DIVERSITY IN MENTORSHIP Sydney Loh
P
icture someone you considered a mentor at some point in your life. What was this person like? What did you learn from them? How or why did you connect with them? Now consider this: How many of your professors look(ed) like you? For some, the answer comes immediately. For others, you can see the gears turning in their mind as they mentally flip through images of all their professors and even their TAs. Responses range from the immediate “none” to the genuinely confused “wait, what do you mean ‘look like me’?” This question prompts furrowed brows and slight frowns, nervous laughter and resigned sighs, yet, in discussions of educational experiences, it seems to fade into the background. Ask a student how school is going and chances are you’ll get the classic “it’s good” or maybe, if you’re lucky, a more complete “my 52
courses are interesting and there’s a lot of work but nothing I can’t handle so far.” Perhaps the diversity of the student body will come up at some point in the conversation, but, in my experience, rarely ever does it venture into racial representation among faculty. Yet, isn’t diversity among our mentors just as important as diversity among our peers? This photo essay captures people’s expression when discussing racial representation among faculty at Penn in hopes of encouraging conversation. The quotes included are excerpts taken from interviews of the individuals pictured as well as others. This piece shows that there is some disagreement concerning the significance of racial diversity among faculty members. Teachers, mentors, shape us; we must ask how racial diversity among faculty members, or lack thereof, shapes the educational experience.
“Students need to be able to see themselves at least to some extent in somebody that is teaching them. If they don’t see a teacher, a TA, someone in their department or senior like them, it’s pretty drastic. “
53
“Not necessarily, as long as they can do their jobs. I mean, it shouldn’t matter what they look like.”
“I think representation is as important as merit. The system we have in academics or any field makes it harder to gain 01access or get a position you want as a minority. People usuallly associate this with skill or meit, but really that’s not usually the case.“
54
“It’s kind of disheartening not to see a lot of faces that look like mine in both faculty and my peers. “
“I’ve had a whole mixture of different people whom I’ve always felt more comfortable with in the sense that they’ve been in your shoes. Their journey in life is more relatable with me, so I think representation is important, especially as an international student. ”
“If there was someone who looked like me, perhaps I would reach out to them a lot more. “ 55
Abby McGuckin
56
57
Ryan Bush
FIRST IMPRESSIONS Expect the Unexpected
I
n August, I strolled down Locust Walk with a sense of cautious anticipation, eyes wide and mind open to the friendships that awaited me. However, as time sped onward, and the blurs of jackets and laughter continued to pass me by, an intense desperation began to arise; my heartbeat quickened, my breaths became shallower. Running to Frontera, I frantically looked for someone to share an order of chips and guac with. Speeding up to Huntsman, I anxiously awaited to hold open the front door in exchange for the slightest pleasantry. I even ventured down to Commons, in an attempt to make small talk with the faculty who swipe students into the dining hall. Such was my life on a mission to be seen; the possibility to connect with another human being in this
58
foreign environment rang vociferously in my mind. Why was it so difficult? What made it so easy for everyone else? What was I doing wrong? Coming from a tight-knit, small city in South Florida, I traveled with the same group of kids my entire educational career; my experiences became their experiences, and my friendships became our friendships. I had everything I ever needed, and knew everyone I needed to know, in this “bubble� of a town. Or so I thought. Upon arrival at Penn, I quickly realized that I had been deprived of one simple, yet fundamental skill since childhood: a capacity to process discomfort. In my luling community of like-minded, studious peers, there was never any uncertainty or variability we had to confront; we were tasked with learning as much as we could in school, and nothing further. This tunneled vision skewed
my understanding of how simple it would be to adjust to something new. Some place new. My repertoire of sure-fire tactics to gain friendship would not always be effective in the big city. Thus, my privilege worked to my detriment, and demanded a greater degree of selfreflection to adjust to a world much larger than I previously imagined. I needed a refreshed outlook, and a strengthened faith in my own character, in order to succeed. It was only when I stopped ardently searching and conforming to expectations, that I found those who I was meant to in the first place -- in the fourth row of a Leidy Labs classroom; in the pouring rain on the way to the movie theater; on the second Perelman Quad step after having dropped an Ivy Leaf salad to the ground. Widening my scope to any possibility, I opened up my eyes to every opportunity.
