being able to go to their room at anytime of day to talk and laugh with them, or watch stupid reality television with them. I couldn’t think of much else. I will miss the support and encouragement my friends give me. Though people love to talk about the “Wellesley Bubble” and being disconnected from the “Real World,” I think I’ve been very aware of what exactly is waiting for me once I leave Wellesley, at least socially and politically. It will be hard being away from my support system. I know if I had trouble with the ever-growing “political divisiveness” in this little “Bubble,” I am going to have even more trouble once opinionated, cismen (of all racial backgrounds) are added into my daily mix. But I won’t dive into all the nuanced problems I’ve had with the Wellesley community over these past four years. This is not one of those seniorshits-on-their-Wellesley-experience pieces either. But I will say that I think the whole “Wellesley Bubble” narrative that people use as a scapegoat is a ton of shit. I know
it exists of course, I just think that people take advantage of it in different ways. However, people tend to use it as a catch-all explanation for a very complicated social structure. I’ve definitely used the Bubble as a safe space to discover and explore the various identities I possess, but I have not used it to hide myself from “Real World” issues, politics, or dissenting opinions. If anything, I’ve encountered more people who don’t think like me at Wellesley, and it’s been valuable in figuring out how to exist in spaces with people whose opinions may be different from mine (or hostile to mine, or completely invalidate my existence. Gosh that lesson was so fun to learn, especially on Facebook). Buuuutttt, if I am on the track of airing some frustrations, let me just get one more thing out (do two complaints make this a senior-shitting-on-theirexperiences piece? Possibly. I’ll get back to the things I’ll miss in a second). Over my time here, I’ve been a part of and privy to many events specifically focused on fostering conversation between groups with differing opinions, whether those opinions had to do with race, class, sexual orientation, or anything else. And this school year, it’s become some new hot button issue that Wellesley is not a place that fosters these kinds of conversations. Apparently, we don’t provide spaces for them. Apparently, students from marginalized communities do not want
Images: wikimedia.com (left), hdwallsource.com (right)
BY RACHELE BYRD
to have these conversations. Somefucking-how, people have come to believe that marginalized students are actively fighting against them. These ideas are spouted by the same people who do not show up to the aforementioned events; the same people who delete emails and ignore Facebook invites to talks hosted by cultural orgs (or other orgs) on campus to discuss questions they may have about any of the aforementioned topics. If the only conversations you’re participating in happen on Facebook or Twitter, of course Wellesley seems like a place where you can’t have conversations about hot topic issues. If you don’t take the time to meet your sibs halfway when they reach out a hand, then you are part of the problem. You cannot: 1. ignore a marginalized person’s invitation to talk about and exert energy toward discussing a serious topic, 2. wait a couple weeks, 3. ask them some deep invasive question out of the blue when it’s convenient for you to talk, and then, when they say they don’t have the energy or time to explain something to you—that maybe you should use some other source of information (like the internet), 4. get mad and say they’re the ones shutting down conversation.
