Herald Volume LXXXV Volume 7

MAR. 28, 2019

| VOL LXXXV |

ISSUE 7

A Y E H T

D L A R E H LE

YALE’S MOST

DARING PUB

LICATION SIN

CE 1986

Through his photographs, Lukas Cox, BK ’19, explores intimacy and the relationships between people and their places.

FROM THE EDITORS

Dear readers, I’ve been thinking a lot about procreation lately. Maybe it’s because I’ve been unsuccessfully propagating cultures to make yogurt, or maybe it’s because I’m ovulating—your guess is as good as mine. But it truly is the most fertile time of the year. Snowdrops, the first flowers of spring, are in full bloom, and I can finally wear my chubbies across campus without fear of judgement.

This week, our writers also seemed to have the spring bug. In Culture, Kat Corfman, SM ’21, interviews Joy Harjo, Native American poet, musician, and activist, who talks about the role of contemporary—and particularly Native— authors as co-creators with the earth.

In Voices, Esther Ritchen, BK ’20, taps into our catharsis, and paints a blighted environment where destruction begets life and balconies become shipyards.

And in Inserts, which is hardly ever covered in the letter (ahem), Robert Mueller (Elliot Connors, MC ’20) returns from a 22-month investigation into Russian interference in the 2016 election, to discover that his own progeny is a bit disappointing.

There’s a lot more in the issue—content that was harder for me to connect to the singular theme of procreation—and we think you’ll enjoy that stuff too.

With love and vitality, Addee Kim Inserts Editor

EDITORIAL STAFF EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Fiona Drenttel MANAGING EDITORS Marina Albanese Chalay Chalermkraivuth

The Yale Herald is a not-for-profit, non-partisan, incorporated student publication registered with the Yale College Dean’s Office.

If you wish to subscribe to the Herald, please contact the Editor-in-Chief at john.kyono@yale.edu. Receive the Herald for one semester for 40 dollars, or for the 2018-2019 academic year for 65 dollars.

The Yale Herald is published by Yale College students, and Yale University is not responsible for its contents. All opinions expressed are those of the authors and do not reflect the views of The Yale Herald, Inc. or Yale University. Copyright 2019 The Yale Herald. Have a nice day.

EXECUTIVE EDITORS Emma Chanen, Emily Ge, Margaret

Grabar Sage, Jack Kyono, Nicole Mo,

Marc Shkurovich, Eve Sneider, Anna Sudderth, Oriana Tang FEATURES EDITORS Joe Abramson, Jordan Powell CULTURE EDITORS Laurie Roark, Helen Teegan VOICES EDITORS Hamzah Jhaveri, Mariah Kreutter OPINION EDITOR Spencer Hagaman REVIEWS EDITORS Kat Corfman, Everest Fang, Douglas Hagemeister FUZZ EDITORS Matt Reiner, Harrison Smith INSERTS EDITORS Sarah Force, Addee Kim

DESIGN STAFF CREATIVE DIRECTORS Julia Hedges DESIGN EDITORS Paige Davis, Molly Ono

IN THIS ISSUE

6

Voices Esther Ritchin, BK ’20, contemplates mortality in a poem written from a gutter.

8

Opinions Jonathan Kovac, DC ’19, challenges the potential effectiveness of the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement in bringing peace to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

10, 16

Features Sit in with Rachel Calcott, BR ’22, as she sketches a picture of the Yale Endowment Justice Coalition and its employment of Non-Violent Direct Action.

Sit down with Simone Browne and Nyeda Sam, PC ’22, for a conversation about surveillance, race, and teaching.

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Culture Camden Smithtro, ES ’21, takes us through a hearty recipe for homemade sourdough that will leave your mouth watering and your soul ready to inhale a loaf of bread.

In her conversation with poet Joy Harjo, Kat Corfman, SM ’21, reflects on reading first with the heart, and then the head.

20

Reviews Join Adhya Beesam, MY ’22, as she discusses all things spooky and symbolic in Jordan Peele’s latest thriller, Us. Bleu Wells, ES ’21, revels in the intimate and enveloping tunes on M for Empathy, the latest album from Lomelda.

Explore the emotional and artistic versatility in Ariana Grande’s new album, thank u, next, with Vivian Xu, PC ’21.

Eric Krebs, JE ’21, spotlights the wit and political bite found in My Finest Work Yet, the newest record from Andrew Bird.

INSERTS I Just Met My 22-Month Old Son and He is Terrible (By Robert Mueller) ELLIOT CONNORS, MC ’20 YH STAFF

H

ello, my name is Robert Mueller. I spent the last 22 months working tirelessly to find evidence of collusion between Donald Trump and the Russian government regarding possible interference with the 2016 presidential election. It was a grueling ordeal, but once it was all over, I was so happy to be able to go home to my loving wife, two adult children, and 22-month old son, who was born shortly after the investigation began and whom I have never met.

Before you accuse me of being a negligent father, I want to emphasize that had I known I was about to be named special counsel, I would have gotten a vasectomy. Furthermore, I would have demanded it be televised in the interest of government transparency. In fact, I would have demanded the Federal Communications Commission broadcast it on all channels in lieu of the Super Bowl Halftime Show to ensure maximum viewership. So how about you check the parenting advice at the door. At the end of the day, I am glad things worked out the way they did. I got to be special prosecutor and I didn’t even have to get a vasectomy: a classic best-of-both-worlds scenario.

Frankly, however, meeting my son has been a bit of a letdown. I wanted to do that thing soldiers do where they wear a disguise and then surprise their kid at a wrestling 4

THE YALE HERALD

tournament or dance competition or something like that. I imagined removing my wrestling/dancing referee costume to surprise my son and overwhelm him with joy. Then, I would, like, wrestle the child, or dance with him, and the crowd would go nuts and name us the automatic winners of the competition.

Then, we would go on Ellen and wrestle or dance in front of a live studio audience.

Who knows, maybe I’d finally even get that televised vasectomy everybody’s been talking about.

Shaken Baby Syndrome. Babies: can’t live with ‘em, can’t live with ‘em, am I right?

This is not a typo. My child is now a ward of the state.

Instead, after talking to my wife, I learned that my child has not learned how to wrestle or dance yet, despite having had over 22 months to prepare. As you can imagine, I was frustrated with my wife, and wondered what kind of child she’d been raising while I’d been working so hard to find just one little bit of collusion.

That’s right: I’ve been cleared of all child endangerment charges. And thank God for that. I couldn’t imagine spending another 22 months away from my sweet baby boy.

Moreover, when I removed my Hannibal Lecter face mask (Party City has limited options in March), the child clearly didn’t know who I was. I’d thought this might happen, since again, I’d never met the child.

