Family by Washington University Political Review

WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY

POLITICAL

REVIEW 30.1 | Winter 2019 | wupr.org

FEATURING:

Mental Health in a Black Family The Spread of Sprawl Dollar Homes & Urban Decay

Table of Contents Family

Rust Akshay Thontakudi

The Spread of Sprawl Michael Fogarty

(Con)Tested Identity Isabel Torres

Getting Women in the Right House Hannah Anderson

The Cultural Politics of Mental Health in a Black Family Nicholas Massenburg-Abraham

The Evolution of a Campus Conservative Abby Baka

Where We Come From, Where We Go Dan Sicorsky

Dollar Homes & Urban Decay Zachary Sorensen

Life Lessons From Lilo & Stitch Helen Webley-Brown

Demanding a Democratic Response to Neoconservatism Nicholas Kinberg

Theme Artwork Avni Joshi

Big Brother is Not Just Watching Jacob Finke

The Economic Importance of Family Christian Monzรณn

The Middle East in the 2020s Nicholas Kinberg

Theme Artwork Avni Joshi

Our WUPR Family Ryan Mendelson

National

International

How The Trump Stole Christmas Caron Song

Editors' Note Executive Director: Sabrina Wang Editors-in-Chief: Michael Fogarty Dan Sicorsky Staff Editors: Hanna Khalil Ryan Mendelson Jon Niewijk Daniel Smits Features Editors: Megan Orlanski Ishaan Shah Treasurer: Garrett Cunningham Design Director: Maggie Chuang Assistant Design Directors: Catherine Ju Leslie Liu Web Editor: Conor Smyth

Dear Reader, Do you take family for granted? Not in the sentimental sense, but in the sense that we assume that this social construct is a “natural,” necessary element of our social system? Plato argues in “The Republic” that we must abolish the family if we want to design a just society. Inspired by Plato or not, many human communities have challenged the hegemony of the nuclear family. Communes in the United States in the 1960s and ‘70s required that children be reared away from their parents in group homes. They took after Israeli kibbutzim, where children were raised collectively in order to prioritize the group over the family. Many cultures, past and present, have experimented with undoing family bonds. Where do you stand? Are families an effective means of organizing large communities and countries? Or should we challenge that prevailing notion, and instead prioritize “families” like the state? These are the types of questions we asked contributors to tackle for our Family issue. We wanted to offer a winter theme that allowed writers and artists to reflect on their homes and the holidays, and Family seemed appropriate. At the same time personal and political, families are a crucial building block in our affective and interpersonal lives. WUPR contributors interpreted the theme in a wide array of imaginative ways. Nick Massenburg-Abraham dives into the taboos around mental health in his family and in Black culture more broadly. Helen Webley-Brown extracts important lessons from the concept of “ohana,” or family, from Lilo and Stitch. Christian Monzón explains the economic importance of the family unit, while Akshay Thontakudi and Isabel Torres each reflect in beautifully written pieces about their upbringings and family backgrounds.

Theme Spread: Rachel Jackson

You will also find non-theme articles about remarkable political developments rattling the world, both close to home and far abroad. Abby Baka revisits an article she wrote three years ago about her experience as a conservative at Wash U, and Zachary Sorensen explores the phenomenon of “dollar homes” and the effects of hyper-vacancy in St. Louis. Further afield, Nick Kinberg considers brighter prospects for the Middle East over the next decade, and Jacob Finke argues that China’s controversial Social Credit System might not be as dangerous as some claim.

Feature Designs: Maggie Chuang Catherine Ju

You know where to find us (wupr.org/join) if you wish to join a creative team this Spring semester. Anyone can write or create art for WUPR: a first-year cruising into their second semester to a senior lamenting their last.

Front Cover: Michael Avery

We wish you a healthy return to classes and communities. We’ll be here to navigate the looming election and scandals, and the political surprises that no doubt lie ahead. Because “everything is politics,” we don’t think we’ll face a shortage of topics to tackle. And we hope you’ll join us. With best wishes, Michael Fogarty & Dan Sicorsky Editors-in-Chief

WU Political Review

Rust Akshay Thontakudi | Artwork by Michael Avery

he last days of fall semester are always a blur. I recall sitting at a desk with a dreaded white stack in the center.

"Given the following differential equation model, is the system stable?" Before I can put the pencil to paper, the scene swirls around me, and now I'm in the dorm room of an RA friend. We're sitting on the couch listening and laughing to "Let it Mo," a holiday classic that has Sheck Wes rap perfectly over instrumentals from Frozen. That song was on my Christmas 2018 playlist. As the laughter fades, I find myself seated under the hazy, ochre lights of Brick House, surrounded by the few who haven't gone home yet, toasting to another semester under wraps. I look back on these vignettes fondly, but know that winter break is an absolute necessity. The wheels have come off the proverbial bus, and a month of relaxation is needed in order to recover. My first winter break of college was a reprieve from the Wash U experience and a chance to retreat to the seemingly unchanging landscapes of Cupertino. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my first semester away, but the sudden spike

in responsibility had me begging for a taste of home. That desire shaped my expectations for the perfect break. Every routine with my family would be the same as it was before. I'd arrive at San Jose airport wearing sweatpants with eyes looking like a raccoon's. The first few days were reserved for hibernation as I tried to regain the hours lost to studying and procrastination. As I crawled out of my slumber, I would meet with friends and take on the mantle of responsibility, picking my sister up from school. For New Yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Eve, we would go to a party hosted by family friends. I would drift from one conversation to the other, letting the other aunties know that I am in fact "studying hard in engineering", a phrase which always draws nods of approval. We would head home for the night, getting up early the next morning for mandir to pray for a year of good fortune. The first winter was exactly what I expected, down to the nitty gritty questions from family friends about my future career (hint: it should either be software engineering or medicine).

But much like rust settles into metal slowly, tarnishing the sheen, I was beginning to see the cracks in my illusion. While in Saint Louis, life moves on. My sister dedicated herself to cross country, and got some veteran injuries in the process. My extended family consisting of aunts, uncles, and cousins would come and go, swaying the household dynamic like the gusts from thunderstorms that I would fight while making my way to class. Not only was I removed from the action, the cold fog of reality was beginning to set in, and my rosy, polaroid-esque view of family was being thrown into sharp contrast. Home life had changed. This winter, we did something radical and travelled. Not to visit family, but to go on a vacation and explore the world. These trips were usually reserved for the summer, as is tradition. But in a sudden moment of inspiration, my mother decided we need to see the "upside down" part of the world, and swept us away. Touching down in New Zealand and walking outside to bright sunshine and a cool breeze

Family

But much like rust settles into metal slowly, tarnishing the sheen, I was beginning to see the cracks in my illusion. was a welcome shock from the beige winter I was previously in. Looking back, it seemed like surprise was the theme of this trip. As soon as we arrived at the hotel, the bags were dropped on the floor and our band of four trekked up to Mount Eden, the highest point in Auckland, which housed a dormant volcano. The ground was slick from previous showers, but also served as a warning for what was to come. As we climbed the rocky path, quick to avoid painting our new shoes with the brown, muddied trail, a vantage point of the city appeared on our right. Looking out over my shoulder, I was captured by the blend of suburban houses and urban restaurant fixtures. We made our way to the top, and were greeted with a view of the giant crater of a volcano. Mataaho, a Maori deity is said to live in the crater, guarding the secrets of the earth. As I pondered what secrets the soil could hide, my sister cut my train of thought. "That's a really dark cloud." Surprise! Within minutes the four of us were huddled under an umbrella, with rain battering us from all sides. While I'd normally be miserable and complaining how my shoes were soaked through, all of us were laughing at our terrible luck. Clearly the spirits of New Zealand did not want us here, but we stayed anyway. Flashing forward, I found myself in the miniature world of Hobbiton, taking photos of the lush scenery spotted with brightly colored doors. We finished off the trip with an ice-cold cider and a visit to Rotorua, where the acrid smell of sulfur countered the beautiful views of geysers. Every hobbit hole and mud pit was an opportunity for my parents to take photos of us, where my sister and I gave our best effort to fake a smile. At the end of the day I definitely

felt that I put up an Oscar-worthy performance. Interspersed through a day of fun were brief moments of impatience. My mother asked for repeated directions twice, while my father could not remember where he placed his phone on three different occasions. As we hiked through Waitupu, trails that my parents used to effortlessly climb were leaving them more breathless and needing more breaks. I was upset at firstâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;this should be easy! But nagging thoughts started creeping in my mind. My father's occasional difficulty in hearing our words, my mother's sporadic confusion about directions. As I put the puzzle pieces together, the harsh realization settled: they were growing old. I lean on my parents for every struggle and adversity, and my time to be the same backbone was coming. I finally saw the rust. Through each step and hurdle of my life, my parents were always there advising, admonishing, and supporting me in my every move. During my first bike ride without training wheels, I sped around the cul-de-sac eager to reach top speed before hitting a rock and crashing into the gravel, bringing home a split lip and busted knee. My dad carried me home where my mom bandaged me, and for the first time I got to watch T.V. while eating dinner. There were countless times when we fought, and I rebelled only to find out I was horribly wrong. Even in these moments of weakness, my parents were determined to show me their wisdom, not prove some moral superiority. Some of their advice has rubbed off (like making reminders for doing laundry and cooking), and for others I chose to use my own experience to guide me (whether it's an act of pig-headedness remains to be seen). For the longest time, my relationship with my parents was defined along mentor-mentee lines. In a moment of clarity, I saw the shift in this relationship. I will still need their

help and guidance, especially when it's 10 p.m. and I'm about to venture blindly into a new recipe. But I know they'll need me too. Whether it's in their concerns for physical health, or in figuring out how to cope with both children leaving the house, I am starting to play a larger and larger role in guidance, fulfilling my duty as a son. And knowing that they aren't the invincible, bulletproof role models of childhood is haunting. Life is constantly changing, and with change comes discomfort. As our family welcomed the new year in Sydney, the crowds were dancing away, excited at the prospect of another year filled with opportunity. I sat on the steps of the Sydney Opera house, absentmindedly reviewing the photos I took of the fireworks, reflecting on how the meaning of family had changed for me. The epiphany I had on the trails a few days ago extended beyond just my parents and sister. The same transformation was happening in my high school friend groups as well. In the past everyone would be free to play frisbee or try the new Korean BBQ restaurant down the streets. The reunions became increasingly fractured as the bonds weathered years of changes. Some moved across the country to work an office job, attend graduate school, or even join a startup. Others dropped off the radar, sometimes to distance themselves from toxic side effects of social media, but more often than not, without any explanation. As much as I hated to admit it, I was facing the real world, with all of its visceral struggles. Mataaho may have guarded many secrets while I was in New Zealand, but I think I escaped with one that serves as a guiding principle in my life. No one can control what happens to them, but they have to take responsibility over their situation. I don't know if I can fill the role of mentor to the same standard my parents did. I do know, however, that, when the time comes, I will take action and adapt.