It’s literally insane. If you are coming from a place of privilege in whatever capacity, and you want to learn from a real-live-in-the-flesh person, then you do that on their time—not your own. But I digress (this almost turned into one of those senior rant pieces, which are my personal favorite after the I-don’tknow-what-I’m-doing-but-it’s-okay pieces). Of course, there will be other things I miss about Wellesley than just proximity to friends: petting strangers’ dogs that run up to me as I walk the five minutes from my living space to my job, and being able to walk five minutes from my living space to my job. I will miss dodging geese poop as I walk across Sev Green, and bitching about students in Clapp Library, and following some poor stranger up the hill to Tower because I left my OneCard in my fucking room again. I will miss walking around the lake, whether to write, throw giant rocks into it for half an hour, or be a lookout for my friends smoking (before I started smoking myself—haha). I guess this has become one of those senior-reminisces-about-allthe-shit-she’ll-miss-at-Wellesley pieces, which I guess is ok. If there is one thing Wellesley has taught me (although somewhat indirectly), it’s that even if you feel like everyone around you is walking down a path that you just can’t fucking get on no matter how hard you try, it’s all an illusion. That path is
made of people who make themselves seen, who carry their spotlight all the time. It isn’t meant to make you feel bad, it’s not a bad thing, it’s just how they are. There are plenty of us here at Wellesley who do not want to be seen all the time. We’re walking on paths adjacent to theirs and none of the paths are the same. Hell, sometimes we’ll even turn our spotlights on and join the illusion created by people who seem like they’ve got everything figured out. Double hell, some of them probably do have it figured it out. But you don’t have to be one of those people all the time. You don’t have to be one of them ever. Take it from someone who still hasn’t learned how to be on top of things: even if you’re the worst fucking student, you will survive. And you will graduate. Ah, I’m glad that wasn’t too sickeningly sweet. And I won’t lie, graduating is scary as fuck and anyone who says differently is either lying or uber-fucking-prepared and that in itself is unbelievable. Who knows what category this senior think piece falls into. I think the point of it is that regardless of what lies before you, you can always do whatever the fuck you want, and in the end, Wellesley will be better for it. Rachele Byrd ’18 (rbyrd@wellesley.edu) is very, very happy to be leaving, but will miss her Swelles babies the most.
counterpoint / may 2018
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IDENTITY
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counterpoint / may 2018
Far Cry
M I TA BY PADYA PARA
Padya Paramita ’18 (pparamit@wellesley. edu) took these photos as part of her creative writing thesis, which explores intersections of identity and family history. counterpoint / may 2018
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IDENTITY Nota bene: Counterpoint does not normally publish poetry, but as this is the senior issue and the first time this author has submitted an article, we have chosen to make an exception.
It’s winter time and my shoulders tense up We were not built for the cold Relaxing means that the pressure descends You deserve better.
B
Y
A study session off campus I don’t need all these books but I carry them anyway You hold on with everything you’ve got until you cannot anymore, I sit You deserve better.
ZI
Bac k
LP
A O DU OR
Flashbacks and responsibilities Scared to confront the past, running means carrying others It’s easier this way and I can feel you caving in, hold on just a while longer You deserve better. Perhaps the massage chair will help Some BenGay and a heating pad to ease your pain I wish we could spend more time in this moment but… You deserve better. I know you do But we can’t stop There is work to do and people counting on you I’ll carry a tote or a briefcase, but they too are heavy Damn I deserve better.
Zilpa Oduor ’18 (zoduor@wellesley.edu) wishes for you (and herself ) healing, peace, and love. page 12
counterpoint / may 2018
Images: Jean-Francois Millet (left), Clellie Merchant ’18 (right)
y M
Tension is real Each time I feel you aching from within, begging me to stop You deserve better.
Self-Erasure
Content warnings: transphobia, gender dysphoria When I first decided to attend this institution, I thought I was cisgender. It is difficult to ponder that past, a time when I forced myself to be content with my own erasure. I didn’t have words for all the ways dysphoria snaked through my life—ways that cisgender students don’t experience. I didn’t yet know Wellesley made me complicit in my own erasure. This ignorance made it easier to erase myself, but there’s no going back just to survive—trust me. Now I’m at Wellesley, an institution whose administration says they unite students through some universal shared experience and understanding of gender, yet I doubt such a thing has ever existed. The reality I’ve faced here separates the very idea of nonbinary people from the students who attend this school with deliberate slices. This separation is not arbitrary. I try to pretend removing my gender from discussion is a decision I’ve made for myself, as if the thought of having been cruel enough to cordon off my identity with hastily-drawn lines can erase the existence of cruelty on an institutional level. Trans students are pressured to erase gender’s complexity, both within and outside womanhood. It’s hard not to feel as if this place is attacking me, constantly saying “I know who you really are” in a tone implying denying myself is the one way to freedom. I think of the ways institutional speech is primed for donations, not caring how direct student well-being is under attack at Wellesley, but my fear has ostracized action. And as for the student body: we are glued to fetishized calm as the solution for trans students. This is the last piece left; this time I wish I could erase the unwanted settling over myself. I’m tired of feeling at fault.