However, I’d assumed he would at least recognize my face from television. I’m Robert Fucking Mueller, for Christ’s sake. Everyone in America knows who I am. I calmly expressed this sentiment to the child, whose only response was to spontaneously develop

All this is to say that things don’t always turn out the way you expect them to. You can spend months anticipating a certain result, only for the actual outcome to come as a complete shock. The important takeaway from this whole situation is that sometimes things like “facts” and “evidence” don’t tell the full story.

5 Top Five Struggles Every Girl Named Sarah Knows!

SARAH FORCE, SY ’21 YH STAFF

1.

You can’t go anywhere without seeing your name on things!

Like key chains, class rosters, and those signs at Arby’s that say Do Not Serve This Woman.

Honoring your biblical namesake on this pale blue dot of sinners.

3.

The only possible nicknames people give you are “Sar Bear” and “Screwdriver” and “Big Money Mama.”

Being mistaken for Sarah P., who smells like milk, and not Sarah H., the hottest, most symmetrical girl in school.

5.

2.

4.

Having to say “Yes, like harass spelled backwards but with only one S” every time at Starbucks.

VOICES

Rats ESTHER RITCHIN, BK ’20

I, too, can see a graveyard from my window.

I sit on my desk, legs slanted out the window, feet firmly planted in what I call a balcony and an architect calls a gutter but really, what’s a gutter but a balcony for rats.

I, too, don’t think of death as destruction.

You and I sit affably in agony, getting high to drop embers off the edge and watch them flicker down. We’re all rats up here, till the rain makes my balcony a shipyard.

I, too, perch in possibility.

Up here we’re stone or we’re embers ourselves and down there the passersby laugh and the sky cracks at the sound and maybe someone looks up and maybe someone gets high.

6 THE YALE HERALD

OPINION Bringing Down Success JONATHAN KOVAC, DC ’19

A

rriving at Yale in the fall of 2015, I hoped to start a new chapter of my life and, most importantly, find my “real” identity. Growing up in Israel and serving in the Israeli Defense Forces, one of the first questions I faced on campus was how many Palestinians I had killed.

This insensitive question made me aware that it was necessary I encourage a more open discourse, more debate and a more genuine understanding of each other regarding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Many people feel forced to take a side in this conflict, including supporting the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement (BDS), which calls for a cultural, political and academic boycott of Israel.

This conflict is too complex, too fueled with religion, politics, and history to pick one side over the other. Let us take as an example the Great March of Return. I was appalled when I first heard that Israeli forces had shot into the crowds during the march. However, I was conflicted when I viewed footage of Palestinian women and children used by Hamas as human shields, missiles launched into Israel, and snipers locked on Israeli targets. Call me conservative, but this is not a peaceful demonstration. On the other hand, Israeli aggression is often disproportionate and rightfully receives a lot of criticism. This once again reminded me that on this matter, and probably on all matters, it is important that we follow various and diverse news sources. One event can be told in a million different ways, all depending on the writer’s intentions.

The BDS movement would discourage an open discussion merely by demanding a boycott on any Israeli. This discussion should not be about blame or partisanship; it is about having an informed opinion. When people ask me today if I am pro-Palestine or pro-Israel, my answer is always propeace. In the past two Israeli elections, I cast my vote for center-left parties, which currently oppose the Netanyahu administration. But I do not, and cannot, pick a side between Israel and Palestine, simply because it is counterproductive to the goal of achieving peace. The purpose of this article is not to pick a side, but to render clear the negatives of supporting the BDS movement.

The sad reality is that in the current political state, the negotiation table is not an option. The Israeli population, driven by anxiety, mistrust, and disappointment, continues to gradually shift to the political right, effectively silencing parties that show willingness to negotiate and make concessions.

Let us hope that the elections in April will change that for the better. On the other side, the rift between Hamas and the Palestinian Authority (PA) disables any progress in for-

Jonathan Kovac, DC ’19, challenges the potential effectiveness of the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement (BDS) in bringing peace to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

eign and domestic matters; the reason why Gazans enjoy electricity for only four hours a day is the PA’s attempt to put pressure on Hamas. Ironically, those four hours of electricity are directly supplied by Israel. With a political front that is far from being united, both sides easily argue that they have no negotiating partner. In the current reality, the BDS movement will not move both sides closer to the negotiating table.

and the PA, goes. According to several estimates, Palestinians are the largest per capita beneficiaries of foreign aid, which unfortunately flows into the wrong tunnels. Israelis believe that foreign aid is often diverted to pensions for families of murderers, tunnels built directly under Israeli homes, and thousands of missiles launched by Hamas. Palestinians see US money funding the Occupation, through the purchase of fighter jets and tanks that bomb Palestinian homes.

As is so often the case, this is a matter of perspective, and the The BDS movement has celebrated several successes of ac- BDS surely does not present both perspectives. ademic and cultural boycotts, such as stopping the academic cooperation between the University of Johannesburg and The BDS movement is far from being the right path. AsIsraeli academic institutions. But is it effective to boycott suming that BDS will work just because a boycott worked Israeli academics, which include both Israeli Jews and Ar- in South Africa points to a grave misunderstanding of basic abs, a demographic which already tends to be leftist and an history. South African apartheid was fueled solely by racial advocate for peace? Does it help to boycott Israeli activists motives, whereas this conflict, as mentioned, has complex and artists, only because they are Israelis, regardless of their layers, with both sides making fair arguments and demands. opinions? No. This only drives a further wedge in this con- In addition, can we advocate for a movement whose leaders flict. These boycotts sound closer to hate-driven activism have repeatedly called for the destruction of the state of Isthan fruitful action. Finally, a complete boycott on Israel is rael? Can we associate ourselves with a movement, whose virtually impossible. When you send your next text mes- founder, Omar Barghouti, described the two-state solution sage, remember that Israeli developers helped to create the as a dead idea? concept of texting. Next time you unlock your IPhone with facial recognition technology, remember that it was devel- The real question we should ask ourselves is what can we do oped by an Israeli startup technology company. When you on an individual basis? First and foremost, when discussing get lost driving and pull up the Waze app on your phone, this heated topic, do not forget that each side has very leremember that Israeli technology is guiding you back to gitimate reasons to advocate for their cause. Keep in mind your suite. that fairly judging one side or a specific event from afar is nearly impossible, especially when we inform ourselves by By supporting the BDS movement, you neglect the many very few sources. If you are looking to make a difference, do other players to blame. I did not hear BDS demand a ban on not post something on social media and think you have done Egyptian goods although Egypt closed its border to Gaza, your share. This symbolic activism, BDS included, is the last reducing the supply of fuel, food, and other necessities to a thing that will bring about peace. Debate, discuss, and arminimum. I did not hear calls to boycott other Arab coun- gue— even when it is uncomfortable. Call out all parties intries who refuse to grant millions of Palestinian refugees full volved: Israel, Palestine, the U.S., the E.U., Arab countries. civil rights and economic opportunity even after 50 years of Assuming our goal is to coexist and live in peace, boycotting living in refugee camps. I also did not hear the BDS ques- one side will harm such efforts. We, as Yale students and potion where the enormous amount of money (in 2018, 825 tential future leaders, need to encourage open debate, work million USD) flowing into the United Nations Relief and towards fully comprehending this conflict, and finally pick Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA), Hamas, one side: peace.

