IMPACT Magazine - Issue 8, Spring 2017 - Movement

ISSUE 8: MOVEMENT | FEBRUARY 2017

IMPACT MAGAZINE Our mission is to cultivate a culture of student involvement in social change and to bring awareness to the social impact activities of students, alumni, faculty, and organizations in our immediate and global community.

CO-PRESIDENTS

Svanika Balasubramanian Armaan Chandra Yousra Kandri

MANAGING EDITORS Tamara Prabhakar Kyra Schulman

ONLINE EDITOR Lisa Shmulyan

DESIGN EDITOR Siyuan Liu

EVENTS DIRECTOR Gabriela Rodriguez

FINANCE DIRECTOR David Huerta

POA DIRECTOR

Chelsea Alexander-Taylor

WRITERS

Maame-Serwah Afriyie, Oliver Chan, Vivian Dai, Maria Diavolova, Eliza Hoang, Tiffany Huang, Tyler Larkworthy, Muriel Leung, Jessica Li, Naomi Pohl Kyra Schulman, Nina Spitofsky, Rebecca Tan, Jackie Yu

BLOGGERS

Olivia Corner, Analiese Fernandes, Corey Loftus Anna Balfanz, Narelli Narciso, Tiffany Sim, Diane Bayeux, Qingyi Yuan, Adriana Dropulic, Andreas Nolan, Mariya Bershad, Sonari Jo Chidi, Angela Huang, Natasha Wood, Juliet Kim, Raksha Dondapati, Yasmin Hariri, Urvi Banerjee, Katrina Janco, Anisa Hasan-Granier, Carol Chen

PHOTOGRAPHERS

Belle Carlson, April Huang, Morgan Rees, Megan Lueneburg, Kyra Schulman

EVENTS TEAM

Kathleen Norton, Sherry Tseng

MARKETING TEAM

Matthew Cartwright, Claudia Kassner, Agnes Pei

SPONSORS & AFFILIATIONS

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Dear reader, We are proud to present our Spring 2017 edition of IMPACT magazine. IMPACT was founded in the hopes of giving Penn students a platform on which to expose social issues, both in our immediate Penn community and out in the world. Today, as a still growing student organization, we are continuing our commitment of creating social awareness in the Penn community.

The theme for this edition is movement. We chose movement as our theme for two reasons.

First, in a slight departure from our previous themes of globalization and sustainability, we wanted to find a broader theme that could encompass an even larger range of social issues. Our hope is that our theme has allowed for an even greater diversity of articles. Second, 2016 was a year of movement. We saw the success of far right political movements sweep the globe. We witnessed the largest refugee crisis since World War II. We felt the effects of climate change, waves of terrorist attacks, and mass shootings. But we also saw the highest high school graduation rate ever in America, health innovations from new vaccines to a discovery of new genes that could help cure ALS, and the abolition of the death penalty in more than half of the world. All of these events, discoveries, and changes were a result or example of movement.

In this edition, you will find articles discussing how architecture can affect a country’s political aspirations, how monuments seek to falsify history, how mural art can help heal a community, how Vietnamese citizens are leaving Vietnam, and how American policies towards immigrants have not changed. The theme of movement is central in each of these pieces whether they be discussing political movements, social movements, the movement of populations, or even a lack of movement in society.

Benjamin Franklin said that “all mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move.� IMPACT strives to be a part of the final class. We hope that this edition of our magazine moves you in the direction of making positive social change in 2017.

Sincerely,

The Impact Team ISSUE 8 / 1

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When Your Soviet Aesthetic Does Not Match Your Desired Democratic Politics, You have a Problem | Maria Diavolova Asian American Representation in the Media A Cause for Concern | Jackie Uy

Set in Stone

Holocaust Memorials Distance Collaborating Countries from Culpability | Kyra Schulman

Lessons from Abroad Let’s Eat | Naomi Pohl

What about the Asians Apathy in Politics | Jessica Li

Healing through Art

A Discussion with Philadelphia Mural Artist Eric Okdeh | Muriel Leung

Women’s March

Citywide Protests | Morgan Rees and Kyra Schulman

Roasting Penn

A Response to Penn’s Decision to Reject Fossil Fuel Divestment | Tiffany Huang

Watering the Pavements

The Turnaround of Philly Schools | Oliver Chan

Leave or Remain

A Vietnamese Dilemma | Eliza Hoang

Equilibrium | Nina Spitofsky Chris and Tanya | Vivian Dai Outside, Looking In | Maame-Serwah Afriyie

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When Your Soviet Aesthetic Does Not Match Your Desired Democratic Politics, You Have a Problem Written by: Maria Diavolova his is a narrative about a sliver of a nation’s long and turbulent history; namely, that of Bulgaria’s political transition from socialism to a pseudo-democracy, as seen through the lens of architecture.

Bulgaria’s history can easily be told through its architecture, and coincidentally, so can mine. My primary anchor to Bulgaria has always been architecture. My memories, experiences, and aspirations can all be linked back to physical spaces that I, at some point or another, have called ‘home.’ Much of that can be attributed to my family’s hard-fought battles to own homes. At the onset of socialism in Bulgaria, those who sidestepped the nation’s housing plan belonged to the elite—social, economic, and intellectual—who were faithful to the Bulgarian Communist Party (BCP). We were one of the few families who did not fall into this elite category, but were, nonetheless, able to circumvent living in the socialist panel block complexes. The elite were privileged enough to buy up centrally located housing that had been appropriated by the government from the so-called, “enemies of the people” – the former Bulgarian bourgeoisie. Additionally, they could buy apartments in the newest non-panel constructed housing complexes, like the one my family was lucky to acquire.

From the end of the Second World War until 1958, my great-great-grandmother lived in a rental apartment at an intersection of streets laden with symbolism of the nation’s political

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past. Her street bore the name “6th of September” – the date of Bulgaria’s unification in 1885, following five centuries of Ottoman occupation – and intersected “Boulevard Tsar Liberator.” The apartment was located in the cultural hub of the city, and so my grandmother tugged her cello to and from the city orchestra daily.

Then, in 1956, upon the announcement of the construction of a new, centrally located, living complex “Zaimov,” hundreds of people rushed to the site with the hope of securing a space for their families.

To their disappointment, the majority of apartments had already been distributed amongst ‘deserving comrades.’ In the midst of fallen faces arrived the news that some of the aforementioned comrades were dissatisfied with the quality of their apartments. And so, over night, the contractors decided to expand the project, adding eighty additional apartment spaces per block. My great-great-grandmother stood in line patiently, desperately hoping to secure a space. Then, a prominent party member’s brother objected to his designated apartment’s floor level, and so she claimed the property. Fortunately, my family’s life amongst the ‘comrades’ was largely positive. Most were intelligent, amiable people, who uplifted the neighborhood’s cultural spirit. For my family, it was a fortune to aspire to be the same as the writer, the painter, or the diplomat in their proximity, as opposed to aspiring to be the same as the industrial workers living in the block complexes.

My memories, experiences and aspirations can all be linked back to physical spaces that I, at some point or another, have called ‘home.’

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A Brief History The independent Kingdom of Bulgaria was first founded in 681 A.D., making Bulgaria one of Europe’s oldest nations. Its long history is marked by frequent political turnovers. Bulgaria gained its independence from the Ottoman Empire in the Russo-Turkish War (1878-88). Bulgarians largely remain appreciative of Russia’s role in solidifying Bulgaria’s present independence. Following years of political uncertainty in the aftermath of the First World War, Bulgarian political power fell into the hands of Tsar Boris III in 1934. The Tsar’s attempt to remain neutral in the growing tension between Germany and the Soviet Union failed when in March 1941 Bulgaria joined the Axis Powers. Although the monarch refused to commit soldiers to Hitler’s army, his decision to formally turn against the nation’s soviet ‘liberators’ incited internal opposition. A leftist, communist coalition, called the Fatherland Front, led the political resistance. Following increasing pressure from the Allies, by way of air raids and a declaration of war on behalf of the Soviet Union, the Fatherland Front took over the government on September 9th 1944.

New Housing Demands A significant part of the Bulgaria’s capital city of Sofia was destroyed by bombings during the Second World War. The mass destruction considerably reduced Sofia’s housing capacity. The onset of socialism was coupled with a drastic transformation from an agricultural, rural society to an urban, industrialized one. Masses of villagers migrated from rural villages and towns to the industrial hubs of the nation, and in doing so created an unprecedented demand for housing, which cities like Sofia were unprepared to meet.

Socialist Modernism From 1959 to 1962, the government commissioned the first residential development using standardized, pre-manufactured elements. The newly implemented industrial methods for complex residential construction offered a solution to the housing crisis of the capital, while simultaneously allowing the government to pursue its project of economic socialism. To fund their construction, the regime

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administered affordable long-term loans, whose installments people began paying before their apartment’s construction had even begun.