For information about articles published anonymously, please contact the Editors-inChief (senglis2@wellesley.edu, myang5@ wellesley.edu)
BY ANONYMOUS When I first decided to attend this institution, I thought I was cisgender. It is difficult to ponder that past, a time when I forced myself to be content with my own erasure. I didn’t have words for all the ways dysphoria snaked through my life—ways that cisgender students don’t experience. I didn’t yet know Wellesley made me complicit in my own erasure. This ignorance made it easier to erase myself, but there’s no going back just to survive—trust me. Now I’m at Wellesley, an institution whose administration says they unite students through some universal shared experience and understanding of gender, yet I doubt such a thing has ever existed. The reality I’ve faced here separates the very idea of nonbinary people from the students who attend this school with deliberate slices. This separation is not arbitrary. I try to pretend removing my gender from discussion is a decision I’ve made for myself, as if the thought of having been cruel enough to cordon off my identity with hastily-drawn lines can erase the existence of cruelty on an institutional level. Trans students are pressured to erase gender’s complexity, both within and outside womanhood. It’s hard not to feel as if this place is attacking me, constantly saying “I know who you really are” in a tone implying denying myself is the one way to freedom. I think of the ways institutional speech is primed for donations, not caring how direct student well-being is under attack at Wellesley, but my fear has ostracized action. And as for the student body: we are glued to fetishized calm as the solution for trans students. This is the last piece left; this time I wish I could erase the unwanted settling over myself. I’m tired of feeling at fault.
counterpoint / may 2018
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e a H r d I You o S We O
IDENTITY
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counterpoint / may 2018
re
ne day after school, a boy I’d spoken perhaps three words to cornered me by my band locker. “So I heard you were Palestinian,” he said. I nodded, confused as to how he’d learned this when my own best friends usually couldn’t remember if my only non-white grandparent was from Palestine or Pakistan. He then proceeded to tell me that I was a liar. “No one is from Palestine,” he said. “It doesn’t exist, and it never existed. No one lived there before the creation of Israel.” I was taken aback by the suddenness of this verbal attack, but I didn’t let his aggression get to me. For every point he raised, I had a response. If Palestine never existed, why do I have family photos of it? How can the region have a distinct culture and dialect if it did not exist? How can you explain the 100-year-old Palestinian currency in my dad’s closet? He had no replies of his own. His argument was solely that I was lying. He walked off, face glowing red and eyes filled with hate. I never spoke to him again. A few years later, he popped up on my Facebook timeline for having shared a video about the importance of being a good ally to Muslims. I wish I could say this type of event has been rare in my life, but it has not. When people find out I have Palestinian heritage, there are three common responses: 1. Discomfort. They change the subject because they’ve vaguely heard of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, but they don’t know enough to say anything about it. 2. Beginning to slowly distance themselves from me. 3. Hatred.