Akshay Thontakudi â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;19 studies in School of Engineering & Applied Science. He can be reached at a.m.thontakudi@wustl.edu.

WU Political Review

(Con)Tested Identity Isabel Torres | Artwork by Leslie Liu

efore I even got to the main portion of the SAT, a question stressed me out. “What is your race/ethnicity?” jumped out at me, taunting me with the simplistic responses underneath. Filling out “white” would feel like denying my heritage, claiming that my dad’s side of the family was irrelevant to who I am, but it felt disingenuous filling out the blank next to “Hispanic/Latino(a)” since English is my first language and my skin has only the slightest tint of olive in it. I never really experienced the prejudice that many Hispanic people in the U.S face on a daily basis. Nobody’s ever told me to “go back where I came from” or treated me any differently because of where my family came from. The few times I felt different as a result of my Hispanic heritage were minor instances when I was younger, things I can easily roll my eyes at now. One time, a girl in my class brought in a Guatemalan shawl for show and tell that her dad had bought during his trip in Guatemala, and I was deemed the best person to model the shawl. This was obviously a minor, silly incident that pales in comparison to more serious instances of racism. Aside from those rare reminders that I’m not completely white, I’ve mostly appeared white to others, which has caused me to more closely identify as white. The one time of year that I’m reminded of my Hispanic heritage is during the big Christmas Eve celebration that my dad’s family holds at his Tío Robert and Tía Ligia’s house where the whole family gathers together to catch up on the past year. My dad’s parents have many siblings whose kids grew up close with my dad and aunt. When I hear snippets of their conversations in Spanish, when I hear Aunt Chole’s stories about life in Honduras, when I eat the Arroz con Pollo

that my dad makes from his mom’s recipe, I know I could fill in the bubble next to “Hispanic/ Latino(a)” and feel like I’m telling the truth. However, most of the time, I feel like an imposter with my very Hispanic name, especially since I’m not fluent in Spanish. As someone from a light-skinned family that only speaks English, I’m fortunate to not experience prejudice and I know it, but I do feel disconnected, not truly Hispanic.

Although my parents wanted me to feel connected to my dad’s family by naming me “Isabel,” a Spanish name that in combination with my last name “Torres” announces my Hispanic heritage loudly, my grandparents wanted their children and grandchildren to fit into American society and culture as much as possible. They gave their children English names—“Richard” and “Rachel”—made sure their kids spoke English fluently, and refused to teach their grandkids Spanish. The only Spanish they taught me was when my grandpa tried to get me to call him “Abuelito.” Even that failed since little me insisted on calling him “To.” I spent years taking Spanish

classes in an effort to become fluent, but I’m still less conversational than I want to be. I don’t blame them for their approach, even though it means I’m not impressively bilingual. It was a survival method, as they saw others mocking their language and their accents and wanted a better American experience for their kids and their grandkids. They met in an ESL class, immigrants from Spain and Honduras who were striving to find their niche in American society by learning the language as best they could. My grandpa worked as a bus driver and a meter reader, and he took night classes in the hopes of obtaining a higher-paying job. My grandma sewed costumes and saved money frugally. Even though neither of them had a college degree, they were able to send both my dad and aunt to college. Reflecting on my grandparents’ sacrifices helped me feel confortable filling in the bubble next to “Hispanic/Latino(a).” Identity and heritage are inextricably political, even making up a question on the recently contested census. Yet they’re also deeply personal. I don’t want to feel like I’m claiming a struggle that isn’t mine, but at the same time, I don’t want to reject my family or dismiss their sacrifices that have enabled me to live a relatively prejudice-free existence. I wish I was fluent in Spanish, and yet I can understand why my grandparents were reluctant to teach me. I don’t have any easy answers to those dilemmas, but I do know that in a certain way, I’ll be hovering over those Scantron bubbles for the rest of my life, forever grappling with this politicized aspect of my identity.

Isabel Torres '20 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. She can be reached at itorres@wustl.edu.

Family

The Cultural Politics of Mental Health in a Black Family By Nicholas Massenburg-Abraham Artwork by Maggie Chuang

I have yet to share this part of my lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s story on such a public forum. I ask that you accept that this is my story to share, and bear with me as I continue coming to terms with it.

My mother was the kind of woman that very seldom pulled any punches— she had the dominant female power of Beyoncé, the intellect and civic mindedness of Michelle Obama, and the sarcastic, sometimes eye-popping wit of Marie Barone in Everybody Loves Raymond. These characteristics synergized into the emanating charisma that she would long be known for in our social circles. She knew it, too, and relished in how popular it made her with our friends and family. We fought (and in my early teenage years, quite often and viciously), but we shared an open camaraderie I might consider rare in mother-son relationships. So, it surprised me one day when, upon picking me up from a friend’s house about an hour away from our own in Northern New Jersey, she appeared frazzled and disheveled, weakened as if someone had done something unspeakable to her. Perhaps they had—but I would never know. The coming days that late July week, spent in sweltering heat and unbearable boredom, revealed that there was something dire and sinister hatching in my mother’s psyche. Severely paranoid, she complained of the upstairs neighbors in our new apartment building following her around, shouting grotesque accusations about our family that were entirely baseless, and threatening to call the police.

I was 18, and now alone with a single mother that was becoming undone before my eyes. I panicked from sheer confusion. As is characteristic of many black families with southern roots, mine spoke little about problems of health and wellness with one another, often signing such issues off with an “I got this” or “Put it in God’s hands”. I knew this method would not work given the situation. I grew unsettled and desperate. After a series of dramatic events which culminated in a frantic call to police in the middle of the night, I got my mother to check herself into a hospital, worried for her deteriorating mental state. I was on edge—“let it go” I was told by many as I waited at my grandparent’s house for

any word about my mother’s condition from the hospital she’d checked into. When they finally called, we were told we could come see her the next day. A psychological examination revealed the development of acute psychosis—possibly the early onset of schizophrenia. We would move in with my supportive and loving grandparents when she was discharged so that they could keep a watchful eye over my mother until her scheduled appointment. I hesitated to discuss with friends and family what was happening. The stigma against mental illness was alive and well amongst my close circle, and problematic language was the norm. I internalized these things, developing a now deeply regrettable sense of embarrassment that I might be the son of someone who was dealing with psychosis. This was the unfortunate truth. I tried to coax out of my mother the thoughts and paranoia she was dealing with, but she denied and pushed away.

The complex narrative of the “strong, independent black woman” boxed her into a place I could not approach. Vulnerability was not an option, and many of my friends and family seemed to share this unfortunate mentality. Combined with her mental condition, this was a recipe for disaster. One Monday night, she spiraled out of control in the living room of my grandparents’ one-bedroom apartment that the four of us were sharing. From my little air mattress, my mother probed me with questions and accusations of an increasingly neurotic nature. I awoke my grandmother to come sit with us as I became increasingly fearful that my mother might do something to me. But I was unthinkably wrong… In the middle of the night, imagined voices in the apartment building hallway would drive her to a point of no return. She would commit suicide by hanging in the apartment bathroom. There was an eerie silence before my beast-like roar ripped into the night when I discovered her, my disbelief escaping my body and filling the silence of our sleepy town, and a world that would go on unphased by the gravity of this unthinkable tragedy. My sight went dark as the image of a vicious nightmare etched into my mind forever, an emblem of my trauma. There is not much one can say to contextualize this kind of unthinkable—it is why some of my closest friends are reading this now, hitherto unknowing that I had gone through this experience. I suppose my perspective makes more sense now for those who know me.

In a Southern Baptist community with strong religious convictions entrenched in generations of blackness, denial is often the first resort. Many family members and friends spoke very little of the experience when it initially happened—and often when asked about how my mother died, some would come up with alternative stories, unable to openly discuss the truth. This spoke to the politics of mental health in black families in the more cultural sense of the word; according to the Oxford dictionary, “The assumptions or principles relating to or inherent in a sphere, theory, or thing, especially when concerned with power and status in a society.” (Oxford Dictionary, 2017) I heard in closed conversation such hyperbole as “suicide is a white people thing”—that severe mental health issues, somehow, were unbecoming of the black experience, and that suicide implied a deep disregard for the God-granted gift of life.