“The BDS movement is far from being the right path. Assuming that BDS will work just because a boycott worked in South Africa points to a grave misunderstanding of basic history. ”

FEATURES Interview with Simone Browne NYEDA SAM, PC ’22

Dr Simone Browne, a Presidential Visiting Fellow for the 2018-2019 academic year, has provided me with deep insight into the field of surveillance studies and the urgency of its subject matters in today’s political climate. This semester, Dr Browne is teaching the course “Race, Gender and Surveillance,” through which I’ve had the opportunity to access such material. A Visiting Associate Professor in the Department of African American Studies, much of Dr. Browne’s work is informed by the intersections between African American studies and surveillance studies. Her most recent work, a book titled Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness, investigates the convergence and divergence of these subject areas. Her upcoming work will involve the curation of an exhibit about Black women artists at the University of Texas at Austin.

NS: Tell me about your work.

SB: My interest is in surveillance studies. That is a broad category and I approach it from various angles, even though I am trained as a sociologist. I look at creative works, literature and history to understand what happens when we put surveillance studies in conversation with Black studies. As surveillance studies developed post9/11—[around] interest in airports and borders and terrorism—there was an absence of how Black people experience, resist, and challenge surveillance. That’s where I think my work fits in.

[Airports and borders] are also spaces of depor-

10 THE YALE HERALD

tation, of containment, of deciding what bodies are risky, what bodies are trusted travelers, and how gender, race, and class create ideas around fear, belonging, and citizenship. Surveillance is the condition of Blackness in the United States.

I was always interested in travel and movement, but 9/11 is when I became interested in biometric technology. Prior to that I was looking at immigration, and deportation. After 9/11, I started examining why are borders said to be more secure if we have passports, ID cards, and facial recognition. That’s such an exciting space to study: how the border operates.

discussions around artificial intelligence, facial recognition used by police, or Apple, or IBM. These kind of public-private partnerships are often said to be about securing spaces, securing objects, and securing the nation. But what happens when certain faces are criminalized, or rendered illegible? What kind of calls are people making for algorithmic justice, or removing bias from algorithms? My interest is not really about being included in these datasets, or being properly read, but more so about questioning what these kinds of policing technologies are being used.

NS: How did you become a professor here NS: What are you most interested in within the at Yale? field of surveillance studies?

SB: Maybe that’s a question of surveillance too, SB: I am really interested in biometric technol- because I got an email. I didn’t know anything ogies. [Today], we’re seeing so many important about it. I had actually been here a couple of years

“[Airports and borders] are also spaces of deportation, of containment, of deciding what bodies are risky, what bodies are trusted travelers, and how gender, race, and class create ideas around fear, belonging, and citizenship.”

11

before; I gave a talk here in African-American Studies as part of their “Endeavor Series,” and I had come maybe the year before that to the Beinecke to look at some documents. But those were my only two times on the campus, so it was kind of a surprise to me. I didn’t know what to expect.

I’ve met some amazing students here. I think the kind of questions that we raise in our class are so fruitful and important. There’s something unique about this space and the urgent questions that come through here. I know in my class we started discussing how can the past allow us to ask questions about our present. We’ve [also] talked about surveillance in transatlantic slavery and within the afterlife of slavery: what does it mean to go and look at the Thomas Thistlewood papers at the same time that Surviving R. Kelly is running on television in the nighttime?

logue between the students and me. Our questions and concerns change [in response to] what’s happening in the world, but if I can leave them with thinking about the creative and intellectual work of artists practice as offering us maybe—I don’t necessarily think it’s hope—the methodologies to trouble some of the logics.

It is [also] so amazing to be in a classroom that is mostly people of color. It has been so unique and not what I would have expected here. We can do wonderful things in that space like contend things while still respecting and honoring a political project.

SB: That exhibit is for 2021. I haven’t really started yet. I have been able to be in conversation with artists, and through my book some artists have reached out to me. There are so many Black artists that have been thinking through and about surveillance. I think Black people have always been thinking through surveillance, and I think that’s what my work has been. I’m interested in how people are contending and disrupting surveillance, particularly artists. Having the category of Black women could be limiting and I’m trying to work through the politics of that but also there’s something to be said about Black women’s creative work.

NS: Why were you drawn to teaching?

SB: I always saw the classroom as a space for transformation, as a space of triage. [In teaching], no knowledge is neutral. The aims, the questions that I want to get to and what I want to leave the students thinking of are kind of tools. It’s a dia-

NS: Do you conceptualize the classroom as a place wherein social change can occur? And if so, how?

SB: Just us being here, in this space—particularly a space like here—I don’t know what to make of it, because it is social change. But we could also get recuperated into the system, too.

NS: Tell me about the exhibit you are curating at the University of Texas.

FEATURES

Acting Out RACHEL CALCOTT, BR ’22

O

n Monday, Mar. 4, a stroll up Whitney Avenue would have brought you into the midst of a huddle of figures assembling quietly outside the Yale Investments Office. The protesters arrived in ones and twos, carrying posters, cameras, and water bottles. Having reached critical mass, the assortment of undergrads, post-grads, and New Haven activists filed into 55 Whitney to take up residence in the foyer until Yale agreed to two things: divest fully from its holdings in fossil fuel companies, and cancel its holdings in Puerto Rican debt. The protest, which was the Yale Endowment Justice Coalition’s second sit-in, resulted in the arrest of 17 students.

“All the other channels failed us. Clearly, engaging with the administration is not going to work,” Nora Heaphy, MC ’21, tells me when asked why students have decided to take direct action. “80 percent of the student body voting in favor of divestment is not going to work, and logic and reason and 20-page research papers and storms destroying the homes of students is not going to work… and so we didn’t have many other tactics left available to us.”

Physical demonstrations of discontent with governing bodies’ laissez-faire response to the threat of climate change have not been limited to Yale. On Mar. 15, over a million students marched out of classrooms and onto streets around the globe in protest of how current administrators’ actions—or lack thereof—are undermining the futures they profess to be preparing us for.

A growing number of Yale students want to confront the way the University’s influence and financial

16 THE YALE HERALD

clout is wielded in support of the fossil fuel industry. Students are no longer content to merely engage in on-campus recycling or enroll in Environmental Studies courses. Caught between the constant barrage of scientists’ warnings and the inability to enact policy, Yale students have turned to Non-Violent Direct Action (NVDA) to give voice to their concerns—the greatest of these being the investment practices of those behind Yale’s 29.4-billion-dollar Endowment.