n i i a t s n e l a P
The first response is by far the most common, but it’s the second and third that stick in my mind. I will never forget the day in third grade when my Jewish friend from Girl Scouts told me she wasn’t allowed to be friends with me “because we’re supposed to hate each other.” Nor will I forget the time that I picked up the house phone to hear a man begin yelling politically-charged racial slurs about me and my family. He was not a man we knew. He looked us up in the phonebook to be his punching bag. If “the talk” for African American children is learning how to interact with the police, then “the talk” for Palestinian children is learning how to interact with people who are pro-Israel. I had to learn facts and statistics about the Israeli/ Palestinian conflict almost as soon as I was old enough to remember my own ethnicity. (Admittedly, this was delayed slightly by 9/11, when my parents encouraged me and my sister to avoid all questions on the topic.) The first lesson I learned was that the United States is many things. It is our home. It is deeply Islamophobic. And it is also the largest and most powerful supporter of the Israeli military. There are many reasons people will give as to why the U.S. supports Israel so ardently, but the true reason is that the United States wants a strong ally in the Middle East. To be clear, we do have other allies there, such as Jordan (the Middle East is not a monolith). But there’s no military that you can rely on more to keep oil prices low by upsetting its neighbors than the
BY ELENA NAJJAB
one you’re giving all of your weapons to. The second lesson is that Israel was created in 1948. This is important to know because people often think the conflict goes back hundreds of years. The oppression of the Jewish people in historical Israel goes back thousands of years, but the current state of Israel is not the same as the historic one. Nowadays, the Israelis are the oppressors. Their weapons are as advanced as the U.S.’s (see lesson one), and they are using them against people with sticks and rocks. The third lesson is that it is not a religious conflict. Israel is a Jewish state, but it does not speak for all Jewish people, and the religion itself is absolutely not the issue. From the Palestinian perspective, it is about land—specifically, the land that the Palestinian people lived on before foreign colonial governments decided they should no longer be allowed to live there. When people try to contest this, it is helpful to add that most of my relatives who still live in the Middle East are atheists. Following this, I learned the word “apartheid.” “Israel is an apartheid state,” my dad told me. “If people try to tell you it’s not, tell them Nelson Mandela said it was.” Coincidentally, this is also how I learned who Nelson Mandela was. I have since learned that many people will accuse you of lying before they believe that Nelson Mandela could possibly have been pro-Palestinian. For this reason, I keep this photo on my computer desktop. All three men were friends. You can see it in their faces, and you can hear it
Images: Elena Najjab ’18
Content warnings: anti-Palestinian sentiments
From left to right: My great-uncle Suileyman Najjab, Yasser Arafat, Nelson Mandela in Mandela’s speech when he says, “our freedom is not complete without the freedom of the Palestinians.” The final and most important thing to know is that no one cares. I was warned that I should not expect people to care, so I should not let it bother me when they don’t. This lesson is one that takes many years to learn. Every time I think I know it, I am once again hurt when a friend hears what I have to say and then chooses to overlook all of it. In spite of the many, many times I have been told that no one cares, and the times people have shown me they do not care in their actions, I still hope that someone, somewhere, might read this article and consider learning enough about the conflict to decide a position for themselves. If you think you might care, I encourage you to look for sources that may show a different side, such as AlJazeera, or perhaps to read U.S. articles on the conflict with a more critical eye. When you hear that protesters in Gaza were
shot because they did something violent or aggressive (usually throwing stones), I want you to be conscious of the fact that the majority of Palestinians living in Gaza are under 18. In fact, 44% are 14 years old or younger. These children live in the most densely populated stretch of land on earth, and they do not have consistent access to electricity or clean water. This may not change your mind about whether or not their actions were right, but I hope it at least gives you pause. The greatest irony of being Palestinian-American is being part of a heavily surveilled group that no one knows anything about. All eyes are on us. It’s become a joke to talk about the government watching you; but to me, that fear is real. I have nothing to hide, but I value my privacy. To me, it feels connected to my dignity. The fear that the government may someday turn on me is one I’ve had since childhood. It sprouted when I first got “the talk,” and it’s flourished with our current president’s
pro-Israel stance. To some extent, this fear is what keeps us quiet. Earlier this year, I went to a WGST talk with race studies professor Saher Selod, who spoke about American Muslims. She said surveillance was the most commonly occuring theme in her interviews, and yet it was also the topic that people were most hesitant to go into detail about. This hit home for me. Telling people I am Palestinian has so very rarely sparked a positive reaction and so, so commonly elicited a negative one. Sometimes it feels easier to avoid the topic entirely. But existence is resistance. As long as I walk around with a Palestinian last name, questions will follow, and so will reactions. I hope someday those reactions might be positive—that I won’t need to teach my children that they’re not terrorists. But for now, I know our country isn’t there yet. I just hope we can catch up soon. Elena Najjab ’18 (enajjab@wellesley.edu) wants to spread hummus, not hate. counterpoint / may 2018