59
Thank You, Next “We had an exceptionally talented pool of applicants this year.” “We sincerely regret that we cannot take more students.” “We hope that you will apply again next semester.” The stinging words of rejection rang in my ear, as I deleted yet another email of yet another organization to pass me by. The frustration began to bubble over in my chest, and a stream of water began to seep through the cracked dam foundation. In high school, I could proudly define myself as “the involved,” a true student leader engrossed in countless organizations and charities, as well as the go-to liaison between administration and the student body. It was so easy. It came
60
so naturally. That is, until, I enrolled in a university filled with 2,000 Ryan Bushs’. Friends try, to no avail, to lift my spirits and pull me out of my wallowing. “The club culture here is unlike anything you’ve experienced before.” “Rejection is not a reflection of you at all.” “You will find your fit, just give it time.” All kind, but nevertheless hollowed, words in this moment of anguish. As many Penn students can likely relate to, rejection was not in my vocabulary before stepping on campus; apart from an occasional second-string orchestra seat or understudy musical role, we have all been incredibly fortunate in the opportunities and resources at our disposal. Thus, as I saw firsthand, we sometimes become our own worst enemies in an environment like Penn,
where countless high school valedictorians, star quarterbacks, mathletes, and broadway-ready thespians compete for an absurdly-competitive opportunity or opening. They were all the best. They all deserved a shot. However, they have become so fixated on this idea of success and a ceaseless desire to set themselves apart, they lose sight of the opportunities before them. I am guilty of this too, but am desperately trying to change. Case-in-point: As I cleared this umpteenth rejection email, I see my inbox suddenly had one unread message. Subject line: “First GBM—All Welcome!” Immediately, my eyes widened, and my anger receded. I followed the link, completed the interest form, and dashed over to Huntsman Hall. In this moment of despair, I actually found an opportunity that
surpassed every one of my initial expectations. It became crystal clear that the “community” I longed for was not necessarily one that I had to apply to join; rather, it was one that accepted me unconditionally. As I walked into F85, I saw 45 bright faces; faces from Colombia, China, Zimbabwe, California, Iceland, and Florida; faces whom I instantly shared kinship with, shared an interest with, and shared laughs with. And from this moment forward, I knew I would be okay, that I would blaze my own path and find joy in the process of doing so. Clubs at Penn -- daunting and a bit extra, but surmountable nonetheless. And the best part of all: I am learning more and more about my own maturity and strength, one rejection email at a time.
61
Take A Lap The perfect ratio of four girls and one guy. As tight and as little clothes as November would possibly allow. A search history of the lyrics to Mo Bamba memorized. We were ready. The eleven o’clock hour strikes, and Locust came alive with students, all of whom were eager to brush off the stressors of another frantic week gone by. If I’m being honest, even in high school, I had never been the conventional party type. Instead, I was a product of my household; from a very early age, my mother taught me that reputation meant everything. Each time I would step out of the house, not only was I representing myself, but my entire family and the values we upheld. With this in mind, I forced myself to reject any chance for vulnerability. I only liked what I could control. It became who I was, and influenced all of my decisions. It is why I preferred conversation to a roaring crowd, and why I preferred iced tea to “water.” But this was college. It was time to push myself out of the comfort zone. Our crew strolled up to the house, and we
62
were immediately confronted with two or three authoritative upperclassman, no doubt smelling the desperation like a shark smells blood in ocean water. When we finally made it past the entrance, sensation immediately took over where sight left off; our vision went completely dark with the exception of a sporadic colored strobe light, as the heat of the confined space layered upon our skin like a blanket. My mind could not concentrate on anything more than the sheer volume of music blasting from every angle, and the primitive-like desire to dance. Pushing our way through the crowd, arms linked and eyes glistening, we finally made it to the center of the dance floor. The evening consisted of a blurred number of beat drops and arm flails that appeared to go on for hours, but apparently only lasted for thirty minutes. When I got the signal
that it was time to go, I squeezed my frame through the bodies blocking me, and made way for the other desperate souls hoping for some social interaction. This process continued throughout the night, until we all wanted nothing more than a frosty Coke slushie and cheese puffs from Wawa. With full bellies and tired feet, we made our way back to Hill, and proceeded to talk well into morning. It thus appeared possible to have the best of both worlds. I could uphold my own values, and still yield to social convention when appropriate. Just because I decided to go out, did not mean I was bound to certain expectations in doing so. I could honor who I was, and make room for a new layer to my character all the while. Great music, quality people, delectable food, and just the right amount of drama.