Why Direct Action?

The Endowment

“For me, Non-Violent Direct Action is a necessary and just response to a rigged and fraudulent democratic system of representation,” says Ross Pennock, DIV ’21, a member of the Endowment Justice Coalition. Ross’s camera swings around his neck as he interviews participants at the sit-in at 55 Whitney. A member of the Episcopalian church on his way to becoming a priest, Ross is part of the Coalition’s media team. “NVDA creates change by disrupting business as usual, organizing communities to demand equal opportunities of goods and services, or just the freedom to live,” he says over the sounds of the protest.

So what’s the deal with the Endowment? If you’ve read much about the Yale Endowment, you’re probably aware that it’s outstripping Harvard and Columbia in terms of fiscal growth, and that Yale’s Chief Investment Officer, David Swensen, has a knack for investment strategy that’s earned him the title “Yale’s 8-billion-dollar man.” You may also have read that the Endowment’s portfolio still includes investments in fossil fuel companies and holdings in Puerto Rican debt, despite ongoing student pressure to divest.

Mikki Metteba, BR ’22, a member of Fossil Free Yale, expresses a growing concern that “our worldclass educations are funded with climate destruction and mass incarceration.” Yale students like Metteba, along with members of the broader New Haven community, have coalesced under the banner of the Yale Endowment Justice Coalition to campaign for full divestment. “Where Yale says they’re ‘invested’ in environmental justice and restoring some sort of climate balance, their actual investments say another thing, and these investments speak louder than simply saying they care about this matter,” Metteba says.

The Yale Endowment Justice Coalition—a melding of Fossil Free Yale, Yale Students for Prison Divestment, Despierta Boricua (a Puerto Rican student group) and other groups—began employing Non-Violent Direct Action as a method to generate change when they found the traditional channels of communication with the administration to be ineffective.

Of course, this recent sit-in is by no means the first time students have employed NVDA on campus.

A brief history of Divestment In 1986, at the height of apartheid, 151 Yale students were arrested during a protest which involved the construction of wooden shanties (a symbol of the conditions black people were enduring in South Africa) on Beinecke Plaza. The anti-apartheid divestment movement, played out on a national scale, prompted 155 colleges and 200 companies to remove nearly

17 one billion dollars of investments from South Afri- Princeton follow his lead in divesting, as “they have ca. The ensuing capital flight and currency devalu- the best optics.” ation contributed significantly to the ending of the apartheid regime.

Discussing Yale’s recent, silent withdrawal from Antero, a major fracking company, Metteba is critical: The Yale students of 1986 may have prompted Yale’s “According to the Endowment Justice Coalition, that direct divestment of a few million dollars; however, isn’t divestment… that’s decreasing holdings in one according to Geremy Schulick, MUS ’05, a climate fracking company, that really doesn’t do anything.” activist and Content Curator for the internation- Like Grantham and Schulick, she emphasized the al nonprofit Project Drawdown, the deeper power symbolic value of investment decisions, noting the of endowment divestment lies in its ability to cata- importance of transparency. She believes that this lyze national dissent. “I think [divestment] is largely withdrawal “does nothing to reverberate any kind of symbolic. But symbols are really powerful, especially moral stance on the subject of climate change.” when they come from prominent institutions,” he ex- Divestment, at its best, is a nation-wide movement. plains. “If you have enough prominent investors say- Individually, the removal of one university’s investing we don’t want to invest in this anymore, it could ment (even when backed by an endowment the size potentially take on a toxic air.” of a small country’s GDP) will have little effect on the fossil fuel industry. But Yale is in prime position to Perhaps the most oft-cited argument against divest- punch above its weight when it comes to national inment is that it would be “economically harmful” for fluence. Thanks to Swensen’s financial finesse and the the Endowment. The Endowment powers the vast Endowment’s national prominence, Yale’s investment machinery of Yale, funding 34 percent of total opera- portfolio influences the decisions of endowment and tions, from graduate research to professor salaries and organization investors across the country. the financial aid that many of us depend on. However, leaders of the finance world are undermining What’s so wrong with a little investment? this argument. Jeremy Grantham, a co-founder of the multi-billion-dollar investment firm Grantham, Even if the divestment movement sweeps the nation, Mayo, and van Otterloo, states in a New Yorker inter- resulting in wholesale withdrawal from the fossil fuel view that despite short-term dips, “We looked at the industry, don’t we still need fuel in our cars, petroreal cost of divestment, and there is none. The data is leum-based clothing on our backs, and coal-powclear.” He goes on to suggest that Harvard, Yale, and ered electricity to heat our morning coffee? Perhaps we do—for now. However, the money we contribute to fossil fuel companies directly slows the process of shifting from oil, coal, and gas dependency to forms of green energy.

Caught between the constant barrage of scientists’ warnings and the inability to enact policy, Yale students have turned to Non-Violent Direct Action (NVDA) to give voice to their concerns.

“It’s fundamentally misrepresenting the role of the investor when you use dependency as an excuse to invest,” says Schulick. “As an investor, you invest in a company for growth. If we’re really trying to wean ourselves off fossil fuels in a relatively short time frame, we shouldn’t be supporting the growth of that industry.” In an article in The American Prospect, Schulick and his wife, Jennifer Stock, PC ’03, highlight the fact that investment props up the fossil fuel industry’s lobbying clout, ability to combat climate-conscious regulations, and influence on national opinion through media campaigns.

As elections loom, concerns over the fossil fuel industry’s political power give an added urgency to the call for divestment. Nora Heaphy raises the issue, asking, “What would it be like to win the 2020 election, to have our ideal candidate, and to be unable to pass the

climate policies we need because even those politicians are in the pocket of the fossil fuel industry?”

“You and I probably can’t persuade Trump right now to pass climate policy,” Heaphy admits with a laugh.

“But we can make sure that in 2020, when things like the Green New Deal are set and ready to go, we have sufficiently weakened the power of the fossil fuel industry.”

Large-scale divestment from fossil fuel companies is not without precedent. Bill de Blasio, mayor of New York City, recently announced his intent to divest the city’s pension fund (one of the largest in the country, controlling 194 billion dollars in investments) away from fossil fuel reserve owners by 2022. In a joint op-ed published by The Guardian, Blasio and Sadiq Khan, mayor of London, state their belief that, “… ending institutional investment in companies that extract fossil fuels and contribute directly to climate change can help send a very powerful message that renewables and low-carbon options are the future.”

More than 40 U.S. colleges have already either fully or partially divested. However, the Ivy League lags behind, with only Columbia and Stanford’s divestment from coal to show for these prominent institutions’ professed commitment to “shaping the future.”

