What oft Was Thought

WHAT OFT WAS THOUGHT

Volume 17 | 2025/2026

WHAT OFT WAS THOUGHT

Volume 17 I 2025/2026

Faculty Journal Advisors Dr. Andrea Greenbaum

Dr. Celeste Landeros

Sigma Tau Delta Advisor Dr. Patricia Feito

Chapter Members

Gila Avshalumova

Rachel Avshalumova

Shania Howard

Victoria Rivera

Lojan Shaker

Copyright 2025 Sigma Tau Delta

By Alpha Alpha Xi Chapter

Sigma Tau Delta, The International English Honor Society Department of English and Foreign Languages

Barry University, Miami Shores, FL

Published in the United States

All rights reserved under international law

Pan-American Copyright Conventions

WHAT OFT WAS THOUGHT

PREFACE

The members of Sigma Tau Delta, the International English Honor Society, Alpha Alpha Xi Chapter, are pleased to present the work of student authors, artists, and photographers of Barry University. Our journal is open to an array of genres, including fiction, poetry, hint fiction, essays, photography, and graphic novels. We gather entries by sponsoring an annual writing competition and a call for journal submissions. Our chapter members solicit entries, vet the submissions, and render their opinions as judges. We are pleased to include, as well, the winning submission for the Dr. Helen Connell Film Essay Award. This award honors the memory of a faculty member who was a remarkable film scholar, historian, and critic, and also promotes the critical study of film as an art form.

The title of our journal, What Oft Was Thought, is a phrase taken from “Essay on Criticism,” a long poem by the eighteenth-century poet, Alexander Pope. The words appear in the following couplet: “True wit is nature to advantage dressed/What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed.” This means that while many have insight into human experience (“what oft was thought”), few have the ability to express these thoughts eloquently We believe that those selected for this year’s issue articulate the struggle and the wonder of what it means to be human.

Our chapter is indebted to Dr. Karen Callaghan, Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, who generously funds this project. Dr. Laura Alonso-Gallo, Chair of the Department of English and Foreign Languages, who nourishes this journal for our department and the university; Hamilton Gutierrez, Administrative Assistant extraordinaire, RemiJin Camping, Assistant Professor of Photography who encouraged our talented students to submit their beautiful art, and the students and staff at the Barry Advertising Agency for the journal design.

Trevea Hanna

Devin Rodriguez

Victoria Paulo Cursino, Cindy MoreirJara, ad Ramos, Maylahnne Tercero

Rachel Avshalumova

Shania Howard

Shenae Simmonds

Grace Steffan

McKayla Theleus

Rickey Bradwell

Joshua Sherman

RaTy altoan

Alexia Vorbe

Isaiah Lubin, Billy McCray, Rose Piercin

Angelo “Los” Mitchell

Lojan Shaker

Lojan Shaker

Isabella Koelkebeck

Aliena PasantPes enalba, Yilian GarRcia, Tosily avares, Cristina Amaro

Adaeze Butters

Josiah Manners

Bruna MacrWon eber

SarKa urz

Bruna MarWcon eber

Victoria Paulo Cursino

Ena Castillo

SarKa urz

Bruna MarWcon eber

Ena Castillo

Bruna Marcon Weber

Bruna MacrWon eber

Bruna Marcon Weber

Sigma

Tau Delta Personal Essay First Place

A QUIET ESCAPE: READING THROUGH THE STORM

Trevea Hanna

The wind howled like a beast on the prowl, battering the walls of our duplex as if it had a vendetta. August 2019 was not just another summer month—it was a month that would change everything. From August 24th to September 1st, Hurricane Dorian, a Category 5 storm, nearly became a Category 6, pummeling The Bahamas with unrelenting force. While it wreaked havoc on the islands, I found myself in the eye of the storm, not just weathering the winds but bracing for an emotional and mental storm that would take years to understand.

Living in Grand Bahama, my mother, Janice, our dog Chase, and I were the only ones in our home at the time. My sisters, Jaedyn and Janae, had moved to Toronto, Canada for their college studies, and in that moment, they were out of reach, cut off by the storm that had severed all communication. The feeling of isolation was suffocating. As the hurricane raged outside, I could feel the weight of uncertainty pressed against me like the storm’s pressure against the shutters. Everyone thought we were missing. The laterheard news reports painted a bleak picture. Thousands were feared dead, and the bodies of familiar faces were never far from my thoughts. But the wind and rain were not the only forces battering me. The real storm was the disconnection—from my family, from the world, from any sense of normalcy.

In the middle of this chaos, I picked up a book. If I remember correctly, it was Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Last Straw It was a simple decision at first, a way to pass the hours, a distraction from the drumming of the storm on the roof. But in the face of such calamity, books became my sanctuary. I had never realized just how much reading could be like a door to another world—a door that, in the middle of a literal and figurative tempest, swung open to offer me something vital: peace.

Photo: Sara Kurz, “Whisps 1”

The book I grabbed wasn’t anything monumental in itself—just a paperback copy I had lying around. But in those pages, the world outside vanished. The storm was still there, crashing against the earth, but for me, it was muffled, distant, as if I had retreated into a cocoon. The lighthearted humor of Greg Heffley’s misadventures became a lifeline I hadn’t known I needed. Reading became my escape, not because the book was better than my reality, but because it allowed me to step away from the constant barrage of horror and loss that filled every waking moment. Each sentence was a small, safe harbor, like stepping inside a warm room away from the biting wind and endless rain. The antics of Greg and his family, their awkwardness and everyday struggles, were a comforting reminder of normal life—one I could hold onto in the face of the storm. The characters’ voices pulled me away from the chaos, their trials and triumphs knitting together a fabric of normality. In a time when everything seemed uncertain, Diary of a Wimpy Kid became my anchor, a connection to a world that still made sense.

Amid the devastation, the hurricane’s howls seemed like nothing more than a background hum to the rhythm of the pages. The storm was an external force, but my mind, through reading, became a quiet place, a sanctuary untouched by the disaster outside. It was like watching a fire from a distance—not touching it, not feeling the heat, but understanding the destruction left behind. My mother and I huddled together in silence, a fragile calm between us. The tension was palpable, but we didn’t have the words to fill the silence—only the quiet company of each other’s presence and the book in my hands. I could hear Chase, our dog, breathing softly at my feet, the only constant in the chaos that swirled around us.

The days without communication stretched like an eternity. The silence from Toronto and the entire population of Grand Bahama, and the uncertainty about my sisters and friends, gnawed at me constantly. Everyone assumed we were missing, but we had no way of reassuring anyone that we were alive. The power had been out for days. No phone calls, no texts, no news updates. Just the storm and us, fighting to hold onto our lives and the fragile hope that the hurricane would eventually pass.

In those quiet moments, my book became a mirror. The characters, lost in their own worlds, fighting against odds, facing calamities of their own, somehow felt like reflections of my own struggle. The winds outside howled louder, but inside the pages, the calm was unshakable. It was a strange kind of peace, like standing in the eye of a storm—quiet, but knowing it was only temporary. As the days turned into weeks, I clung to the story more and more. Reading became not just an escape but a form of survival. In the face of death, of devastation, of grief, the written word became a balm, a way of holding onto something that could not be destroyed. The hurricane had taken much, but it had not taken my ability to lose myself in a story, in a world far removed from the one that was slowly falling apart around me. When we finally reconnected with my sisters in Toronto, through the act of someone driving to our house to find us, the relief was indescribable. But the time spent in the dark, uncertain days after the storm, when communication was cut off and we were left to face the devastation on our own, left a mark on me. I never realized how fragile connection could be, how easily the outside world could slip away, leaving only the walls of your own mind.

That period marked the beginning of a new relationship with reading and writing for me. No longer was reading just a pastime—it became a necessity, a tool for keeping my mind afloat in the aftermath of a tragedy. Writing, too, became a way to process the emotions I couldn’t express through speech. In many ways, it was my survival and coping mechanism. Through the pages of the books I read and the words I began to write, I rebuilt a sense of control. I learned that literacy—both reading and writing—was not just about information or entertainment. It was a bridge to something deeper, something that could carry you through even the worst storms.

The hurricane, with all its fury and violence, taught me a harsh truth about the world: everything can be taken from you in an instant. But through reading and writing, I found something that could not be destroyed. The storm’s aftermath left a permanent scar on the landscape of my life, but the words I read, the stories I lived through, became my compass, guiding me through the dark. They were my anchor in a world that had shifted violently beneath my feet, and in the silence of those long days after the storm, they were my voice when I had no other.

Photo: Bruna Marcon Weber, “Communicating Roots”

Sigma

THE THRONE OF MOTHER NATURE

Devin Rodriguez

Upon a peak where rivers meet, where sun and storm and earth compete, there stands a throne of roots and stone, where Mother Nature reigns alone.

Her seat is wrapped in ivy’s grip, with flowers blooming at its tip. The winds bow low, the flowers rise, to notice her voice, so wild, so wise.

Yet in the sands, where shadows creep, a serpent coils from caverns deep. Its scales like blades, its fangs like spears, it slithers forth with ancient fears.

“I claim this throne!” the monster cries, “Let forests fall, let deserts rise! No bloom, no beast shall stand but me— the ruler of this world shall be!”

But from the dunes, a lone step falls—a reptile dressed in spiked green walls. Its cactus skin, its steady tread, with desert wisdom in its head.

“You know not balance, only greed,” it tells the snake with patient speed.

“The throne is hers, both fierce and fair, for earth must breathe, for life to bear”

The winds awake, the mountains groan, the trees stretch tall to guard their throne. Lightning cracks, the heavens roar—the serpent writhes, its reign no more.

And so the roots, the trees, the sky, stand strong where Mother Nature lies. Her rule endures, through fire and stone, for none but her may claim the throne.

El Vuelo Perdido

del Águila Dorada

Illustrations: Victoria Paulo Cursino

Sigma Tau Delta Ficton

THE LOST FLIGHT OF THE GOLDEN EAGLE

By Victoria Paulo Cursino, Cindy Moreira, Jarad Ramos, and Maylahnne Tercero

In the heart of México, where the mountains kiss the sky and the rivers whisper stories of the past, lived Tzintli, the chosen águila dorada. His feathers shimmered like the sun, and his wings once carried him across the heavens. But now, Tzintli could barely lift himself from the ground.

The air had grown thick, poisoned by the smoke of fábricas, the black breath of coches, and the burning of basura. The world that once soared had fallen, suffocated by the greed of los sin almas, humans who cared only for money, never for the earth, the sky, or its creatures.

Día de los Muertos arrived, the time when the veil between life and death thinned, allowing souls to visit their loved ones. With heavy wings, Tzintli traveled to the ancient árbol sagrado, where the spirits of the águilas ancestrales awaited him.

Their forms glowed like dying embers, flickering against the poisoned air.

“Tzintli,” one of the elders rasped, “we are gone because of the sickness in the sky. The humans have stolen the air’s purity. The rivers no longer reflect the heavens, and the wind carries only death.”

Tzintli’s chest tightened.

“¿Cómo puedo detenerlo?” he asked. “I am just an eagle. I can't fight against los sin almas.”

“No puedes hacerlo solo,” another spirit whispered. “Look for a human with a still-beating heart. Only they can change the world. ”

Tzintli spent days searching, his wings growing weaker with each passing hour. Then, near the outskirts of the city, he found her— Xóchitl, a small girl with large, dark eyes, watching the sky with sadness.

“Papá says that the sky has always been grey,” she murmured to herself. Tzintli landed near her, coughing from the toxic air. “Niña,” he croaked. “Your father owns the fábricas that poison the air. ¿No lo ves? If this continues, even humans will suffer. ” Xóchitl’s eyes widened.

“Pero…¿what can I do?”

“Make your father listen.”

That night, Xóchitl approached her father, Don Aurelio, the richest man in the city, who owned countless fábricas.

Tzintli, the last águila dorada, lay barely breathing outside his mansion, his golden feathers dulled by soot, his lungs gasping for clean air.

For the first time, Don Aurelio saw what his greed had done. Factories spewed black smoke into the heavens, choking the stars. Children walked with masks over their faces, struggling to breathe.

The rivers carried only filth.

The next day, Don Aurelio ordered his factories to change. He invested in clean energy, in reforestar the land his greed had once devoured. The sky, though wounded, began to heal.

Tzintli, with his strength slowly returning, soared once more.

The people of México looked up and saw hope in his wings. The elders whispered that he had become el espíritu del cielo, a guardian watching over the land.

When México needed him most, he would return. And so, the águila dorada became part of México’s flag, a symbol of resilience, a reminder that the land and sky belong to all, not just to los sin almas, but to those who still have hearts.

Fin.

“I wanted to tarnish Sir Gawain’s legend and see what changes the story would go through as a result. ” – Filmmaker David Lowery

MEDIEVALISM IN SIR GAWAIN THE GREEN KNIGHT: ANALOGUE BY DAVID LOWERY

Rachel Avshalumova

Sir Gawain the Green Knight (SGGK), the chivalric romance written by an anonymous poet towards the end of the 14th century, maintains an admired place amongst Arthurian mythological lore, and the expanse of British literature itself. The poem has been available to the public for little more than a century (Borroff VII). Since then, the text has faced numerous translations — attempts to render the Old English text comprehensible to modern readers. J.R.R. Tolkien (1975), current UK Poet Laureate Simon Armitage (2008), and Marie Borroff (1967) are just a few noteworthy names to the task. Through their iterations, the tale’s unique and intricate form becomes possible for examination by the general reader, as does its Knight, and integral Christmas game.

Film adaptations, such as Sword of the Valiant (1984) and Gawain and the Green Knight (1973) have done their part in bringing this obscure legend to the silver screen. David Lowery, an American filmmaker best known for A Ghost Story (2017), offers us a more recent variation on the Gawain tale. His work, simply titled The Green Knight (2021), is a compelling rendition, incorporating integral elements of the poem, while provocatively altering others. I will explore medieval elements shared across all three translations. These elements appear in not only text, but also in film, however Lowery sees them heightened. Of these recurring medieval components, I will divulge on the pentangle as a moral symbol that satirizes noble virtues, Morgan Le Fey and her motivations, and the green girdle’s alteration into an epiphany

Photo: The Green Knight, Courtesy A24 Films

The Five Virtues in Translation

An element which recurs prominently in the three texts mentioned and the Lowery film is that of the pentangle. Also referred to as “The Endless Knot,” this symbol makes visible the five virtues by which Sir Gawain abides (Tolkien 630). Their faculties are listed throughout all three translations in a similar manner as below:

The fifth of the five fives followed by this knight Were beneficence boundless and brotherly love And pure mind and manners, that none might impeach, And compassion most precious-these peerless five Were forged and made fast in him, foremost of men (Borroff 651-55).

A moral code is used to distinguish Gawain from Arthur ’s other knights, which we can spot in all three translations, as Gawain’s morality is a point of emphasis: So it suits this soldier in his spotless armour, fully faithful in five ways five times over.

For Gawain was as good as the purest golddevoid of vices but virtuous, loyal and kind so bore that badge on both his shawl and shield alike.

A prince who talked the truth.

A notable. A knight (Armitage 631-9).

So it suits well this knight and his unsullied arms; forever faithful in five points, and five times under each, Gawain as good was acknowledged and as gold refinéd, devoid of every vice and with virtues adorned. So there the pentangle painted new he on shield and coat did wear, as one of word most true and knight of bearing fair (Tolkien 631-9).

Forever faithful five-fold in five-fold fashion

Was Gawain in good works, as gold unalloyed, Devoid of all villainy, with virtues adorned in sight (Borroff 633-5).