63
Muriel Leung I.
In the Beginning the snow rolled white waves over the whole mountain the air burned like it was meant to through parka fleece gloves and skin until only hot coffee could remind our bodies they were flesh again gliding over whitebacked whales of slopes that could swallow us at any moment.
64
65
MELT AWAY
II.
Bare mountain starved arteries of snow whisper past trees’ bones not meant to be exposed the snow machine frosts over the cracked brown earth that craves something more than our determination to be children forever Without paying the consequences.
III.
Frank Sinatra if he croons loud enough makes us forget the magic’s gone but don’t worry there will always be life-sized snow globes for skiing at requisite refrigerator temperatures in Dubai outside others who cannot afford to keep Sinatra on even if they even want to, who maybe know other magic, sing other songs, will slowly melt away. 66
67
TR A NS IT I ON S M I C H A E L
01 68
S H E N
Katrina McDermott is a freshman in the College of Arts and Science. Prior to coming to Penn, she attended an all-girls Catholic School in Main Line Pennsylvania.
Describe your background. Merion Mercy is a catholic, all girls school. So definitely completely different to Penn. This is something I had to learn to adapt to. I think at first it was a little difficult to connect with other people necessarily, just because honestly, I didn’t really find anyone from a similar background to me for at least a month into school. Religion was an important part of my daily life in high school and in college it’s really important to be respectful to everyone and the fact that a lot of people might not have a religion. People may have strong feelings about it so that was a bit of a learning curve as well.
So, what helps you deal with that? Definitely finding your community. I joined the Catholic group on campus and it was a great way for me to still hone in on my roots. Going back to another thing in college, it’s really important not to lose who you are. I already know a couple of people who are just changed completely from who they were in high school.
Which isn’t necessarily bad, but I think it’s also important to know where you’re from and what you value. In college with this huge mixture of people, its sometime hard to stay true to yourself.
Was what you expected different from what you met when you arrived at Penn? I definitely gained a new perspective of Philadelphia coming from the suburbs to an urban West Philly and Center City. I’ve done a couple of events off-campus for service and just meeting other people from other areas of Philadelphia was interesting. In diversifying my interests, I really wanted to get involved in the Asian American community here because of my Asian heritage, but it was difficult to know how to fit in at first. What made a difference was that I was passionate about Asian issues, had a willingness to learn more about them, and opened myself up. So first yes, I had difficulty finding a group, but I gained a lot of satisfaction really just seeing, listening to them and learning about them. 69
Ryan Norton is a Freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences and a part of the Benjamin Franklin Scholars/ Integrated Studies Program. Prior to attending Penn, Ryan attended high school in Lancaster, PA.
How do you think your education and community back home compares with the Penn community? I think Penn’s more of a wide range of people and more dynamic personalities and that makes things pretty interesting around here actually. I am in the Bent Button Productions filmmaking club and play intramural basketball. I think Penn has a lot to offer. I wouldn’t say it’s very competitive, it’s just motivating, I think. I think everyone is always hard at work and it makes you feel like you have to be hard at work too. You have to get that bread. It’s just a higher intensity, I guess.