For black Americans, trauma, struggle, pain and grief are so deeply entrenched in our experience, inherited over generations from our introduction to this land as slaves and subhumans and subsequent decades of discrimination, that symptoms of depression and anxiety, or perhaps worse, are mistaken for “bad nerves” or growing pains. We are a fighting people, socially and economically—that is just what we do, what we must go through. Everyone is going through something, right? Going it alone, or through prayer, is a sensible way to cope in this perception—one that should and must change for the sake of those who are victim to it. My mother and I waded through a number of harrowing experiences throughout my life and quite closely up to the time she died, and she alone the many years before I was born. Counseling had become ritual for me in unpacking these things, but she always denied the service, often times because she couldn’t afford it or simply didn’t see the necessity. She went to church instead. This is the way many people in my life, and many working-class black families, have dealt with the pains of their own lives. There is admittedly some merit to worshipping and bearing one’s testimony in the name of the Lord. For mental illness, though, medical intervention is a necessity. The social and political stigma against publicly discussing mental health issues has left many struggling in silence. I know my risks and refuse to succumb to this

stigma out of a love for myself and for those who support me. But this is not characteristic of the culture of black families as it pertains to my experience. (I would never generalize the traditions of a whole people, but still believe my analysis holds some basic truth.) My family is still hesitant to openly discuss the events of July 25th, a day that will forever live in infamy in our world. We feel the dark void of my mother’s absence at every family gathering, holiday and event, and it has largely dampened the excitement of our past traditions. But we are getting better. And I am proud of our growth—especially that of my grandparents, who must cope with losing a child in one of the most tragic ways imaginable. The cultural politics of mental health in a black family arise from a number of multidimensional issues - a lack of access to adequate medical services that stem from complex socioeconomic dynamics, religious doctrine as the basis for one’s worldview, and sociocultural perspectives that encourage people to treat the issue as taboo. These phenomena are not at all unique to the black community but are nonetheless present and obvious in our ongoing conversation (or lack thereof).

I am learning to undo my preconceptions, and to allow my mother’s story to exist without shame or internalized embarrassment. The truth cannot be unwritten, but must instead be used how I view my personal struggles and those of others. I am fully embracing my present and future role as a champion of self-care and mental wellness, and a point of reference for those who need to become more familiar with the risks of psychiatric disorders. In my role, I hope to contribute to the deconstruction of stigma, and defeat the politics of mental health as the guiding compass for future conversations in my community and the world at large. I hope that you will learn from my story. Do not pity my family, but understand that we are forever changed by the horror that we experienced. Sensitivity and educated discussion go a long way in creating space for necessary and important conversations. Take this perspective to your own families, no matter your race or cultural background, and challenge them to learn and grow with you.

Nicholas Massenburg-Abraham ‘22 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at nick.m@wustl.edu

WU Political Review

Where We Come From, Where We Go Dan Sicorsky, editor-in-chief | Artwork by Maggie Chuang

he young man leaned his head against the window of the train taking him away. He let out a relaxed sigh, and smiled faintly. The demeanor was not to be expected of someone leaving a place that was good to him, never to return. His next city, Chicago, will be the tenth since he left his family’s home in Santa Fe eight years ago, an 18-year-old yearning for somewhere new. North, west, east, and west again he went, looking for a place to be himself, no attachments. His shortest stay lasted three months, during which he bused tables in Knoxville and was content, save for the distant aunt who insisted on being close. Now he looked out one last time at Sedalia, Missouri, where he had stayed longest. A year proved enough of a settling-in to love a winning girl who, though she loved him back, would not leave this town and all she knew; she would not come along for the ride.

But the young man could not stay, for he had lost himself in Sedalia, which is to say he found others. There was the landlady who took him in, spotting him the first month’s rent, cleaning his studio apartment of her own volition, and gifting him the latest novel from his favorite author (who was not actually his favorite, but rather the one he thought might be deemed at best acceptable by a devoted Baptist who, he surmised, would be opposed to the liberal giants the young man had adored since he started to escape into books as a child); and there was his boss at the auto shop, a tough, loving creature, who confided in him like in no other his challenges at home, and shared his gentleness with the one employee in his macho crew who he knew would not read in it a weakness. And in this way, the young man lost himself. It irked him that so much of his time went to social occasions he could not politely miss. And that neighbors and acquaintances inquired genuinely, but much too often, about his well-being. The young man did not like that everyone from grocers to librarians recognized him where he went. He did not like that, slowly, his anonymity faded. In Sedalia he was now seen, and this level of integration he would not have.

When he resolved to leave this town for the next, he sought the accompaniment of the one relation he did wish to keep. But a mobile life, a tradition of tearing roots as they began to take hold, did not appeal to the girl, and so he set off, alone, with his suitcase and his self, amid the complaints of his landlady and his boss and all those he charmed, and on to the next town, with new people, where he might live as he preferred: free. Already the train had begun to slowly crawl out of the station when the young man was pulled from his gaze out at Sedalia by a tall, lean gentleman who sought to sit in the seat where he had placed his hand luggage. “Go ahead,” he said, kindly, without revealing his dismay at no longer being able to stretch his legs. The stranger, who was perhaps in his early 30s, sat down gracefully in one movement, ending with his head turned toward the window. Now both he and the young man looked out at what remained of their retreat from Sedalia. For a meaningful time they sat looking, thinking. When the terrain became nondescript country, the young man turned his attention to the space between the two backrests directly ahead, through which he observed an older, graying couple, her head against his shoulder and his attention focused on a thin newspaper, likely local, folded to an article whose headline partially read “Despite Opposition From Board.” “Some town,” the tall gentleman next to him said, still looking out the window. The young man turned toward a gentle face, of beige complexion, and long, owing to a defined chin and a forehead where hair once grew. Through round, silver-rimmed glasses the stranger shifted his eyes and looked at the young man. “I remember the first time I headed east on these lines,” he said, looking out again as they exited Pettis County. “Still get the same feeling at 33 that I did as a kid.”

“Nothing quite like this place, that’s for sure.” Had he not slept copiously the previous night, and had he not just this morning waiting on the platform finished his novel, the young man would have just left it there, and instead used this ride to doze and read. But he was faced with a long journey and no entertainment, and the stranger’s deep emotions toward Sedalia incited his curiosity. A moment later, he added, “What brought you to town?” The stranger let out a soft sigh, then responded with unmistakably pained, tired eyes. “I was visiting some family.” And in that moment he perceived in the young man the same disposition in which so many found comfort: a deep stare, undivided, intent on listening and understanding, and allowing for nothing but the truth, which he knew he was not providing. “And you?” he asked, quickly. “I was living here, working at Randall’s Auto off 65. But I’m moving away now.” An acknowledging nod, then a silence drowned out by the constant sound of the wind hitting the train hitting the tracks. The young man sensed that he would lose his entertainment if he didn’t say something soon, but he didn’t have to. “What the hell, you seem benign,” the stranger said. “I was also visiting my lover.” “Are you and she both married?” he asked nonchalantly, taking care to receive this news as he would a remark about the weather. “He‘s married; I’m not. We were both born and raised in Sedalia. My family moved to St. Louis during high school, but we kept in touch. He’s married, happily, if you don’t dig too deep. Kids,

A mobile life, a tradition of tearing roots as they begin to take hold, did not appeal to the girl, and so he set off, alone.

Family

too. I come to town two or three times a year. I tell everyone I visit family, and I do, but mostly I’m with him.” The young man sensed that this was not a topic his train companion discussed often. And that it was very much on his mind. The stranger seemed, in fact, inclined to discuss it further. “Why not just live together, if you’re both so happy with each other?” he asked. “Neither of our families would have it. And I’m pretty glued to mine.” He explained that his older brother moved to the East Coast, leaving it to him to care for his aging parents. “I couldn’t be with them and with him, too.” “I see.” The elderly man in the seat ahead put down the paper, gently lifted his wife’s head from where it lay on his shoulder, and wrapped his arm around her. Each settled into their new position. “I’m pretty much the opposite,” the young man said after some time. “I couldn’t tolerate my family standing in the way of who I wanted to be, so I left. I’ve been on my own for some years now, and it’s some feeling, you know. No one stands in my way. I date whoever I like, go wherever I want, and—“ “Don’t think I haven’t thought about going my own way, too,” the man interrupted. “Freedom sounds great. But I couldn’t leave my family. They’ve shown up, really shown up, when I’ve needed help. Yeah, we have our taboos, and I

don’t want to think what would happen if they found out I’m gay. But they’re my people. Who are yours?” “I can’t say I have any.” “And are you OK—“ The stranger’s phone rang. As he fumbled inside his briefcase for it, the young man saw books, a stack of papers, a history textbook. Must be a teacher, he thought. “Hey, Ma,” the man spoke into the phone. “Almost missed it, but I’m headed home now.” The young man could faintly hear an old, cheery voice on the other line. Its cadence reminded him of his grandmother during the holiday meals he used to attend, how she beamed while surrounded by all her children and grandchildren, asking questions upon questions and relishing in the love she gave and received. “Yes, I’m bringing Aunt Mae’s pie… Alright, sure, I’ll stop by after I get home… I love you, too.”

no wonder. It grows harder to agree on rules as the group grows more diverse. Everyone has to sacrifice something to keep the peace, just as you do. But I haven’t found a community I’m willing to sacrifice my freedoms for.” “I’m not sure that community exists. What makes you so sure you’ll find it?” “I’m not. But in the meantime, I’m satisfied with my own company.” Ahead, the elderly man sneezed, jolting his sleeping wife, who looked at him, concerned. He smiled as though to say, “Thanks for worrying. I’m alright,” and kissed her wrinkled cheek. The men watched out the window as the train passed farmhouses, towns, apartments—communities where people come and go, opting today for the comfort of company, tomorrow for unbounded freedom.