This moral characteristic of Gawain prominent in the text is then attested to by many scholars. It also echoes the theme of morality more generally, which recurs throughout medieval literature (Morgan 778). Gerald Morgan and Philippa Hardman contribute to this notion of Gawain’s virtue, recalling a medievalism of morality. Morgan states, the pentangle’s virtues do not simply demonstrate who Gawain is but work alone as a very medieval trope. In Morgan’s words, “The dominant characteristic of medieval poetry is its objectivity; the primary interest, that is to say, is moral and not psychological” (769). Morgan moves on to affirm that Gawain’s virtues are intermingled on his shield in that the form in which they are presented is “separate yet inextricably connected” (Morgan 770). Think of the “pure mind and manners” which is ascribed to Gawain’s shield, and how this bleeds into the “compassion” or “beneficence” equally granted him. Therefore, as interconnected are Gawain’s virtues, so they are in him (Morgan 770). The three iterations above all describe how befitting the pentangle, on shield and coat, is to Gawain’s moral character. They, too, try to define the five points.

Hardman commends the Gawain poet for transforming the pentangle into a symbol of moral attributes, an invention demonstrating a “masterstroke of ambiguity” (Hardman 247). Further, Hardman asserts just how daring this new rendition of the pentangle was, for its origins during the Middle Ages saw it a divination item, one strictly prohibited by the Church. (Hardman 247). The pentangle’s expression of righteousness and chastity was never done before the Gawain tale (Hardman 248). This subversion from its origins, where it is worth noting the Seal of Solomon was six points, not five, was done by the Gawain poet intentionally. In all three translations, the reference to Solomon’s Seal is confidently misstated:

It is a sign that Solomon once set on a time to betoken Troth, as it is entitled to do; for it is a figure that in it five points holdeth (Tolkien 625-7).

It is a sign by Solomon sagely devised To be a token of truth, by its title of old, For it is a figure formed of five points (Borroff 625-7)

It is a symbol that Solomon once set in place and is taken to this day as a token of fidelity, for the form of the figure is a five-pointed star (Armitage 625-7).

Hardman notes how medieval English scholars wrote of the seal as a five pointed, or angled, symbol, that was used to ward off evil –– namely William of Auvergne and Ranulph Higden, and their detestation of such a use (Hardman 248). Their writings might have influenced the Gawain poet’s idea to represent it with these detailed five points, as well as alluding to its known magical/talismanic uses (24851). Still, Hardman continues, “Gawain never invokes any power of the pentangle: its apotropaic potential is a red herring… it is [however] significant that the pentangle device shares the ambivalence already signaled by the reputation of Solomon himself, who was the epitome of wisdom, but also a byword for folly and weakness” (Hardman 251).

This fault which exists with Gawain is evident, for despite the pentangle’s representation of medieval virtue, we see Gawain give in to selfish desires. Recall Gawain kissing Bertilak’s wife (Armitage 1796). Also, Gawain’s lying to Bertilak, and withholding information about the girdle he’d received from his wife (Tolkien 1936-40). This virtuous flawlessness, combined with a human fallibility was intentional, says Hardman, “Just so, the pentangle cognizance is explicated by the poet to signal Gawain’s complete Christian perfection, but for the reader aware of contemporary concerns about magical protective practices, it also hints at his human frailty” (Hardman 251).

The symbol’s five virtues also cemented themselves in medieval lore as the poem ponders aristocratic 14th century English ideals (Green 121). Richard H. Green, in his essay “Gawain’s Shield and the Quest for Perfection” (1962), claims the poem challenges these ideals, the plot functioning as a way of preventing their success, all in a most “stylized’ and “marvelous’ way (Green 121). Such, as he puts it, “virtues of the secular estate” are properly explored in Gawain’s resistance of Bertilak’s fair wife. They are the noble virtues of “valor and fidelity in the service of one’s temporal lord,” at trial. Bertilak, who in Borroff’s translation is named Bercilak, prior to his reveal in line 2445, refers to the man which Gawain knights as ‘lord’. The challenge of honor was on.

Similar esteemed dealings, like piety in the service of God, was also in action; Gawain prays to God during his journey, which results in Hautdesert forming before him:

I beseech of Thee, Lord, And Marv, thou mildest mother so dear, Some harborage where haply I might hear mass (Borroff 753-4).

He prayed with heavy heart: ‘Father, hear me, and Lady Mary, our mother most mild, let me happen on some house where Mass might be heard, and here I utter my pater, ave, and creed’ (Armitage 753-8).

I beseech thee, O Lord, And Mary, who is the mildest mother most dear, for some harbor where with honor I might hear the Mass 755 and thy Matins tomorrow. This meekly I ask, and thereto promptly I pray with Pater and Ave and Creed’ (Tolkien 753-8).

The character of Gawain “derive[s] [his] value and ultimate sanctions from the medieval doctrine of Christian perfection both institutional and individual” (Green 122). Green’s essay begins to harp on the notion of SGGK tokenizing these virtuous medieval ideals, which we have seen in Gawain’s false moral perfection. All Arthur’s court appoints him as this peak emblem of moral goodness, demonstrated in translation lines 631-9, as seen above. This was not an unchanging truth to his status, but a challenge.

The Five Virtues in Film

Such moral falsehood is confronted in Lowery’s film, where the pentangle permeates. We see its importance from the beginning, as an engraving of the five-pointed symbol is in King Arthur’s Hall, and unlike the original text, all his court wears it about their necks. This addition, which may impede on Gawain’s distinction and moral superiority, of being the “chaste knight,” is still assuaged in the film even with this choice. Prior to his departure, as occurs in the text, Gawain is singled out, alone reminded of his virtues and duty. Guinevere says to him, “May the Blessed Virgin keep your five fingers strong, your five senses sharp, May her five joys inspire you. The five wounds of her son give you fervor. And the five virtues of a knight light your way. Keep thy covenant young Gawain” (Lowery 00:34:34 – 00:34:47).

Lowery, speaking on his motivations for the film, described what sort of morality he wanted for his Gawain. He said, “I wanted a protagonist who is someone unlikable. One of the initial changes I made when writing the script was the degree to which Sir Gawain is a virtuous knight. I wanted to tarnish his legend and see what changes the story would go through as a result” (Kohn). We see then the contrastive difference, for although the original Gawain was not a perfect upholder of morality, his was certainly more permissible than Lowery’s Gawain, who takes to bed a woman of no noble blood, does not seem keen on marrying her, drinks, and accepts the Green Knight’s challenge not out of inner honor, but out of a respect he feels he must show for his lineage to the King. On writing Gawain, Lowery states, “I really made him a spoiled brat” (Coggan).

The Green Knight’s director noted, “The idea that one’s honor or integrity is more valuable than one’s life or legacy was really interesting for me” (Coggan). Despite Gawain’s human faults and libidinous urges, Lowery saw much integrity in Gawain. He explained, “[O]ne’s own honor was so valuable that maintaining that was more important than continuing one’s own life” (Coggan). He continues, expressing how Gawain, with the knowledge he would likely meet his death on this quest, was willing to embark on it, because it was “the right thing to do [in] codes of chivalry as they apply to medieval lore” (Coggan).

The Altered Morgan Le Fey

Another significant medieval element which recurs throughout Arthurian legends is that of the mystical figure Morgan Le Fey. We may recall her presence from King Arthur’s own tale, reworked famously by Thomas Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur (1485), where she acts disturbingly as the King’s sister and child bearer. SGGK initially presents her with similar sensual quality, albeit accompanied by a crone (Tolkien 947).

Her and her husband’s true identities are not revealed until the very end, where in the meantime she is the temptation beckoning the moral corruption of our Knight. The poem compares Morgan’s luminous beauty to that of Guinevere, Guen in Middle English, Arthur’s wife. Her comparable beauty also is mentioned in Armitage, Borroff, and Tolkien: “She was fairer in face, in her flesh, and her skin, her proportions, her complexion, and her port than all others, and more lovely than Guinevere to Gawain she looked” (Tolkien 943-5). This hints at an underlying tension among the three characters, which we will see later disregarded, concerning this specific trio, in the film. It is peculiar to comment, however, that a tension remains. As Arthur’s half-sister, Morgana’s relation to the King may suggest that Guinevere is

Arthur’s “half-wife.” Her inevitable betrayal of Arthur, when she discards him for his closest knight and friend, Lancelot, persists in translation and Lowery’s rendition.

The poem unveils Morgan’s responsibility for the Christmas plot, and the hospitable Lord as Bertilak de Hautdesert. Morgan’s reasoning for spurring the plot is shared across the three iterations: She guided me in this guise to your glorious hall, To assay, if such it were, the surfeit of pride That is rumored of the retinue of the Round Table. She put this shape upon me to puzzle your wits, To afflict the fair queen, and frighten her to death (Borroff 2456-60).

She made me go in this guise to your goodly court to put its pride to the proof, if the report were true that runs of the great renown of the Round Table. She put this magic upon me to deprive you of your wits, in hope Guinevere to hurt, that she in horror might die (Tolkien 2456-60).

She guided me in this guise to your great hall to put pride on trial, and to test with this trick what distinction and trust the Round Table deserves. She imagined this mischief would muddle your minds and that grieving Guinevere would go to her grave (Armitage 2456-60).

Contemporary critiques of the film assert that Christian morals, at the time of the poem’s composition, took original influences of Morgan’s character ––female Celtic deities, and subverted them, thus creating the villainess, chaos-inducing-witch we know well in Arthurian Legend (Grauso).

In Lowery’s film, the roles of Guinevere (Katie Dickie) and Morgan Le Fey (Sarita Choudhury) are switched. Guinevere takes on the status of Aunt, which, for vanity’s sake, is not the only obstacle preventing sexual treachery. Morgan Le Fey is also, in a bold change by the director, Gawain’s own mother. In the original text, Gawain’s quest is spurred by different reasons than in the film. Gawain, caught in the middle of a bigger ongoing war between Arthur and his half-sister Morgan, was used as ploy to further Morgan’s goals: to dismantle Arthur and his court. In John Boorman’s 1981 adaptation of Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur (1485), the contempt between siblings is clear, as seen through Morgan’s attempts to kill Merlin and Arthur.

The text itself shares little about Gawain’s mother, other than a mention during an internal emotive outpour. After Bertilak’s refusal to cleave the Knight promptly, Gawain, prior to expressing his distress, thinks to himself: “never since he as manchild of his mother was born was he ever on this earth half so happy a man” (Tolkien 2320-1).

Another cause for the shift in responsibility for plotting the Christmas beheading, the exchange of gifts, and urge of temptation, is the fact that a modern audience would find the original Morgan’s intentions outdated. In a review of the Lowery film’s alterations, Alisha Grauso writes for Rotten Tomatoes, detailing Morgan Le Fey of SGGK poem as, “A petty, inexplicably cruel woman.” With our 21st century sensibilities, Grauso claims, “sending a man to his potential death because she’s miffed at another woman is nonsensical and regressive; but a powerful woman secretly pushing her son to find his greatness is something one can understand, if not necessarily agree with.” In the film, as previously mentioned, Lowery’s Gawain lacks ambition. The target of Morgan’s ploy is not the Arthurian court via Gawain, but Gawain alone. As Grauso observes, “He speaks of being a knight, but he’s far more interested in the earthly pleasures of Essel.” In the film, Morgan pushes Gawain.

Albert B. Friedman further highlights the original poem’s unmasking of Morgan’s ploy as anticlimactic. Quoting G.L. Kittredge’s “A Study of Gawain and the GreenKnight, ”Cambridge (1916), Friedman claims that “[e]very reader… finds the object assigned for Bercilak’s visit to court unsatisfactory. It is the one weak spot in the superb English romance. For so elaborate an adventure, the initiating motive

does indeed seem surprisingly slight and vague” (Friedman 260). Morgan’s failure, too, perpetuates dissatisfaction, and Kittredge, “describes her rather as an intrusion, an attempt by the English poet to draw his story more solidly into the Arthurian tradition” (Friedman 260).

The Green Girdle

Gawain’s virtues, as the “pentagonal man, the ideal knight,” are juxtaposed to the girdle (Howard 426). Countering Friedman’s dissatisfaction with the original Morgan, Lowery’s rendition of her is skillful, her plotting much more intricate. Concerning the green girdle, the Lady offers up the protective belt in the Gawain poem, yet in the film, his mother, Morgan, does. Before Gawain leaves on his quest, she tells him, “Take this now Wear it about your waist as you go. And if you wear it still when you return you will come with your head held high” (Lowery 00:35:40). Here lies Gawain’s true challenge, which will make itself known only at the film’s end.

Upon meeting the Lady, Gawain stares intensely (Lowery 01:19:07). She is played, with brilliant intent from Lowery, by Alicia Vikander, the same actress who plays Essel. Essel, Gawain’s lover who he cannot have due to her common bloodline, is elevated to a noble’s status. This temptation is a greater test for Gawain, and an added challenge. Additionally, to highlight Lowery’s satisfactory changes, his Gawain ends with a revelation about himself, achieving more in his journey than did poem Gawain. In a final act of flawed nature, Gawain attempts to cheat death from the Green Knight by adorning the green girdle in secret, recalling his mother’s promise of its protection. Gawain sees a vision of the future that reveals the bitterness that will take over his life if he persists in deceit. He prompts the Green Knight, “Wait,” before removing the girdle from his waist, and dropping it to the floor. Ready to face mortality, Gawain finds true honor and proclaims, “There. Now I’m ready” (Lowery 02:03:12).

Conclusion

Overall, the chivalric Gawain knight remains consistent throughout the translations by Borroff, Tolkien, and Armitage. Their consistencies are modified by David Lowery’s 2021 film adaptation, which provided audiences with a more gratifying Morgan Le Fey plot. The film stays true to the poem by highlighting Gawain’s amoral behaviors, despite his putative virtue, with Lowery giving this notion greater prominence. Lastly, the green girdle, a component significant to the poem, is altered to focus on the journey of honor, which film Gawain pursues.

Armitage, Simon. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. New Edition, W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2008.

Borroff, Marie. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. A New Translation, W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1967.

Coggan, Devan. “David Lowery on His Quest to Make the Marvelous Medieval Epic ‘the Green Knight.’” EW.Com, Entertainment Weekly, 18 June 2021, ew.com/movies/david-lowerygreen-knight-interview/.

Friedman, Albert B. “Morgan Le Fay in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.” Speculum, vol. 35, no. 2, 1960, pp. 260–74. JSTOR, doi.org/10.2307/2851343. Accessed 27 Apr. 2024.

Grauso, Alicia. (2021, August). 5 ways David Lowery boldly changed the Green Knight’s Arthurian source (and made camelot relevant again). Rotten Tomatoes editorial.rottentomatoes.com/article/5-waysdavid-lowery-boldly-changed-the-green-knights-arthurian-source-and-made-camelot-relevantagain/

---. “The Green Knight Ending & Gawain’s Test Explained.” ScreenRant, 30 July 2021, screenrant.com/ green-knight-ending-gawain-test-meaning-explained/.

The Green Knight. Directed by David Lowery, A24, 2021.

Green, Richard Hamilton. “Gawain’s Shield and the Quest for Perfection.” ELH, vol. 29, no. 2, 1962, pp. 121–39. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2871851. Accessed 27 Apr. 2024.

Hardman, Phillipa. “Gawain’s Practice of Piety in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.” Medium Aevum, vol. 68, no. 2, Sept. 1999, p. 247. EBSCOhost, doi.org/10.2307/43630179.

Howard, Donald R. “Structure and Symmetry in Sir Gawain.” Speculum, vol. 39, no. 3, 1964, pp. 425–33. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2852497. Accessed 8 May 2024.

Morgan, Gerald. “The Significance of the Pentangle Symbolism in ‘Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.’” Modern Language Review, vol. 74, no. 4, Oct. 1979, pp. 769–90. EBSCOhost, doi. org/10.2307/3728227.

Tolkien, J.R.R. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. 2nd Edition, Clarendon Press, Oxford., 1925.

Sigma Tau Delta Fiction First Place

COPY CAT

Shania Howard

Under a dark night sky, flickering yellow streetlights and the trickle of stars against the dark cover of the quiet suburban neighborhood illuminated the deserted street. A slight spring breeze stirred the branches in the backyard, disturbing the peaceful silence. A window of a two-story home opened slowly, creaking as it did. A shadowy figure carefully and precisely entered the house, his presence finally unveiled by the dim light of the nursery. The intruder winced at the slight noise before climbing through the window.