What do you think has been your greatest difficulty in transitioning? Sleep is an issue. I think that’s more of just managing your time well because you have so much free time in college. Just realizing that, 70
despite having so many distractions, sometimes you just have to hit the books. I’m interested in Anthropology, so I came in knowing I wanted to do that. The availability of professors has been helpful. Just going to office hours to connect with them and feeling welcome to ask for help has made all the difference.
If someone was coming into Penn in your position, what is some advice you’d give them? I’d say don’t underestimate yourself. If someone is coming into Penn—Ivy League school, you think everyone is a real genius, everyone is probably way ahead of me. But everyone is on the same playing field, everyone is doing their own thing, and anyone can succeed as long as they want to and believe in themselves. In general, just keep a long-term outlook and realize that there are ups and downs and you just have to get through it.
71
72
Ashmit Vyas is a Freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences in the Benjamin Franklin Scholars Program. Ashmit is an international student and attended Brisbane Grammar School prior to coming to Penn.
What is the most significant difference between Brisbane and here? Right now, the obvious thing that comes to mind is weather. But I think, in Australia, from what I’ve noticed at least, is that people are very laid back. And they really just soak up life and enjoy themselves in every moment. I think here life is a little more full on and it’s a good and bad thing I think. People sometimes forget to stop and smell the roses here. But they’re definitely a bit more ambitious, there are definitely more opportunities here. When you’re in a country like America, which is, you know, just so many opportunities all around you, you’re probably going to get people who want their life to be a bit more fast paced. And moving halfway across the world comes with a lot of challenges. At first, I thought my biggest challenge would be living alone but that hasn’t been too bad with the support network here making things a lot easier.
What resources would you recommend them to someone in your similar position? Keep a close eye out on the Penn website. They have numerous resources, simple things
like SIM cards, technology, and information about transfer. Things like that which I probably missed and shouldn’t have missed. I’d also say just do your research because while they do a pretty good job, they don’t show you everything. You just need to look for the things you need. Simple things like having your anti-virus on your computer. The university offers that for free and people just don’t know about that.
How has your identity as an international student impacted your transition? Penn’s got a pretty large international body so I’ve got people who’ve come from a different background. And although we grew in different places, we’ve all been able to relate to moving away from home and coming to a different culture. To be honest, I’ve found it fine because I’ve made some pretty good friends, I’m on good terms with all of my professors, classes are classes no matter where you are in the world. Little things you do notice though are just like the way people act on the streets, vocabulary. But I don’t think there’s been any significant change in whether I’ve been accepted or rejected by the community because I think this community is quite accepting as a whole. 73
Victoria Brown is a freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences, in the Benjamin Franklin Scholars program. She is a first-generation student from Bear, Delaware.
When you came in you identified as a first-generation student correct? Yes, but different from a typical first-generation student. One of my parents went to college and didn’t finish, and the other took night classes as a part time student. Nevertheless, my greatest struggle transitioning to Penn has been trying to become an independent person and fulfil the vision of myself that I imagine as mature and ideal adult. I’d like to have my life together and do activities that I really appreciate.
How do you think your identity as a first-generation student impacted your transition? I think it’s really made me open to looking for resources. I talk to my RA 74
and TAs a lot about how to study and tips for time management, because I didn’t have a full expectation of what being a full-time college student would be like living in the dorms and managing personal tasks like laundry with my academic work. But I think reaching out to the people who are resources for me has really given me the insight that I didn’t have coming to college.
Would you say that has been most helpful to you in your transition? I think making friends in my classes is most helpful because we can study together, and I think having that obligation of working with someone really forces me to sit down in a certain time slot and get my work done. My advice is definitely don’t be afraid to talk to people.
75
76
77
OVER OVER HEARD HEARD Sneha Sharma
78
“Someone let them know, I can hear them in that line. I get its their mama’s money, but its my respect.”