The pragmatism of this type of residential construction can be traced to Walter Gropius—a German architect who headed the Bauhaus School of Design in 1919. Gropius believed that limiting the variety of buildings to a few standard ones would increase their quality and decrease their cost. His Flachbau and Hochbau—eight and twelve-storied horizontal and vertical housing—combined with his attempt at standardizing housing fit seamlessly with Sofia’s own eight and twelve-storied standardized blocks.

From an economic standpoint, these structures sprung like wild flowers in a field, offering a swift and inexpensive solution to the housing crisis. Additionally, they lay the foundations of the nation’s high property ownership statistic of 96%. Architecturally speaking, however, these structures are ridden with conflict. On the one hand, at the onset, they provided modern amenities, like hot running water and heating, to villagers who had not previously experienced such comforts. The villagers’ perceptions of these structures as ‘avantgarde’ or ‘forward-looking’ served as concrete justification for their migration away from the countryside. On the other hand, cities’ peripheries, previously functioning as fields, were transformed into mines of grey, ubiquitous, undifferentiated panel blocks. One child recalls his father tying a red scarf on the balcony rail, so that the young boy could recognize which entrance of the complex to use on his return from school. The new urbanites aligned with the socialist model of ‘modernity’ where all living spaces are typified, and limited in size and customization; where one’s furniture did not differentiate itself from that of a neighbor’s. A family in Plovdiv could have exactly the same furniture as a family in Sofia. This uniformity resulted in an unforeseen refusal of tradition, which is a testament to this architecture’s political function.

From an anthropological point of view, socialist modernism altered social relations. On the one hand, the block housing facilitated the emergence of the nuclear family. Young families were able to leave the patriarchal family model and live independently from the extended family. Further, early on, the number of children per family decreased; this transformation can be read as a modernization of both the family model and the relationships between different parts of the family. On the other hand, the countrymen and women were faced with new social rules. They were forced to dutifully

pay off their residential loans over the course of twenty-five years for structures whose poor quality is only now being understood.

Further, though Bulgarian migrants physically left their traditional households, those households and their associated psyches did not leave them. So, though ideologically this architecture was intended to promote communist ideals of community through the value of public space, the reality proved more dire. No one had any concern for the shared space, leaving a day’s trash out on the doorstep—as they were accustomed to doing in the countryside— and exhibiting an overall negligence for the upkeep of shared spaces like hallways, stairwells, elevator shafts, and buildings’ garden spaces that were intended to foster a collective “working together” mentality.

Soviet Structures in Today’s Aspiring Democracy

While these structures offered a stepping-stone for development, their physical expiration date of fifty years should also be read as a social one. These living spaces have become a monument of socialism; they are not only a reminder of our socialist past, but also allow us to literally inhabit it. Though for many people these structures are spaces filled with sentimental meaning, namely of ‘home’ or coming of age, they are also containers of psyches of individualism deeply rooted in the monumentality of these architectures. This translates, in turn, into a lack of cooperation and engagement between neighbors, who cannot unanimously agree to

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The onset of socialism was coupled with a drastic transformation from an agricultural, rural society to an urban, industrialized one.

invest in physical improvements for broken structures. Additionally, and most importantly, this translates into our refusal to allow for true ownership of property. This refusal mirrors the “refusal” within our society to become a true democracy. If our political structure aims to evolve, our architecture should work to evolve as well. We should look to Germany, which as a part of its larger project of “de-Nazification,” redeveloped the Reichstag into a building of converging histories and aspirations. As Bulgaria advances towards democracy, so should its architecture, because when your aesthetics do not match your aspired politics, you have a problem.

Reflections of an Aspiring Architect In 1991, following the fall of socialism, my parents begun the construction of our own house in a suburb of Sofia. Some of my earliest memories are of me, as a five-year-old kindergartener, strolling through tile stores with my grandmother in search of the right tiles. This project, which took twelve years to complete, was driven by my parents’ desire to own property and invest in our future as a family. Importantly, property ownership does not by default equal democracy. Instead, it is about an ownership of choice. I grew up with an awareness of decision-making. I heard my parents weigh their financial means, their aspirations, and how those informed the space we would inhabit. Even when they lacked the wherewithal to see their creative visions come to fruition, they taught me about agency. That is something architecture has the power to do, if we let it.

Photos by: Megan Lueneburg ISSUE 8 / 7

ASIAN AMERICAN REPRESENTATION IN THE MEDIA: A CAUSE

FOR CONCERN

Written by: Jackie Uy

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rom Mickey Rooney’s portrayal of I.Y. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany’s to Scarlett Johansson’s portrayal of Motoko Kusanagi in Ghost in the Shell, the whitewashing of Asian characters on the big screen has proved pervasive against the hands of time. With around 15 million Asian Americans calling this country home, Asian Americans are still largely invisible in film and television making up just 4.4% of speaking characters.

One of the main excuses given by directors is that there is a lack of Asian movie stars. According to the New York Times, Max Landis, the screenwriter of Ghost in the Shell, stated that there are “no A-list female Asian celebrities right now on an international level.” However, if Asian-Americans are not being cast in the first place, how can they build themselves up to be box office stars?

Asian Americans are typically cast as minor characters.

Additionally, they are often drenched in racial stereotypes that give them few opportunities to be portrayed as more complex characters. The result is that their stories and their voices are unheard and tuned out, if not completely rewritten through a white lens.

And, what is more, Asian Americans appear to have had enough.

And, what is more, Asian Americans appear to have had enough.

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the media. These artists include actors, such as Constance Wu and Daniel Dae Kim. These actors are pushing for the expansion of Asian American roles in television.

In an interview with the New York Times, Constance Wu stated: “An Asian person who is competing against white people, for an audience of white people, has to train for that opportunity like it’s the Olympics. An incredibly talented Asian actor might be considered for a leading role maybe once or twice in a lifetime.

That’s a highly pressured situation.”

As a result of the lack of spaces open to Asians in the media industry, Asians have had to find other means to be heard.

YouTube has been an important platform for many, giving them a chance to write, produce, and create their own short films with Asian American accounts. For example, WongFu Productions creates stories that center around the younger generation of Asian Americans. Additionally, outlets such as 88 Rising, have sought to embrace the diversity of Asian America by showing short films, music videos, and dance performances created and performed by Asian Americans.

While these efforts have done much already to highlight the issue of underrepresentation of Asian Americans on the big screen, there is still a lot to be done. Asian Americans are only beginning to become active in making sure that this issue is not placed on the backburner. They are an integral part of the fabric of this nation, and without due representation, the national narrative shown on movie screens and television shows will remain misconstrued representing only a fraction of Americans.

In his music video entitled Safe, Korean-American rap artist, Dumbfoundead, took issue with the underrepresentation of Asian Americans on the big screen. In his video, he referenced AsianAmericans being considered a model minority, constantly pushed around and being the brunt of the joke. By superimposing his face over white actors in blockbuster movies such as Titanic and Napoleon Dynamite, he highlights just how underrepresented Asian Americans are. Dumbfoundead is not the only one speaking up about the underrepresentation of Asian Americans on the big screen. In fact, a movement is coming together of Asian American artists who are speaking out against the lack of representation in

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SET IN STONE: HOLOCAUST MEMORIALS DISTANCE COLLABORATING COUNTRIES FROM CULPABILITY Written by: Kyra Schulman

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very July 16 in Paris, a small group gathers across the street from the Bir Hakeim metro station just south of the Seine.

In the summer of 2014, surrounded by French policemen who had sectioned off a portion of the sidewalk, a group faced a stone monument that on any other day would not have attracted much attention. On this occasion, I stood in the center of this group with my mother. She kept tugging my arm in an effort to get me to leave. She was concerned about standing among such a group, which included men wearing kippas (a head-covering worn by observant Jewish males) and elderly women donning 70-year-old yellow stars with the faded “juif ” inscribed in black. This concern was not without warrant. That summer, France had experienced a rise in attacks directed towards the French Jewish community.

More worrisome for me, however, was the message offered up by the monument this group of largely aging Holocaust survivors and their families were surrounding. The words inscribed on this monument distanced France from its World War II culpability as a collaborating country under the Vichy regime. The monument proclaimed that, while it was the French police who carried out the deportations, the French police only did so under Nazi orders.

Nothing was mentioned as to how the French government willingly collaborated with the Nazis and why the Nazi ideology was so alluring to the French. To be sure, the monument omits much in the way of a balanced history.