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IDENTITY
On Amma, Queerness & Being Out of her Reach
I
often wonder whether my deceased mother would support or reject my queerness. I was too young when she died, too young to know that it could be normal to like girls. Too naive. My amma—the Tamil word for “mother”—died a slow, brutal death. She’d been sick with stomach cancer for eighteen months. She’d gone into remission for some time. But, given cancer’s insidious nature, it came back. And after the cancer returned, it dared not leave her again. I was seven when Amma died. Too naive to understand the gravity of the situation. Perhaps, because of my youthful age, my parents had thought it best to keep me out of the chaos. They chose not to inform me of the severity of Amma’s illness. In doing so, they kept me in the shadows of her burgeoning illness and death. I would never have understood just how serious stage III stomach cancer could be. I think about Amma here and there. I think about what my relationship with her would be like today. Would we get along? Would I tell her everything? Would she be my keeper of secrets? Or would we fight incessantly? Would I keep her out? Far away? Would ours be a deep or a superficial relationship? Amma has a gay brother. I’ve heard that, when he shared his sexuality with her in the late ‘90s, she didn’t speak to him for months. Months. She did eventually respond, however. She wrote him a letter. A letter that traveled from her place in Berkeley, California to Bangalore, India. page 16
counterpoint / may 2018
BY SUMA CHERU Things were fine after she responded, I suppose. She and her brother still spoke to each other, still sustained their sibling ties. She still didn’t speak to him for months, though. Nothing could make up for those lost months, not even a letter. I don’t know what she wrote in that letter. I guess I’ll never know. There are things I wish I could tell Amma today. I wish I could tell her that on some days, I feel less feminine. I wish I could tell her that I didn’t feel like myself when I was forced into wearing a frilly pink dress for my fourth birthday. I wish I could tell her I feel like my best self with my short hair. I wish I could tell her that I sleep with women. That I fall for women every single time. I realize I don’t get to say the word “Amma” that much. Not at all, really. I only use it to refer to this woman who gave birth to me, someone far in my past. I wonder whether Amma would write me a letter upon learning about my queerness. I don’t know what she’d write in that letter. I guess I’ll never know. What haunts me is the possibility that Amma wouldn’t speak to me for months upon learning this. Suma Cheru ’18 (scheru@wellesley.edu) has advice for fellow siblings of color: never stop fighting for what you believe is right and just. This PWI will try to prevent students of color's activism, but always let the institution know that you are worthy and you belong here, and you are meant to thrive.
Images: Alexa Gross ’21 (left), Samantha English ’19, Olivia Funderburg ’18 (right)
Content warnings: parent death, cancer
42 Things You Might Do at Wellesley BY OLIVIA FUNDERBURG 1. Smuggle Domino’s into Clapp 2. See all the lamps across campus turn on 3. Go a whole semester without eating in Tower 4. Take a night ride on the Peter 5. Play hide-and-seek in the Science Center 6. Host a secret society initiation 7. Make a spontaneous Boston trip just for Toscanini’s 8. Know that the day the Peter is always reliable is the day you graduate 9. Beat the bus from Harvard Square to Mass Ave 10. Drink a lot of coffee at El Table 11. Write for Counterpoint 12. Start a movement 13. Tunnel from Tower Court to StoneDavis 14. Start saying “liminal space” 15. Commit yourself to getting enough sleep every night 16. Become a semi-regular customer at Wendy’s, Oath, and Sweet 17. Finish writing a paper the morning after it’s due 18. Gain an appreciation for tea 19. Add a young adult novel to a professor’s syllabus 20. Get lost in the Science Center
21. Get lost in Green 22. Come to understand the value of leaving campus 23. Do something that terrifies you— like going abroad 24. Lose a friend 25. Try your hand at being an adult 26. Start keeping a journal 27. Go to a concert in Boston alone 28. Go to the Stone Center 29. Try—and fail—to learn how to work with Student Financial Services 30. Make a new friend senior year 31. Adopt a catchphrase 32. Roam the city because the Boston Public Library is closed for Veteran’s Day 33. Have an emotional breakdown in the Cleveland Circle Chipotle 34. Learn how to craft community 35. Know when you need to be alone 36. Challenge yourself to know when to ask for help 37. Get tipsy and cry over a moral dilemma 38. Say goodbye as your best friend leaves to study abroad 39. Cut yourself some slack 40. Think about faith 41. Start to discover who you are 42. Face the unknown
8 things that four years on Counterpoint gave me: 1. An unhealthy attachment to the Oxford comma 2. A slight understanding of InDesign 3. Countless hours spent in the Jewett media lab 4. A+ emailing skills 5. Frantic group messages in times of crisis (and times of joy) 6. Pride in myself and my work 7. A chance to make change 8. A family Olivia Funderburg ’18 (ofunderb@ wellesley.edu) is enjoying the little things, like late nights spent laughing on the Harambee House porch. counterpoint / may 2018
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SECTION POLLTITLE
East Side or West Side?