The intruder scanned the softly lit pink nursery, taking careful and precise steps toward the infant’s crib, mindful not to disturb the house’s inhabitants. A baby lay in the crib, sleeping peacefully. The intruder watched the infant for a moment as she slept, blissfully unaware of the outside world.

"Hey, baby…I’m gonna take you to your mama, okay?” he said.

The intruder was careful not to wake her as he gently picked her up into his arms. She squirmed slightly, but he quickly shushed her.

Photo: Ena Castillo, “Ripples of Consciousness”

“You’re okay…you’re fine…I got ya,” he whispered. The intruder carefully placed the infant in the soft grey carrier attached to his chest. He slowly let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he turned to the changing table. He opened a drawer in the changing table opposite the crib. His fingers brushed over the soft pastel collection before selecting a fluffy, soft pink blanket. He gently wrapped the blanket around the infant before he exited the same way he came in, now mindful of the young life strapped to his chest. He quietly stepped back onto the lawn and through the gate, he had unlocked previously before escaping under the dark cover of the night once again.

O O O

A clock blared, stirring Kurumi awake. She groggily brushed her hand over the alarm clock, searching for the off button. Before finding it, her hand clattered over a picture of her as an infant with her mother. She muttered to herself before finally shutting the alarm off. She sat up and rubbed her eyes before examining the clock and the knocked-over photo.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Her eyes scanned her room as she adjusted to the morning light. Comfortable chaos, she liked to call it. She picked up the photo she had knocked over earlier, taking a second to examine it while wiping the light dust that had formed. She stood on her worn and frayed carpet as she approached the window of the trailer home she shared with her mother. She sighed before stretching and entering the quaint open-floor-plan living room and kitchen. Her eyes examined the room and its few yellowing walls. The scent of stale beer wafted over her. She frowned slightly before her eyes landed on her mother, Vera, on what her mom had repurposed as her second bed—the small brown reclining sofa.

Kurumi sighed before kneeling before her mother, who was still wearing her waitressing uniform from last night. Her hair was messy and unkempt, matted to her face as it usually was when she drank. She looked over at her mother’s uniform, soaked in alcohol, and her gaze landed on the numerous beer bottles scattered below the sofa. Her mother, the ever-hard worker, drank as hard as she worked. Last night was no different. Kurumi bit her lip in guilt. Ever since she started working for APD, she and her mother seemed to miss each other at the end of their days.

“Mom,” Kurumi said, biting her lip, trying to keep herself from worrying too much.

Vera’s chest rose and fell slowly as Kurumi sighed in relief. She hated this—not knowing if her mother was okay at the end of every day—but she wouldn’t let this trailer be their only prospect.

“Mom,” Kurumi said firmly.

Vera stirred slightly. Kurumi glanced over at the clock on the night table. She was running late again. Kurumi bit her nail slightly in annoyance. It took a lot to get this job, and she wasn’t going to lose another job because she had to care for her mother. Kurumi whacked her mother’s arm, and Vera recoiled, waking up from the sudden force.

“Ow! God, K! What?” Vera exclaimed.

Vera scrunched up her face in annoyance at the sight of Kurumi’s pointed look. Kurumi softened a bit at the sight of her conscious mother.

"Another night on the couch?” Kurumi asked.

Kurumi stood up and stepped back to examine her mother’s state. She looked worn, and Kurumi knew that it wasn’t fair to be cruel to her; her mother was doing her best, after all. She looked over at the clock, hoping that her lieutenant would forgive her tardiness once again.

“Hey, how about you hop in the shower? I’ll make us breakfast before I head to work,” she suggested.

Vera looked up at Kurumi, beaming with gratefulness. She groaned and stretched as she got up from the sofa.

“Thanks, babe,” Vera said.

Vera embraced Kurumi and kissed her on the cheek as she passed her on the way to the bathroom. Kurumi’s shoulders slumped, and she ran a hand through her hair as she looked down at the scattered beer bottles. She sighed in defeat and kneeled to pick them up one by one. She made sure to count, as she always did—eight this time. Kurumi hated to ask her mom about her drinking; it always led to a heated discussion or, worse, a screaming argument. She hated this—she hated the guilt she felt for not being there as much as she could for her mother. But she knew if she didn’t ask, it would worsen. What would she do then?

Kurumi leaned on one of the three kitchen counters as she stared into the black coffee in her “Best Daughter” mug. She set her half-empty mug in the rusty kitchen sink and rinsed off a cutting board that was left there from the previous morning. She began chopping a few strawberries from the container on the counter as Vera walked in. Vera entered the kitchen in a pilled black robe, smiling softly at the sight of Kurumi’s cooking. Kurumi grabbed a strawberry and popped it into her mouth before she turned to face her mother. She knew what she needed to get off her chest, what she’d been wanting to discuss all morning. Kurumi stared at her mother, trying to give her the chance to explain herself before the conversation turned into an argument, as it always did when they discussed Vera’s drinking problem.

“Smells great,” Vera said, breaking the tense silence.

Vera approached the pot of oatmeal next to Kurumi and opened the lid. As the steam billowed, she sniffed the warm cinnamon scent.

“Bit heavy on the cinnamon today, hmm?” Vera noted, her tone light given the events of the morning.

Vera grabbed a spoon from the kitchen drawer and scooped up a spoonful of the oatmeal. Kurumi clenched her jaw in frustration as she watched her mother carefully scoop the oatmeal. She hated the casualness of her mother’s tone and demeanor as if she hadn’t been passed out drunk only minutes earlier. Kurumi’s patience was running out, and so was her time. She didn’t want to play this game anymore.

“Something had to cover the smell of booze,” Kurumi snapped, sharper than she intended. Vera sighed knowingly. She knew their routine. She licked the spoon and waved it pointedly at Kurumi.

“Don’t start with me, K,” Vera warned.

Kurumi sighed and tapped her foot nervously. She looked down at the ground.

“You promised you would start going to meetings,” Kurumi’s voice cracked.

She looked back up at her mom, eyes slightly welling up with tears. Vera’s face contorted slightly as she tried to find any excuse, any way to avoid a conversation the two had had before.

Vera threw up her hands in mock defeat.

“I know, I know. Look, last night was a shit show at the diner. One of the regulars got handsy, and I told him off. My manager got on my ass about it. I just…wanted to take the edge off a little. A few beers, that’s all. I promise I’ll go tonight,” Vera said.

Kurumi scanned her mom’s face for any sign of deception. She was good at reading people—that’s why she became a detective. But with her mother—something about the way she looked at her, her desperate expression, her forced cheerfulness—Kurumi wanted to believe her more than anything, even though deep down, she knew. Kurumi looked down at her watch again.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Vera let out a subtle sigh of relief. No argument today.

Kurumi grabbed her coat in a hurry. She felt a familiar pang in her chest as she hesitated to leave. She looked back at her mother. Would it always be like this?

“I gotta go, I’m late. Make sure you eat. We’re not done talking about this,” Kurumi said before rushing out the door.

O O O

Kurumi stepped into the cold case department, purposefully avoiding the eyes of Lieutenant John in his office. The shrill of the phones and the clacking keyboard indicated that the department was running in full force. She rushed to her desk and set her bag down before sensing eyes on her. She looked over to find Lieutenant John peeking out of his office.

“Shit,” she muttered.

So much for avoiding him; he was waiting for her.

“Detective Elliot! You’re late again. Get in here,” Lieutenant John said before dipping back into his office.

Kurumi reluctantly entered Lieutenant John’s office. He dropped a file into her hand and stared pointedly at her.

“You’re taking this case. Highest priority. I don’t need any arguments,” John stated firmly.

“Good morning to you too, John,” Kurumi muttered as she skimmed through the case file. Kurumi’s brows furrowed as she read over the case file. Every case that she’d come across in the months she’d been working at the cold case department had been tough, but this one felt impossible.

“John—” Kurumi started to protest, but John waved a hand to dismiss it.

“You are assigned this case, end of story. The higher-ups have been breathing down my neck about this one. The family is desperate to get it solved, and they’re powerful. It doesn’t matter; either way, you’re doing it,” John said.

John ruffled through the file before finally settling on a tattered baby photo. He held it at eye level. She examined the photo of the young infant, only a few weeks old. Her shoulders slumped, softening at the sight of the victim. She exhaled sharply, gently rubbing her thumb over the worn edge of the photo.

“Weren’t you the one who said, ‘Every victim deserves to be fought for’? Doesn’t this little girl deserve that?”

Kurumi’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She sighed and snatched the photo from Lieutenant John’s hand. She closed the file and started walking to the door. She hesitated in the doorway.

“I hate when you do that,” she said.

John crossed his arms and smiled. He didn’t need to say anything else; he knew she was hooked. He knew he had to push her—she was a good detective, and she just needed to prove it to herself. Kurumi shot him a pointed look before walking back to her desk to review the file. Dead-end leads stared back at her. She knew this would be a difficult one. She groaned at the thought as she ran her fingers through her hair. At the sight of the location, San Francisco, she bit her lip. She knew John wouldn’t approve of travel, not for a new detective. But she knew she had to ask; after all, how would she solve it from here? She took the file and stood in the doorframe of Lieutenant John’s office. John stopped reviewing the numerous files on his desk and looked up at her expectantly.

“I need to go to San Francisco,” Kurumi said.

“No,” he stated flatly before going back to work. Kurumi sighed and stepped further inside the office.

“John, how am I supposed to even attempt to solve a 26-year-old cold case in San Francisco from here? I need to conduct interviews and examine the scene,” Kurumi said.

John sighed and leaned back in his chair, finally looking at her

“You can conduct interviews from here; that’s why phones exist, K. Work with the local PD. The last lead was here; you’re in the perfect place to follow up.”

Kurumi clicked her tongue in frustration.

“You don’t trust me?” she pouted.

John sighed. She was too good at this. She knew exactly how to push him, even in the short time they’d worked together.

“You know I do. Unfortunately,” he grumbled.

Kurumi clasped her hands together, mock begging now. He chuckled slightly at the irony. Only minutes ago, she had been reluctant to take the case—now, she was fighting for it. That was Kurumi— never halfway with anything. Silence filled the office for a moment before John exhaled sharply

“Fine. But you stay in contact. We don’t know how deep this goes,” he warned.

Kurumi beamed as she hurriedly headed for the door.

“Of course!”

“I mean it, K. Be careful. Don’t make me regret this,” he said firmly.

Kurumi paused in the doorway for half a second.

“I won’t,” she assured him before smirking and disappearing to her desk.

John watched the empty doorway for a second before he shook his head and forced himself back to work.

Kurumi sat at her desk, beaming with satisfaction for a moment before her eyes landed on a photo of her mother on her desk.

"Shit.” She muttered to herself.

O O O

Her joy was now replaced by guilt. She never left her mother before, not for this long and definitely not to go out of state. She always made sure that she was home by morning, just in case. She groaned and massaged her temples for a moment contemplating her course of action before picking up the phone and dialing her mother’s number. After a few painfully long rings, her mother picked up.

“What’s up, K?” Vera answered. She sounded frazzled. The clattering of plates and pans and the conversational hums echoed through the phone. She was at work, it seemed busy.

“Sorry to bother you at work, Mom. I wanted to let you know I’ll be out of town. I have to go to San Francisco for a case,” Kurumi explained.

She tapped her foot nervously awaiting her mother’s reaction. Kurumi felt a shift as her mother’s breath hitched.

“San Francisco? That’s-- that’s pretty far. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Vera said tensely. Kurumi knew she would do this. She had a similar reaction when Kurumi told her she got the job as detective. She knew how to push Kurumi’s buttons, made her question herself, her abilities.

“Yes, I am. If I want to be respected, hell even promoted, I need to do things like this, Mom,” Kurumi explained. “You’ll be fine. I’ll have the neighbors check in on you.”

“I know, I know. I just-- this isn't the best timing, K. I promised I would start going to meetings,” Vera said. “This is…it’s gonna be hard for me. I need you here. I don’t want you looking at me like that anymore…so judgmental. Like I don’t sacrifice enough for you, like I’m not allowed a drink every now and then.”

Kurumi felt anger rise within her. Partly because she knew her mother was right: she needed Kurumi. That was the problem, she always needed her. Kurumi shut her eyes and exhaled before responding.

“Mom, you’ll be fine, I promise. I’m going. End of story. This will be good for us. Maybe lead to a promotion. We need to get out of that trailer,” Kurumi explained before her mother interjected. “Fine. Do what you want. It’s clear where your priorities are,” Vera snapped before hanging up. Kurumi stared at her phone for a moment and sighed. She knew her mother would only be upset for a bit, she couldn’t stay mad at her. Kurumi massaged her temples for a moment and tried to assuage her guilt for leaving. She sighed before flipping over the file, knowing that she had to refocus.

O O O

The cab weaved through the quiet streets of San Francisco. A new city. For someone who had never left the state, Kurumi should have been basking in its freshness, but instead, her eyes were glued to the case file. She needed to make sure she wasn’t missing anything before she sat down with the Ishida family. She flipped through the file, and the baby photo slipped onto the seat beside her. Kurumi sighed and picked it up, examining it once again. Her eyes fell upon the infant’s curled fist, a birthmark right at the beginning of the thumb. Kurumi’s brows furrowed as she turned her own palm over, examining her faded scar in nearly the same spot. It had the same shape and placement. She frowned, shaking her head at the odd coincidence. The cab slowed to a stop at the Ishida house. She exhaled sharply. She had to focus —no time for distractions. Kurumi shoved the photo back into the file before exiting the cab. She paced back and forth before dialing John’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Someone’s eager,” she teased.

“No shit. You’ve been radio silent. I thought I told you to keep in contact,” John said.

Kurumi sighed.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’ve been busy,” she lied.

“Bullshit,” he pointed out.

She scoffed—typical John. She could never hide anything from him, no matter how hard she tried.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said firmly.

Kurumi sighed and started pacing once more in front of the Ishida house. “I’m at the Ishidas,” Kurumi finally responded.

“So, what? Are you just pacing outside? Stalling? Where is that blind confidence of yours?” His voice sharpened.

Kurumi exhaled as her feet shuffled against the pavement.

“K,” John’s tone shifted, softer, more serious.

“What’s going on in your head?” he pushed.

Her grip tightened around the file as she peeked through a window, noticing a quiet commotion; they were waiting for her.

“You’re right. I should go. They’re expecting me,” Kurumi said.

“Kurumi—”

She ended the call before he could push further.

O O O

Kurumi took a deep breath before knocking on the front door of the Ishida home. The door swung open almost immediately. A middle-aged woman stood there—a fragile mix of excitement and desperation —but beneath it, she looked exhausted. Years of grief had settled into her face, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. She had been waiting for this moment.

“Hi. Detective Elliot, is it?”Genevieve turned to Kurumi.

“This is my husband, Ronin,” she said.

“Nice to meet you,” Ronin said as he shook Kurumi’s hand.

Kurumi tried to steady her hands as she pulled out her notepad, trying her best to ignore the tightness in her chest. This family, this mother, was different from the others. She didn’t want to disappoint them, especially after they had hoped for so long.

“I would like to start with that day, the day Georgie disappeared—”

“Stolen. She was stolen from us,” Ronin corrected.

Kurumi cleared her throat, flustered for a moment.

“Of course. Start there,” Kurumi said.

Genevieve slumped into the dining chair beside her husband. The composure that masked her grief slipped away. She exhaled before speaking.

“Georgia’s birth…it wasn’t easy,” Genevieve’s voice wavered slightly, her gaze not meeting Kurumi’s, only for a second. “There were…complications. Things that... most people wouldn’t understand.”

Genevieve swallowed hard before shaking her head.

“But none of that mattered because she was here.”

Genevieve smiled softly at the thought of her daughter for a moment before it left as quickly as it came.

“But then she was gone. Just like that… in the middle of the night…”

“She was only with us for a short time…a few weeks. I never…I never got the chance to say goodbye,” she whispered.

Kurumi noticed the hesitation, the way Genevieve seemed to be holding something back. She decided not to push it—not yet, anyway. Instead, she flipped to the next page of her notes.