Yale’s mission statement includes a commitment to “improving the world today and for future generations.” The students, alumni, and community members that I spoke to believe that Yale is failing to deliver on this promise. And the mutually dependent relationship between students and university means that we have unparalleled power to influence the institution of which we are a part.

“We believe that direct action is one of the only ways we have available to have our voices heard by the administration,” Heaphy says. “We hope that the Yale administration and David Swensen will see that the vast majority of the student body supports our demands, and that they therefore will have no choice but to agree to them.” As more and more students refuse to accept the pace of change set by university administrators, it can’t be long before the ivory towers of the U.S. are forced out of apathy.

CULTURE “I am still listening” A Conversation with Joy Harjo KAT CORFMAN, SM ’21 YH STAFF Joy Harjo is a Native American poet, author, musician, and recipient of numerous fellowships and literary awards, such as the prestigious Ruth Lilly Prize and Wallace Stevens Award from the Academy of American Poets, the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America, and the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers Circle of the Americas. Her works include How We Became Human: New and Selected Poems 1975-2002 (2004), Crazy Brave: A Memoir (2012), and most recently, Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings (2015).

Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and a member of the Mvskoke/Creek Nation, Harjo earned her B.A. from the University of New Mexico and her M.F.A. from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Harjo’s work draws on indigenous myths, histories, symbols, and values and often incorporates themes of feminism and social justice. Above all, Harjo is a storyteller, emphasizing the limitations of language and the necessity of remembrance.

Harjo visited Yale for a reading and performance hosted by the Yale Indigenous Performing Arts Program (YIPAP) at the Center for British Art on Mar. 5, 2019.

At fifteen, my godmother, a professor of English and friend of Joy Harjo’s, gifted me with a copy of She Had Some Horses. On the title page I found an inscription along with Harjo’s signature: “Katy—May you always have horses.”

I flipped through that thin gray book and dog-eared all the pages with poems that explicitly mentioned horses (yes, I was a horse girl back in the day). I read those poems before anybody taught me how to read a poem—how to give each word its due, ask the right questions, unearth answers from between the lines. I read them with a young reader’s unquestioning favor for the literal. And yet, I was instantly mystified.

In hindsight, I believe that may have been the last time I read poetry without the questions of the “educated” rattling in my head, without judgment or expectation. I read the title poem again and again as a child so I could return, five years later, and read it as a student of writing and literature. As Harjo writes in her memoir Crazy Brave, “The door to the mind should open only from the heart.”

Reading Harjo’s work with my heart first and my head second showed me what it means to be intimate with a piece of writing, how to hear it out before drawing conclusions. It showed me that poetry deserves to be absorbed through the collective efforts of the senses.

Joy Harjo and her horses taught me what it means, truly, to listen.

JH: I was involved in quite the balancing act then. I was a single mother with two children. I was working and attending college full time. And I had changed my major from studio art to poetry. I was advised by everyone, friends and family, that I was foolish. How was I going to make a living? I had a family to support. I was advised to take education classes so I could teach in public schools because I would always have a job. I trusted what my spirit told me. It doesn’t mean that it made it any easier. And at times I thought maybe I was foolish as it was a struggle to write, publish, and find my place, to make a living. I was not entrenched in a particular school of poetry, and that made it difficult to see me, to identify me. As Mark Strand pronounced from the stage at the University of New Mexico when he lectured there, in response to a question from the audience, “There are no Native American poets.” This was what we Natives who were writing poetry in the late seventies, early eighties were dealing with, a certain dismissal or invisibility. I also found a community with feminist writers. We had the experience of being female in a culture and traditions in which women and women’s contributions were less valued. Often though I was the only Native, or one of few. The movement was primarily Euro-American women and their social realities were often very, very different from that of indigenous women. In the best moments, we educated each other. In the worst, Natives were disappeared. I was mentored by the poets Audre Lorde, Adrienne Rich, Leslie Silko, and Meridel LeSueur. What a circle of teachers!

KC: Imagine you’re a senior in college again, seeing KC: How does the feminism you imagined in the yourself and your life today. What would surprise you 1970s compare to the feminism you see now? most about your life and career now?

JH: We were and are about the empowerment of women. There have been many changes, and yet, at moments, it seems that nothing has changed at all.

Yet to see Sharice Davids and Deb Haaland, the first Native women elected to Congress, tells me that all of our collective work made a difference. It did matter.

KC: You once told Contemporary Authors that we are “co-creators” on Earth. What do you hope to help “co-create” in the world?

JH: We are essentially Earth. If you look from the moon, you see that the earth is a person. Each of us creates or destroys. And sometimes destruction is needed to make room for creation—in natural and social systems. We are all essentially co-creating. In my time left I have more poetry, a musical, music albums, paintings, and a cultural regeneration for the Mvskoke people.

KC: Do you have any advice for young poets?

JH: The art of poetry, any art discipline, any scientific or social discipline relies on listening. Even repairing vehicles. It’s all about listening. Take those earbuds, earphones out of your ears, move away from the screen, and practice listening. And trust in yourself.

The best advice ever given me was from a wise soul from Isleta Pueblo. She said, “Be yourself.” It sounds simple. It was profound. I am still listening.

19

Breaking Bread CAMDEN SMITHTRO, ES ’21

M

y family has always preferred to make rather than to buy. Mom began sewing our Halloween costumes months in advance, paper-macheing the witch’s ball for my Maleficent costume, sewing individual bones onto black long-johns for my brother’s glow-in-thedark skeleton. All of the wood furniture in our house was built by my father in his garage woodshop, from our headboards to the intricately panelled desk in our office. When geography permitted, we had a backyard garden. When it didn’t, pots of basil lining the kitchen windowsill replaced the raised garden beds. We always had a breadmaker ready to churn out fresh pizza dough, cinnamon buns, and loaves of bread. In this environment, it’s no small wonder I gravitate toward creating. Because of my mother, I sit knitting socks in lecture, sewing up holes in my jeans. Because of my father, I bake bread.

Dad, bored of the bread machine and monotonous oblong sandwich loaves it made, bought a book on bread, and started making ciabatta, buns, and peasant bread. Peasant bread’s long rise led him to sourdough and, ultimately, to 52 Loaves, a memoir told through sourdough loaves that he and I found at the library. He started his levain, the goo of flour and water that wild yeast grows in, playing with the bread recipes it yields. We ate so many loaves together; the good ones, slathered in butter and jam fresh out of the oven, and the very bad ones, eaten to save face after a bad bake and with the knowledge that bread only gets worse with time. Eventually he trailed off, tired of spending whole Sundays on bread that was not getting much better.