What’s your favorite dining hall? TITLE
T
Other 3%
BY XYZ
Content warnings: x; y Other 3% wow! his is the start of the article Both 6%
Lulu 33%
This is the start of a normal paragraph (no drop cap)
Pomeroy 8%
East Side Beast Side! 24%
Stone-Davis 10%
West Side Best Side! 67%
How many of the “50 Things to Do Before You Graduate” have you done? 0-10 2%
40-50 6% 30-40 34%
10-20 15%
20-30 43%
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counterpoint / may 2018
Bates 21%
What should be on the 50 Things list that isn’t? Go to Pub Night (6) • Attend a culture show of a culture other than your own (4) • Get an A-/B+ (2) • Come out (2) • Take a class at another college (2) • Submit to Counterpoint (2) • Go hoop rolling (2) • Give a campus tour to a friend or family member • Order food from every Thai place in Wellesley • Smoke at the Tower steps • VOTE • Use the bathroom in every building on campus • Maintain eye contact with a goose for more than 30 seconds • Go to a roof • Honestly can we have something gay • Go to an Upstage production • Spend 24 solid hours in Sci or showering/sleeping in Sci • Go to a frat party • Explore the arboretum • Go to a party on a weekday • Get the Wellesley chop • See Wellesley from Sci Center rooftop • Run to catch the Peter • Have the access van take you one stop • Attend a clandestine party in the Science Center • Take a class in a random department that you know nothing about • Star gaze on Sev Green...while drunk! • Drink in an academic building • Fall in love • Lie all day in the sunny quad! • Learn that it’s okay to fail • Speak to an international student • Nap in the science centerDude • Explore Davis Museum XYZ • Date Bro ’00the (bro@wellesley.edu) another Wellesley student • Present at a Wellesley Conference • Have a picnic in the arboretum • Go to class only on exam days and pass • Drop a class the day before the drop deadline
Images:Images: theblaze.com
Tower 25%
One thing you wish you’d done while at Wellesley? (Or one thing you wish you hadn’t done...?) I wish I’d gone to see more student performances • Taken an art history class • I wish I had compared myself to other people less • Gone to office hours more, especially during first year • Taken a class at MIT • I wish I had taken more “fun” classes outside of my major areas • Yikes.. fall in love with my best friend • Wish I’d gotten out of my room more! • I wish i hadn’t thrown up from drinking in sci • I should have been more gay why wasn’t I gayer • Gone to the pub more • I wish I had gone traying during Storm Juno in 2015 when Boston had a record snowfall • I wish I had taken an Africana Studies class • Steal the bison head from sci and have a party with it as the centerpiece • Wish I had spent like 3 semesters abroad • Submit to Counterpoint • I wish I had skipped class in my first few years more to hang
out with friends • Taken a women and gender studies class • I wish that I had gone to Men’s Panel. • I wish that I had kept careful records of everything that administrators said to me • I wish I had explored Boston more! • I wish that I had done fewer things my senior year, and just had more silly fun. • I wish I had taken more discussion-based courses! • I wish I’d followed through on the kickboxing class • Wish I’d done research with a professor • Taken a studio art class! • Tried out organizations I was intimidated by • Hooked up with more people. I’m happy with the ones I picked though • gone abroad • Wished I had applied to more long-shot opportunities • kissed a girl • Made out with someone at Pub Night! • wish I’d had sex • never been to a frat party, but I don’t wish I had • Joined more orgs
Where?