In the immediate aftermath of World War II, Charles de Gaulle elevated the myth that France, by and large, resisted the Nazi 10 \ IMPACT MAGAZINE

occupation. As David Drake writes in his book entitled Paris at War, for the first quarter century after the war, “one historical narrative held a virtual monopoly – the Gaullist myth, that Paris and France resisted and liberated themselves.” For de Gaulle, national unity and reconciliation was more important than socially-divisive truth-seeking criminal trials. This cleansing of French complicity on French monuments should be viewed as a form of historical revisionism that incorrectly fosters the narrative of heroic French resistance. This sort of revisionism is particularly important to me as my grandmother is a French Holocaust survivor and my greatgrandfather was a French Holocaust victim who eventually ended up on one of the last French train convoys to Auschwitz. In the summer of 1942, my grandmother narrowly avoided deportation to Auschwitz. On July 16, 1942, the notorious Vélodrome d’Hiver roundup took place, in which approximately 13,000 Parisian Jews were placed in an enclosed biking arena in the center of Paris before being deported to Auschwitz.

The monument I stood in front of in July of 2014 was in memory of a fate that my grandmother very narrowly escaped.

Unfortunately, such Holocaust memorials like the one across from the Bir Hakeim metro are not uncommon in World War II collaborating countries in Europe. These types of monuments are being erected with increasing frequency. Set in stone, this politically motivated telling of history – free of Nazi complicity – cannot be easily undone.

QUAI DE GRENELLE Around the corner from the monument by the Bir Hakeim metro is another monument dedicated to the victims of the Velodrome d’Hiver. Francois Mitterand commissioned the monument in 1993 and hired Walter Spitzer, a polish-born Holocaust survivor, as the sculptor. The monument has a curved structure representing the biking track of the Vélodrome. A pregnant woman, a family with children, and an elderly woman are on the tracks. This representation of the victims of the Vélodrome d’Hiver sits on top of an inscription:

Without commenting as to how the Vichy government became the “de facto” French government and why French bureaucrats collaborated with the Nazi occupation force in the French occupied zone starting in June 1940, the monument distances France from its World War II culpability as a collaborating country. Only two years after the commissioning of this monument, President Jacques Chirac became, as David Drake notes in his book Paris at War, “the first French head of state to admit the culpability and complicity of Vichy in the deportation of thousands of Jews to Nazi death camps.” As Chirac observed, “France, home of the Enlightenment and the Rights of Man, a country that welcomes others and offers them asylum, on that day [of the Vélodrome d’Hiver roundup] committed the irreparable. It broke its word and handed those under its protection over to their executioners.” The Vélodrome d’Hiver monument omits any of this culpability.

PALAIS DES PAPES In Avignon, by the former papal residence, there is a monument dedicated to the Jews of Vaucluse deported to Nazi concentration camps between 1942 and 1944. The monument lists the names of the Jewish victims and denotes with a plus sign those who survived.

On the bottom right hand corner, the monument reads:

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Never forget the number of Jews interned from the Vaucluse who had the fortune to survive in the French camps, notably Drancy, Gurs, Les Milles, Revesaltes, as well as those who escaped the trains driving them to deportation.

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The French Republic in homage to the victims of racist and anti-Semitic persecutions and crimes against humanity committed under the authority of the de facto “government of the state of France” 1940-1944.

Never forget.

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The French camps mentioned were antechambers to the German extermination camps to the east of France. While these French camps did not engage in mass extermination of the kind practiced at Auschwitz, Mauthausen, or Treblinka, these were nonetheless places that, at times, were operated by French police for the purpose of detaining and ultimately deporting French Jews to Nazi death camps. None of this is explained by reading the inscriptions on this monument. The suggestion that a French citizen was, as the monument observes, “fortunate” to have survived in such a French detention camp overlooks the reality of French collaboration. The French camps were never operated for the benefit of their detainees.

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SZABADSÁG TÉR In July 2014, a block from the Hungarian Parliament at the entrance to Budapest’s Szabadság tér (Liberty Square), the Hungarian government erected a monument that depicts the Archangel Gabriel holding Hungary’s coronation orb as an eagle prepared to attack. The angel represents a victimized Hungary that had fallen prey to the imperial eagle of Nazi Germany. The monument presents Hungary as only a victim of Nazi aggression during World War II and fosters a growing government-sponsored belief that Hungary should bear no responsibility for the genocide that occurred under German occupation. The historic reality, as usual, is more complicated. The Hungarian government under Admiral Horthy—where Hungary was an Axis power until March 1944—readily assisted with the deportation and murder of approximately 600,000 Hungarian Jews. As Istvan Rev, the director of Open Society Archives and professor at Central European University, writes, “[t]he Hungarians wanted to send six transports a day, and as a compromise, Eichmann suggested two trainloads every other day.” This monument distances Hungary from its World War II culpability by only highlighting Hungary as a victim – rather than an enabler – of Nazi Holocaust atrocities.

JUDENPLATZ Also known as the “Nameless Library,” the Holocaust memorial at Judenplatz in Vienna was unveiled in 2000. It was initially intended to be unveiled in 1996 on the 58th anniversary of Kristallnacht; however, a series of controversies delayed this. Adorning the box shaped library, that many have commented resembles a gas chamber, are the names of Nazi concentration camps where Austrian Jews were systematically murdered. By the “door” of the memorial, an inscription reads:

In commemoration of more than 65,000 Austrian Jews who were killed by the Nazis between 1938 and 1945.

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The monument does not address how the Austrian population may have supported, or not objected to, the deportations of Austrian Jews or whether any Austrians actually were the Nazis engaged in these killings.

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ALBERTINA PLATZ At the fiftieth anniversary of the Anschluss, the annexation of Austria into Nazi Germany, a monument against fascism, entitled “Monument Against War and Fascism”, was built at Albertina Platz. A part of the monument includes a life-sized Austrian Jew kneeling on the floor cleaning the streets. The sculpture exemplifies the public degradation that the Viennese Jewry experienced in 1938 when the Nazi soldiers marched through the streets of Vienna.

The monument fails to capture the entire Anschluss story. In 2014, Austrian artist Ruth Beckermann set up a video by this monument depicting the “Missing Image” of Austrians cheering as the Nazis marched into Vienna in 1938. The video adds what the monument misses: Austrian collaboration and culpability. A clean national conscious was sacrificed, in stone, for a more balanced view as to Austria’s role in the destruction of Austrian Jewry.

CONCLUSION In Hungary, on the Pest side of the Danube, 60 pairs of periodstyled shoes made of iron stand along the river. In 1944 and 1945, following the removal of Admiral Horthy and the takeover by Ferenc Szálasi’s Arrow Cross party (the Hungarian national socialist party), enemies of the Hungarian state were brought to the edge of the Danube where they were forced to take their shoes off and were subsequently shot. The empty shoes of men, women, and children line the bank, as if their owners had only just stepped out of them.

Film director Can Togay worked with sculptor Gyula Pauer to create the monument, which was erected in 2005. A plaque, several paces behind the shoes, reads: “To the memory of victims shot into the Danube by Arrow Cross militiamen in 1944-45.” Unfortunately, the monument, that notably points to a degree of Hungarian culpability, has been the subject of a series of defacements. In 2009, pigs’ feet were placed in the shoes. Tamas Suchman, a socialist politician, called on the major parties to protest against what he described as an expression of anti-Semitism. Victor Orban, leader of the right-wing Fidesz-KDNP government that is currently in power; however, declined to denounce these defacements. For Orban, the “cleansed” representation of history depicted by the monument at Szabadság tér (Liberty Square) is more appropriate.

Winston Churchill famously predicted that, “History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.” The accepted histories engraved on World War II memorials in various European countries with Nazi collaboration pasts have taken Churchill’s “write your own history” admonition to heart. Presumably, even Churchill did not expect or intend for his rendering of the past to be the sole source of history.

In today’s climate of historical revisionism, European Holocaust monuments should avoid providing unbalanced views of history lest monument-goers forget and repeat painful, inhumane practices of the past.

Photos by: Kyra Schulman ISSUE 8 / 13

LESSONS FROM ABROAD: LET’S EAT

Written by: Naomi Pohl

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s my watch ticks closer to 6:00 p.m., I start to get antsy. I slowly close down the essay I have been working on in my room and wander towards the kitchen. Tessa whirls between countertop and stove-top, wielding a wooden spoon. A metal pot steams under the buzz of the fan over the stove. Chopped herbs and grated cheese sit in neat piles on a cutting board, next to a small stack of plates and forks. The whole house smells amazing. “Just five more minutes, I promise!” she tells me in her endearingly Kiwi accent.

A few minutes later, Tessa yells down the hallway, “Dinner!” in a sing-song voice. Soon my other flat mates slowly file in, visibly weary from the day. Jess spent the day running between dentistry classes, Jake has been in bed nursing a hangover until three p.m., and Emily decided to skip class to go on a hike. No matter what my flat mates did during the day, though, they all know to be home by dinnertime.

As we spoon heaps of spaghetti carbonara onto our plates, the conversation begins. “Any good stories 14 \ IMPACT MAGAZINE

from clinic today, Jess?” Emily asks. Soon we are listening to a story about a frustrating dental patient who needs five fillings, but doesn’t want to schedule more appointments. Then Jake launches into his opinion of the new hot sauce stand at the farmer’s market. We talk about our plans for the week. We extend invitations to each other for upcoming parties on campus. We sort out flat issues (“Who is hoarding all the coffee mugs in their room?!”). We compliment the chef, subtly hinting at improvements for next time, and exchanging recipes.