“Mrs. Ishida,” she said gently, “what do you believe happened to Georgia?”

Genevieve’s expression hardened, grief set aside for a moment for something stronger— conviction. She stared at Kurumi like she was searching for something she couldn’t place.

And then she said it.

“I think she’s still alive.”

Having someone genuinely believing in me, offering valuable feedback, constantly encouraging me, created a strong relationship between us.

WHAT ARE THE LONG-TERM EFFECTS OF MENTORSHIP FOR

STUDENTS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL AND HIGH SCHOOL?

Shenae Simmonds

Mentorship plays a pivotal role in adolescents’ early development to conquer issues such as low self-esteem, poor academic performance, and diminished career desire during middle to high school. Mentoring has the power to alter personal and professional trajectories, and as such mentorship is a gateway to success for all students. Knowledgeable and experienced guides help navigate the institutional years, creating opportunities for the young and inspiring leaders of tomorrow. Throughout history mentorship can be seen as a tool for success, offering wisdom and knowledge with the intention of providing growth and development. Whether these are our educators, natural non-parental mentors, or any other guide they positively impact change.

Educators in the classroom function as role models generating a passion for academic and career aspirations, while non-parental mentors focus more on connecting to the individuals and finding their strengths to navigate through life’s emotional trials as trusted advisors. One-on-one interactions provide the right method for each unique mind that builds character and empowerment, removing future hinderance to success. Implementing mentorship programs for middle and high school students promotes effective strategies that allow students to excel in a thriving environment. My research will investigate the importance of school-based mentorship, its limitations and challenges, and the long-term effects on students.

My interest in this topic stemmed from my own experiences of mentorship. Growing up, I was frequently praised for my intellectual abilities, including advanced reading levels compared to my peers and high academic achievement. However, transitioning into high school I became complacent, and I started feeling less than, being surrounded by numerous students of higher caliber. As my grades suffered a massive decline in the second year, I noticed my attitude and confidence went with it. No matter what methods I tried, I always seemed like an academic failure compared to my friends, so in my third year I gave up on myself completely. My teacher took notice of this and commenced a plan; she believed I had the potential to do extremely well.

Recognizing my ability, she assumed the role of my mentor, granting me guidance and support. Having someone genuinely believing in me, offering valuable feedback, constantly encouraging me, created a strong relationship between us. Collaborating with me during and after school, she was able to quickly identify my areas of weakness and with effective communication, I gradually started to make improvements and regained the confidence to feel capable and intelligent once again. With her unwavering support, I made the greatest academic comeback. Not only did I master my academic studies, but I was also elected president of a club and organization highlighting my leadership ability, while setting a foundation for my future career. Graduation was a moment of immense joy, not just for me but everyone who witnessed the powerful impact of a mentor. Feeling beyond proud of myself for attaining honors and later accomplishing all my subjects with distinction.

Establishing a school-based mentoring program requires initiative, to facilitate positive relationships that will foster a safe space for students to feel a sense of belonging and to better handle challenges. According to Ramasamy et al. (2023) “many students bottle up their struggles in academics as they want to save face, and simultaneously, force themselves to live up to family expectations. This often leads to poor mental health outcomes such as low self-esteem, anxiety, depression, insomnia, and paranoia” (p. 1-2). Ramasamy et al. (2023) ascertains that, if these challenges are left unaddressed it can become detrimental to mentees’ well-being. Mentorship programs serve as a vital intervention, to eliminate those factors and promote resilience within students. Additionally, Little, et al. (2010) “claims that mentorships can provide opportunities for the kinds of individualized relationships that school

structures do not always readily facilitate” (p. 1). This would invest in the students’ future academic performance, career readiness, and social and emotional well-being, by prioritizing these elements and yielding great opportunities that propel them towards long-term success.

However, while mentorship is highly beneficial, it has its own challenges, such as availability and unmatched expectations that could erupt into disillusionment for both parties. A significant limitation to mentorship is the restricted or limited access, Little, et al. (2010) stated that “mentorships have often been seen as opportunities to receive the individual support and disciplinary expertise that school systems often cannot provide” (p. 1). This prevents many students from receiving the guidance and support they need outside of the classroom, as many schools cannot provide resources or have qualified experienced educators in the field.

In forming an effective mentor-mentee group compatibility is important based on MonjarasGaytan et al. (2022) study, “some mentees reported feeling they could not talk to their mentors about their problems due to a lack of trust, which contributed to the early termination of these relationships” (p. 2). A lack of communication can result in frustration and misalignment, trust requires a safe non-judgmental environment, mutual trust, and empathy to foster a meaningful bond. Ramasamy et al. (2023) indicates that a “mentor may have a large amount of control over the mentee and a mentor acts as the mentee’s research supervisor. This may result in problems such as power abuse or exploitation” (p. 3). This dynamic could produce an atmosphere where students feel compelled to comply with choices that may not align with their goals and impede on their academic and personal growth.

For effective mentorship, it is recommended that mentors and mentees establish a solid foundation that inspires a lasting positive outcome. Research from Ramasamy et al. (2023) reveals that “trust, empathy, and mutuality are necessary ingredients for flourishing relationships between youth and mentors” (p. 1). By prioritizing these elements mentors can be aware of their own limitations and knowledge that guarantee the mentee gets all the help they need. Also, Little, et al. (2010) emphasized that for mentoring to have a meaningful impact, there must be an emotional connection between the mentor and the mentee (p. 2). It enables students to relate and trust their mentors and to open authentically, enhancing a more genuine professional bond. It is through these deep connections that enables mentees to flourish and thrive when they feel supported and understood.

Research reveals the significant advantages of long-term mentorship on both mentors and mentees. According to Little, et al. (2010), “the benefits of mentoring seem to increase as the duration of the mentoring relationship lengthens, particularly if the relationship lasts longer than a year” (p. 2). With constant guidance over time, progress and success creates a lasting fulfilment reinforcing the value of mentorship. Furthermore, extended mentorship facilitates greater resilience, motivation, and accountability, which eventually results in more positive outcomes along with longer lasting effects as mentees progress through various stages of their life. Ramasamy et al. (2023) highlighted, “as students traverse from their academic to professional life, academic mentoring is a useful tool that can offer direction, support, and encouragement” (p. 1). While the transition can be daunting for students the power of mentorship allows students to be equipped with the essential wisdom and knowledge ensuring for a smooth changeover.

In conclusion, mentorship plays a vital role in providing a tailored transformative and empowering experience that helps individuals overcome challenges, build confidence, and achieve their goals. Beyond immediate benefits, mentorship has lasting effects, shaping mentees into resilient, capable individuals equipped for long-term success. The enduring impact of mentorship is an indispensable investment in unlocking potential, driving future achievements in both personal and professional endeavors.

References

Little, C. A., Kearney. K. L. & Britner. P. A. (2010). Mentorship and its influences. Roeper Reviewed, 32:189–199 (0278-3193). https://doi.org/10.1080/02783193.2010.485307

Monjaras-Gaytan, L. Y., Sanchez, B. & Smith Carter, J. (2022). Developing natural mentoring relationships among Latinx youth: The roles of trust in adults and stressors. College of Science and Health Theses and Dissertations, 26 (2), 226–237. https://doi.org/10.1080/10888691.2020.1768095

Ramasamy, S., Hou Ng, J., Yin Tham, C.S. & In, S. (2023). Navigating the world of academic mentoring. Psychology Reviewed, 17 (3), 09-12. https://doi.org/10.56026/imu.17.3.9

Photo: Sara Kurz, “A Fairy’s Tale”

THE STREETLAMP AND THE GIRL

Grace Steffan

It stands alone in the day, useless in the sunlight. It only sees when the sun dips beneath the horizon and its light keeps the shadows at bay.

Within its warm glow there lies a girl. It cannot see beyond its light.

And when the sun rises, it sleeps, and she wakes. In the midday sun, nothing hides from her gaze.

She does not exist to them. want them to know she exists.

When the sun sets and the stars rise, it burns again.

She is sleeping within its glow.

It watches the tears that slip past her closed eyelids because of vivid nightmares. painful memories. a broken heart.

And when the first rays of morning light peak over the horizon it no longer needs to burn.

She peels open bleary eyes to observe the people that go by. their bustling walk and stooped posture. There was a time when she wanted to be just like them. She would have given anything to walk among them. have their eyes look back on her own. be one of them.

At dusk in the moment before it glows and her eyes close, she catches a glimpse of the stars. It sees the sleepy smiles that transform her features so, her sleep is content. dreams that dance beneath her eyelids and fill her head with hope for the unknown. future.

After another sunset, the constellations sparkle with all possible directions, and she is alive in its light.

And in its gentle glow she rises unsteadily to her feet. raises her arms welcoming the sky. dances.

Her gaze fixates on a constellation and her laughter rings out in the empty air as she skips towards Virgo.

The Streetlamp finally sees beyond its own light into the darkness because

The Girl is glowing too.

Artists redefine the American Dream from material possession to making significant marks in the arts.

THE AMERICAN DREAM REALIZED: ARTISTRY

PROPELLING A NEW INTERPRETATION OF THE AMERICAN DREAM IN DAMIEN CHAZELLE’S LA LA LAND AND AUGUST WILSON’S SEVEN GUITARS

McKayla Theleus

In La La Land and Seven Guitars, director Damien Chazelle and playwright August Wilson comment on the artistic approach to a long-held ideology—the American Dream. Historian and author James Truslow Adams coined the term for “‘a dream of a social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position’” (Wills). Inspired by the Great Depression, the idea promised people a “chance to work their way up through their own labor and ingenuity” (Gale).

Many of August Wilson’s plays have been forthcoming about the American Dream, especially for Black Americans, but neither Seven Guitars nor La La Land have been analyzed in terms of how artists have accepted, rejected, or redefined the American Dream. Therefore, this essay will explore: To what extent does Chazelle’s film, La La Land and Wilson’s play, Seven Guitars, redefine or conform to the ideology of the “American dream” in the arts?

Both works redefine the American Dream through main characters who conceive of upward mobility not in the acquisition of material possessions, but in achieving artistic aspirations.

Defining the American Dream

Despite the term’s ability to represent many concepts for various people, it is derived from an original and broad concept that has evolved over time. Referring to the evolution of the term, Colonial America had dubbed the American Dream as a race to “set down roots on a piece of land” which helped in creating a “competitive and individualistic” version (Gale). Both works illustrate this through the competitive pools in the arts industry—Mia’s inability to stand out of the crowd despite looking “nothing like” the “startlingly beautiful women” that are trying to achieve the same dream as her, creates a juxtaposition between Mia and the rest of the women, while setting up the frustration Mia feels for not being able to make a breakthrough in the overbrimming acting industry later on in the script. By contrast, Floyd is able to ignore the pool of musicians vying to make it big, as he is only focused on his personal dream of “play[ing] at the Hurricane Club,” just like “where [he] seen Muddy Waters” (Chazelle 4; Wilson 17, 16). The contrast between Floyd and Mia foreshadows differences in their conformity/redefinition of the American Dream.

In The American Dream in African American, Asian American, and Hispanic American drama: August Wilson, Frank Chin, and Luis Valdez, Tsui-fen Jiang explores how the American Dream differs for people who are not seen as true Americans, specifically Blacks, Asians, and Hispanics—all through playwrights’ portrayals. Jiang realizes the disparity in definitions, especially considering ethnic differences: most research on the American Dream topic has been from “(White) scholars in the 1970s [who have] primarily examine[d] the material aspect of the American dream,” however, Jiang argues, ethnic groups do not aim to achieve materialism (6). Jiang quotes Kathryn Hume’s American Dream, American Nightmare: American Fiction Since 1960, where she states that the American Dream offers “three simple promises--equality, justice, and prosperity,” with “material success [as] the principal attraction” (Jiang 10, 6). At the same time, there are two perspectives of the American Dream: spiritual which is the “ideal embodiment of freedom and equality”; and material which is the “ultimate realization

of fame and wealth” (6). After defining two types of pursuits, Jiang contends ethnic groups aim to “[achieve] the spiritual AmericanDream before fulfilling the material one” (6). This definition is both rejected and accepted by Floyd in Wilson’s Seven Guitars. Rejecting this position on the spiritual aspect, Floyd talks about how he had “seen MuddyWaters”inChicagowhichgavehimtheideathat“‘Thesky’sthe limit,’”implyinghebelievedhewouldreachnewheightsoffameandwealth(Wilson16;Jiang6).

TheAmericanDreamisatestamenttotheideologyofprogressinginlife,usuallythroughsocialclass— forwhichmaterialisticpossessionsbecomeavehicle.Inthiscase,ChazelleandWilsonillustratetheabilityof artiststoredefinetheAmericanDreamfrommaterialpossessiontomakingsignificantmarksinthearts.

The American Dream in LaLaLandand SevenGuitars

NeitherWilsonnorChazelledirectlyreferencetheAmericanDream,however,theirplotscreateleeway toconnectthetwoideas.Chazelle’sworkisascriptabouttherelationshipbetweenMiaandSebastian,both artists—actressandjazzmusicianrespectively—andhowtheycometorealizetheirdreamsattheexpense oftheirromanticrelationship.Wilson’splayaboutthedeathofFloydBartonrevealsthebackgroundtohis endeavorsinthefieldofjazz.

Astheseworksareperformances,thesetting/stagedirectionscreateinsightintotheintended atmosphere.Chazelleintroduces La La Land inthewinter,whichcreatessymbolicimplicationsofstruggle, hardships,orsorrow;thetimeofyearjuxtaposesthesunnystatusofL.A.,parallelingfacadesofhappinessand gratefulnessforbeinginthe“CityofLights”—despitepeople“dancingJeromeRobbins-style,”—astylemeant toconveythe“dynamicenergyofyouth,”manyofthemaretryingtomakeitbig,justlikeMiaandSebastian (Chazelle32,1;Foulkes).ThechoicetoplaceMiaandSebastianwithinL.A.’straffic,thesamesettingasother artistsvyingforthesamedream,almostminimizestheweightoftheirAmericanDreambyhighlightinghow manymorepeoplearestill“strugglingdreamers,eyesontheprize”(2).Thismotifofwintertimeasatimeof struggleisperpetuatedthroughtherestofthepeoplelostinthisindustry;fromthose“dodgingdebts”to “waitingtablesbetweenauditions”—parallelingSebastianandMia—theyallwantto“makeitbig”by conformingtoaconsumeristversionoftheAmericanDream,whilealsoredefiningit(2).Ratherthanbuyinga grandhouse,theirDreamrelatestotheideaofcreatinganameforthemselves;notformoney,butforfame, whichusuallybringsmoneyintandem,butitredefineswhatwealthisinrelationtotheAmericanDream. Additionally,themotifofstruggleduringwintertimeishighlightedbyMiaandSebastian’sexpositionalstories: Miawhoendsup“spil[lingcoffee]alloverhershirt”priortoanauditioninfrontofadirector;andSebastian whoisfiredbyhisbossintherestaurantgighehasnotheldforverylong(4).

Wilsonbeginshisplayinanotherseason,time,andplace:thesummerof1948inPittsburgh.Inthis case,Wilson’schoicetoplacethestoryinsummercreatesimplicationsofsearchingforlove,joy,and adventure,foundthroughouttheflashbackoftheplay,yetcontrastingthebeginningofthescene.Openingwith charactersreturningfromFloyd’sfuneral,thereisasenseofmelancholybetweenthemallasthereisa“rare momentofsilence[settling]ontheyard”illustratingadifferencebetweenFloyd’sfuneralandtherestofthe play(Wilson7).Here,Louisebeginsthefirstlineofspeechwithsinging,establishingtheimportanceofmusic inalltheirlives,whilealsoconnectingbacktoFloyd’sidentity,anidentitythatwasintertwinedwithhiscraft. Priortoemancipation,Blackslaveswerenotallowedtoowninstruments,sotheymadetheirownmusicgenres, includingcountry,gospel,andtheblues--allveryprevalentinWilson’splay(James).Throughthesemusical accomplishments,slavesestablishedanideathroughmusicthat“Lifeishardnow,butitwillget better”(James).Thisideologytiesbacktotheideaofclimbingthesocialladderthroughacquisitionofmoney orfame,complyingwithamaterialisticdefinition.