When I started college, breaking bread with friends brought us together—a loaf of Atticus sourdough supplementing soup, smuggled into lecture. One spring break, my roommate and I ate an entire loaf of Panera sourdough with jam for dinner. I tried (and failed) to start my own levain in my dorm room.

TO BEGIN

1/8th and 1/4th teaspoon, even less if you’re feeling bold and trusting in your levain). Around 280 of water—but this 1. Go to the farmers’ market. Find the smallest, ugliest part’s always difficult to get right. Mix with your hands apples you can because all you care about is the opaque so you feel artisanal. Cover with plastic wrap, wash your sheen on their skin; if you can scrape a little waxy yeast off hands and walk away for 30 minutes. with your fingernail you know you have enough. Buy two 3. When you come back, pour the dough out on the countto three. er and begin to knead. It’s around nine minutes of push2. Return home and fill one of the family Tupperwares with ing and folding the dough, pressing it into your hands and a quart of tap water. Realize you didn’t think ahead and let the countertop and pulling it back into a mound. As you the water sit out overnight so the chlorine can dissipate knead, add flour. Add until the dough does not stick to into the air and not into your budding yeast farm. Add your hands—do this gradually, as the act of kneading itself the peels from two apples and the entirety of one more, will make it less sticky as well. Trust your instincts. If you’ve chopped, to the Tupperware. Cover. Let it sit for longer ever touched pizza dough, that’s what we’re going for, the than you would expect—around four days— until it smells smoothness and the pliancy of not quite firm, but definitely not sticky dough. Wash your hands again, return the dough like cider and foams. to the mixing bowl, and cover. Sleep.

3. Pour out 150 grams of the apple water and 150 grams of flour—a mix of white and whole wheat, for protein. Your 4. Wake up and run to the kitchen to see how much your levain doesn’t like bleach, so unbleached flour only in this dough rose last night. It should be buoyant. Flour the countyeast farm. Mix and stir every couple hours or whenever er (and wonder how many times you have and will wash you feel like looking at it. It needs to breathe for the first flour off of the counter) and peel or pour the dough onto it. few days, so cover partially with a dishcloth—don’t cover it Gently press the mound into a flat disk. Forgive yourself for how it will look the first time you try it, and pull the corners at all and it will dry out. into the center, pinching them together. Be bold—this is not 4. On days two and three, feed it 75 grams of water and the time for gentleness. Continue to pull corners and edges flour each, continuing to mix. It should be bubbling by into the corner and pick up the dough (now, shaped into a now, but if not, throw out half and feed it again, mixing sphere, called a boule). The top will be pinched together but the sides and bottom will be completely smooth. Flip it onto and feeding more frequently. a baking sheet, topped with aluminum and flour. Smooth 5. On day four, feed your levain 100 grams each of wa- side up. Cover, and let it sit for two hours. Preheat the oven ter and flour. Then it should be ready for use. When not to 500℉ with a pan of water on the lowest rack. Steam keeps in use, store covered in the refrigerator to slow the yeast the crust from cracking. down. This way you only need to feed once or twice a week. Ignore the complaints about how much room the 5. When the time comes, wield a bread knife and slice your Tupperware takes up in the fridge. For feeding, remove 250 mark deep into the bread. The purpose is to let air out, but grams of the levain (to throw out, to use for pizza dough, it’s really a personality mark. One cut down the center, two for pancakes, to put in a mason jar and deliver to a friend) diagonal, a cross—the world is your oyster,the bread knife, and replace with equal parts water and flour. Let it sit out your oyster knife. Slide into the oven. Reduce the heat to and take in the sights and sounds and air of your kitchen 480 and, after 20 minutes, to 425. Resist the urge to look for several hours (lid off, thank you) until you return it to at your bread. Wait another 40 minutes before taking out the loaf, which will now shine, golden brown and beautiful. the fridge.

When cool enough to touch, turn over the loaf and knock on the bottom. If it sounds hollow, you know you’ve cooked TO BAKE it all the way through.

When I left college for a semester, I went home and counted the days until I would feel better and until I could return to school. In early October I checked out that sourdough book from the library again, years since my dad returned it for the last time. I had all the time (too much time) in the world, and so much bread to make in it. Succumbing to the tactile processes and natural timeline of long rise sourdough was meditation; a reminder that some things turn 1. Feed the levain the morning before you want a loaf and out worse if they’re rushed or roughly handled. The process let it sit out in your kitchen all day. That night, around an TO EAT I settled on is described below. hour before you sleep, gather the levain, your scale (I can’t let you do this without a scale), a mixing bowl, bread flour, 1. Take photos. Gather your friends and cut the first piece, marveling at its crunch. Photograph the air pockets, slather whole wheat flour, salt, and instant yeast. with butter and eat (while hot, of course). The first cut into 2. Add slightly more than 250 grams of levain to the bowl. the loaf should always be shared.

Then 400 of bread flour. 90 of whole wheat (though if you like to be bold with your flours, you can mix in any other grain of choice). 13 of salt. A flick of yeast (between

REVIEWS

My Finest Work Yet A

n old-guard indie darling nearing 50 is an unlikely place to look for political fire, and yet Andrew Bird—in contrast to the reclusive domesticity that characterized his last LP, 2016’s Are You Serious—is unabashedly, and successfully, throwing his hat in the ring with sharp, pointed prose and melodies that ring out in the soul. My Finest Work Yet is a folky reminder that yes, you can still sing (and even whistle) about the world’s problems. Even if you enjoy the white male privilege of opting in and out of the political arena, please, opt in—after all, as Bird sings on “Sisyphus,” “history forgets the moderates.”

“Sisyphus” is a good place for My Finest Work Yet, to start: it reads like a thesis statement. Sisyphus was a mythological Greek king condemned to rolling a boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down right before the peak, and so on for eternity. Bird, through his ever-clever wordplay laden with internal rhymes and dictionary-necessitating diction, paints a portrait of Sisyphus, and in the process finds his canvas a mirror. Camus found the moment just before Sisyphus let the

boulder roll down once more a corollary to man’s search for meaning—futile and yet ceaseless. Bird places himself, and his listeners, in Sisyphus’ position, in a constant struggle to find meaning in a demoralizing world—against a demoralizing government, perhaps. However, he finds this task one of human invention, singing, “It’s got nothing to do with fate / and everything to do with you.”

E

Okay, that was partially clickbait. Although the film was a two-hour nonstop stimulant for my anxiety, it is far from nightmare inducing.

Unfortunately, the real horror begins long after your initial viewing. Attempting to interpret Us is a Choose-Your-OwnAdventure where you spotlight your favorite deliberately engineered detail in the film, engage in a near endless search for its meaning, and eventually snowball your thesis into a conclusion that “sounds right” but leaves you almost as uneasy as you were in the film itself. Even now, thousands of conspiracies are floating around the internet, but all feel like a polygonal peg just barely being squeezed into a round hole. In the pursuit of the round peg, I might actually go insane.