Returning his phone to his briefcase, he said, “I don’t like misleading her about my visits. But it’s better for the both of us that I keep some things to myself.” The young man nodded to express he understood the complexity the man described. “But I was asking: Would you say you’re satisfied on your own?” “Most of the time, yeah. Like I said, I prefer not answering to anyone. When you’re a community of one, anything goes. Everywhere I visit I notice people struggling to live together. And

Dan Sicorsky ‘19 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at dan.sicorsky@wustl.edu.

WU Political Review

Life Lessons From Lilo & Stitch Helen Webley-Brown | Artwork by Bread Lee

or most kids, the songs and scenes of Disney movies evoke happy memories of the pure simplicity of childhood. It is when we read between the catchy lines and soundbites that we delve into the lessons we have learnt. From The Little Mermaid’s Ariel giving up her voice to attract a prince to the rife racial stereotypes in Aladdin and the whitewashing of Princess Tiana, the lessons that movies and TV shows teach children have long been debated and analysed. It is at a time where the definition of family is evolving and children are being separated from their parents at the border, that I turn to an unlikely hero and role model: Lilo and Stitch.

When I was younger many of the common ‘golden sayings’ that my mum preached fell on deaf ears. However, one phrase that resonated with me was spoken not by my mum or dad or priest, but by a 6-year-old animated Hawaiian girl called Lilo Pelekai. To Lilo, “Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind—or forgotten.” Lilo and Stitch revolved around the adventures of Lilo and her adopted “dog”—a mischievous alien renamed “Stitch”. Binding the two mishaps together was the Hawaiian concept of ‘ohana’. Transcending blood, ohana nurtures a family of friends, neighbours, colleagues etc. through mutual and genuine love, respect, and support. It is sadly ironic that the same country in which Lilo lovingly embraced an extraterrestrial creature as family, produced an Attorney General in Jeff Sessions who announced: “If you're smuggling a child, then we're going to prosecute you, and that child will be separated from you, probably, as required by law.” The US government enacted—and later reversed—a ‘zero tolerance’ policy of separating families and locking up children in prison-like facilities. Trump’s administration stated that in just one month 2,000 children were separated from their families at the US-Mexico border in 2018. According to the Global Detention Project, no other country in the world uses a policy of separating prospective asylum-seeking families. It’s not just that a different skin colour, religion, or nationality stops people regarding each other

as ‘family’; differences are systematically used to justify not treating others as human beings. America’s family separation policy is a horrifying example of a much larger trend: fears for safety, safety, and connection is continuously being exploited to rationalise discrimination and dehumanisation. Humans are naturally social creatures; we live, breathe, and are changed by our interactions. In the age of social media, we are constantly weaving ourselves into networks of ‘friends’ and ‘followers’. As a result, connections have become a point of contention and a source of fear and hate. Today, the concept of family is being weaponized. The ideal model of ‘family’ is actively manipulated to disincentivise asylum-seeking and restrict women’s autonomy over their own bodies. Uncompassionate and divisive measures are not unique to the United States. Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orbán commanded the detention of refugees in barbed-wire centres to quell the “invasion” of non-white, Muslim migrants. Boat-loads of persecuted people brave oceans in search of safety and are met with hatred and discrimination. Walls are built and borders fortified. Society is choosing hate over love and persecution over acceptance. Revisiting ‘ohana’ can aid us in a time where it is critical to evolve who we treat with deserves respect and compassion.

Touching on themes of death and isolation, Lilo and Stitch presented a deeper, more complex portrayal of life than its target audience could fully comprehend. With a fading innocence and naivety, re-watching childhood favourite tales and characters can open our eyes to lessons that were important then and are still critical now. According to several polls, the majority of Americans oppose the family separation policy. The actions of our politicians do not always reflect the will of the people. Some trends should not be followed. It is up to us as individuals to speak up and act out against dehumanisation and discrimination. Not all hope is lost and ‘ohana’ can still inform how we see and treat others. Lilo adopting a blue alien is not too big a stretch; when faced with difference, there is always common ground to be found. To not be left behind or forgotten— because of how you look, love, or worship—is not a big ask, it is what is right. Still, it is a troubling sign of our times that people are urged to look to an animated six-year-old for a model on family instead of our President or Prime Minister. When some lives are valued more than others, some deaths grieved more, some families seen as more ‘whole’ and ‘worthy’, it is time to re-evaluate and perhaps even re-learn who we can believe, who we can support, and who we can love. Helen Webley-Brown ‘22 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. She can be reached at h.webley-brown@wustl.edu.

Family

Artwork by Audrey Palmer

WU Political Review

The Economic Importance of Family Christian Monzón | Artwork (right) by Natalie Snyder

y dad often recounts his childhood in Mexico fondly, but as one of uncomfortable congestion; with two parents and nine siblings, his household required much that my grandparents could barely afford. Flash forward to my family in the United States, and he still finds himself uncomfortable, but not because of a crowded house; rather, because of a house spending too much on unnecessary items to account for only three children (two of which, including myself, have already left for college).

His discomfort with family size correlates to the overall effect of family size around the world. Two continents, Africa and Europe, separated only by the Mediterranean, face two different crises directly related to family size. In Africa, malnourishment and poverty dominate the continent’s exploding youth population. Conversely, Europe’s declining family size threatens economic stagnation, a shortage of skilled young workers and an urgent need to care for the elderly. These crises on different ends of the population spectrum both represent significant socioeconomic risk. According to a UN report in 2017, most African countries average greater than five persons per household, including an average of nine people per household in Senegal. Two reasons account for the continent’s high average family size. First, multiple generations often live in the same place; according to the same report, fourteen percent of all African households include both a child under 14 years old and an elderly person older than 60 years, compared to only 2 percent in Europe and the United States. The main culprit, however, lies in Africa’s large young population. A report from the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation in September 2018 estimated that by 2050, Africa’s young population (those aged between 0 and 24 years old), will jump 50 percent. In fact, Africa is currently the world’s only continent with a rising young population. According to Scientific American in 2016, women in Africa give to birth to an average of 4.7 children, usually because of the sparse availability of contraceptives and birth control and a lack of formal education to women across the continent.

Africa already feels the impact of large families; not only do large families stem from innate social issues surrounding the health and voices of women in households and society, but they present financial strain on households and governments. According to the Brookings Center for Universal Education, only about half of sub-Saharan Africa’s 128 million school children “are likely to acquire the basic skills needed for them to live healthy and productive lives,” highlighting the lack of sufficient resources for children. Across the continent, especially countries like Somalia on the barren horn of Africa, famines occur terribly often, with households struggling to supply for their large families. Family size therefore lies at the center of many common problems across the continent. Just to the north in Europe, the opposite problem exists: with households growing smaller and older, Europe’s population aged and shrunk significantly. In fact, while the 2017 UN report concluded an average family size larger than five people across much of Africa, it found average household size below three people among most European countries. Between 2010 and 2015 UN data found a fertility rate (children born per woman) of just 1.4 across the European Union, data which excludes European countries outside the EU with greater rates of population decline like Ukraine and Russia. While not necessarily as obvious and immediately present as the impacts of overpopulation, Europe’s underpopulation crisis will worsen as economic growth cannot sustain itself amidst a shrinking, aging population. Rapidly aging populations, an effect of low birthrates, mean smaller workforces and greater reliance on government support and pensions as the large elderly population retires and the smaller youth population cannot fill all their old jobs. John Maynard Keynes, among the founders of modern macroeconomics, connected population decline to economic decline for two reasons; first, because it decreases the workforce and drives up wages, resulting in the movement of jobs elsewhere. Second, smaller families and older people tend to buy less than large families and younger people, so as household size decreases and

Ultimately, the freedom to choose the size of a family rests in individual households, but the impact of family size affects everyone. European populations age, consumption will decrease, leading the way to economic decline. Ultimately, the freedom to choose the size of a family rests in individual households, but the impact of family size affects everyone. Excessively small family sizes lead to dramatic economic decline; too large, and they exhaust resources and create financial strain on national economies. From natural human phenomena like immigration to government intervention through means such as tax incentives, various solutions exist to stabilize the size of families; in fact, they not only exist as possibilities, but as necessities to not only stabilize households, but whole economies.

Christian Monzón ‘22 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at christian.monzon@wustl.edu.

Family

WU Political Review

Artwork by Avni Joshi

Family

How the Trump Stole Christmas Caron Song | Artwork by Leslie Liu

he chilly holiday season is a special time for warm and lighthearted family gatherings, but for Agustín Gómez Pérez, Christmas Eve brought only pain and grief when his 8-year old son, Felipe Gómez Alonzo, died from influenza while in the custody of US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) in El Paso, Texas. Felipe is the second migrant child in custody to die in December, an outrageous death toll whose existence brings about many concerns and much disapproval regarding President Trump’s inadequate immigration system. Prior to December, no child had died in CBP’s custody in more than a decade. So what transpired was certainly not solely the product of misfortune, but rather, a direct consequence of the President’s broken immigration policies such as his controversial 90-day asylum ban that started in early November. A couple of days after this tragic loss, Trump took his usual route of handling criticism and scathingly tweeted about how “any deaths of children” are the Democrats’ fault because building the Wall would “undoubtedly” fix all immigration issues. However, it really just seems like a lack of human empathy rather than a physical barrier that led to the deaths of two innocent children. Migrant children fleeing from their home country have witnessed unspeakable horrors, have lived in the constant fear and stress of poverty, and are the victims of a cruel fate that no child should ever have to be burdened with. The least the United States can do is provide these children a sanctuary of basic human rights and treat them with care and kindness after their harrowing experiences. Clearly, CBP has been unable to provide these basic necessities. Secretary of Homeland Security Kirstjen M. Nielson states that aid has been slow due to “a dramatic increase at the border of families and unaccompanied children crossing our border illegally” and this surge has pushed the system to “a breaking point”. Felipe was transferred between four crowded facilities at the border from when he was first detained on December 18th until his death, accentuating just how dire the situation is in detention centers along the border. However, Secretary Nielson’s explanations do not provide a valid excuse for an incompetent healthcare system. According