Inbothworks,musicprevailsthroughsinginganddancing.WilsonandChazellebothutilizetheartsto propeltheirstoriesandcharacters.In La La Land,thereisaninherentpursuitoftheAmericanDreamthrough artistrybyeverycharacterinthefilm--FromMia’sroommatestopeoplelivingtheireverydaylives,L.A. becomesa“CityofStars”(HurwitzanddeVries).Meanwhile,in Seven Guitars,Wilsonutilizesperformancein thetheatertocreatemorerhythmwithinthewords,aswellassinging.Bothworkscreateaversionforeach maincharacter,somethroughartistry,whileothersjustvietoreachnewheightsofwealthorsocialstatus:for example,Sebastian’sdreamistorevitalizejazzthroughthecreationofhisownjazzclub;Mia’sistoreachthe bigscreen;Floyd’sistobecomeabighitartistinChicago;Vera’sistocreateastablehomeandfamily;

andHedley’sistobecomeprosperousoffinheritedmoney.Wilson’scharacterchoiceshelpestablishhardships seeninbluesmusic;fromlonelinessforVeraandLouise,tounrequitedloveforCanewell.Oneofthedefining characteristicsoftheAmericanDreamincludesthepursuitofhappinesswithasetfamilyandhome,whichall Vera,Louise,andCanewellareunabletoattain:VerabecauseofanunfaithfullovewithFloyd;Louisebecause ofthelackofalover;andCanewellbecauseoftheunrequitedloveheholdsforVera,whoisinlovewithFloyd.

Artistry

Theintroductionof La La Land establishesMiaandSebastian’scharactersthroughtheirdedication totheirart.Miaisseenlisteningto“anactressdiscussinghercraft”withmultipleCDswithlabelsoffamous actress’namesonthem(Chazelle1).Sebastian,conversely,isscatting,averyjazzymethodofsinging,while listeningtoTheloniusMonk,afamousjazzcomposerandsinger.Sebastian’scarbeingthe“mostbatteredin sight”reflectshismentalstate,aswellashischoicetorevivetheoldversionofjazzthathasbeendyingout. Rejectingtheconsumeriststyleofmusic,Sebastianwantstobringjazzbackaliveforpeopletoenjoy.Thisis seenmostpredominantlywhenhesharesthemusicwithMiaonasmalloutingtogetherwhensherevealsshe doesn’t“lovejazz”(28).Chazelle’schoicesillustratebothcharacters’desiretousetheirartforself-fulfillment andtoultimatelybecomeapersonwhoothersintheirfieldlookupto.

Wilson’splayintroducesFloydlookingtobecomefamousforhismusic,inaconstantchaseforgigsto earnmoneyandattention.Inparallel,FloydandMiareflecteachother’sartisticambition,despitebeingin differentartisticfields.Thedifferencebetweenthesetwocharacters,however,istheoutcome.Floydendsup deadbecauseofhislackofmorality,whileMia’smoralitystaysintactandhelpsherrealizeherdream.Floyd’s immoralityisparalleledbytheappearanceofaroosterthroughouttheplay.Therooster’scrowing heard “intermittentlythroughoutthescene”createsanallusiontyingbacktothemeaningofroostersindifferent cultures(Wilson12).InChristianity,roostersstandfor“resurrection,vigilance,andrepentance,”while symbolizing“lustandgreedinBuddhism”(Tenorio).Lustisevidencedbystagedirectionsinwhich“Floyd bendsVerabackpushinghispelvisintohers”asVerareprimandsFloydforhisactions(Wilson12).Illustrating duplicity,FloydrepresentstheroosterinBuddhistculture,whileVerarepresentstheroosterinJapaneseculture whichconsidersthebirdtobe“piousandholy”;notthatVeraispiousandholy,butshehasasenseofhonor andmoralityaboutherselfFloyddoesnotshare(Wilson12;Tenorio).

Floyd’simmoralitycanbetracedbacktohisrobberyatthenearbybank,whileVera’smoralityisseenin herargumentwithFloydinthebeginningoftheflashback:“Heain’thereheain’thereheain’therequitlooking forhimcauseheain’therehe’sthere!There!There!There!”wheretherepetitionofwordsandphrasesthree timesparallelsthatofasong,whilealsobecomingpartofthemagicthatthenumberholds(20).Numberthreeis considereda“perfectnumber”representingthe“numberofharmony,wisdom,andunderstanding”;however, usedhere,itrepresentsinnerturmoilVerahasfeltafterFloydleftherforPearlBrowninChicago,whilestill lovinghim(WelshNationalOpera).ThisantithesisofharmonyanddiscordwithinVera’sspeechrevealsthe effectofmusiconstorytelling;theartistrypresentthroughmusicisutilizedasanavenuetorelaythestoryin Seven Guitars.

La La Land offersaseriesofmusicalnumbers.Mia’squietandtendersong“oflove”helpspropelthe plot(Chazelle31).HerboyfriendGregdoesnotsharethesamelovefortheartsthatdrives SebastianandMia. Gregonlyseesitas“fascinatingterrain,”somethingnewtocapitalizeon,butnotaviableoptionforattaining theAmericanDream(36).AtadinnerwithMia,GregandhisbrotherrepresenttheoriginalAmericanDream, attainedthroughclimbingsocialclass,mostlikelypasseddowntothemthroughtheirparents’work,asthey portraytheupperclassofsocietythatseesthoseattemptingtogaintheirmoneythroughfameasavaryingand “toughfield”(32).Gregandhisfamilycan“enjoyfreedom,leisure,andreligiousandsocialindependencethat attendwealthyeconomicstatus,”unlikeMiawhoisstillinthephaseof“effort,hardwork,[and]optimism”to achieveherartisticvision(Jiang3).AsaresultofthisdifferencebetweenMiaandGreg,whileseeingSebastian asapotentialsuitor,Mia’spreviouslyconflictedfeelingsbecamecleartoher;feelingsof“hope,longing,and fragilejoy”suggestwhatitmeanstobreakthroughintheactingindustry,areconnectedbacktoSebastian, curatingthisideaSebastianhasnowbecomeapartofMia’sdreamoutsideofacting(Chazelle31).Thefirstkiss theyshareis“fullofallthehopeandyearningandterrorandwonderoflove’sfirstblush,”whichcontinuesthis

reflection of the arts industry (39). Their love for their respective artistry is like falling in love with each other, intertwining their dreams as artists.

Conformity or Redefinition of the American Dream

AsbothFloydandSebastianpursuetheirmusic,Floydismoresusceptibletothe“strain”of“moral imperatives”ashe“took[his]chance”instealingmoneytofulfillhisartisticAmericanDream,alongwith conformingtothematerialisticversionpresentedbyJiang(Jiang22;Wilson108).Sebastianalsohasalapsein judgment;althoughhisoffenseisnotasmorallycriticalasFloyd’s,itstillholdshugesignificancetothe identityofSebastian’scharacter.Sebastian’sdedicationtohiscraftisseenintheminordetails:replayingthe “samepassage”of“Monk’ssolo”tosatisfyhimself,“nooneelsecouldtellthedifference.Buttohim,it’s crucial.”InrelationtotheAmericanDream,SebastianisfollowingoneoftheeightthemesdubbedbyAlanD. DeSantisabouttheAmericanDream,specificallythe“Puritanworkethic”and“thepromisethatoneisableto findmeaningfulwork”(Chazelle10;DeSantis480).However,atestofcharacterisprovidedtoSebastianwhen hereconnectswitholdacquaintancesvyingtorevivejazzaswell.Hejoinstheminmaking“Modern-jazzelectronica,”whichis“not hiskindofjazz”(Chazelle42,45).

Atfirst,Sebastianrejectsthisapproach,butaftersomeencouragementfromMiawhoperceivesitas astepping-stone,heopenswith“cheers”ofpeoplehehasneverheardbeforeaboutplayingjazz(46).Inthis moment,Sebastianconformstomaterialismratherthanstayingtruetothat“Puritanworkethic”thatwould providehimmeaningthroughhismusic(DeSantis480).Followingthis,Mia,whohadbeeninfluencedby Sebastian’sdedicationtohisdream,findsSebastian’snewgigischanginghistrueself.Thisisevidentinthe “awkwardbeat”betweenthecouplesucceedingthefirstshowMiawasabletoattend(Chazelle52).Sebastian seesthisasjealousy,thoughMiaonlyworriesaboutSebastianfollowinghistruedream.Hisdefinitionofhis artisticAmericanDreamatthebeginningofthescriptwastorevivethejazzofgreatartiststhathaveinfluenced him,yethere,heisseenstartingtoindulgeintheL.A.thatpushesforaconsumeristversionofmusic.

IntheclimacticsceneofMiaandSebastian’sfight,Miamentionshowhis“playingusedtomake[her] cry,”butnowhe’sstrayedfromthe“cleardream”heusedtoholdforjazz’sfuture(62).Consequently,Mia’s truthfulnesswithSebastianbringshimbacktoreality.WhenheisinthestudiowithKeithandhisnewband, “uneasinesswellsupinSebastian’seyes”asherealizes“Thisisn’t[him]”(Chazelle71).Usingdirectioninthe characterportrayalofSebastianhelpsestablishthemomentinwhichSebastianhascomebacktowhathetruly desiresforthefutureofjazz.ThisisthemomentwhereSebastianrejectsthe“check[s]”hewouldendup cashingifheweretostaywiththegroup—the“check”representingthesocialstatusthatcomesintandemwith theacquisitionofmoneyandconnections—andredefineshisAmericanDreamastherevitalizationofjazz;but notjustanyformofjazz,butthekindofjazzthatspeakstotheheartoftheaudience(47).Hisdefinition throughartistryisnotforfame,orthemoney,butforhisowncreationofbringingjazzaliveforpeopleto enjoy.InrealizinghisdreamonceagainthankstoMia’sfidelitytoherowndream,heinturnhelpsMiareturn toherownpursuitafterbelievingshewasdonewithacting.

MiaconformstoaversionoftheAmericanDreamthatproposestheequalopportunityavailableto thosewithastrongworkethic.Although“materialsuccess”maybeseenasthe“principalattraction,”toMia,it isonlyacomplementtothedreamshehasthoughtaboutforsolong(Jiang6).Miaherselfrepresentstheactors thatarethe“representativespiritofthenation,”thatarepushingforthe“equalopportunityforeveryoneand anyonetopursuetheirideals,ordreams”(2).Inconformingtothisversion,Miacreatesadualitybetween herselfandSebastian—parallelingVeraandFloyd—whichcouldbeareasonfortheirseparation;following theirdreamsofpursuingtheirrespectiveartformscreatestheriftthatwasforeshadowedintheexpositionof thescript:“Sebastian’scaralmostBUMPSintoMia’sashechangeslanes.Heandsheseeeachotherfora second--beforetheircarsheadtheirseparateways”inareflectionoftheirfuture(Chazelle2).Afterspending somuchtimetogether,theyendupgoingtheirseparateways;playingabrief,yetbigpartineachother’slives beforefinallyachievingtheirrespectivedreams.

WithinWilson’splayconversely,outsideofVeraandFloyd,Hedleyconformstotheideaofthe AmericanDream,materialistically.Hedley,whohasgonemad,speaksabouttheapparitionofhisbeforehimin adream,tellinghim“BuddyBolden”willcometoHedleywithenoughmoneyforhim“tobuyaplantationso

thewhitemannottell[him]whattodo[;]”whilestillutilizingartistrytopropelhispursuit—throughtheuseof BuddyBolden,afamouscornetistandproducerofjazzmusic—WilsoncreatestheideamentionedbyJiangthat preoccupies“ethnicdramatists[:]”“whytheirownpeoplecannotlivewithdignity,decency,andselfrespect”(Wilson76;Jiang7).ThisideaofthelackofdecencypresentedbyJiangisevidentinmostmale charactersinWilson’splay:FloydwhoisconstantlyflirtingwithwomenotherthanVera,andHedleywho findshimselfinlustforRuby.WilsonsuggeststheAmericanDreamisunattainableforBlackAmericansinthis setting.Theyareunabletoachieveastablefamily—shownthroughthelustofFloydformultiplewomen—and unabletosustainastablehome—shownthroughHedley’sinsanity—stoppingbothmenfromattainingthe moneytobuytheirownhomesthroughmoralmeans.

Conclusion

TowhatextentdoesChazelle’sfilm, La La Land andWilson’splay, Seven Guitars,redefineorconform totheideologyofthe“Americandream”inthearts?Aftermuchresearchandreflection,itseemsChazelleand Wilsonhavebothutilizedtheartsindustry.Wilson’sversionrevealsthelackofmoralmeansofachievingthe AmericanDreamduetotheunfairnessagainstBlackAmericansinhisplay’ssetting,whileChazelleredefines theAmericanDreamasheshowsartistschasingtheirdreamsinamodernfilm.Themaincharactersofeach workrevealhowtheirsettingsandrelationshipshaveaffectedtheachievementoftheirownmeanings. QuestionsremainabouthowtheinherentinequalitypresentinWilson’splayaffectedthecharacters’ abilitytoachievetheirdreams,whileChazelle’scharacterswereabletosucceedasWhiteartists—atleastas theywerecastinthefilm.Ultimately,bothworkshavedemonstratedawaytoredefinetheAmericanDream throughartistry

DeSantis, Alan D. “Selling the American Dream Myth to Black Southerners: The Chicago Defender and the Great Migration of 1915–1919.” Western Journal of Communication, vol. 62, no. 4, 1998, pp. 474–511, doi:10.1080/10570319809374621. Foulkes, Julia, et al.

“Jerome Robbins and the Role of Dance — Google Arts & Culture.” Google Arts & Culture, artsandculture.google.com/story/jerome-robbins-and-the-role-of-dance-new-york public-library-for-theperforming-arts/1wWBL5RDHk4MIg?hl=en. Accessed 10 December 2023.

Hochschild, Jennifer L. Facing up to the American Dream: Race, Class and the Soul of the Nation. Princeton U.P., 1995.

“How the American Dream Has Changed Over Time.” Gale In Context Online Collection, Gale, 2022. Gale In Context: High School, link.gale.com/apps/doc/EJ2181500191/ SUIC?u=clov94514&sid=bookmark-SUIC&xid= 76f376d4. Accessed 24 Sept. 2023.

Hurwitz, Justin and de Vries, Marius. “City of Stars,” La La Land (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack). UMGRI Interscope (2016).

James, Bailey. “The Soaring Blues of Seven Guitars.” Breaking Character, Concord Theatricals, 20 July 2023, breakingcharacter.com/the-soaring-blues-of-seven-guitars/.

Jiang, Tsui-fen. The American Dream in African American, Asian American, and Hispanic American Drama: August Wilson, Frank Chin, and Luis Valdez. Mellen, 2009.

La La Land. Directed by Damien Chazelle, performances by Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling, Lionsgate, 2016.

Tenorio, Isabell. “Spiritual Meaning and Symbolism of a Rooster.” YourTango, 25 Sept. 2020, www.yourtango.com/2020336086/spiritual-meaning-and-symbolism-rooster#:~:text=The

Welsh National Opera. “Three Is the Magic Number.” WNO, 23 Sept. 2023, wno.org.uk/news/three-is-the-magic-number.

Wills, Matthew. “James Truslow Adams: Dreaming up the American Dream.” JSTOR Daily, ITHAKA, 18 May 2015, daily.jstor.org/james-truslow-adams-dreaming-american-dream/. Accessed 24 Sept. 2023.

Wilson, August. Seven Guitars. French Samuel, Inc., 199

THE STORY OF A SLAVE’S ANTHEM

Rickey Bradwell

A story unfolds in Threads of the Blood Anthem, with colors of struggle swirling in a tapestry. Historical echoes, connected with conflict, Tracing lost lives with echoes of echoes.