Most days we hang out at the dinner table for a while, long after the leftovers have gone cold and the Spotify playlist has ended. We are procrastinating, we are tending to our food babies, but we are also deeply enjoying each other’s company. As the sun sets behind our dining room window, we watch John Oliver videos, compare American and Kiwi slang, and help each other interpret our latest dreams. At some point, the conversation naturally fizzles out, the blissful bubble deflates, and we retire to our studies again.

Of all the beautiful things I have seen since arriving in

New Zealand for study abroad—the ragged mountains, the turquoise rivers, and the Milky Way—one of the most striking and unexpected has been the fact that students here actively make time to eat together.

They eat together almost every single evening, at the same time, like families. And in many flats, students don’t just cook their own meals and sit at the same table to eat, but instead have a rotating system in which one flat member cooks dinner for the entire flat one night each week. This only adds to the sense of group cohesion, since it involves some level of coordination and planning (unless you want similar meals every night). While reflecting upon what has made my study abroad experience so overwhelmingly fulfilling and joyous, I realized that this simple routine has played a major role. It is a means of conflict-resolution, communal catharsis, and crucial face time that I noticed I had often been missing at Penn. It has also created common ground among a seemingly misfit group of people. An aspiring record-label manager from Kansas, an outdoorsy state school girl, a not-so-outdoorsy Auckland native, a dental student from rural New Zealand, and me, a math major from East Coast suburbia, have something substantial over which to gather and bond almost every day.

Study after study shows the benefits of eating together, and it was something that had been prioritized in my childhood home. My dad cooked almost every night and made a point of not answering the phone or responding to emails during dinnertime. He always included me in the process somehow, whether I chose what was for dinner or helped cook or just set the table. During family meals he would ask what I was learning in class, how I had slept the previous night and who I was eating lunch with at school. “Who’s in the lunch crew?” he would ask, trying to sound hip by referring to my friend group as a “crew.” When we road tripped to Boston to visit my extended family, the first thing I would do was bake Mexican wedding cookies with my grandmother. She would ask me similar questions as we chopped pecans and mixed batter. Afterwards the whole family would gather at my aunt’s house for dinner and board games. I didn’t realize back then just how important those interactions would be in shaping who I am today.

I didn’t realize back then just how important those interactions would be in shaping who I am today.

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much homemade mac n cheese, just so I could get my housemates away from their books and around the dinner table all at once. For an entire semester, a friend and I walked to Reading Terminal Market together every Sunday morning for “bagelwiches.” Last November, my housemates organized a potluck ‘Friendsgiving,’ which is still one of my favorite college memories. And for my twentieth birthday, I asked my parents to skip the gifts; instead, I had them treat my close friends to a nice dinner in Old City. I craved these types of interactions—the undistracted conversations and carefree banter, punctuated by the excitement that comes with a really good meal.

Once I arrived in New Zealand, with plenty of newfound free time and a group of flat mates who love food almost as much as I do, I have had an overwhelming amount of these interactions. The daily face-to-face conversation time has done wonders for my well-being.

There is intense comfort in knowing that I will always have an outlet at the end of the day—somewhere to unload my thoughts and questions so I can start fresh the following day. I have a group of people who will listen to my trials and tribulations and give advice when I need it. I am allowed time for self-reflection, and time to gauge my actions through the eyes of others. Most importantly, I know there are at least four people on campus who will recognize subtle daily changes in my mood, who are not afraid to ask if I am okay, and who will worry if I do not show up one night without forewarning. Dinner has become a way of looking after one another, both physically and emotionally.

I have learned so much about these once-strangers to the point that I do consider them family. When I set the table, I place the saltshaker next to Tessa’s plate because she salts everything. If I make a vegetable-heavy meal, I’ll set aside a plate for Jake with fewer veggies because I know he has an aversion to green things. Emily loves spicy food. Jess does not. I cook accordingly.

You may be surprised how well group dinners can work with a little effort. Maybe you are thinking, “But Jenny is vegan, and Taylor has club meetings every other Thursday, and Jim goes to basketball practice at 6:00…” Carving out time for a group dinner every night can seem daunting, but there are many other ways to achieve the same end goal. Setting up weekly house meetings ,even, would be a great places to start. Let’s talk, but more importantly, let’s eat.

This dinner tradition was hopelessly lost when I got to college. I had gained competency in the kitchen and a joy of cooking almost through osmosis from my family, but between classes, club meetings, and the mandatory freshman meal plan, I had neither the time nor the resources to cook for myself, let alone organize meals for others.

And no, Banana Leaf BYOs do not count. My friends faced similar time constraints; at times it felt like I would have had to send out a When2Meet to gather my three closest friends for a meal. So I grew accustomed to often eating alone in Hill dining hall freshman year.

When I moved off-campus sophomore year, I still could not justify spending hours every week cooking and sitting down for homemade meals. Finding time to eat with my five housemates was not any easier. Soon, eating HubBub bagels and Magic Carpet sandwiches while hustling between DRL and office hours became my norm. When I had three assignments, two midterms, and a presentation due in a week, figuring out who I would eat my next meal with tumbled to the bottom of my priority list.

Yet throughout hectic semesters, I continued to look for excuses to gather people around food. Sometimes I would purposely make too ISSUE 8 / 15

WHAT ABOUT THE ASIANS? APATHY IN POLITICS

Written by: Jessica Li

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n the night of “Election Eve,” my friends and I went to the final Hillary Clinton Rally at Independence Hall. Cold, tired, but adrenaline-filled, we stood in the very back, craning our necks to catch glimpses of history being made. Promises of a country for all people rang throughout the field as we watched speaker after speaker, waiting for Hillary.

One of the performers was musical legend Bruce Springsteen.

After he finished his set, he began promoting Hillary to the crowd saying she was an obvious choice. One statement in particular struck me. He said Hillary will make America a country for everyone, whether you are “white or black, Hispanic or native.” As soon as he said this, my friends and I looked at each other and said: “What about the Asians?”

Bruce Springsteen is not the only one guilty of excluding the AAPI (Asian American and Pacific Islander) community from the picture.

The lack of AAPI representation in politics and mainstream media is a deeply rooted problem in the United States. Despite the fact that Asian Americans are the fastest growing immigrant minority group in the US, political participation and activism has stalled. There are 20 million Asian Americans living in the US. For the 2016 election, the AAPI community made about up 4 percent of eligible voters.

However, Asian Americans have the lowest voter turnout of any racial group. While, notably, there are many reasons for the low turnout, the lack of exposure and attention the AAPI community receives in the media and in politics plays a large role. Feeling underrepresented and unimportant in America, many choose to abstain from political participation.

Asian Americans across the country remain apathetic towards political issues and elections. I have seen this firsthand in my own family. My own parents have opted out of voting in local and state elections. They only vote in presidential elections out of a sense of begrudging obligation. When I ask them why they do not seem to care, they always respond: “Because I know it doesn’t matter anyway.” As Chinese immigrants who have worked their way up

from nothing in America to successful professionals in the healthcare field, my parents understand what it means to struggle in this country.

One of the lessons they have learned from this struggle is to keep their heads down, stay silent, work hard, and make it through. For my parents, like for many other AAPIs, representation is not high on their list of concerns.

This behavior comes at a cost for the AAPI community. Many Asian households perpetuate the idea that we must blend in, not make waves, and suppress any form of rebellion or outspokenness.

However, in order for Asian Americans to be heard and thus feel represented, we need to reject this form of silence, of acquiescence.

Our problems, issues, challenges, struggles, and identity, as a whole, matter. We are essential to the fabric of this country, and remaining apathetic in the very political system that runs our country is the worst possible thing we can do.

Fortunately, although older generations remain reluctant to vote, the younger AAPI community is not. Among the new generation of Asian Americans, over half expressed enthusiasm for the 2016 election, with 85% of respondents planning on being politically active and voting. Prominent actors and public figures like Constance Wu and John Cho have taken to social media to promote more Asian representation in the media and politics, encouraging the younger generation to share their experiences and remain active in the issues.

Additionally, in the last two decades, the AAPI community has been one of the fastest growing populations and electorates. It is estimated that by 2040 one in ten Americans will be AAPI. This growing movement of young AAPI activism and the increase in the AAPI population will hopefully result in both greater representation and sense of belonging.

It is not just about one election or one vote — it is about remaining active in policy whenever we can, and speaking out whenever we feel we should. As a community, we must work to be visible and speak out in a society that refuses to give us due attention. Only then, can we achieve the representation that we deserve.