M
y high school was the kind where each student knew the cafeteria staff’s names, and vice versa; though most of the staff was the same, there were the few students who returned their greetings with a blank face. So, some of the personnel just stopped greeting students. I remember feeling fearful, which in retrospect is quite dramatic. Yet, it wasn’t until I overheard a conversation at Hill Dining at Penn that I finally took a long needed pause. Three women, arguably distressed, were discussing the endless line of hangry students that forms from thin air at noon; it was almost as if they were trading horror stories. Approaching the three ladies, I accidently bumped into one, and before I could turn to apologize I heard her quip, “What? No excuse me - typical.” I was horrified. I hail from the South - known for its profuse niceties and
apologies. I struck up conversation and learned more about the three women. Generally this job was a means to an end, but they did mention a sort of culture shock amongst Penn students. One mentioned how sitting and swiping to transactional “hello’s” and blank faces for an entire day can be really heavy on the spirit. Another assured they certainly don’t have a problem with the students — many have regulars with whom they love to catch up — but note the general lifestyle differences among Penn students, as well as between students and employees. When asked, none sought to change anything about their job. They said dealing with the different faces students carry blank or kind and expressive - is just part of the territory; they were still grateful to be there. Still, their experience begs the question: what can we do better?
79
“Why is it that the time I most frequently see people who look like me, they work for the school? As kids, we have a tendency of mimicking the surroundings which we live in. We have role models who we feel we can identify with — and from there we proceed. Now, while we come to college at a much more elevated capability to contemplate self, we still look for familiarity or reliability in our environment. Most IndianAmericans I have encountered have been a Teaching Assistant or an off-handed professor here and there. As I sat on the couch at the Caribbean-American Student Association (CASA) I was confronted by the lack of representation students can feel within the student body. Unlike the rest of the vignettes, the source of this conversation was my friend with whom I spend the majority of my day. She revealed the caustic shock she experienced when she realized that people who she resembled the most, in terms of background or race, more often than not work for the school. After probing her further, she explained the 80
shock at not seeing many who looked like her, a young African American girl, in senior positions. She felt most represented by adults when she talked to those who worked behind the desk at admissions or in the cafeteria. More often than not, she found that the Latinx or African American adults working for the school were in positions that are not commonly highly regarded. A freshman member of La Vida Magazine joined the conversation, disclosing the lack of hispanic professors as well. Both clarified the effect arises from the discrepancy between their expectations in coming to Philadelphia from elsewhere and the reality with which they are presented; namely, they expected to see rich diversity and instead were met with a lack of representation. Situations like these can lead to identity crises from the dichotomy between the social pressure of acclimation and the color of skin one possesses.
81
82
“I don’t know why people are so determined to tell me I’m here because of some government action program. Sure, I checked a box, but it isn’t cool for that to erase everything else I did too.” Affirmative action. At this elite institution, the word seems to be resting, ready to leap off of everyone’s tongue. Some students care to explain how they got into Penn, while others would rather keep that information private, for better or worse. Still, there have always been mumbles of the scary, thundering word: affirmative action. A freshman discussed an instance from her Race and Incarceration seminar, in which a fellow student wrote an anti-affirmative action Op-Ed as her final assignment in the class; the freshman felt as if it were a personal attack. Regardless of opinion on the subject, the girl was distressed, tears rolling down her face. She felt reduced to a box. She was drowning in textbooks - biology here, economic there - which made me wonder how she of all people could feel her existence reduced to a checkbox. I’m Asian-American, and yes I am aware of the current lawsuit against Harvard by AsianAmericans. While Students for Fair Admissions have sued Harvard for allegedly implementing
an effective quota against Asian-Americans, it brings the bigger question of race’s role in admissions. I was lucky enough to grow up in an affluent part of Memphis, TN, where I had heard and seen the talk of people treating affirmative action as a handout, especially during the tumultuous row of application season. Affirmative action occurs in different ways; arguably, even being a legacy is a type of affirmative action. The freshman herself was a Questbridge scholar, known for its rigour, but still felt that her identity was being judged on her First-Generation Low-Income status and not on the full scope of her personhood; reduced to a check in everyone’s eye because of the polarizing conclusion around the subject of affirmative action. Affirmative action does not admit by default; every student is qualified beyond their demographic status. This encounter illuminates how necessary further education still is at a peak elite institution. 83
THE MATC
Anjali B
84
TCH MAN
i Berdia
T
he winter air squeezes the father’s bones and freezes his blood. He looks at his son as his feet plunge forward one after another into the snow, each step bringing more numbness into his body. For a second the father imagines the snow is a sinkhole, pulling him and his son underneath the ground to swallow them whole.