Cotton fields, where painful farewells meet aspirations of freedom, dance beneath sorrow skies. Every thread tells a tale of linked hope and growing resilience in both the heart and the mind.

Communities are created where tired people have worn, from the ashes of suffering, a spirit reborn. Even though there are still shadows, a flag remains. According to Michael Elliott, we are powerless to resist or complain.

To honor and remember our shared journey, An uncommon legacy is Threads of the Blood Anthem.

Horror serves as a method for society to tell the truth about unpleasant realities.

2025

Helen Connell Film Essay Award

HOW HAS THE REPRESENTATION OF RACE EVOLVED IN HORROR FILMS?

Joshua Sherman

For a long time, the horror genre has reflected the fears of society, often representing social fears through monsters, threats, and the “Other.” This research paper explores how the representation of race in horror films has changed over the years, particularly as these movies reflect the changes in social attitudes toward race and oppression over time. Horror films have depicted such shifts through the years, such as the transition from classic movies like Night of the Living Dead to contemporary films like Get Out. Historically, horror has both captured and, occasionally, reinforced racial stereotypes, placing Black characters and other marginalized groups as embodiments of fear and disorder. Today, however, the genre has begun to deviate from this pattern, telling stories that oppose the very ideas it used to promote. For one, the genre is employing unique narrative techniques to challenge systemic racism and social power. This paper examines horror’s advancement from voicing harm to proposing dialogues about social justice, uncovering the metamorphosis of this genre from racial exploitation to race critique.

Photo: Get Out, Courtesy Universal Pictures

A staple of the classic horror films was the dehumanization of Black individuals, who were portrayed as agents of fear and chaos. An exception is found in George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968), which counters this stance through an African-American character. Ben, a Black man, was featured as the one who leads and coordinates a team effectively and demonstrates good critical thinking during the outbreak of zombies, a plot that was not very common about the depiction of Black characters in the film industry at that time. In his explanation, Pinnix (2021) states that “this depiction ‘challenged the norms of the 1960s.’” At the same time, this was a bitter reflection of the 1960s’ realities, since Ben in the end is killed by the mob consisting of white men who take him for a ghoul (p.110). The horror film’s tragic conclusion serves as the commentary on racial violence, illustrating the case that Black Americans were frequently seen as the threats, even when they were in the position of heroes.

The ambiguity in Night of the Living Dead emphasizes horror’s power not only to highlight societal discord but, at the same time, to make its own message difficult to decipher The ghouls in the movie represent the chaos of public fears about racial integration and the Civil Rights movement in the 1960s. In this way, Romero chooses Ben as the main character but ultimately denies him survival, thereby critiquing racial violence and at that same time illustrating its ubiquity. Some films, according to Pinnix (2021), were using “Black bodies as tools to inflict fear upon whites,” in this manner, they echoed “the public’s anxieties surrounding racial integration” (p. 112). Greven (2021) goes even further and states that Romero’s method is evidence of horror as both critique and reinforcement of prejudice, implying the genre has a complex role in forming racial narratives (p. 193).

Modern horror, on the other hand, attacks these fears directly, using its forum to criticize institutional racism. Jordan Peele’s Get Out (2017) perfectly depicts this transfer of horror from the genre of racial exploitation to the one of racial critique. Chris, the Black lead, navigates the most terrifying world where he discovers that his White girlfriend’s family wants to hijack his body for personal advantage. Dent (2024) points out that the movie’s discussion of the “progressive” white spaces underlines the furtive nature of the racial privilege and how the structural oppression functions under a facade of liberal acceptance (p. 132). By showing Chris’s point of view, Peele creates a situation where the genuine horror does not come from exterior chaos. Instead, in a systemic way, the death of Black individuals is the outcome of objectification.

Peele’s work veers off from the old horror tropes epitomized by those in the past, while also building upon the foundation of the movies like Night of the Living Dead. As Romero used horror to refer to racial violence in general, Peele focuses on the psychological weight of racism and the spectator’s role in perpetuating it. According to Dent (2024), Get Out “forces its audience to question their complicity in racialized narratives,” which proves it to be an impressive example of the evolution of horror to a social critique tool (p. 135). Greven (2021) takes a further step stating that Peele’s film “centers on the Black identity and humanity as the main points of the plot,” a noticeable shift from the old paradigm of Black characters relegated to the periphery in horror (p. 198).

A very clear record of the change in racial representation in horror can be found in the difference between Night of the Living Dead and Get Out. Both films are horror movies that serve as a platform to deal with social fears, but their methods are extremely different. While Romero uses violence to survive, Peele focuses on the institutions that perpetuate violence, asking the audience to consider their own prejudices. Peele heads more in the direction of the psychological and systemic components of racism. This progress reflects the broader debate about the way in which horror interacts with race, moving from representing to form actively.

Both movies are good examples of the way horror has changed from a vehicle for promoting social fears to a vehicle for challenging them. While the genre continues to adapt, it also presents new methods through which to confront the old, entrenched social issues and to utilize its special perspective to see the “Other” and provoke, at once, fear and reflection. By showing these changes, we can envision how the power of storytelling that horror has, has turned into a valuable tool in terms of race and social justice. Changes in the racial representation within horror have gone far beyond the genre itself; they also reflect wider trends in the media’s approach to systemic racism. Due to its unsettling effects, horror serves as a method for society to tell the truth about unpleasant realities. Through the lens of systemic critique, films like Get Out not only stipulate but also challenge audiences’ perception of racism.

According to Dent (2024), the immersive experience of horror forces viewers to face their preconceived notions about race, effectively addressing these biases (p. 140). This shift highlights the storytelling power to affect the public perception.

Horror’s progression also spurs other genres to rethink the portrayal of marginalized communities. In the past, the media assigned the mission of either leaving out these groups or presenting them as stereotypes, which only perpetuated the cycle of damaging stereotypes. With a shift toward addressing oppression, horror reclaims those narratives, delivering a more humanized, nuanced take. Pinnix (2021) states that media representation is directly influential on the perception of the people in marginalized groups, often serving dominant societal ideology (p. 115). When horror challenges these narratives, it inspires other media forms to depict race with more complexity and care.

Horror’s shift from the passive reproductions of stereotypes in the past to the active critiques of systemic racism seen now illustrates how this genre has evolved immensely ... Breakthroughs like Night of the Living Dead initiated this revolution, and now, films like Get Out have picked it up, harnessing horror’s power to inspire dissonance, thus catalyzing deeper thought processes. By direct confrontation of race issues, filmmakers like Peele have contributed to the change of horror into a genre that critiques the power, rather than just reflect it.

Horror’s focus on race serves as a reminder of the power of narrative in shaping people’s understanding of society Through the continuous questioning of dominant narratives by the audience, horror surpasses being entertainment and goes into the realm of transformation. The genre’s ability to loop, question and resolve typical social issues guarantees its relevance, not merely as a way of examining fear, but also as a space to conduct important conversations about justice and race.

References

Dent, J. (2024) On failing to Get Out. Journal of Cinema and Media Studies, 63(3), 10-29. https://doi. org/10.1353/cj.2024.a927684

Greven, D. (2021) The women of Get Out: Femininity, race, and betrayal in the contemporary horror film. Studies in Gender and Sexuality, 22(3), 192–205.

https://doi.org/10.1080/15240657.2021.1961496

Pinnix, A. (2021) Night of the Living Dead dissects the news: Race, the 1967 riots, and ‘dead neighbors.’ Journal of Cinema and Media Studies, 60(4), 109–133. https://doi.org/10.1353/cj.2021.0047

HAD TO STEP BACK

Ray Taltoan

Clean my plate with Ajax

Cleaning out the ppl saying word but they ain’t fact

Figure that a brother wantin a better so I’m changing

Arranging all the things that had me silent now I’m painting

The written that I’m saying is a canvas that I’m speaking

Always talkin anyway they give the silent treatment

Peeping all the public speakers teaching to the sheep

Ain’t worried ‘bout a thing Im tryna practice what I preach

Cuz I done Been into some things had me down and had me beat

But I can speak on any problems cuz I’ll never see defeat

The confidence I’m having is the one that I can keep

In my spirit I can hear it every day and in my sleep

Heat building, I ain’t feel a thing

Pressure but I’m built for pain

Estrange to some family but I love em show it anyway   ppl that’s against me know it’s cool, it don’t mean a thing  loving from a distance for a while prolly never change

I got some Goals to aim I been in range to the glory so I’m posed to claim  All of my blessings ignore me ain’t been afraid of shame  I fear myself and not the devil

Cuz I know I’m not too special

For the level that’s below or ahead of you

Be surprised how demise spread wings  thick and thin then again sprouting brand new seeds U can see it in they faces when they grit they teeth taken back by their pride while they lose they feet

Slippin

think coincidence u trippin when they try you

Or thinking inciting violence when they first in tryna spite u  Give in to the feeling or you recognize the cycle  demons in the grass better cover up ya vitals

The viewer is compelled to ask and answer the question: “Who are the real savages?”

Sigma Tau Delta Academic Essay First Place

OUSMANE SEMBENE WILL NOT SPIN AROUND THE EUROPEAN AXIS: AFRICAN ARTHOUSE CINEMA AND POSTCOLONIAL THOUGHT IN BLACK GIRL/ FEMME NOIR

Alexia

Vorbe

Cinema borrows from the senses to create a universe that allows it to speak, see, and touch. Under the umbrella term of art, the motion picture is a medium with the ability to absorb a wholly interdisciplinary methodology and undoubtedly, the stories told are indicative of what we deem important and the reflections we feel compelled to disseminate. History and its recollection are often underestimated players in how we engage with the world around us. Bearing the responsibility for our general sentiment towards humanity, with our understanding being what we are told prevents its repetition. However, it

Photo: Black Girl, Courtesy Janus Films

requires an immense amount of trust between the listener and the one tending to the task where choice is not always an option. Depending on where the viewer is, or goes, they will find that some are occupied rewriting, others erasing, and those very few who are keen on telling the truth.

Ousmane Sembene’s 1966 directorial feature debut Black Girl or Femme Noir is a thoughtful and provocative film that redresses ruptures in trust between history teller and listener. When the remnants of colonialism were repurposed, they created a pathway for post-colonial attitudes to settle and bring their own prerogatives. Ousmane Sembene’s Black Girl is a testimony to the fact. Often the rewriting of history is presented to us as a perversion, to atone for crimes against humanity through literary and visual propaganda. The reason behind that flow of consciousness is because it is what has and continues to be done by trusted institutions, upheld by governing bodies seeking absolution for the sins of their predecessors.

Sembene successfully throws away any suggestion that structures of slavery ended after its abolition calcified. Ousmane Sembene creates a new foundation, complete with the structural integrity of this visual testimony. His directorial vision is the tedious and thoughtful dedication to an embrace between context and compelling storytelling, reframing the perspectives of imbalances of power through nuanced cultural commentary.

The picture follows a young Senegalese woman, Diouana, as she leaves her native country for a job in Antibes, France, where she works as a governess to a bourgeois, married couple. Upon her arrival, she faces discrimination at the hands of her employers and is constantly made aware of her race. Diouana’s repeated assertions that she is a slave in Antibes is a striking remark on the predicament of Blackness as it relates to racial capitalism (Hopkins, 2019). The parallels between the so-called eradicated concept of slavery, addressing racial capitalism in post-colonial Africa, and the marginalization faced by our Senegalese protagonist could not go over the viewer’s head, as the intention is to make sure it jumps out through the screen.

The detail poured into Sembene’s analogies are proof of the director’s ties to the story. Sembene came of age when Senegal was still under French rule, giving him insight into colonial and postcolonial mentality (The Postmodern Pelican, 2018). Through his characters, he executes a personification of France and Africa’s history by having them act as surrogates. When Diouana arrives in France, she gives her employers a traditional African mask from her village, which they hang in their living room, perhaps a metaphor for the bounty Africa has offered and continues to give to the world (even non-consensually), which they repay by slowly stripping her of her freedom.

At the end of the film Diouana takes the mask back and then, her own life, rather than be subject to a fate it seems she cannot escape. Similarly to the men, women and children who jumped overboard during the transatlantic slave trade. This symbolism establishes an apparatus of historical repetition. Sembene addresses the illusion of freedom in a post-colonial context by first reducing it to a simmer and showing it evaporate completely, with no sugarcoating and no chemical buffer. It becomes apparent that whoever associated labor with freedom, either benefited from the labor of others or simply had no clue what they were talking about.

The lands of the West are referred to as those bearing the fruit of opportunity and freedom, a rhetoric perpetuated by political agents who serve as salesmen of pseudo utopia. That this freedom is contingent on stripping others of theirs, is seldom mentioned. Diouana herself believes in this freedom before her departure, as she is eager to leave, not knowing that the freedom of the West is reserved solely for those belonging to the West. Ousmane Sembene exposes the European axis’ gaze and treatment of African and African diasporic nations by demonstrating that he does not fall for any illusion. In turnBlack Girl is evidence derived from his own ties to historical events, and his accumulated artistic and intellectual expertise.

It would not be far-fetched to interpret Diouana’s character, presence, and development throughout the film as a direct personification and surrogate of the African continent itself. At the beginning, our protagonist is dressed in opulence. In Senegal she walks the streets freely, harmoniously in her surroundings. As the story progresses, her independence is extracted, bound to the four walls of her French patron’s home. Her clothes, once sign of her elegance are now exchanged for a maid’s uniform in

perpetuity. Sembene contrasts Diouana’s beauty in Senegal versus France. In Africa she is a woman in all of her splendor, respected and admired even from afar, while in France she is no longer human, facing objectification at the whim of her employers, subject to belittlement and non-consensual physical advances. In no way shape or form do I think Sembene’s portrayal of France is to absolve any social or political issues faced in Senegal at the time. Quite the opposite, I think he brings the “why” into question. Since the West’s knowledge of Africa’s existence, its offspring have continuously attempted to disseminate a rhetoric associating the continent as being primitive and littered with “savages” in desperate need of cultural, religious, and social conversion. Understanding the impact of visual testimony, Sembene holds the mirror up to the West. After witnessing the actions inflicted on Diouana, the viewer is compelled to ask and answer the question: “Who are the real savages?”

The illusion presented in a post-colonial context is that of choice. How could Diouana’s choice to apply for a job as a governess in France lead to the loss of her freedom? How could one decision impede her ability to choose anything for herself afterwards? How could labor, a supposed indicator of freedom, and the “freedom” to now be able to choose one’s employment, lead her to revisit aspects of the past endured by her predecessors? It was Diouana’s very labor who granted freedom to her employers, in the same way that it is the labor of African and African diasporic nations that granted freedom to its colonizers. The freedom to complain, to facilitate childcare, to profit from cheap labor, to assault without consequence. The patterns and building blocks of what took place during slavery are alive in the film as in the world. Sembene uses fictional characters to address a real premise, and choosing this format communicates the discomfort and reality of the brutal prerogatives that might be overlooked, erased, or normalized.

When Diouana decides to go to France, perhaps the choice was never hers to begin with. In her short, yet striking contextual scenes in Senegal, the streets are swarmed with men and women looking for employment. Sembène makes no attempt to overlook the lack of infrastructure for the Senegalese people. Instead, he encourages viewers to put two and two together. This is the plight of nations who found themselves on the receiving end of colonialism and were left to deal with the effects of post-colonialism. Upon realizing what she is up against, Diouana does not go gently. She shows resistance, even though it leads to her self-inflicted death This was the final (and some would suggest only) choice she made as she avoids whatever fate her employers would have bestowed upon her. Sembene doesn’t forget to honor her in the end. When her French employer must go back to Senegal to return the now deceased woman’s items and final paycheck to her family, the colonizer now takes her place as the outsider, met with unpleasant glares and filled to the brim with paranoia, becoming the subject who is made aware of his race and what that entails for his surroundings.