ISSUE 8 / 17

HEALING THROUGH ART: A DISCUSSION WITH PHILADELPHIA MURAL ARTIST ERIC OKDEH Written by: Muriel Leung 18 \ IMPACT MAGAZINE

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alk past North Philadelphia’s Dauphin Street at midday, and you will encounter a W-shaped wall (as seen from above) where the surroundings—reflected clearly in mirror mosaic—blend together with painted faces, scenes, and words.

The purple-tinted far right wall features the images and stories of incarcerated individuals. This is in dialogue with the blue-tinted far left wall representing their families.

On one corner, the wall reads, “We are serving with you.” The inner two walls that make up the W, painted in purple and orange hues, contain symbols of public opinion.

This mural is one of many pieces comprising the 2012 multidisciplinary project known as Family Interrupted, which was directed by artist Eric Okdeh to explore the impact of incarceration on Philadelphian families. Okdeh has been involved with public arts projects since his freshman year of college and, for ten years now, has been involved with Philadelphia Mural Arts’ Restorative Justice Program. This program is an ongoing effort to facilitate discussion and mend relations between criminals, families, and their communities. I talked with Okdeh over the phone, and asked him to reflect on the creation of Family Interrupted, his public artwork in general, and on the capacity for art to heal and unite.

How did you become involved with the Mural Arts Program?

It began almost twenty years ago, in college. I was introduced to Jane Golden [co-founder and director of Philadelphia Mural Arts].

It was unique timing: the program was very small and special. I was able to meet with Jane, and to get small commissions.

At Tyler, I was a very straightforward figure painter, just trying to find a voice… Toward the end of my college career, I showed at a gallery. It was a different experience. It was very exclusive, not inclusive. Mural making is inclusive, it’ unique and special, and I realized that’s what I wanted to do. I had a few years of experience mural-making already, and they’d given me a purpose.

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How did you specifically become involved with Restorative Justice?

Jane reached out to me. They were working in Graterford prison, and they needed someone to show them [mural installation]echnicals.

At the time, I had no idea what I was getting into. I just wanted to do it. The impact of what I was doing didn’t hit me until I was in there.

At the time, I had no idea what I was getting into.

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So often, ideas about prisoners are driven by what you see in movies and on TV. When you’re there [with them], their humanity comes forward. We got close during those days—there’s a certain comraderie that comes from making art together. We talked and got familiar. It wasn’t after we left that I realized they weren’t ever getting out.

I was really moved by these guys and their willingness to learn, and how they challenged everything I was ever told about who an “inmate” is. I told Jane I wanted to go back there. So I began another project, and now it’s been 10 years. We’ve created 20-30 murals in Philadelphia.

Have you been working with the same people since you became involved?

For the most part, they’ve been the same. The group’s mostly comprised of lifers… I’ve had people who’ve passed away, which has been very hard to take. It is the same core group of people. There’s a 20 \ IMPACT MAGAZINE

group of about five juvenile lifers.

From what you’ve seen, what do the prisoners get out of mural-making?

The ability to give back. We had a mentorship program with St. Gabriel’s Hall, which is a juvenile detention center…It was extremely rewarding because a lot of guys [at Graterford] had been through that program themselves.

It’s the ability to give back to the community. Sooner or later we would work in a neighborhood that was someone’s hometown.

Also, the ability to be someone else for some time. Prison can be a dehumanizing place. When aworking on these projects, you can almost forget where you are. When they were working with me, it wasn’t about what they did; it was about something different. They were able to have this experience that was entirely different from the prison experience and transformed them.

Could you talk about the Family Interrupted project? How did the idea come about?

The group is not only just painters, but also a think-tank. We’ve been together from 10 years: how can we grow, where can we go from here? We wanted to create something that was different, that evolved, that used technology. Something that told stories in a way murals alone couldn’t. How could we reach out to people and collect stories? So we thought of mailboxes in areas where people do a lot of

Photos by: Belle Carlson

waiting: prison waiting rooms, the Eastern State Penitentiary, which used to be the world’s first true penitentiary but is now a museum.

Those mailboxes had prompts.

We got a wide variety of responses. We also had events where people would come and talk about their families. Some of these people I’m still friends with now. People who’d been incarcerated and their wives stuck with them throughout; families, which we don’t often hear from.

The incarcerated are often invisible, and their families are even more so. It’s important to hear their stories. This was all recorded.

Then it came to be we were recording so much, and we were

The incarcerated are often invisible, and their families are even more so.

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getting so many intense stories that we started making MP3s and clips, and posting them online. From that point, we decided we needed to include this dialogue in the murals. We created a website that houses all the audio clips, and were people could write their stories: familyinterruptedproject.com. Our mural design used QR codes that could be scanned to hear the audio, but you don’t need to be in North Philly to hear the stories. It’s beautiful and still works to this day.

Your recent art incorporates many different media. How has your work evolved over time?

The project I just completed is about recovery, which I worked on with people in the Kirkbride [rehabilitation] Center. I connected with

music therapists—they have a robust music therapy project. It was a yearlong engagement with people through workshops. The thrust of the project was to create spoken word narrative with overlaid musical loops. There are nine codes in the mural so you can hear all the music these people created.

Over time, the murals have become more interactive. How am I going to connect people to the dialogue? I’m constantly looking for new ways to engage people on these issues: How do you reach out to people? How do you make people aware of the issue without being preachy? Also, inviting the possibility to voice their own opinions even if they’re not at all close to your own—creating a safe place to contribute their own voices to the dialogue.

It seems like healing is a big part of your artwork. What have you learned or discovered about the healing power of art over the years?

In my experience, doing public art—it’s such an intense experience.

In a community, some people are completely on board with you and others are not so much. Philadelphia is kind of weird; we have a space here where people come with the understanding that it’s inclusive and they have the opportunity to get involved. People feel they have a say in the artwork that goes up in their neighborhood. Interestingly, people don’t feel so much that way about advertisements.

Art also has potential to bring out discussion, and to bridge social divides. Just being able to tell people on the street who made a mural deconstructs assumptions. I think Philly is unique in a world more and more populated with street art, where art often just happens to people.

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WASHINGTON, D.C.

Photos by: Kyra Schulman

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PHILADELPHIA

Photos by: Morgan Rees

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ess than 24 hours after Donald J. Trump was sworn in as the 45th President of the United States, millions of people across the world took to the streets to march with powerful signs in support of women’s rights, LGBTQ+ rights, immigration reform, environmental protection, and religious freedom, among other socially pressing issues.

With an estimated national turnout of over 2.5 million people, the Women’s March is being reported as the biggest one-day protest in U.S. history.

The Women’s March on Philadelphia, held in solidarity with the Women’s March on Washington and over 650 similar ‘sister marches’ all over the world, packed the Benjamin Franklin Parkway from Logan Square to Eakins Oval. Breaking previous predictions, around 50,000 people from all over the country were in attendance at the rally expressing multiple sentiments regarding current hot topic political issues. Pictured are some moments from the rallies on the ground in Philadelphia and Washington D.C. on the morning of January 21st, 2017.

WOMEN’S MARCH CITYWIDE PROTESTS

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ROASTING PENN: A RESPONSE TO PENN’S DECISION TO REJECT FOSSIL FUEL DIVESTMENT Written by: Tiffany Huang The urgency and magnitude of climate change call not for partial solutions, however admirable; they demand the more profound and thorough commitment embodied in divestment from all fossil-fuel companies, -letter by Stanford faculty for divestment. Jan 11, 2015 The movement to divest from fossil fuel industries has exponentially grown since its modest beginnings in 2011 on Swarthmore College’s campus, and has since become a social and political movement that tackles climate change through both economic and symbolic means. Divestment activism has spread 24 \ IMPACT MAGAZINE

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to hundreds of college campuses and organizations. Over 500 institutions, notably Stanford University, the Rockefeller Brothers Fund, Syracuse University, and the University of California system among others have pledged to at least partially divest from the coal and fossil fuel industry.

Fossil fuel divestment is important because it recognizes the enormous role that the fossil fuel industry plays in the destruction of the environment, in the rising sea levels, in the disappearing coastal cities, and in the displacement of communities affected by climate change. Climate change and global warming are two of the greatest challenges that mankind faces today, and the movement to divest recognizes the exigency of immediate action.

The mission of the fossil free movement is a profound and meaningful one, and every day, more and more institutions are recognizing this.

Where, then, does this leave Penn?

On Thursday, September 22, 2016, the University of Pennsylvania’s Board of Trustees announced that Penn will not divest from fossil fuel industries, following a divestment proposal submitted by Fossil Free Penn in November 2015. The proposal was preceded by a student referendum in February 2015 in which almost 90% of voting undergraduates supported divestment.

Penn’s refusal to divest is problematic both morally and financially, not to mention clearly biased as illustrated by a Daily Pennsylvanian article published by Zach Rissman on March 29, 2016. Members of the Ad Hoc committee were revealed to have either ties to the fossil fuel industry, or were outspoken opponents of divestment. These partisan ties to the fossil fuel industry make it doubtful that the decision to not divest was made fairly and without bias, throwing the validity of the entire process into serious question.