Did you study abroad?
30 Yes 57%
No 43%
3
2 2
1
Any advice for the Class of 2022? If you are sure you will not get an A/high grade, and you do not need to show off the course for your major or something, take the class credit-non! Your GPA will thank you • Don’t let stress culture get to you • You get out of your orgs what you put in— make sure you join things that make you excited • please please please get 8 hours of sleep a night y’all. prioritize your health and the rest will follow from there • If you ever have even a marginal interest in an event, go to it! • Explore careers! Go to talks, conferences, and talk to alums • if you feel like transferring... seriously transfer • Take advantage of everything, even if it’s out of your comfort zone, and even if it’s something you don’t think you like. You might be surprised! • You don’t have to do all the readings all the time • make sure you understand the logistics (finances, health care) and have open, honest conversations
with your parents about those things. Make sure you’re on the same page and that you have a plan • Be prepared to learn the most from other students, but not always from talking to them. Keep your eyes and ears open • It’s easy to get caught up in your work and forget to have fun; even if it feels ridiculous, you may need to plan your fun into the weekend! • Go abroad! There is...nothing more empowering that figuring out how to “adult” in a brand new place. It makes you feel like make you will be able to figure out post-grad life after all! • don’t take yourself too seriously, none of us know what we are doing • Chill • Everyone in life has their own path and timeline! • Don’t!! Stress!! About!! Grades!! During!! Your!! First!! Semester!! • Use an agenda • Enjoy all the beautiful nature on campus! A good walk when I’m stressed always puts things in perspective • Rock the purple! counterpoint counterpoint // may 2018
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purple class T of 2018
SECTION CROSSWORD TITLE
TITLE
Content warnings: x; y his is the start of the article wow!
BY XYZ
ACROSS 4. Purpley-pink shade that rhymes with either stove or suave. 7. 2018 NFC Championship Game left this team heartbroken, but that’s not new. 8. February birthstone. 9. The gayest of the Teletubbies. 13. Fruits: purple on the outside, yellow on the inside. Also a poem by William Carlos Williams. 14. Harold’s artistic tool of choice in a children’s book by Crockett Johnson. 15. What you call a spot on your skin when it goes from red to yellow to purple. 18. “Well I saw it coming out of the sky / It had one long horn and one big eye...” 21. Sea witch who steals your voice so she can steal your man. 24. A spiny ocean creature, also known as uni. 25. Pantone color of the year. 26. End stop on the purple line of the Paris Métro. 29. Roses are red, _______ are...blue? 31. The most irrelevant Gryffindor and Hermione’s romantic rival. 32. The dick emoji. page counterpoint may 2018 33. The20pH of water (most of the/ time).
DOWN 1. Dark Luigi. 2. You probably loved this singing and dancing dinosaur as a small child. 3. This member of the Mystery Inc. gang loves to wear purple. 5. “There once was a farmer who took a young miss…” 6. Kangaroos love this purple-bottled shampoo. 9. Try reading this book by Alice Walker without crying. 10. Military decoration given to US soldiers. 11. Sylvia Plath’s famous tree metaphor in The Bell Jar. 12. The purplest grape juice you’ve ever seen. 16. Everyone’s favorite Teen Titan. 17. Overheard in Mona Lisa Smile: “Tell them the _________ is an imaginary line that recedes as you approach it.” 19. Prince. We need not say more. 20. Gordon Ramsay makes the “Poor Man’s Caviar” out of this. Hint: issa eggplant (but it’s not called eggplant). 22. A Jimi Hendrix song and a popular strain of sativa. 23. This flower symbolizes grace, and elegance. Duderefinement, Bro ’00 (bro@wellesley.edu) XYZ 27. ______ of Wrath. 28. The purple Infinity Stone. 30. Comes in grape, strawberry, and raspberry varieties. Good with peanut butter.
Images: Image: Tara Kohli ’21
This is the start of a normal paragraph (no drop cap)