In the electrifying coda, the mask finds its way into the hands of a young boy in Senegal, and becomes a totem of anti-assimilationist sentiment, vibrating with pro-African resistance (Clark, 2017) An important piece of media for those who are in desperate need of a refresher course on the consequences of colonialism. In an interdisciplinary context, Ousmane Sembene’s Black Girl and Frantz Fanon’s Wretched of the Earth are one in the same.

The applicability of the film’s themes to events taking place in the world today suggest cinema’s immovable structure and transcendent nature. While the world pretends to move forward, continuing in the attempt to reduce the atrocities of the past to trivialities like so many bad dreams, films like Femme Noir remain grounded in their narratives and provocative methods enabling them to surpass time, borders, and language barriers to communicate common experience.

What we witness with Sembène is the self-exploitation of the artist for his audience and an unwavering act of patriotism. In a fit of irony, as French New Wave cinema was reaching its climax in the world of film in the 1960’s, with a form suggesting perhaps more hedonistic points of view, Ousmane Sembene’s concern with aesthetics is tainted with his obligation to address a lingering morsel of the past. The language of cinema permits Sembene to present difficult topics in a visually palatable format, while it creates a path for the translation of history to be addressed through art and incite meaningful dialogue about society.

References

Clark, A. The Criterion Collection. (2017, January 23). Black Girl: Self-possessed. https://www.criterion. com/current/posts/4402-black-girl-self-possessed

Hopkins, Z. (2019, December 15). Rupture and resistance: An analysis of Ousmane Sembène’s La Noire de... Voyages: Africana Journal. https://www.voyagesjournal.com/fall-2019-harvard-posts/ruptureand-resistance -an-analysis-of-ousmane-sembenes-la-noire-denbsp

The Postmodern Pelican. (2018, May 25). Black Girl (1966). https://postmodernpelican.com/2018/05/25/ black-girl-1966/

Sembène, O. (Director). (1966). Black Girl [Restored film; Criterion Collection edition]. The Criterion Collection. https://www.criterion.com/films/28623-black-girl

THE RIVER OF RED

The moon hung low over the Haitian countryside, casting a silver glow over the fields of sugar cane. In the distance, the steady sound of rushing water filled the night. Yes indeed, the newly built canal. A lifeline for the farmers, drawing from the river that stretched between Haiti and the Dominican Republic. And there appear to be some children walking nearby…

Fifteen-year-old Jean walked alongside his little sister, Marjorie, with their donkey, Tibourik, trotting beside them with sacks of rice and plantains strapped to his back. Their family had worked the land for generations, but the lack of water had made farming difficult. The new canal was meant to change that.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Marjorie whispered, gripping Jean’s arm.

“Wi,” Jean assured her, but he couldn’t deny the chill creeping up his spine.

The elders always warned against walking too close to the river at night.

“Espri nanm pèdi mache la,” they said. “The spirits of lost souls walk there.”

Photo: Bruna Marcon Weber, “So Near, Yet So Far”

Isaiah Lubin, Billy McCray, and Rose Piercin

Tibourik suddenly stopped, his ears twitching. The air around them felt heavier, as if unseen eyes were watching. Then, the wind carried a whisper a whisper filled with something ancient, something painful.

Jean turned to Marjorie, “Did you hear that?”

Before she could answer, the river stirred.

The water darkened, rippling unnaturally as mist rose from its surface. Suddenly, three figures appeared. Not living, but not entirely gone. A man with hollow eyes in tattered clothes. A woman cradling a child, her dress soaked in something darker than water. More figures emerged, their faces shadowed and their movements, slow and sorrowful.

Marjorie clung to Jean, asking frantically, “M pa renmen sa ditou. I don’t like this at all. Jean, what is this!?”

“They are the forgotten,” a voice said.

Jean and Marjorie turned to see a large, black hummingbird perched on a twisted tree by the riverbank. Its purple and navy-blue feathers shimmered like ink in the moonlight and its golden eyes wise and knowing.

“The forgotten?” Jean asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The hummingbird nodded toward the figures. “Once, long ago, they lived as you do. They worked the land, they fished, they loved, they dreamed. But a man of cruelty, a dictator with a heart of stone, saw them as nothing more than shadows in what he perceived to be his land. And so, he ordered their deaths.”

Marjorie gasped. She had heard stories of Kout Kouto a (the stabbing), the massacre of tens of thousands of Haitians at the hands of Dominican soldiers under Rafael Trujillo, the Dominican Republic’s dictator at that time.

The dictator had claimed he was “cleansing” his country, hunting down those who spoke HaitianCreole, especially those with darker skin. They were slaughtered near the river, their bodies dumped into the water. It was said the river ran red for months.

Jean swallowed hard and stuttered, “A-a-are th-th-these… are these their spirits?”

The hummingbird spread its wings with its gaze heavy with sorrow. “They are the ones who were never given justice. The world moved on, pretending their screams never echoed in the night. Sa yon wont (such a shame).”

Marjorie wiped a tear from her cheek and asked the hummingbird, “But why are they here now?” “Because history repeats,” the hummingbird said, “You all built this canal to bring life, but there are those who do not wish for you to have it. The same hatred that once spilled blood into these waters still lingers. They want you to suffer, to be powerless.”

Jean clenched his fists.

You see, Jean had heard the arguments, the threats. Some in the Dominican Republic had fought against Haiti’s canal, claiming the water was not theirs to take. But hadn’t Haitians worked this land? Hadn’t they suffered enough?

“I’m glad you feel upset, but words do not do it justice, you must come see for yourself. Hop onto my back and hold onto my feathers. Allow me to show you your history.”

Marjorie and Jean followed the hummingbird’s instructions, shocked that their grasp of the feathers didn’t cause them to become detached from the hummingbird.

And so, the hummingbird takes off into the sky, beyond the exosphere, zooming toward the sun.

“WHY ARE YOU FLYING US INTO THE SUN?!?!?!” exclaimed Jean.

Marjorie begins screaming frantically and then interrupts her screaming with a question, “Wait, how are we breathing in space?”

The hummingbird completely ignores the cries of such feeble -minded kids and flies straight into the sun. However, the crew of space travelers do not get vaporized upon contact but are instead transported to a strange world that seems familiar.

Suddenly, the hummingbird lands in a forest near a river after popping out of a portal from about 30 feet in the sky. The siblings hop off its back.

“Where are we?” asked Marjorie.

“Look! The river!” stated Jean.

“Okay, but there were never these many trees near the river,” Marjorie responded.

The hummingbird explains, “Welcome to the Dajabón River. Today’s date is October 4, 1937.”

“So, we’ve traveled time. For what reason?” asked Jean. The hummingbird responds by pointing out towards the riverbank.

The children look to where the hummingbird had pointed and saw extreme and chaotic violence. Blood was everywhere as Black bodies dropped left and right whether on the riverbank or in the water. So much blood spilled, the water began to turn into a reddish-brown color. Men speaking Spanish swung their blades and shot their firearms with no remorse. Marjorie covers her eyes while crying, but the hummingbird pulls her hand down. Jean seethes with rage. They all see a man with hollow eyes, like the spirit encountered earlier, tending to a woman cradling a baby. The man and the woman holding the baby were crouched down behind some bushes. The woman was shot in the leg, and her husband, shot in the foot, was tending to her wound while shushing their baby.

Marjorie cried out to the man and woman, “Are you okay?”

Neither the man nor the woman responded, as if they didn’t hear Marjorie at all.

“HEY!” cried out Marjorie again.

“It’s no use, you cannot interact with them, and they cannot interact with you,” explained the hummingbird. “Yes, you traveled time, but you do not belong to this time period so you both are simply witnesses. Just watch what happens.”

Marjorie reluctantly nods and huddles with her brother Jean who is still furious at the sights he is seeing.

The woman holding the baby then begins to speak as the baby cries hysterically.

“Jakob, jis pran li, vi m fini men ou toujou gen yon chans,” she says, “Jacob, just take him, it’s over for me but you still have a chance.”

“Non, mwen pap kite madanm mwen dèyè,” Jacob responds while trying to cover his baby’s mouth. “No, I will not leave my wife behind.”

Suddenly, a man wearing military-green clothing and a helmet appears before them.

“Encontré tres más,” he yells while laughing, “I found three more.”

The man then pulls a gun out and, with a sadistic smile, shoots the baby once in the head, killing it instantly. The mother cries out in horror as she tries to protect her lifeless baby. Jacob then pulls out a small pocketknife from his back pocket and limply charges at the gunman while yelling. The gunman laughs and then shoots his uninjured foot, causing Jacob to fall to the floor grimacing and shouting in pain. The gunman steps over Jacob and aims his gun towards Jacob’s head to the dismay of Jacob’s wife, who begins to vehemently demand for the gunman to stop. The gunman then puts the gun away and instead takes Jacob’s pocketknife from his hands. Jacob tries to fight him off but to no avail.

The gunman then begins to slowly walk toward the wife while holding the blade with the same sadistic smile across his face. Jacob cries out and pleads for the gunman to stop. Marjorie and Jean see all of this and begin to cry out and beg for the gunman to stop as well, despite knowing nobody can hear their cries. The hummingbird bravely looks on, shedding a couple of tears. The wife tries to push the gunman away with one arm while holding her lifeless baby in the other. The gunman slashes at her arm to stop her from pushing him and then begins to stab Jacob’s wife relentlessly, with each stab cutting away at her life until she and her baby lie lifeless on the ground, a pool of blood surrounding them. Jacob, while bleeding out from both of his feet can only look on in terror, crying out in both pain and horror. Jacob’s cries are put to an end when the gunman then shoots Jacob in the head, killing him.

“Take us back, please! We cannot bear to see this anymore!” Jean yells out to the hummingbird while caressing his little sister as she cries hysterically.

The hummingbird then wraps his wings around the siblings and transports them back to their timeline, right by the river where he first encountered them.

“ What do we do?” Jean asked, as he was able to finally calm both he and Marjorie down.

The hummingbird spoke, “Remember them. Speak of them. Do not let their deaths be in vain. Justice is not only for the living, but for those who were silenced.”

A sudden gust of wind blew through the trees. The spirits began to fade, their forms dissolving into

mist. The river grew still, the night returning to its usual quiet.

Jean exhaled and reached for Marjorie’s hand.

“ We won’t forget,” he whispered.

Marjorie sniffled, “What is your name?”

“Jakob,” the hummingbird said then flew off and vanished into the night, never to be seen again. “Could he have been—” Marjorie asked before being interrupted by Jean, “Let’s just go home, we need to get some rest after seeing such sad sights.”

The siblings and their donkey headed home with the sacks of rice and plantains.

The next day, Jean asked his grandfather about the massacre. The old man only nodded, his eyes dark with memory.

“ The past does not stay buried,” he said. “It waits for those willing to listen…” and he begins to inform the siblings about the massacre.

And so, Jean and Marjorie made a promise—to never let history be erased, to fight for their right to water, to land, to life. For justice, like a river, must always find its way home.

A dystopian reality shows how numb the modern world has become to death.

A DYSTOPIA DISGUISED AS UTOPIA

Angelo “Los” Mitchell

In the story Scythe by Neal Shusterman, we are taken to a dystopian future disguised as a utopia. Scythe is told in third person, but each chapter has a central character the author focuses on to explain their thoughts and feelings. The world has advanced in technology so much that the society has conquered death. Every human on the planet is essentially immortal and can even jump off a building to be revived at a local hospital. As people live longer lives, youth is the aesthetic fashion. Parents could be 128 years old, but look 27. Healthcare is free; there is no racism; gender equality and rights are evenly distributed; and every human is financially stable. The only way to be homeless and less fortunate is to choose to be. Climate change and global warming, a looming doom in our reality, is a thing of the past in this novel. This is all thanks to the one world government controlled by an AI, the Thunderhead. With the world governed by the Thunderhead, the program also acts as the entire internet database. A normal citizen can talk to its leader daily, just like our Siri or Alexa of today.

With plenty of food and a nonexistent crime rate. there is only one problem to this perfect life: overpopulation. The book has a solution for this as well. The Scythedom, an elite, police-like philosophical society is in charge of regulating overpopulation and giving people the true experience of death, which the book labels “gleaning.” Published in 2016, this science fiction story set in a dystopian reality shows how numb the modern world has become to death.

A student of psychology and drama in college, Shusterman often writes dystopian coming-of-age stories that question what is morally right or just. The author explains his vision for his Arc of a Scythe series in a 2019 interview: “to start with a vision where ‘the world goes right, where we get all the things we want’” (Delanoy and Van der Horst, 2021, p.19). While the novel does give humanity what they want, eternal life and youth come with a dark cost: this scientific breakthrough molds a world numb to death.

The Scythedom’s members are called Scythes and although the name refers to the farming tool, Scythes can choose any weaponry for killing. The members wear hooded cloaks that suggest the angels of Renaissance paintings. Though similar to the robes of the Grim Reaper, each Scythe must choose any color and pattern from the rainbow for their robes, except black. Black is devoid of light and would be too uncanny for their work. Scythes also receive special treatment from citizens such as free meals, room and board, and unquestioned entry into any home or building. This is either due to reverence or fear of a Scythe’s power. They are an ungoverned society of adults who have their own rules, codes, and laws. Scythes are regarded as “Honorable” and when people speak to them, they must say “your honor.” All Scythes must dispense with their birth name and choose a new name with historical significance.

The word “gleaning” comes from ancient times when poor people picked up the scraps of grain left behind by farmers, and act the book deems the “earliest form of charity” (Shusterman, 2016, p.3). This comparison suggests the Scythes are doing the world a service, as if the novel is saying “do not fear death, for death is natural.” Even the name of the keepers of death goes back to the concept of farming. Scythes supposedly keep order in society, cutting down overgrown stocks. Ungoverned, Scythes do not listen to the Thunderhead and in fact cannot access it.

The Scythedom is separate from society as their job becomes their life. In fact, as April Spisak suggests, immortality has made Shusterman’s world devoid of life. As she observes, “Shusterman’s dystopian utopia is a chilling place where many of the passions recognized as human are gone—the drive for learning, creating, innovating, love, and even religion all take on less urgency when spread out over hundreds of years” (2017, p.180). These “passions” are what makes us human.

In the novel, Scythe Goddard represents a new generation who wants to get rid of the society’s traditional philosophy and morality. Scythes must each reach quotas each year to control overpopulation and report their gleanings to the high council in charge of their nation’s Scythedom. A proper Scythe is supposed to glean a single person in one instance and give that person undivided attention in death.

Gleaning must be random and not personal. Instead Scythe Goddard does mass killings along with his loyal psychotic followers.

In part one of the story, “Robe and Ring,” we meet our teenage protagonists, Citra and Rowan, as well as the Scythes Faraday, Curie, and Goddard. Citra and Rowan are invited to serve as apprentices into the Scythedom. Curious about this unknown path, they both accept. In preparation for their final test, Citra and Rowan undergo months of rigorous training in different martial arts and learn the history of the Scythdom’s ancestors. An uneasy romance blossoms between the apprentices. Rowan gleans with Scythe Goddard, while Citra apprentices with Scythe Curie, a friend of Scythe Faradays. Rowan and Citra fight to the death at the final test and Citra wins. In love, Citra lets Rowan escape, and the book closes with loose ends and mysteries to be discovered in the sequel, Thunderhead.

When describing the fear of Scythes, readers can almost feel the dread wash over the character. In chapter 1 “No Dimming of the Sun,” we read Citra’s first encounter with Scythe Faraday, and it is as if time came to a standstill. Fear ate Citra alive as she stared death in the face, unsure of who in her home the Scythe might glean. Citra saw her mother freeze at the door, staring at Faraday, saying, “as if her veins had solidified within her. As if, were she tipped over, she would fall to the floor and shatter” (p.5). The diction changes depending on the central character. The most captivating writing comes in action sequences and as witness to a gleaning. These moments in the book can either feel fast paced or horrific given the context of the scene.