87.83% Yes

% No

Scientists have predicted massive climate change catastrophe if global temperatures change by more than two degrees celsius, which imposes a limit to the amount of fossil fuels that can be be burned. This implicit limit, results in an overvaluation of the fossil fuel companies’ assets, since only a fraction of their fossil fuel reserves are usable. In addition, the inevitable transition to clean energy will result in a downturn of fossil fuel stocks, and loss of money for investors in the fossil fuel industry.

Penn’s fiduciary duty to its stakeholders supports divestment because of its responsibility to minimize losses and act in the best interest of its principals. Because of the realities of climate change and the significance of the two-degree Celsius cap, much of the fossil fuel companies’ assets are, in reality, nonperforming or stranded. The materialized harm produced as a result of climate change, to which fossil fuel companies directly contribute to, also cause damage to other companies that Penn invests in, thereby resulting in significant financial loss to Penn.

Therefore, investing in fossil fuels would result in a breach of fiduciary duty and financial loss because Penn is simultaneously investing in an overvalued industry and in additional damage to its other assets.

Penn has the potential to become a much more influential player in emerging market by divesting in fossil fuel companies and reinvesting in emerging markets, where climate change has the biggest impact. As President Obama put it, “There’s no contradiction between a sound environment and strong economic growth.”

2015 Referendum Results

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But why is investing in fossil fuel companies an economically unwise decision?

David L. Cohen, Chair of the Board of Trustees, comments in his letter to Fossil Free Penn that “the endowment should not be used for public policy statements.”

Why not, though? Is there a problem with aligning rhetoric with action? The report by the Ad Hoc committee cited Penn’s climate action plan, numerous courses and programs focused on sustainability, research initiatives regarding energy, sustainability, and climate change as proof of Penn’s commitment to a greener campus. And yet, this commitment means little if it continues to profit from an industry that benefits from the displacement of marginalized communities, from the inevitable destruction of a sustainable future. Penn’s position as an investor in the fossil fuel industry implies agreement with, and even support for the industry.

No matter the economic impact of the decision of divesting— Penn should not invest in fossil fuel industries if it wishes to espouse itself as a leader in the cutting edge climate change research and shift towards sustainability. A hypocrisy lies in Penn’s deliberate decision to profit from businesses that play a direct role in the degradation of our world.

Penn has a social responsibility to its community. By not divesting, by remaining complicit with the fossil fuel industry in destruction of the environment, it is failing its students, staff, and alumni.

In a Stanford faculty letter in support of divestment, faculty members wrote that “the alternative—to remain invested in oil and gas companies—presents a paradox: If a university seeks to educate its youth to prepare them for the brightest possible future, what does it mean for that university to simultaneously invest in the destruction of that future?”

How are we to take Penn’s commitment to sustainability seriously if it does not uphold the intellectual consistency practiced in its research centers and classrooms?

Divesting would show that Penn is willing to actively participate in investing in a brighter, cleaner future. This move would encourage stigmatization of fossil fuel companies, and further the change in cultural opinion that confronts the reality of climate change. Not investing in the industry is not a passive move—in fact, it would make a powerful statement regarding Penn’s values and position as a leader of social justice.

In a world where senators deny climate change, where 80 F October days in Philly are becoming normal, where topics like desertification, rising sea levels, and ecological migrants are no longer receiving due attention, it is crucial that we confront the reality that is climate change and do everything we can to stop it. In light of this referendum being rejected, it is all the more imperative for Penn students to continue to fight, to refuse to be muzzled by bureaucratic measures. Therefore, I invite you, the Penn community, to reject Penn’s rejection of divestment and to invest in a sustainable, renewable future.

ISSUE 8 / 25

WATERING THE PAVEMENTS: THE TURNAROUND OF PHILLY SCHOOLS Written by: Oliver Chan

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hiladelphia’s school district has had a rough time. In the summer of 2013, the district superintendent announced that schools might not open on time, as severe budget cuts had led to insufficient staffing. The budgets of many individual schools allowed for no counselors, no secretaries to assist principals or answer telephones, and no arts or sports programs. Only with a last-minute financial-aid pledge from the city, some laid-off personnel were recalled, and schools opened on time.

And in the last 5 years, the School Reform Commission, which took over the district to stabilize its finances since 2001, has been forced to shut down 31 schools and lay off thousands of teachers, reading coaches, librarians, nurses and counselors.

As principal of Mastery Charter (Shoemaker) and founder of fellowship Black Male Educators for Social Justice, Sharif El-Mekki puts it, “a principal can’t be on top of things if he also needs to know where the rock salt is” – in reference to the widespread underfunding which has left schools unable to afford maintenance or facilities staff. With a dour half-smile, he explains that schools have a duty to foster the growth of students in all dimensions.

Sometimes, a compromise on students’ classroom learning is necessary to ensure their overall wellbeing; it’s a matter of balancing priorities with both your hands strapped.

And as it happens, Shoemaker’s situation isn’t representative of Philadelphia as a whole – the latest attrition and attendance data shows that Shoemaker tops the list of neighborhood catchment schools. That’s to say, literally every other resource-wise comparable school here has coped worse.

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So, how did even Philadelphia school district’s better schools end up undersupplied and underfunded? It lies in the way funds are distributed to school districts. Districts plan their budgets based on funding from four core sources: federal, state, city, and local fundraising. The first component is fairly stable, constituting a 9% contribution each year.

But the second, the state, has steadily declined in its share of the burden over the last 50 years, from 55% to 34%, leaving a majority of school funding to local taxpayers and communities.

But while most districts’ budgets rest upon property taxes, Philadelphia’s property tax base isn’t as robust when population and public school student density is factored in. Furthermore, City Council members are averse to raising a tax which already faces considerable opposition – as evidenced by the lashback Mayor Nutter faced in his bid to raise property taxes in 2015. He eventually raised it by 0.03%, or 4% of the initial amount.

The fourth and final source to bear the remaining economic burden, the local community, is neither sustainable nor workable.

Far from ideal, these funds are in fact strongly regressive since property values correlate strongly with incomes. Socio-economically disadvantaged school districts face a larger burden than wealthy suburbs. Compounded upon that, poorer communities tend to have a greater need for student psychological support, resources for students with disabilities, and special provisions for English Language Learners.

So why can’t the School Reform Commission levy taxes to address the yawning shortfall schools are facing? For starters, it’d be illegal – the SRC is a state agency, and isn’t allowed to impose citylevel taxes. But blaming the SRC is moot, because that’s a power which the original original appointed school board, which the SRC took over from, did not possess either. A standing 1936 Supreme Court decision prevents non-elected bodies such as Philadelphia’s school board, from levying local taxes. So, while other school districts, generally elected, have the autonomy to heal deficits by raising taxes, our school governing board must cajole and wrestle with state and city politicians to raise their taxes, and convince them to risk the political consequences.

Granted, money isn’t everything, but the Executive Director of Public Citizens for Children and Youth, and Pennsylvania Secretary of Planning and Policy, Donna Cooper quips that the only ones who say that are the ones who have it all. Investments in education reap tangible benefits, its impact ever more significant for students who start with less. Associate Professor of Public Policy at the Gerald R. Ford School, Susan Dynarski found that smaller classes increased students’ college entrance probability by 2.7 percentage points, with more than double the effect amongst blacks (Dynarski et. al, 2001).

That hardly surprises us – it’s intuitive that money translates into smaller classrooms, better-paid teachers, the possibility of extracurriculars, counsellors, administrative support, and better facilities.

The corollary to these positive trends is the manner in which past mistakes have cost Philadelphia’s school district. In Pennsylvania, woes between educators and policymakers led Governor Tom Wolf to delay implementation of statewide standardized testing, over teachers’ fears that implementation would cause graduation rates to plummet. For context, NPR reported last year that 4 out of 5 Philadelphia students were unlikely to meet that standard. And that isn’t unfair speculation – the latest PSAA data corroborates that picture too. While a handful of schools in Philadelphia attained near 100% passing scores (Proficient or Advanced), the mean attainment was 26.7%, and the median 21.8% (2016 PSAA report).

Additionally, the benefits of having a better funded education system are numerous and far reaching. The Education Law Centre (PA) found that for every dollar invested in childhood education, 7 are returned to the local economy. UNICEF found that each additional year of education increases personal income by 10% and the national GDP by 18%.

But it is through great adversity that greater human stories are written.

Born and raised in Philadelphia, Sharif El-Mekki has worked incredibly hard to turn failing schools around from the day he could. And for his efforts, New Leaders awarded his school with the prestigious EPIC award for 3 consecutive years, recognizing their achievement of ranking amongst the best 3 schools accelerating students’ achievement levels. Disarmingly humble, he earnestly argues that the success is the community’s and starts with the environment they’ve collectively built around school: “It starts with this community we serve. Our families have high expectations for us and their children and we work hard to reach our collective bar. I think the high expectations that our community has for us pushes us to meet them and we hold ourselves accountable to make good on the promises we make to families.”