to the Migrant Policy Institute, the increase in migrant children has been rapid and consistent since the early 2010s, suggesting that CBP should have remained vigilant and taken diligent action to ensure an adequate supply of medical supplies, equipment, and resources to meet a growing need. In the wake of these two deaths, Nielson has stated that the CBP will be enacting significant changes such as more thorough medical screenings, more medical personnel, and general improvements in medical programs and procedures. These protective measures are certainly helpful, but a crucial question remains unanswered: why did these two deaths occur in the first place? Preliminary investigations show that both of the migrant children who died this past December were perfectly healthy before the grueling journey north, but both succumbed to infections after being detained. From a medical perspective, infections can be lethal, especially to young children, if left untreated. However, with proper care and treatment, infections are simple to combat. It is difficult to say what precisely went wrong while these children were detained, but it is easy to say this: as Trump continues to throttle the immigration system while neglecting detainment centers to the point of cruelty, there will be more tragedies in the future. The Trump administration has restricted the legal pathway to safety in this country through a process called “metering”, which places limits on

the number of asylum-seekers allowed into the US each day through an official entry point. For example, some entry points can process about 100 migrants each day, but under the metering policy, much fewer migrants are processed. The wait times for asylum-seekers can easily extend up to several months, with migrants living in dismal conditions and sleeping on sheets of cardboard with little to no basic resources. Rather than being “treated like animals,” many migrants choose to take dangerous routes and cross in hazardous remote areas, risking their lives in doing so. Felipe and his father risked their lives because they realized just how dire their situation was: either risk their lives by the hands of other human beings or risk their lives by the hand of nature. They still chose the latter. People constantly criticize the growing number of illegal immigrants, but instead of pointing fingers at impoverished men, women, and children who are trying to escape legitimately dangerous countries in Central America, we should be focusing our attention on how Trump continues to dehumanize the immigration system. As a country that was largely built upon the shoulders and backs of immigrants, we should be treating weary migrants with compassion rather than a $5 billion wall. Caron Song ‘19 studies in the School of Engineering & Applied Science. She can be reached at songcaron@wustl.edu.

WU Political Review

THE SPREAD OF SPRAWL

Michael Fogarty, editor-in-chief Artwork by Catherine Ju, assistant director of design

t. Louisans and Wash U students rightly criticize the city’s anemic public transportation and bike infrastructure. However, this shortage exists in the context of St. Louis’ overbuilt automobile infrastructure. St. Louis sits at the intersection of several major interstate highways that serve as the arteries of a larger network of roads that make up the city’s car dominant transportation network. We take this as given, but our reliance on cars is not inevitable. It seems as if every business has either a drivethrough or a large parking lot; even the public library in my hometown has a drive-through window. In The Triumph of the City, urban economist Ed Glaeser suggests that “the defining characteristic of American cities built in the late twentieth century is their accommodation of the automobile.” America’s embrace of (and dependence on) the car has driven the spread of sprawl. For the purposes of this article, sprawl signifies less-dense, car-centric suburban or exurban areas outside of central cities. Over the course of the 20th century, structural changes in the economy led to the growth of manufacturing and services over agriculture as the primary sectors of the American economy. These structural trends drove the rise of large cities and metropolitan areas and the decline

of rural areas. According to the Census Bureau, the proportion of Americans living in rural areas plummeted over the course of the 20th century, from just over 70 percent in 1910 to under 20 percent in 2000. Demographic shifts also occurred within America’s growing metropolitan areas. The share of the urban population that lived in city centers fell from about 75 percent in 1910 to around 35 percent in 2000. This trend especially took off with the rise of suburbanization (and sprawl) that followed the end of World War II and coincided with Americans’ enthusiastic adoption of the car as our default mode of transportation. There is a strong relationship between how people get around and where they live. Without reliable mass transportation or cars, early urbanites had to live within walking distance of their work, which promoted cramped, dense central cities. Streetcars, subways and cars all allow people to live further away. The invention of fast and reliable modes of transportation at the end of the 19th century allowed people to live further away from their jobs. Suburbs existed long before the advent of car culture and the mass suburbanization. The first significant wave of suburbanization in the late

19th was itself enabled by a previous transportation revolution – the electric streetcar. “Streetcar suburbs,” like University City in St. Louis or Evanston in Chicago, sprang up along streetcar lines that promised a fast and reliable commute from the more spacious suburbs to the city center. The dynamics of suburbs and suburbanization changed with the creation of cheap, mass-produced homes, the declining cost of cars, and the growth of the road network. These three trends complemented one another and spurred the post-World War II boom in suburbanization. As the chart shows, the share of Americans living in suburbs took off in the 1950s and has not stopped growing since then. As a consequence, America is now a majority-suburban nation. The process of post-war suburbanization was shaped policy decisions at the local, state, and federal levels. Governments consistently implemented pro-auto policies that effectively subsidized commuting by car at the expense of mass transit systems. The comprehensive network of paved roads built during the mid-20th century enabled Americans to sprawl out from city centers into the newly growing suburbs. In The Rise and Fall of American Growth, Robert Gordon argues that “deliberate urban policy, in

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So me t ime s I wonder if the world's so sm all, Th at w e c a n never get away from the spr awl, Livin g in t he sprawl, D e ad s h o pping m alls rise like m ountains beyond m ounta i ns, A n d t h e re 's no end in sight, I n e e d t h e dar kness som eone please cut the lights. — A rc ad e Fir e, “ Spr awl I I ” , T he Subur bs

the form of street surfacing, encouraged automobile and truck traffic.” Gordon describes how state and local governments built “streets and highways with public funds … by issuing bonds on which the interest was paid by local property taxes.” In essence, this meant that mass transit riders and drivers alike contributed to the construction of a rival mode of transportation.

To some degree, transportation follows a logic of “if you build it, they will come” (induced demand in economics jargon). The key idea is that increasing road capacity encourages more people to drive. In essence, the highways built in the postwar era created their own demand, while simultaneously undermining older private mass transit systems. At least symbolically, the root of all anti-density evil is the Interstate Highway System. Authorized by President Eisenhower in the

100%

PERCENTAGE OF POPULATION

It is hard for any business to survive when it is forced to subsidize its competition. Private streetcar lines and their riders saw their property taxes fund the development of a competitor: highways. Ultimately, these distortionary policies killed off the streetcar lines that connected older suburbs to the city center and caused commuters to shift towards the car as their primary means of transportation.

DEMOGRAPHIC TRENDS IN THE 20TH CENTURY

75%

50%

25%

1910

1920

1930

1940

1950

1960

1970

1980

1990

2000

YEAR CITY

SUBURB

RURAL Source: Census Bureau

WU Political Review

It is imp o rt an t , b o t h f or our leadership on the world stage an d fo r p u b l ic h e al t h reasons at hom e, that we work to reduce e mis s io n s o f gre e n h o use gas and other har m ful airbor ne p o l l u t an t s .

Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956, the 40,000mile system of roads was largely completed by the end of the 1970s. According to Glaeser, the interstate system enabled “mass suburbanization and the rise of car-oriented cities.” Nathaniel Baum-Snow studied the effect of the interstate highway system on suburbanization. He found that, over the course of the second half of the 20th century, “one new highway passing through a central city reduces its population by about 18 percent.” This is a huge effect; it implies that in the absence of the Interstate Highway System, the population of America’s central cities would have increased, instead of falling precipitously. Short of tearing up roads, there is no way to reverse the impact of America’s historic autofriendly policies. Ripping up highways is clearly a terrible idea; but, going forward, we should stop subsidizing sprawl and instead promote density. Although the United States won’t play a determinative role in stopping climate change, it is important for our leadership on the world stage and for public health reasons at home that we work to reduce emissions of greenhouse gas and other harmful airborne pollutants. Embracing urban density and reducing our dependency on the car is the best path for our future.

The government should invest more in public transportation and stop promoting travel by car. How this policy would look in practice depends on the existing mass transit system in a given city; in New York or Chicago, this would involve modernizing existing infrastructure, with an emphasis on improving on-time performance and reliability. In St. Louis or Sun Belt cities with little mass transit infrastructure, it could mean building out a light rail network and promoting dense, transit-oriented development alongside. Similarly, cities should invest in more bike (and electric scooter!) friendly infrastructures like protected bike lanes and mixed-use trails. Twowheeled options complement public transit and can help people more fully move away from cars. At the same time, a tax on vehicle miles-traveled would more directly reduce the amount that people drive. Unlike a fuel tax (which is laudable in its own right), taxing vehicle miles- traveled does not create an incentive to switch to more fuel-efficient cars instead of stopping driving altogether. It is also important to reduce restrictive zoning requirements in order to permit denser development closer to city centers. As it stands, many cities use zoning laws to impose occupancy restrictions. The Height of Buildings Act in Washington D.C. restricts structures to a

maximum height of just 110 feet. As the city’s economy grows (especially after Amazon announced its construction of a satellite headquarters in the region), younger renters have been pushed further and further out into the Virginia and Maryland suburbs. Minneapolis is a model here; at the end of last year, the city ended single family zoning citywide, allowing two and three-unit buildings anywhere in the city, with even denser development possible along transit corridors. Washington D.C. provides an example of what to avoid. Historically, America’s car-friendly public policies have promoted suburbanization and sprawl. The roads and parking lots required by our car-centric culture take up, which is why car-focused suburbs are so much less dense than urban centers. Over the course of the 20th century, public policy at all levels of government promoted cars and highways at the expense of other, more environmentally friendly modes of transportation. As we move into the 21st, we should stop promoting sprawl and instead encourage people to give up cars in favor of a combination of mass transit, bikes, and walking.