The most unsettling aspect of Us is that every second of imagery, dialogue, and silence appears achingly deliberate.

Knowing that everything had a purpose made every confusing detail a goldmine of possible symbolisms; my memory held each observation at gunpoint until I could come up with some form of explanation. The film is generous at times, offering a moment to catch one’s breath and read between the lines, but soon becomes a gushing waterfall of rich yet unfathomable meaning. Even now, my recollections of the movie come to me not in manageable sips, but overwhelming gulps of unprocessed information: unexpected twists, symbolic wide shots, and sweat-inducing monologues. There are moments when you are expected to be scared (and you will be, I promise), yet those were almost relaxing in hindsight: I immediately understood the motive behind the transparently “scary” scenes.

The most hair-raising were the scenes that seemed to go on for too long, the close ups of seemingly ordinary objects, and the hyperfixation on details that appeared wholly irrational, forcing even the most passive viewer to stop and ask, “What was that for?”

Beyond my seemingly futile quest to find the “plot behind the plot,” there is no simple praise of Us other than noting

like the noonday sun.” This careful balance of lucid storytelling and unrestrained calls-to-action make “Bloodless,” and the album as a whole, so great.

My Finest Work Yet is rife with beautiful, moving moments.

“Manifest,” my favorite track, is an acoustic, existentialist question mark that paints a bitter-sweet portrait of the end of history. “Olympians” praises the resilience of those that speak What is this struggle, you might ask? Well, Bird has an answer, truth to power; it’s optimistic without wandering into naivete. and a clear one at that, in “Bloodless,” the jazzy seven-minute Bird shouts, “We’re gonna turn it around! / We’re gonna turn allegory that directly follows “Sisyphus.” Bird, over a viscous it around,” and by the end, you believe him. backing track of swampy drums, upright bass, and swelling strings, paints an extended comparison between the Spanish Throughout My Finest Work Yet, the political and personal, the Civil War and today’s political crises. This could come off as sincere and satirical, and the restrained and powerful dance cringy—I mean, he does wear a fedora—but it really works. over Bird’s trademark violin and whistling as songwriting that Between the verses of history is a wonderful chorus that really applies resin to your heartstrings and plays them, over and over. drives the song home. Bird paraphrases Psalm 37 (trust me, it It’s music that deserves to be listened to outside. So, get out, works!), singing, “Don’t you worry ‘bout the wicked / Don’t put your earbuds in, and witness what you’re listening to. When you envy those who do you wrong / And your innocence will you’re all riled up, hit pause, take them out, and get involved. be like the dawn / While the justice of your cause will shine

Us ver since I saw Us, I haven’t been able to sleep.

ERIC KREBS, JE ’21 YH STAFF

ADHYA BEESAM, MY ’22 its display of powerhouse talent, including the heart and soul of the film: Lupita Nyong’o. To describe the extent of her skill in precisely shaping her character would mean spoiling Us. Nyong’o’s character, Adelaide, initially appeared to be a confusing hotbed of contradictions, divergent actions, and staccato transitions. In the beginning of the film, I had dismissed Adelaide to be poorly written—her reactions appeared irrational, motivated by constant fear in even the most mundane settings, and her dialogues were infinitely intricate riddles that seemed to have no real answer. However, throughout Us, facets of Adelaide are explained in isolation as her character is deconstructed into individual pieces that come together to create a masterfully developed persona. Again, a testament to the eerie calculations of Peele’s work: you are never given the upper hand on understanding Adelaide’s mind, not realizing why she acts the way she does until exactly when the director wants you to.

Her mastery of the role becomes even more incredible when Adelaide’s shadow, Red, comes into play. The shadows that exist in the film are soulless copies of each character that live underground but are tethered to the original character’s soul, seeking to lead their own lives as independently as the more fortunate. While Adelaide is classic Nyong’o, effortlessly gorgeous and almost unnaturally demure, Red is anything but. In fact, Nyong’o’s performance of Red is, without a doubt, the reason why Us is so scary: sans eyebrows and sporting shaved hair, crazy eyes, and stained teeth, she will undoubtedly succeed in filling your mind with all things ugly.

I found myself uncomfortably unable to focus on anything but her voice, which sounds exactly like how salt being poured into an unnoticed wound feels. Every subsequent action that Red took was disarming—it was impossible to predict what lurked beneath her glassy irises. The internal warfare between Adelaide and her copy is accentuated by how the portrayals of both characters were wildly distinctive yet impossibly convergent; either of those roles in isolation could have been Nyong’o’s magnum opus.

Beyond Nyong’o’s transformative performance, the entirety of the cast shine in their depiction of their characters and

shadows. Elisabeth Moss, in particular, provides a deeply beautiful portrayal of her shadow, Dahlia: a macabre creature filled with insecurities, insanity, and want, seeking desperately to just be human. Additionally, the two younger actors, Shahadi Wright Joseph and Evan Alex, do an incredible job of delivering what horror fanatics love most: scary children. In a film that is anything but traditional horror, the classic “creepy kid” roles allow for periods of unbridled fear free of potential deeper meaning.

What makes Us so important in today’s climate is its commentary on our often arbitrary distinction between “us” and the “other” (the title Us appears to double as the “U.S.”).

Instead of the narrative of the deserving and the scorned, Us believes that those who prosper are often simply lucky, while those who suffer are treated under a harsh dichotomy enforced by the complicit nature of the prosperous. We are constantly being controlled by status quos that, to us, may appear as immutable truths, but are merely the artificial machinations of those before us. In many circumstances, we are willing to live our lives just as complicity as Adelaide, unaware of the world just beneath us. Even though the shadows in the film are outwardly horrifying, they are definitely not the ultimate villains of this story. Because, as the young Jason Wilson snarkily remarks in the beginning of the film: Every time you point a finger, there are three remaining fingers pointing right back at you.” Us might not be for the film critics that love to boast about their nuanced understanding of a movie right after a one-time viewing. It certainly isn’t for people who like their films plain and easy. However, if you love Jordan Peele, Lupita Nyong’o, thrillers, classic movies, and a continuous two hour mental challenge, Us might be right at the intersection of all your hopes and dreams.

And, if you’re Jordan Peele, please DM me. I just wanna talk.

21 Ariana Grande “Grows from the Drama” on the Self-Aware thank u, next VIVIAN XU, PC ’21

H

alfway through her latest album, thank u, next, Ariana Grande suggests, “How ‘bout we take a little bit of time away?” It’s the exact opposite of what the pop sensation has done in the public eye since releasing her Grammy-winning fourth album, sweetener, just six months ago. Whereas sweetener found its strength in optimism following the horrific bombing at Grande’s 2017 Manchester concert, thank u, next accepts the pain, revels in the singer’s emotional wreckage, and lays it all bare. Since the tragic death of ex-boyfriend Mac Miller and the subsequent dissolution of her engagement to Pete Davidson in 2018, Grande has gained back control of her narrative in the recording studio, reflecting on romance and on her personal trials and tribulations to create a painfully honest album that celebrates emotional growth rather than that which wallows in post-relationship blues.