And that’s the thing about education – everyone’s just so invested in it. Parents’ want nothing but the best for their children. Their hopes of a better age ride upon their children, who will see opportunities they never had. Behind every student’s bright eyes is a universe of dreams and hopes for the future. And as El-Mekki put it, he has a responsibility to help these students: “Everyone has to play their role. I believe this is mine.”

Photo by: April Huang ISSUE 8 / 27

EQUILIBRIUM

Written by: Nina Spitofsky

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have noticed that one word links many areas of study: “equilibrium” – an ideal state of being where the rate of ions entering and leaving a cell are the same, input equals output, electrons are paired, solutions are neutral, labor demanded equals labor supplied, and unemployment does not exist.

Biology, chemistry, physics, economics all ask the same question.

What happens when a system is not in a state of equilibrium?

Movement towards equilibrium.

But once the system reaches equilibrium an external force away from equilibrium

will inevitably induce a shift

and again the system will strive to regain balance.

A system, whether it be a red blood cell, a country’s economy, or the political sphere, is cyclical and susceptible to fluctuations caused by changes in environment, opinion, and public sentiment.

This idea that a system’s cyclical movement is induced by the departure from, and return to, a balanced state is applicable to societal change over time.

Beginning in elementary school, we are instructed to draw timelines of history, novels, and our lives. We are told to consider time as our independent variable and label our ‘x-axes’ in its name. We are conditioned to think of time linearly – and in many cases, this is appropriate. However, when analyzing time in a societal context, we must also consider its cyclical nature.

We each inhabit Earth for 71 years, on average.

You might see the rise and fall of political parties and several economic fluctuations.

You might rally, protest, and witness the signing of several pieces of revolutionary legislation.

You might watch a war brew and unfold, only to feel the economic, social, and political consequences it leaves in its tracks.

So from an individual perspective, time probably does feel linear.

But history has seen these events happen time and time again to a different group of people who lived somewhere else at a different time.

But when an individual’s excerpt of time is viewed in the context of history, patterns emerge and events that shattered the foundation of nations suddenly seem predictable.

In a world wrought with inequality, we as humans have sought to propel society forward expelling shadows of stigma and pulling o p p r e s s i o n apart.

When we stop and look back at our work, we see the steady equilibration of color and gender and love.

If you plot these turning points on a Cartesian plane, name the x-axis “time,” and connect the dots, you will draw a line. And when companies type and emblazon this (time) line on the pages of history textbooks we get the sense that progression is linear, too.

Sometimes we need to be reminded that it is not.

The passion with which I have heard so many leaders and students denounce the recent election is a reminder that change can happen – that it will happen. It may sound unjust to compare this election to a cell membrane – but much like a saturated cell gives rise to a concentration gradient, which generates enough energy to return the cell to equilibrium, so too will society. In saying this, I do not mean to underestimate the enormity of the election’s influence, but consider that just as nature moves towards its equilibrium state, society will also generate enough force to continue to l e n g t h e n progression’s time line.

ISSUE 8 / 29

LEAVE OR REMAIN: A VIETNAMESE DILEMMA Written by: Eliza Hoang

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orn and raised in Vietnam, I truly understand what it means to be living in an age often characterized as one of mass progress and change. When I was in elementary school, owning a car was a sign of extreme wealth. Now, cars cover the streets in all cities of Vietnam. Growing up, my grandparents would tell me stories about the Vietnam War and the poverty that they and many other Vietnamese suffered. Even though Vietnam emerged as a victor from the 20-year-long Vietnam War, in the immediate aftermath, the country lagged behind many others. However, since the 1990s, Vietnam has enjoyed steady economic growth and greater access to basic human rights. Today in 2017, Vietnam is considered a country with huge potential and an increasingly important player in the South East Asian and global stage. Nonetheless, despite the mass progress and change I have seen come to fruition in my lifetime, the nation still struggles with extreme poverty, rising air pollution levels, political corruption, and high unemployment rates, among many other social, economic and political problems. These continued struggles have unfortunately led to another issue: the brain drain.

Disappointed and frustrated with the Vietnamese government’s incompetence in solving its domestic problems, many Vietnamese are looking outside of Vietnam for opportunities they cannot find at home. The brain drain is a phenomenon where the more highly skilled and intelligent individuals choose to emigrate from their home countries. As of 2009, the Consular Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Viet Nam estimated that over 100,000 Vietnamese students are studying outside of Vietnam. While no official statistics exist on the total number of Vietnamese nationals workings and studying abroad, the Consular Department believes the number to be in the millions. Some of the more popular places that Vietnamese nationals emigrate to are the United Kingdom, the United States, and Australia. On the one hand, money sent back to Vietnam from abroad serves as a major player in the Vietnamese economy, equalling 8% of the country’s GDP. In fact, in 2015 Vietnam recorded $12.25 billion in remittances. On the other hand, the brain drain brings little to no gain, for both Vietnam and those who choose to leave it.

For many Vietnamese, emigration is seen as an opportunity for greater access to employment, and a better education. But to what extent do these emigrants profit from their decision to leave? There are two typical scenarios for those who have decided to emigrate.

The first scenario is that of the Vietnamese student studying abroad.

Initially, many Vietnamese students are satisfied with the quality education that they receive overseas. Following graduation, however, it can often be very difficult for them to find jobs. Additionally, from the perspective of Vietnamese policy makers, the country is losing their most talented nationals to more developed countries that have less of a need for these students’ talents than Vietnam does. Among the five million Vietnamese

people overseas, approximately 300,000 of them are experts in science and technology development, an area where Vietnam is lacking. The second scenario involves Vietnamese nationals who leave with false expectations of what their new lives abroad will be and end up feeling stuck and unhappy in their new homes despite initial optimism. Ample barriers exist for these expatriates including: language, unemployment, immigration complications, and racial discrimination. The brain drain results in losses for both those who leave those who remain. The country itself loses its talented people and the people often do not succeed in facing tremendous obstacles they experience abroad.

The brain drain, has highlighted an existing problem in Vietnam: extreme wealth disparity. The ones who benefit the most from leaving the country are those with financial means, as their children are often sent to the most prestigious schools in the world and, more generally, prosper as a product of a large financial investment. The less wealthy, on the other hand, fight for more limited opportunities such as scholarships for international students. Notably, 90% of Vietnamese students studying abroad are self-funded while the other 10% of students receive scholarships from governmental or local budgets, foreign governments, independent companies, or educational institutions. Furthermore, the impact of the brain drain could potentially give rise to new problems in the country in the near future, if not controlled. Continued mass progress and change in Vietnam is threatened by the loss of these individuals, and existing problems cannot hope to find solutions when Vietnam’s most skilled members are leaving. While Vietnam is in a considerably better place than many of its poorer counterparts in Southeast Asia, its progress is nonetheless threatened by the losses it incurs as a result of the brain drain.

Ultimately, the brain drain can only be cured if Vietnam works to alleviate the root causes that are resulting in emigration trends.

First, the Vietnamese education system must be reformed. It must work to improve the overall education standards in schools, as well as allow for flexibility and innovation in teaching methods. These new standards must in turn reflect the needs of the students rather than foster politically motivated goals of the Vietnamese government.

Second, Vietnam should work to enhance its relations with developed countries around the globe by promoting increased direct foreign investment and cultural and educational exchanges, as an incentive for those who are lured by the often disillusioned, opportunities of going abroad. Importantly, as Vietnam works towards solving the issue of the brain drain, there is a concert that the country could lose its cultural values in the process. Amid mass reforms and globalization, which will be necessary for the future success of the country, Vietnam will have to work to maintain its culture and reaffirm the values on which the country was built.

ISSUE 8 / 31

CHRIS AND TANYA Written by: Vivian Dai

L

ast week, I was approached by an African American woman on Locust Walk. She asked me if I had any change to spare.

Without hesitation I responded, “Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me,” and walked away. I actually did have cash, but I lied almost on instinct. Like many Penn students, I have been taught to ignore panhandlers. However, as residents of Philadelphia and as members of the Penn community, we can no longer ignore these people.

They are much closer to home than we may think.

Homelessness should be viewed as a spectrum. Accordingly, those who are homeless should not be called “the homeless,” but rather, “homeless people.” Some cases of homelessness are more long-term, while others are more temporary. Some homeless people choose to panhandle; others do not.

We should refrain from calling panhandlers homeless because the two terms are not equivalent. According to Dr. Dennis Culhane, a Penn professor in the School of Social Policy and Practice and a leading researcher on homelessness, more than half of panhandlers are not actually homeless.