Michael Fogarty ‘19 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at michael.fogarty@wustl.edu.

National

Getting Women in the Right House Hannah Anderson

record 125 women were elected to serve in the 116th U.S. Congress during the 2018 midterm elections, 40 of which are new members. However, despite the fact that women make up 50 percent of the U.S. population, 125 seats is still only 22 percent of Congress. These proportions aren’t unique to the federal level either. A 2018 study by the Center for American Women and Politics found that only approximately 20 percent of local mayoral offices and state legislature positions are held by women.

One example of this criticism was the sexist feedback Fiorina and Clinton dealt with regarding their facial expressions. During the second GOP primary debate, Michael Smerconish, a CNN commentator, targeted Fiorina by stating, “She’s got to smile… [t]here are times to be serious, but you’ve got to loosen it up a little bit.” Clinton dealt with similar sexism in March 2016 while giving a victory speech as MSNBC host Joe Scarborough tweeted, “Smile. You just had a big night.” Though these comments in isolation don’t seem particularly sexist, the media

Women face tremendous difficulties while running for political office because they’re expected to assert dominance through masculine qualities … while still maintaining their feminine characteristics. Why are we still seeing this representation gap across the board when it comes to political leadership in the United States? Although progress is being made, women still face strong barriers to holding positions of political leadership. Selfdoubt already keeps many women from running, but even when they do choose to run, they face a different set of standards than men that can further obstruct the path to political office. At a time when so many women are trying to enter the American political arena, it’s important that we analyze these barriers to entry so we can work to make our government reflect a more accurate depiction of the U.S. population. The 2016 presidential election demonstrates a unique opportunity to analyze the higher standards that women in politics face, through the treatment of Carly Fiorina, a presidential candidate for the Republican Party during the primaries, and Hillary Clinton. Both women had to overcome significant obstacles throughout their campaigns, facing gendered criticism on both their physical appearances and personalities.

simply didn’t scrutinize the male candidates for their smiles (or lack thereof), demonstrating a harmful double standard. Fiorina and Clinton also faced gendered criticism about their speech patterns. Though Bernie Sanders, a male candidate for the Democratic Party during the primaries, was known for his style of shouting during speeches to inspire voters, Clinton and Fiorina were attacked for their own strong manners of speaking. During one of his campaign speeches, Donald Trump even called Clinton “shrill.” In an interview with New Republic, NPR linguist Geoffrey Nunberg reported that women are more likely to be interpreted as “shrill” when they use aggression in speeches. Additionally, a 2015 study by psychologists Jessica Salerno and Liana Peter-Hagene found that while debating, men tend to become more influential as they become angry, while the reverse is true of women. This puts women at a disadvantage when trying to invoke the same rhetoric that men display.

Women face tremendous difficulties while running for political office because they’re expected to assert dominance through masculine qualities, such as references to strength and power, to meet candidacy standards while still maintaining their feminine characteristics, such as a softer tone of voice, to meet likability standards. In the words of political scientist Georgia Duerst-Lahti, “They must find the perfect blend of pantsuits and pearls.” While it’s important to celebrate the advances that women make in politics, it’s also necessary to acknowledge why these advances have happened so slowly and how we can quicken them. It’s irrefutable that U.S. society constitutes a patriarchy, which sociologist Allan G. Johnson defines as a society that’s “male-dominated, male-identified, and male-centered.” Maledominated refers to the notion that positions of authority are usually for men and promotes the idea that men are superior to women. Maleidentified deals with the idea that as a society, we tend to value traits that are typically aligned with masculinity, and characteristics of men are considered to be good and normal. Finally, male-centered considers that our focus is often on men and what they do, thus allowing them to control the conversation more. This entire structure gives men a significant advantage in shaping public opinion and perception. Because of this advantage, men, and especially white men, in high positions of political power have a responsibility to support and speak up for hardworking, qualified female candidates and make sure that they have the space to be heard, just as white women in power have a responsibility to speak up for female candidates of color. Additionally, the media must refrain from perpetuating gender biases. Until people in positions of power and privilege use their privilege to dismantle the institutions and ideals that enforce inequality, our government can’t be truly representative of the diversity the U.S. contains.

Hannah Anderson ‘22 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. She can be reached at hannahanderson@wustl.edu.

WU Political Review

The Evolution of a Campus Conservative, Revisited Abby Baka | Artwork by Leslie Liu

arrived at Wash U in 2015 a doe-eyed Republican, having spent my first eighteen years in perennially red South Dakota. I grew up among climate change deniers, gay marriage opposers, and gun enthusiasts. I was practically weaned on Fox News. Though I managed to emerge from this environment with some socially liberal views (primarily regarding LGBT rights), I was generally conservative when I began college.

The 2016 election cycle was fun for a while. I watched primary debates in the DUC with the CRs. I laughed at Trump, but once I realized he might win the nomination, the humor turned to dismay, and I resigned myself to another Clinton presidency.

Throughout my first year at Wash U, I wearied of the flaming liberality of campus but found refuge in weekly College Republicans (CR) meetings. I admired my fellow CRs. They were well-read and didn’t blindly side with the Republican Party on every issue.

I was politically engaged during the fall of 2016. As public relations chair for CR and one of a handful of openly conservative students at Wash U, I was interviewed by several journalists in the days surrounding the presidential debate held on campus. Because I was being questioned about my politics, I made sure to read the news and familiarize myself with the candidates’ platforms so I could defend my positions.

During my freshman year I published an article in WUPR titled “The Evolution of a Campus Conservative,” in which freshman me documented her conservative experience at Wash U. I explained how being surrounded by liberals made me look at both sides of an issue and learn to defend my views, I urged my peers not to write off conservatives as selfish and ignorant, and I described how, by participating in CR, I finally felt comfortable being conservative at Wash U.

Despite my research, when it came to voting for president, I was lost. The things liberals called Trump—racist, sexist, etc.—were accurate. But I disagreed with Clinton’s fiscal positions, and I did not, and still don’t, believe her to be morally upstanding. Either I voted for a repugnant, politically laughable man or an ethically questionable woman with whom I disagreed on most issues. Ultimately, like many conservatives, I didn’t vote for president at all.

As I concluded my penultimate semester of college, I read my article for the first time since it was published. I hardly recognized my freshman self. I don’t remember feeling comfortable as a Republican at Wash U, and I certainly don’t remember feeling secure in my conservative beliefs. Mostly, I don’t remember feeling strongly enough about conservative politics, or politics in general, to publish an article defending Republicans.

None of us CRs expected Trump to win. We believed the polls, and living on a liberal campus distorted our view of the reality of the country’s electorate. Election night was one of mixed emotions: disbelief that Trump won and disappointment that he would be president, joy about the conservative congress, relief that Clinton wasn’t in charge.

Many factors contributed to my transition from confident, engaged Republican freshman to confused, politically listless senior. I lived with militant liberals, took anthropology courses with worldly professors, read too much Buzzfeed, and, of course, witnessed Trump’s campaign and early administration.

Additionally, I felt guilt. While I had mixed feelings about the election, my liberal peers were distraught. I read countless novel-length Facebook posts—some narrative, some polemical, and all at least somewhat self-indulgent— lamenting Trump’s victory. They were difficult to read knowing I hadn’t actively voted against Trump. I wondered if I should have voted for Clinton. Because I was registered in South

Dakota, a vote for Hillary would have been as ineffective as my decision to not vote at all, and, though I despised Trump, I wouldn’t have wanted Clinton in charge. Nevertheless, my liberal surroundings, the sobs of my peers, the op-eds and Women’s March signs following the election riddled me with guilt until I forgot why I’d chosen not to vote. These influences, which jarred my political identity immediately following Trump’s victory, have had lasting effects on my views, as have other factors. I disagreed with many of Trump’s actions as president and found his rhetoric absurd. I began

There is a difference between arguing against opposing rhetoric and stifling it altogether, and many at WashU are guilty of the latter. to disentangle myself from CR. I stepped down as PR Chair, partly because I was studying abroad, but also because I was embarrassed to call myself Republican. Learning more about the effects of climate change in anthropology courses and LGBT and racial issues in writing classes, seeing mass shooting after mass shooting in the news, watching the Vagina Monologues—these experiences also nudged me leftward. However, consulting both liberal and conservative news sources, talking to trusted conservative friends and family, and listening to the