Thank u, next ultimately acts as a self-care guide, relaying a consistent theme of pushing through the pain in an authentic, personal statement.

Produced in just under two weeks, the album demonstrates Grande’s comfort in toying with new styles and approaches—setting thumping trap beats and ringtone synths against orchestral strings, songs blend seamlessly between electropop, contemporary R&B, ’90s hip-hop, and smooth trap. Amidst subdued melodies, Grande orchestrates the album, treating vocals like percussion by surging through multi-octave vocal runs and spoken triplets, and punctuating choruses with low-pitched ‘yuhs.’

Intimate, honest, fun, and witty, thank u, next ricochets between moods while exploring Grande’s reflections upon her own complicated love life. Structured like a real

relationship, the album progresses from the yearning, lovedrunk ballad, “imagine,” to the encroaching anxiety and dependency issues in “needy,” and eventually to the postbreakup acceptance of self-love over spite in the album’s hit titular track.

Utilizing dreamy waltz time and heavenly whistle tones atop light production, “imagine” wistfully longs for mundane relationship goals in an alternate reality: “Stayin’ up all night, order me pad thai.” The minimalist “needy” chimes in with spacey keyboard tones and unfolds like a self-aware, confessional, one-way text conversation: “Sorry if I’m up and down a lot. Sorry that I think I’m not enough. And sorry if I say sorry way too much.” With “needy,” Grande openly encourages women to own their feelings, even the uncomfortable ones. Yet moments later, she demands space in the catchy “NASA,” an interstellar metaphor for self-discovery twisted in the punny concept of firmly asking a lover for a night apart, because Grande needs to “explore” her own “space.” In singing “I’ma need space. You don’t wanna leave me, but I’m tryna selfdiscover,” she humorously alludes to the importance of emotional independence in relationships.

Contrasting the opening tracks’ mellow tones, the funky reggae-infused “bloodline” continues the singer’s exploratory journey in finding someone to “have a good time” with—no strings attached, of course. Conjuring dancehall, horns, and a pulsing bass backed by trumpets, “bloodline” playfully informs a fling between brassy breaks that he’s just not mating material. Both “imagine” and “bloodline” ruminate on the difficulty in finding the right

M for Empathy W

ith a mere day’s notice, Lomelda, fronted

by Hannah Read, released their third studio album, M for Empathy, on March 1. The album is a well-balanced blur with eleven songs totaling summing in sixteen minutes. Slow and intimate, Lomelda has produced an album that swathes its listener in a warmth that is know despite brevity.

The length of the album comes as a surprise, given that both prior albums, 4E and Thx, both occupy a comfortable 35 minutes. Frontwoman Hannah Read acknowledges the radically finite nature of the work, stating in the liner notes, “Much of it, and it’s just a lil, came to me, or outta me, outta a deepening silence.” This ownership of smallness adds to the charisma of the album by making the weight of every line, every sound, and every song that much heavier.

Tender and morose, M for Empathy thematically traces lines that push the boundary of intimacy and oversharing.

Read recounts feelings of fear—of death, of silence, of living with and living without. She speaks to her own strugglesexperiences withof miscommunication, struggles with suicidal thoughts, and loss of self. The lines to track four on the record, “M for Mush,” read, “Made myself a mush / Must make myself a mold / To hold my mushing magic mercy mind and my human being / How many warm rememberings.” These lyrics attest to Read’s dismemberment and recreation of self, separating body and mind, attempting to collaborate with the mess of herself.

Simplicity is finds itself woven into the very fabric of the album, murky images forming a relatable palette of moods.

Opening the album, Read lilts, “I need to be over there,”

relationship for different periods in life, swinging from idealized love to casual flings. With R&B throwback “fake smile,” Grande tackles critics head-on, cheekily sampling Wendy Rene’s 1964 single “After Laughter (Comes Tears)” to open up about her struggles with social anxiety when enduring hardship in the public eye: “I can’t fake another smile. I can’t fake like I’m alright.” With these lyrics, she candidly embraces her emotional breakdown instead of fighting it.

The singer’s candor reaches its greatest heights in the album’s emotional centerpiece—the chilling, gutwrenching, and apologetic orchestral ballad, “ghostin’” that appears to address the guilt she felt for mourning Miller while engaged to Davidson. Over gently encroaching violins, watery synths, and soft, ethereal harmonies alongside layered vocals, Grande’s lyrics paint a devastating scene about love, death, grief, and recovery: “I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again / Over him.” Using just one simple underlying melody cushioned by swelling classical strings, Grande tugs at multiple heartstrings as listeners not only hear her pain, but feel it as well.

Her most cohesive and introspective effort to date, thank u, next allows listeners a peek into Grande’s personal diary.

In the album’s 12 songs, Grande cathartically lays her vulnerabilities bare with minimal adornment in production and unabashed sincerity in lyricism. Though inspired by romantic connections, the album’s songs are actually selfaffirmations, turning a critical eye on the artist herself. It’s sad, it’s sassy, it’s messy, but more importantly, it’s real and empowering.

BLEU WELLS, ES ’21 YH STAFF

and we’re not exactly sure where there is, only that there is distance and longing and a need for separation from a current state, both physical and mental. Additionally, contributing to the imagery and adding to the gentle queer undertones of the music, the album ends with Read repeating, “Salty for her tongue.” This line calls the listener to question what it means to be salty for something, desperation and longing again leaving their fingerprints on Read’s lyricism.

M for Empathy snakes, slow and soft, moving exactly at its own pace, in its own way. It is intrinsically the speaker’s while still speaking intimately to the listener. Overall, the album’s effect is devastating and whole.

OUR KIND Patron T. Spielberg

Gold Contributor Abra Metz Dworkin Molly Ball Christopher Burke

Silver Contributor Dan Feder Brian Bowen David Applegate Fabian Rosado James Rubin

Donors C. Morales Ervolino Sam Lee Joshua Benton George E. Harris Laura Yao Ted Lee Michael Gerber Brendan Cottington Marisol Ryu Natasha Sarin Emily Barasch Marci McCoy Julia Dahl Maureen Miller

SPONSORS

The Black List THINGS WE HATE

Love

, Britton

Kevin Jonas, again But I love you!

Bossy babies baby spies

Philip Cortelyou Johnson Cortelwho?

The pelvic floor The pelvic girdle

Bob Marley One love!

Tennis camp One-love!

British person asking for a single cube of sugar One, love!

23

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