85
As he walks, darkness envelops the father, as the only light comes from inside the houses and some scattered christmas decorations. As he walks through the city, the father can see family portraits all around him. Block after block of families eating chicken or duck, laughing and smiling, holding each other to societal standards of familial perfection. The father clasps a sack full of matches. A few weeks ago he stole matches from restaurants all over the city and everyday he spreads out his piece of cloth, meticulously arranges the matches, and then tries to sell them. But today, like the day before, and the day after, no one has been outside to buy them. People tend to stay inside to avoid the cold and be together at this time of year. The father looks down at his hand holding his son’s and he feels his thoughts shift to regret. He thinks about how sorry he is. He thinks about what happened. He thinks about how much time they spent at the hospital, with white beds and white blinds and hands white from holding. He keeps an image of this place in his mind as he feels his son let go of his hand. “Come on,” he says and pulls his son’s hand.
86
“Come on,” he cries, his son standing still. “We have to keep moving,” he whispers as his son starts to dissipate. He watches in horror as the image of his son slowly dissolves into the cold air around him. Then the father remembers the last time that this happened and that he is always alone. He keeps moving. After a few steps he closes his eyes tight and tries to re-imagine his son, but he doesn’t come back. The cold bites deeper into the father’s body, until he has no choice but to stop. He leans against a brick wall and slides down to the ground, crafting himself a white throne. The snow soaks through his clothes, slow and persistent like an incoming tide. He pulls out a match and strikes it against the brick, watching as the small stick becomes illuminated with a tiny, alive spark. The fire dances dangerously in the wind, so he holds it close to his body, wondering how something can be made so quickly and then leave so suddenly. He strikes the brick to light another match and his mark causes the wall he’s leaning on to open up, so he can see into the house. He sees a family sitting around the Christmas tree. He sees a mother and a father and their son.
87
He sees the lights on the tree sparkling brighter than the stars in the sky and he realizes that the home looks a lot like his used to. As the fire begins to go out he frantically searches for another match. This time, when he strikes it against the brick wall he looks at the fire and sees the hospital. It is the last time he was there. He sees his wife splayed out on the bed, white as the walls and the beds and the floors. He watches as her heart monitor rises and falls and then never rises again, and then the image vanishes and he is left staring at a damp wall. 88
The father looks around at the dark sidewalk and his aloneness sinks in like the melting snow soaks his clothes. He strikes another match and as he looks at the fire he sees his old living room. He sees his son run into the room and he gives him a hug. They sit on the couch and talk about how their lives are going to change. The father promises his son to be good from then on: he is going to stop drinking, start working, take his medication. As the flame flickers out the father remembers that was the last time he saw his son before they took him away. The father anxiously gets handfuls of matches, striking them all against the wall at the same time. He yells as he strikes more and more against the brick, getting increasingly frantic when nothing appears. As he lights his last handful of matches he looks at the fire and sees his son in the room again. The father walks into the light, sits on the couch, and closes his eyes. The next day a family finds a homeless man frozen to death on the warmest holiday of the year. They see the matches around him and think he must have been trying to heat himself up. They think to themselves, poor man, he must have been so alone, and then they walk away quickly to forget.
89