National

one-sided, self-congratulating rhetoric of some liberals has counterbalanced leftist influences. In the aftermath of the election I regretted not voting for Clinton, but after two years of reflection the regret has waned, though my political indecisiveness and disdain for Trump have increased. I know that voting for Clinton would have been just as counter to my convictions as voting for Trump. I now find myself in a sort of political limbo. I wouldn’t say I’m liberal. On the contrary, I’m fiscally conservative. But I am less adamantly so than I was as a freshman and certainly less confidently so. So what am I? I can’t call myself moderate, because I agree with the left on some

issues and the right on others; rarely am I in the center. I’m socially liberal and fiscally conservative, so in many ways I agree with libertarians, but I’m not as extreme in my disdain for government. So I guess I don’t know what I am or what I believe or who I should listen to. And my disorientation has led to civic listlessness. I didn’t request an absentee ballot for the midterm election; just the apprehension of political decision-making exhausted me. I’m not proud of taking for granted my democratic privileges or pleased that after only three years of voting

eligibility I have forgone my civic duty. Mostly, I am frustrated—frustrated that I can’t articulate my political beliefs to myself, let alone others, frustrated that I don’t fit a single political identity, frustrated that I can’t talk politics with my conservative family and liberal schoolmates without being labeled a bleeding-heart liberal by the former and an ignorant bigot by the latter. I should clarify, while most students are respectful when they discover I am more conservative than the average Wash U student, many raise their eyebrows and bite their tongues in quiet skepticism. And the things I hear liberal students say about conservatives when they don’t know my political leanings, when they assume that, like most Wash U students, I am liberal, are condescending, narrow-minded, and contemptuous. In an environment like Wash U, where it is so easy to be liberal, it takes a lot of discernment and gumption to be conservative, especially during the current administration. So while I no longer identify as conservative, I admire the few Wash U students who do. But many conservative students do not feel comfortable at Wash U. Recently a classmate who knew of my political dispositions told me she was Republican; she’d never told anyone at Wash U before. Another time, a senior overheard a conservative friend and I talking politics and said, “I thought I was the only one!” Something about Wash U’s environment silences dissenting opinion. There is a difference between arguing against opposing rhetoric and stifling it altogether, and many at Wash U are guilty of the latter. Wherever you stand on the political spectrum, you should be concerned

that students can go three years at Wash U without knowing that other conservatives exist on campus or feeling comfortable expressing their political identity. I’m not trying to evoke pity for conservatives. I’m only reflecting on why it is difficult to be conservative at Wash U and why it was easier to just relinquish my political identity. And I’m reminding students that liberal views are not the only ones that exist, even on our “enlightened” college campus. The left’s rhetoric is loud, and their ideals are admirable. It’s difficult to face such a force without questioning your convictions. I do not know to which political party I belong, how I will vote in the next election, or how to feel about border security or healthcare. But I do know I am not racist, sexist, or hateful. I also know that making people with dissenting opinions feel judged and unwelcome only incites resentment and frustration. Though much has changed since I wrote my article in spring 2016, I stand by at least one thing I wrote: I urged my peers to be open-minded towards people of opposing political beliefs. I wish I could say, after four years of college, that I’ve grown politically confident, that I’ve learned how the world works and who I should believe. This wasn’t the case, but at least I can be secure knowing that I kept an open mind, that when I saw a problem with my party or beliefs I allowed myself to adjust, that I sought to make everyone feel welcome regardless of their politics. I encourage my peers, conservative and liberal, to do the same—to allow themselves to evolve and to think for themselves rather than blindly following their party. Who knows, with two more years of Trump and six years of grad school I may end up, as my family fears, a Democrat. I doubt it, but at least I know I’m adaptable.

Abby Baka ‘19 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. She can be reached at abbybaka@wustl.edu.

Dollar Homes & Urban Decay

By Zachary Sorenson Artwork by Maggie Chuang

Soon, you might be able to buy a house in St. Louis City for one dollar. This comes after the Board of Aldermen passed a resolution to encourage the St. Louis Development Corporation to restart a homesteading program. Agree to live in and rehabilitate one of the vacant residential properties in public care, and you can buy that property for next to nothing. This is part of a broader effort to address the enormous number of vacant properties in the city. In the 1950 census the population of St. Louis was 856,796—In 2010, 319,294. It’s not hard to see what might be driving the vacancies—people have and are leaving the city. The exodus of people from the city has a number of causes, old and new, ranging from white flight, suburbanization, high crime, and a loss of business. Each factor feeds into the others cyclically. Much of what has left the city has gone to the county which has expanded in population from 406,349 in 1950 to 998,954 in 2010 as each cause draws people out of the city and into the county. In St. Louis, out of 129,000 total properties around 25,000 are vacant and abandoned. Mayor Lyda Krewson notes that the fiscal impact of vacancy to the 2017 city budget was an estimated $66 million. According to the mayor, there are 13,200 privately owned vacant properties and 11,500 additional plots that are controlled, maintained, and in some cases sold by the city’s Land Reutilization Authority (LRA). The LRA is a land bank that is responsible for maintaining and liquidating vacant properties which are transferred to it, often as the result of unpaid taxes and a subsequent lack of interested buyers. While the $1 home program has yet to be implemented, you can currently buy many of these properties at extremely low prices. The LRA generally sets property prices below market, as selling a property quickly means decreasing maintenance costs and increasing

20% of lots in St. Louis are 20% of lotsand in St. Louis are vacant abandoned vacant and abandoned This map is based off of data provided Thisthe map based off of data provided by St. is Louis Vacancy Collaborative by the St. Louis Vacancy Collaborative

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Population Changes in St. Louis This graph of U.S census data shows the decline in the population of St. Louis City and the related growth of the County from 1950 to 2010. This decline might help explain the huge number of vacant properties in the city. 1,100,000 1,000,000 900000 800,000 700,000 600,000 500,000 400,000 300,000

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the likelihood that the property can be put to productive, taxable use.

to 550. This is not enough to reduce the LRA’s holdings dramatically anytime soon.

The city aalready has a “Mow to Own” provision that allows property owners to cheaply acquire adjacent vacant lots provided they can cut the grass and maintain the lot over 24 months. The $1 house initiative would be structured similarly. According to a NextSTL article, purchasers must rehabilitate the home to stabilization in 120 days, complete rehabilitation work within eighteen months, and agree to make the home their primary residence for five years. The stated goal is to help slow the tide of people leaving the city, especially in vulnerable communities, which has been a trend in St. Louis for over half a century – “We keep seeing families that are trickling out of St. Louis and we want to keep them here, but we have to give them the type of incentives to stay here,” said the proposing alderman, John Collins-Muhammad.

Last year, the Mayor and community partners put forward a plan to mitigate vacancy. Though this plan did not include a provision for $1 homes—it did include a variety of initiatives structured around giving more resources to the LRA, marketing more properties, more than doubling the funding for demolitions, arranging intra-government partnerships, public-private partnerships, increasing data collection and analysis, creating new green spaces out of some vacant land, and much more.

According to the St. Louis Post Dispatch, each year the LRA typically gains around 500 properties (though only 187 in 2017) and sells 500

There is a website featuring some LRA owned properties scattered throughout the city. Featured properties include commercial, residential, and vacant lots for as little as $2,000. The potential of $1 homes is interesting, allowing people with few resources to acquire these homes and renovate them—but also concerning as a financial practice. As the Post-Dispatch points out, it takes much more than $1 for the LRA to acquire and maintain these homes and

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much of the LRA’s funds come from property sales. What remains to be seen is how many of the vacant properties will be offered under the new homesteading program and how it will play into the broader prospects of the city. The vacant properties that dot the city, particularly in the north, are a vivid sign of the decay that St. Louis has experienced. If the city can address this issue it will have a positive effect on the residents of the city, raising property values, lowering crime, and creating long-term employment. The steps the city has taken show that this is a priority issue. The city should continue to work to forge and strengthen new and old partnerships, especially in trying to create access to capital—such as the “Greenlining Fund” mentioned in the mayor’s plan—for the poorer residents of the city, so they can support the revitalization of their own communities.

Zachary Sorensen ‘21 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at zacharysorensen@wustl.edu.

WU Political Review

Demanding a Democratic Response to Neoconservatism Nicholas Kinberg

he 2020 election cycle has arrived and the Democrats need a message. With a Republican incumbent (who may be in for a primary challenge), all eyes are on the Democratic field. All Democrats can agree on one thing: at least their nominee won’t be Trump. But such a declaration dismisses the meaningful policy discussions that should be had every election cycle, even with one where Democrats couldn’t possibly detest their opponent more. Democratic foreign policy needs to change. Under Clinton, the policy was “Do something.” In a post-Cold War world, the U.S. no longer had a lodestar by which to lead strategy. So, the foreign policy establishment flailed about. With the vague goal of “democracy promotion,” the administration produced some positive results, including establishing democracy in Haiti and preventing genocide against Muslims in Kosovo. But in two of its greatest embarrassments, the administration rendered disasters in Bosnia and Rwanda, where hundreds of thousands died. In the U.S.’ first decade after the Cold War, egregious mistakes were made that our republic couldn’t afford to repeat.

Under Obama, it was “Don’t muck it up.” Obama’s predecessor, George W. Bush, gave rise to this policy because of the latter’s two wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Obama made it a point to prevent further costly disasters from happening. But Obama’s policy paralyzed a superpower that should never have allowed the Syrian, Yemeni, and Libyan civil wars to take place. This strategy stopped us from preventing the 2014 Russian invasion of Crimea and the subsequent tampering with our 2016 presidential elections. We did nothing while Venezuela deteriorated into a starving socialist dictatorship, which has precipitated a refugee crisis in South America. The blood of innocents, like that in Rwanda, is on our hands because of our ability but failure to act. On the Republican side, one can deride George W. Bush’s foreign policy all they want, but it at