The professor explained that the majority of panhandlers lie when they beg for money. “I wouldn’t give [panhandlers] any money. Some of them are very good at manipulating people,” said Culhane. According to him, the best way Penn students can help homeless people is by educating themselves on the subject and helping to reform our country’s welfare system.

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“Educate yourself. Be an active citizen, learn about these issues, so you can contact policy makers [and] make a real difference.”

Policy change is slow, however, and I wonder whether we can help on an individual level in the meantime. I wonder whether giving money to panhandlers could in fact make a difference - after all, not all of them are lying. Sometimes giving money to beggars can be fulfilling and eye-opening. JaHyun Yang, a College sophomore, knows this first hand.

Yang has been giving financial aid to a homeless couple named Tanya and Chris since late September, but her first encounter with them occurred months earlier. During the spring semester, she bought a homeless man food at a nearby Dunkin Donuts.

Several months later, Yang was outside Cosi talking to a woman who asked her for SEPTA tokens when the homeless man she met earlier joined them. That man turned out to be the woman’s husband. His name was Chris and her name was Tanya.

That September day, Yang bought the couple SEPTA tokens and a phone card. Then, after talking with them and getting to know them a bit, she exchanged phone numbers with the couple. “I could sense [that] they were really good people,” Yang said.

“At first I was reluctant [to help] but the tokens and the phone card were items for immediate use and I knew where my money was going. That was a sign I could trust them.”

Over the next month, the couple called Yang a handful of times.

They called to ask for specific amounts of money to help with transportation, and they called only for urgent things, Yang emphasized.

Yang continued to help them because she trusted them, and because Chris found a job within a few days of their exchanging contact information. “That felt like a sign I should continue supporting them,” Yang said. “And since Chris got a job, he really needed the transportation help, or he would lose his job.”

Though Yang built trust with the couple with each meeting, she, nonetheless, continued to wonder whether giving them money was the right thing to do. Was she actually making a difference? “I was in constant conflict. I didn’t know what to do, and it was also financially difficult to keep giving them money,” said Yang. “I know I have to stop eventually.”

Because she wanted to sit down with them and get to know them more, Yang planned a meeting with the couple one weekend in late October. I was lucky enough to be able to tag along, and Tanya and Chris were kind enough to agree to be interviewed.

We planned to meet at the food court next to the 34th street CVS. When I walked in, I saw Yang sitting next to an African American couple in their forties. I don’t know what I expected, but I was surprised at how normal they looked. Their clothes were not dirty or worn. They were dressed as regular people would dress: in jeans, t-shirts, and standard casual wear. Only Tanya’s ill-matched

athletic jersey and puffy vest suggested that they had gotten their clothes from Goodwill and other charities.

Tanya and Chris both stood up when they saw me. Tanya, who stood as tall as her husband and had short, cropped hair, had a boyish demeanor. Chris, on the other hand, seemed more demure.

After I introduced myself, Tanya immediately embraced me in a warm hug. Her husband followed suit. Already taken aback by their warmth, I was further surprised when Tanya reached into her pocket and pulled out a stack of photos.

“We were talking to your friend,” she gestured to Yang, “about our wedding the other day, so I thought I’d bring some photos here for you to look at,” she said. She spread the photos out on the table.

“Here, you can take some if you want, we have so many.”

The husband and wife were teenage sweethearts. Though they married just two years ago, they met at a baseball game when she was 15 and he 18. She was a Philly native and Chris had just moved to the city from Fairfax, Virginia. He was working at a food stand.

This was only two years after Tanya discovered she was bipolar. I learned Tanya had been suffering from bipolar disorder since the age of 13, and Chris had been taking care of her ever since they got together.

Because of her disorder, Tanya has not been able to hold a job, and Chris has struggled to support the both of them. The couple has been moving from shelter to shelter since 2009, oftentimes ISSUE 8 / 33

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think about.” This is where individual aid is most helpful. Tanya and Chris both agree that gift cards are the best way to help homeless people on the streets, and a good alternative to giving cash to panhandlers.

“

Homeless people aren’t always hungry.

We’re human, too.

“

living separately because of gender restrictions. The two listed the Eliza Shirley Shelter for Women, Kirkbride Healthcare Center, and Mount Airy Church of God in Christ as just a few of the ones they have inhabited. But, in general, the couple does not think homeless shelters help all that much. “They don’t help us get out [of our situation], you know,” Chris explained.

What did help them was their friends who moved out of a place in South Philly and left the apartment to them. Chris explained that their landlord is a “slumlord,” who does not care who lives there as long as they pay rent, which is $550 a month. Fortunately, Chris found a job cleaning at King of Prussia in late September, so he is able to pay rent, but just barely. The job pays minimum wage and transportation is costly because he and Tanya live so far away.

Chris found his job by taking the initiative to go to the Free Library of Philadelphia and applying online to a number of positions.

The job is only temporary, he explained, and he has worked these temp jobs before, jumping from place to place. He wishes the homeless shelters would provide better employment services, and harbors a similar view toward government sponsored welfare. “Don’t just tell me to find a job. Help me get one. Help me get to it,” he said.

Chris and Tanya collect food stamps from the government, but that is about all they get from the state. Tanya was passionate when she said, “Homeless people aren’t always hungry. We’re human, too. We need to buy socks, toothpaste, stuff like that people don’t

“Wawa, Fresh Grocer [gift cards], they’re all good. Visa gift cards are the best, because you can use them anywhere. And that way, you know where your money’s going,” Tanya said. She and her husband are sympathetic to people who may be hesitant to hand cash to panhandlers. “If a person asks for food, then give them food,” they said, “otherwise, if they reject anything other than cash, don’t give them anything.”

At this point in the conversation, I asked Tanya and Chris how they think Penn students can help. What first came to mind for Tanya was the Penn truck that takes clothing to Goodwill during student move out at the end of the year. Goodwill charges three dollars for clothes, they said, so it would be better if Penn donated the clothing directly to a homeless shelter.

“That way, we don’t have to go dumpster diving through your clothes,” Tanya said. It took me a second to realize that by “your,”

to become cynical about giving money to beggars. But whether you give money or not, it is important to acknowledge the problem of poverty. It is important to notice the panhandlers and homeless people on the streets. “It’s a good first step to acknowledge it’s a problem and it’s not right,” said Yang. “It’s not a given that there should be homeless people in a city.”

“

But whether you give money or not, it is important to acknowledge that problem of poverty.

“

she meant me. She meant us, Penn students. It occurred to me that the athletic jersey and ill-fitting vest might have come from a fellow student. To the student, this clothing was very literally trash, but for Tanya, the clothing was what would keep her warm this winter.

I didn’t have much time to mull over this fact; however, as Tanya and Chris explained they had to leave to go see Chris’s mother.

They embraced me and Yang goodbye, and Chris said to Yang, “We love you. We love you.” I later found out that Yang had given the couple another $40 that day to help with transportation and other costs.

JaHyun Yang is not the only one who gives to homeless people, but she is the only person I know who takes the time to get to know the people she is helping. Through talking to Chris and Tanya and truly seeking to understand their situation, Yang has been able to determine for herself whether or not to give the couple money. “I’m grateful that I met them,” Yang said. “It’s opened my eyes to this social issue, and it’s opened my heart to be more willing to help people who are so different from me. Plus, their relationship is so inspiring. It’s amazing they’re together despite all the difficulties they face.”

Although Professor Culhane states that more than half of all panhandlers lie about their situation, Tanya and Chris did not seem like liars. They did not seem manipulative. They seemed like good, genuine people who were simply victims of circumstance. It is easy

This semester, I have noticed a number of panhandlers on campus. I have likely ignored many more. If acknowledging those living in poverty is the first step to helping them, then understanding the experiences of the impoverished goes hand in hand. It is important to remember that these people are human and are in need of love, just like you and me. It would not hurt to talk with them, to get to know, and to understand them as Yang did with Chris and Tanya.

With understanding, our feelings of unease will fade. We will no longer have to walk briskly away from panhandlers and attempt to ignore their presence. We will acknowledge them as fellow humans and fellow neighbors. Only then can we achieve true sympathy for these people; only then can we begin to help.

ISSUE 8 / 35

OUTSIDE, LOOKING IN Written by: Maame-Serwah Afriyie Foreign mother, distant father, Unknown brother, miles apart.

The sea is churning, And I am yearning For a new life, yet to start.

The window pane is smeared with rain, And life within just seems so tame.

Till the outside world, Just starts to cave Is anything left, For me to save?

Enough with packing, I close the clasp Then buckle down, And start to gasp My room, my bed, have disappeared, The walls are striped, With nothing near The shelves, themselves, Are barren still Push back the tears, With all my will This dream of mine, is oh so close, But suddenly it seems morose.

I beg and plead to make amends, Before reality must descend.

Am I prepared to meet my fate, To endure the journey I know awaits.

And live a life I’ve not yet claimed, And find the new me, not yet named.

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