Two things should be demanded of the administration elected: one, coherency, and two, a proactive strategy. least had a clear and attempted purpose: to spread democracy no matter the cost. Now, under Trump, one could critique the current administration’s foreign policy on the basis that it has no coherence; but beyond whataboutism, what do the Democrats have to offer? This is an important question to ask, especially since foreign policy is more polarized than ever. Democrats and Republicans disagree on the threat level posed by Russia. Democrats and Republicans disagree on the validity of trade deals. Democrats and Republicans disagree on the implementation of military intervention. If there is to be a gap, both parties should be leading their constituencies. Republicans lead Democratic constituencies indirectly by having their own ideas and forcing the Left to react. Unfortunately, this problem of reaction has already been displayed this cycle. Candidates have started publishing platforms. Senator Elizabeth Warren (D-MA), for example, published an overview of what her foreign policy would look like in Foreign Affairs. Firstly, this article on foreign policy was short on foreign policy. Warren took greater pains to outline a “domestic policy for all” that was tied to foreign policy rather than create specific international goals like the spread of democracy. Secondly, she included support for free trade, support for allies, and denigration of autocracy. Her article

brings up two questions. One, domestic policy is nice, but when will Democrats understand that while foreign and domestic policy are connected, there must be a plan for both? And two, without Trump’s policies as a foil, what about Warren’s policies is so enticing? Given rising populism and autocracy, a new recession (according to the New York Times), a Middle East led by Iran, a revanchist Russia, and a rising China, Democrats need to distinguish themselves as a party with a plan, not as a party that isn’t the Republicans. Yes, the foreign policy intelligentsia repeats again and again how awful Trump is. No, Democrats should not just join in. What should be demanded of Warren and other candidates is solid declarations of policy. Declarations like “We need to rejoin the Iran Deal” or “We need to arm the opposition in Venezuela” or “We need to sanction Mohammed bin Salman.” I don’t necessarily agree with these statements, but it would be nice to have something. Regardless of whether a Democrat wins in the coming election, the American people deserve two things of the administration elected: one, coherency, and two, a proactive strategy. As a new decade dawns and the problems of the world grow evermore legion, Americans want leadership that is not merely preoccupied with erasing the legacy of the last administration. Though it might seem obvious, such action is petty and counterproductive. So it was for Obama and so it is for Trump.

Nicholas Kinberg ‘20 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at nicholaskinberg@wustl.edu.

International

Big Brother Is Not Just Watching Jacob Finke | Artwork by Rachel Jackson

he western world has paid much attention lately to the emergence of China’s social credit system, which evokes fears of Orwellian control and Big Brother— the Chinese state, in this case—watching and controlling its citizens. The system, which was announced in 2014 by China’s State Council, is an attempt (in the State Council’s words) to encourage society to play catch-up on some basic elements of a free-market economy: trust through verification, the power of credit and faith, and, above all, the importance of reputation.

Technology companies face threats of forced technology transfers and intellectual property theft from hackers—and their own Chinese partners. Auto manufacturers are still required to engage in joint ventures with Chinese companies for access to the Chinese market, something that is disallowed by World Trade Organization rules. The CCP recently began installing Party cells in foreign-owned businesses. There are many, many issues in China that the United States, and Americans, should be concerned about.

The social credit system, or SCS, has two components, according to analysts from the Peterson Institute for International Economics. First, it will be a dataset compiled from existing information on the web about users. Second, it will be a system of incentives and punishments, based off of data collected and analyzed in the aforementioned dataset.

Recently, there have been reports that the little state support that ethnic minorities had in China is now gone, and that this anti-Muslim behavior may spread through other provinces in China. Foreign companies in China, many of them American, face constant impediments in China.

Even if the social credit system is successfully implemented in 2020—and I believe, but am not convinced, that it will—it still may not warrant 1984-esque Big Brother comparisons. China’s history is important here. For much of China’s dynastic history, dynasties ruled with a combination of moral and political might. Dynastic rulers’ legitimacy came from heaven; the bureaucrats who ran the dynasties’ authority came from their ability to read and regurgitate Confucian philosophy. According to Rogier Creemers, a postdoctoral researcher who specializes in China’s social credit system, the Chinese state was historically a “promoter of moral virtue.” In this context, the SCS is simply a logical next step in efforts to regulate morality and reward—or punish—citizens accordingly. The Chinese Communist Party relies on moral high ground as a source of legitimacy. The SCS, as an opportunity to monitor both morality and dissidence, is a win-win for the CCP if implemented successfully.

I am using the verb “will” for good reason: China’s social credit system does not yet exist. The State Council document released in 2014 describes the “planning outline” for the “establishment” of the SCS from 2014-2020. It can be expected that we will see a comprehensive system in 2020, but right now the SCS is only in planning stages. But the social credit system isn’t what we should be worried about in China. “Big Brother” headlines sound good, but the systematic and rapid repression and internment of ethnic minorities are more important. Since 2014, China has put up to 1 million members of a single Muslim minority group, in a single province, into concentration camps where they are forced to learn Mandarin Chinese, work for little or no pay, and pledge allegiance to Xi Jinping.

data management are unclear at the moment.

This is not to say that the social credit system is a joke; there are quite legitimate concerns about the compilation of huge, murky, datasets tracking the actions of individuals and corporations. For one, individuals can face serious repercussions and find themselves on “blacklists” for poor SCS ratings. People on these blacklists, according to a Senior Research Fellow at Yale Law School, can find themselves unable to buy train or plane tickets, or qualify for loans. Foreign companies worry about an uneven playing field, with points mysteriously “awarded” to Chinese state-owned enterprises. There is, as well, the ever-present threat of misuse, loss, or theft of data, since the protocols for

American politicians and voters, no matter their political leanings, should shift attention from headline-grabbing 1984 references and fear of what the Chinese state will do next and focus on what the Chinese state is doing now. Free-market capitalists will find issue with limited access to markets, a fragrant violation of WTO regulations. Advocates for human rights will find issue with systemic repression of religious and ethnic minorities, as well as political dissidents. China has lots of issues. The social credit system, in the future, might be one of them. There is also a realistic chance that it may not. But in the present, there are much more serious issues that need to be addressed first. By focusing on the future, we are allowing China to skate by on its behavior in the present.

Jacob Finke ‘20 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at jbfinke@wustl.edu.

WU Political Review

The Middle East in the 2020s Nicholas Kinberg

s the Middle East enters the last year of this decade, it has completed what could be the worst epoch in its history. Oxford Professor Eugene Rogan, in The Arabs: A History, talks about the feeling of humiliation present in the Arab world following a series of events. The defeat of Iraq in the First Gulf War and its subsequent invasion. The end of the Lebanese Civil War, which killed over 200,000 people but continued occupation by Syrian forces. The Algerian Civil War, which killed over 100,000 people. The expanding settlements supported by Israel. The citizens of North Africa, the Arabian Peninsula, and the Fertile Crescent thought it couldn’t get any worse. The following decade proved them wrong, as four Arab countries descended into civil war, one country’s democratically elected leader was deposed, and hundreds of thousands of people were killed. Surely, the 2020s must be better. Unfortunately, the Syrian Civil War casts doubt. Since Russia’s intervention on the side of the Assad regime in September 2015, and especially after Assad’s defeat of rebel forces at Aleppo in December 2016, Assad has been slowly but surely regaining territory. Syria will soon rejoin the Arab League, Turkey has abandoned its declaration that Assad must step down, and no group stands in the way of Assad’s imminent victory. This war, which will end in the early 2020s, will leave a legacy throughout the rest of the decade: what happens when the international community ignores a dictator determined to stay in power. To date, almost 600,000 people have been killed, over 5,000,000 have left the country, and almost 8,000,000 remain hundreds of miles away from home in their own state. The Yemeni Civil War teaches the same lesson as the Syrian Civil War with the same tragic results. What was predicted by the Saudi monarchy to be a three-month campaign at worst has turned into an almost-four-year humanitarian crisis. The biggest cholera outbreak in world history. Recognition as one of the four major famines of the 2010s. Children bombed and killed on their way to school.

The slap heard ‘round the world,’ referring to the slap given to Mohamed Bouazizi in December 2010 which started the Arab Spring, has certainly deteriorated into the Arab Winter. This is one conflict that truly has no end in sight. Aside from the fact that a civil war on Saudi Arabia’s borders would concern it, who the Saudis are trying to fight, the Houthi rebels, are backed by Saudi Arabia’s archenemy, Iran. So, the Saudis will continue to fight in Yemen until they gain control of the country and stop it from falling into Iranian hands—no matter the cost. Like the Saudi axis, democracy will also be weakened. Though the will of the people has come to be more respected at the end of the 2010s, with functioning democracies in Lebanon, Iraq, and Tunisia, these gains are tenuous. One of Lebanon’s major political parties, Hezbollah, is recognized by the U.S. Department of State as an international terrorist organization. Iraq remains marred by conflict, with over ten thousand deaths in 2018 alone. Tunisia remains a moderate success story.

one of the deadliest civil wars of the 2010s, Assad will say that his country is “not ready for democracy.” After such carnage, no one will challenge him. This is especially because Syria has time-tested security institutions. Since Assad is here to stay, repression of his own citizens following the end of the civil war will dwarf that of pre-conflict. Bahrain, regardless of the aspirations of its Prime Minister Khalifa bin Salman al-Khalifa, will not be allowed to fall into the hands of its Shia majority, whether by democracy or overthrow. Saudi Arabia, Bahrain’s major Sunni power, would never allow such an event to pass, for fear of growing Iranian and Shia influence. The Middle East is on the cusp of a new decade. This new epoch will be filled with even worse great-power rivalry between Saudi Arabia and Iran, the continuation of several deadly conflicts, and encroaching settlements on Palestinian land. One positive development will be the consolidation of democracy and human rights in places like Iraq and Tunisia. For all that the Arab Spring promised to be though, such a result is disheartening for all the world, most of all the Arab world. “The slap heard ‘round the world,” referring to the slap given to Mohamed Bouazizi in December 2010 which started the Arab Spring, has certainly deteriorated into the Arab Winter.

Elsewhere, however, democracy suffered numerous defeats. Attempts at inclusion of different ethnic and religious groups in Syria and Bahrain all resulted in repression of varying magnitudes. Bashar al-Assad gave lip-service to democracy in his 2007 and 2014 reelections, both of which were panned by international monitors. After

Nicholas Kinberg ‘20 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at nicholaskinberg@wustl.edu.

International

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