When we first meet Scythe Goddard, with his acolyte Scythes, called an “elegy” of Scythes, we stumble into a horror. The chapter shows the perspective of a businessman who just boarded a flight. Using third person subjective point of view, the novel reveals the businessman’s thoughts and emotions. If slightly obnoxious, the businessman is a normal passenger waiting for the plane to depart so that he can attend to his work in the next city. The only thing on his mind is his favorite seat, 15C. The businessman engages in conversation with the woman next to him briefly, as his mind is fixed on his career. He grows curious about a commotion at the front of the plane when the elegy of Scythes board. Goddard wears a dark blue robe emblazoned with diamonds. His followers each wear a cloak of a different color with gems or gold woven intricately on their robes as well. Goddard explains to the passengers that the entire plane has been deemed subject to gleaning. Surprised, the businessman and other occupants slowly realize the gravity of the situation. When the passengers realize death is upon them, they sob. The businessman rushes to the back of the plane and the other passengers follow. Hoping to escape out the back door, they scurry awa. Before anyone can jump to freedom, Goddard reminds them that anyone who rejects gleaning will die along with their whole family.

The Scythe then calls out to the businessman, commanding him to stand before him. As the “alpha” of the plane, he must choose the order of the gleaning. The businessman is at a loss for words, as he cannot fathom the idea of choosing the order of everyone’s death. Stalling for time, he asks Goddard “How will you glean us?” (p. 74).

Scythe Goddard reveals a vast collection of knives and guns under his robe and informs him it depends on how he and his elegy feel. The businessman then sees one of member of the elegy lick her lips while clutching a machete tighter and begins to panic. The panic comes from the realization that these Scythes take pleasure in killing which is a violation of the Scythedom laws. The businessman refuses to choose and tells the crowd that this elegy is not honorable and does not deserve the right to gleaning them. Nevertheless, Goddard slaughters the crowd as they cry and scream. He then gleans the businessman. Dispensing with honor, Scythe Goddard’s elegy raises the question: can there be a right and wrong way of killing?

As a corollary, Scythe poses the question of whether there is a right or wrong way of dying. Scythe suggests an answer to the question raised by Kübler-Ross about death in contemporary society: “What happens in a society that puts more emphasis on IQ and class-standing than on simple matters of tact, sensitivity, perceptiveness, and good taste in the management of the suffering?” (Kübler-Ross, 2015, para.1) Scythe reveals what happens when society is primarily focused on progress and still has systems in place for grieving, but fails to observe what happens when humans take control of death.

References

Delanoy, W., & van der Horst, I. (2021). Transhumanism, language education and young adult literature: Neal Shusterman’s Arc of a Scythe trilogy. Children’s Literature in English Language Education, 9(2), 30–49. https://clelejournal.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/CLELE-9.2-Transhumanism- Language-Education-and-Young-Adult-Literature.pdf

Kübler-Ross, E. (2016). Attitudes toward death and dying. In C. J. Corr, C. M. Doka, & B. Jennings (Eds.), Death and dying, life and living (7th ed., pp. 105–117). Routledge. https://www.taylorfrancis. com/chapters/edit/10.4324/9781315689081-5/attitudes-toward-death-dying-elisabethk%C3%BCbler-ross

Shusterman, N. (2016). Scythe. Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers.

Spisak, A. (2016). [Review of the book Scythe, by Neal Shusterman]. Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books 70(2), 96. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/bcc.2016.0832.

FRAGILE TAPE IS MEANT FOR HEARTS THAT TRAVEL, NOT LUGGAGE

Lojan Shaker

You think it would get easier

The same ritual twice a year

Bags packed and weighed, ur brother slowly trailing behind out to the boot of the car

Passport, passport, wallet, charger, adaptor. Tick.

Barly being able to mutter a word when you’re hugging ur mum and little brothers goodbye

When ur dad kisses you on the forehead and says We are all so proud of you

Digging ur nails in your palm so that the pipe doesn’t burst and leak the floors with my tears

A nod and a me too is the bravest I can do

After five years

Every six months

You would think it gets easier since it’s routine

But then why does the packing get pushed darker and darker into the night each time?

Why does the backpack get heavier on my shoulders with the same essentials inside?

My heart gets a little more delicate with every passport check and plane ride far from home

You would think it gets easier

But I’ve never started using so much Fragile tape

Photo: Ena Castillo, “Alone, Whispers”

IN ALL MY SILENCE

Lojan Shaker

Part 1

November 22nd, Day 4 since passing –

This past week I have learned that all my hours spent in school were nothing but a waste of time. I mean sure I know how to do long division and write a summary but nothing that actually helps in this thing that we are doing called life. You would think graduating high school and soon to be graduating university I would know how to answer the simple question; how are you doing? Such a blunt, basic question that I haven’t had an answer for all week. Even though I have been taught to respond to your question in four different languages, today with the way I feel, none of those languages can answer it. There was no class I could register for that had what I needed in the Spring or Fall semester. Instead, I was taking three different rhetorical classes when I should have been taking “How to deal with the loss of someone that’s been a vital role in your life.”

Someone that’s never not been there.

I used to think I know things, and this week I’ve learned I know nothing at all. Nothing important at least. I’ve been asked many different questions in many different subjects, but none as complicated as the how are you feeling i’ve been asked in many different forms trying to get me to change my response. I want to rip it out of my ears, every time I hear those four words. I hate to disappoint you all, but I don’t have an answer that will satisfy after all the studying I’ve done. I’ve dealt with losses before, fortunately as of now not many, but I guess that’s one of the formulas they forgot to teach us in math. More age equals more loss.

This loss I fear might be one of the hardest I’ll ever experience and the most agonizing as of now. Today, writing here is the first thing I’m doing. What I did do for the rest of the day is I laid a total of six hours in my bed, not reading, not watching, not even sleeping. Still and staring at the ceiling. Not a word or a movement for six hours. After the endless books I have read, I regret to inform you, I have no words to answer your question. I think the closest I can get to describing the feeling is silent. The night my grandfather died something inside of me was silenced.

The last months I spent with him there was a lot of silence. I loved it. A lot of comfort in that silence, sitting next to one another watching, listening to his favorite Arabic singers. When we were together, I always told him whatever I wanted, even if he didn’t respond. I knew he was listening. Everyone keeps telling me now that he’s always listening, so why do I have nothing to say? It’s almost the same thing. Right? Well, almost isn’t close enough for me, I’m afraid. He didn’t recognize or remember many people’s names towards the end, but he never forgot mine. He always knew it was me.

Today I don’t feel that same comfort in the silence. For the first time in my life, I have been silenced. I haven’t experienced any of those things people talk about when a loved one passes away. A dream or some sort of sign. I dream almost every night and these past nights, not one. I looked and I waited desperately, at the sunset every night of this week pleading at the world to give me anything, but no. No colors, no dreams, my eyes are open, so why won’t they see? I lost my favorite person this week. I have lost all my tears. I lost my words. Nothing to yell or even whisper. So how do I feel you continue to ask? I feel that there’s this deafening silence inside of me.

Part 2

December 21st one month and two days since passing

I didn’t see a sunset for the past month. It’s like the harder I tried, the harder I didn’t see. I landed in Egypt four days ago to spend the Christmas break with my family. We are staying with my aunt in her house, the one that shares a wall with my grandparents’ house. I chose to believe it is still their house, even if they left us and no longer live there. It’s always going to be their home. I saw a sunset today. Not just any

sunset: the whole sky was swirled in red and orange and I stood outside and stared at it in awe. Of course, the first sunset I would see, or the most noticeable one since my grandfather left, was going to be whilst I was standing in his garden, right outside his house, he was just waiting for me to come home to see.

My seven-year-old brother, who I call Deedo, who usually always has something to say as most seven-year-olds do, stood beside me for the first time equally as silent and hung on to my pinky. He didn’t ask me what I was doing or why I was standing there and just stood there with me. It’s almost as if he knew, or he was seeing what I was seeing. All I know for sure is that we felt the exact same thing. Even if nothing needed to be said.

January 13th one month and twenty-seven days since passing

I’m going back to Miami tomorrow. And as it’s my last night here at home, I thought about popping next door and sitting in my grandparents’ house for a little bit, since this time around I didn’t have the courage to go visit them at their new homes. It was too soon. I knew my aunt still had the key to their house because my seventeen-year-old brother Yasso had gone earlier on in the break. I thought about it a lot in the car back home from the nail salon. If I wanted to go in, it would have to be now.

I stood at the foot of the stairs looking at their door. I went up to the closest step and just sat on it outside their door. I almost got into an argument with my parents last night, because I heard that my dad and his siblings were planning on selling the house. My dad told me, “It’s not about the place, it’s about its people.” That sentence kept repeating in my head as I was sitting on the stairs. I couldn’t go in and see that nobody was home, so I just sat outside almost as if waiting for one of them to come open. I sat there for exactly twenty-five minutes. I got up, dusted off my jeans, turned left and walked into my aunt’s house.

Part 3

January 20th 1 week since previous entry and two months and one day since passing

I was walking back from training and I got back to the room and sat on my pink rug as I usually do, all sweaty and therefore not ideal to contaminate any other furniture in my room. Mornings are usually very hectic, and I am not a morning person of any sort. I sit on my rug thinking, and I somehow got to thinking about my dreams the previous night. As of right now, I had no other opportunity to think about anything other than what I was doing in practice.

I start to think vividly, and I see as clear as day like a film projecting in my head what my dream was. (I would like to gently remind you a week has passed since the previous entry) We were at this restaurant outside, not a familiar one, but I assume it was in Egypt because my whole family was there.

I hear a very profound “Loshty” (the nickname only my grandpa calls me) and I turn around and he’s sitting at a table with my uncle and aunt. I go up to him and give him a hug like I always do, and he pulls me for one more kiss on the cheek like he always does and I say, “I went by the house earlier and they told me you weren’t there.” He pats the seat next to him and goes, “I saved this seat for you. Come sit next to me before I have to go.”

I look at him and say, “you’re leaving already?”

He looks at me like he always does and places a hand on my cheek and responds, “I’ve been here for a while already.”

So, I sat alongside him cuddled up in his arms, and just like that. We were sitting again in our understood sanctuaried silence.

This piece was indeed written over the course of three months. This wasn’t on purpose, nor did I plan it, but life has its way of proving to you that not everything can be planned.

The privileged class of society looks down upon the working class as inferior, while the working class bottles up feelings of envy and frustration.

IS CLASS VISIBLE? A SEMIOTIC ANALYSIS OF HIDDEN GESTURES

Isabella Koelkebeck

Class influences how we interact with people in our day-to-day life, yet no one realizes it. From what we wear to a job interview, to the general manners we use when making small conversation with a stranger, all of it is based on social stratum. It is so intricately hidden that we do not notice ourselves assimilating to fit into our bourgeois society. However, there are many semiotic signs of class we can learn to see how social hierarchy influences our community. Once the semiotic signs of class are analyzed and enlightened, class is not as inconspicuous as we think. In this paper, I will analyze semiotic signs of class to demonstrate their visibility and help working class individuals recognize these signals, to prevent the ritualistic assimilation into the social class.

So, what does “semiotic” even mean? It refers to the study or use of signs as a form of communication. A sign can be anything—such as a word, gesture, or even how one presents themselves— that expresses an internalized, subconscious meaning. For instance, if someone were to wear hand-me-

Photo: Bruna Marcon Weber, “Anywhere Away from Here”

down clothes, society would assume they were part of the working-class. On the other hand, if someone were to wear a nice suit and tie, society would believe they were of high-class. We also see semiotic signs of class in social media, with a TikTok trend going viral for imitating what people believe a “rich man’s laugh” sounds like, stemming from videos of billionaire celebrities laughing on television. The signs are there, and we notice them, but they remain an unspoken thought in our heads.

Why do we perceive things this way? The idea of class surrounds all of us from an early age, right when we enter a pedagogical environment. As Glennon expresses in her essay, “I was to become more like the upper-middle class students, the ones who talked “nice,” dressed sedately, and who smiled when they got in sticky situations” (2020, p. 365).

Growing up as part of the working class, with my mother barely affording necessities, I was teased at school for the off-brand clothes and worn-out shoes I wore. To avoid the constant harassment, I conformed to the image I thought society wanted, falling into the brainwashing notion of class as many others—including Glennon—have.

When a young child enters a pedagogical environment, they are exposed to diverse hierarchies and stereotypes—both semiotic signs of class—that alter their perception of society. In the classroom, students are expected to be silent and obedient, quickly learning that the teacher holds all the power through rewards and punishments. The United States is known for its diversity, yet every school is predominately taught in the English language, which poses a challenge for bilingual children. If the student is bilingual, they typically face an internal battle of culture; the one they grew up with and derived their values from, or the one they need to assimilate into to be successful and praised by society. In fact, a visual semiotic study conducted in an American elementary school had English-Spanish students read and analyze picture books “to uncover misrepresentations of race, class, and language,” (Esquivel, 2019, p. 198) through critical discourse analysis. These children read two versions of Cinderella: the original English version and a Spanish edition.

Once the pupils read both books and went through all the analytical activities, the researchers found that the children ended up describing the book by “people of color (race) and poor people (social class)” (Esquivel, 2019, p. 206). One of the students believed all the characters in the Spanish edition of ‘Cinderella’ were Hispanic, from Mexico, and poor— though theethnicity was never specified— due to the depiction of every character as brown and most of them doing hard, uninspiring work. This uncovers two misrepresented stereotypes: that all brown people are assumed to be of Mexican ethnicity, and that all citizens of Mexico are brown.

Because of this distortion, “brown people” become associated with being working class and Hispanic, intensifying the silent discrimination and prejudice they face in society The privileged class of society looks down upon the working class as inferior, while the working class bottles up feelings of envy and frustration. These feelings of animosity can slowly divide us as a society and may lead to extreme antagonism between classes.

McLaren proposes the idea that the upper-class population were the ones to instill social stratum into our capitalist society. He remarks, “Watered by the tears of the poor and cultivated by working class labor, the dreams that sprout from the unmolested soil of capital are those engineered by the ruling class” (2003, p. 67). The “ruling class” are the ones who control society and uphold their elite status by using the ideology of class, as it favors them over the majority— working class laborers. The bourgeoise’s ideals are instilled and internalized at an early age, forcing the working class to conform into our capitalist society through semiotic signs and cultural conditioning.

McLaren makes another point, claiming that “the workers themselves have become conditioned to believe that without their exploiters, they would no longer exist” (2003, p. 68). This unfortunate conditioning makes the working-class dependent on the ruling class, preserving the capitalist hierarchical society. We see this in jobs everyday—the working class tiring themselves out from all the labor just to appeal to the one in charge, so that they can get paid and remain an employee. I mean, the whole government is part of the privileged class, and usually their ideas tend to benefit the elites rather than the misfortunate lower classes. However, this prejudice towards the working class can be resolved if we target the brainwashing right when it first happens—school.

The notion of class gets planted into our brains as soon as we step foot into a pedagogical environment. Instead of keeping the topic of class silent, teachers or professors can help break this ritualistic cycle of assimilation by speaking out about social tiers or allowing students to ask questions and speak out about class as well. In the United Kingdom, where they too experience heavy class discrimination, there was a research study done in a university where pre-service teachers created a safe and open environment for both privileged and low-income students to discuss class. Both the pre-service teachers and students were to talk about class and their own experiences with it, along with their opinions. Although there were many instances of awkward silence, the researchers found that most of the students’ showed “more consistent indicators of awareness of the intersectionality of poverty, class and other forms of deprivation” (White & Murray, 2016, p. 511). Just talking about social stratum will help students realize how discriminatory our society is.

Critical pedagogy can be introduced to schools as well, which is an educational approach that has students critically analyze social, political, and economic systems to help change inequalities and oppression. If students were to critically analyze semiotic signs of class and ongoing class struggle, students would then be able to see the cycle of conformity set in place by the “ruling class.” McLaren explains the “Holloway view” which views “the objective conditions of class struggle as alienated expressions of the power of labor” (2003, p. 77). He argues, “As long as capital is dependent upon the power of labor, the powerless can potentially realize their power through class struggle” (McLaren, 2003, p. 77). By fostering a pedagogical environment where it is safe to express concerns about class, analyze class struggle, and apply critical pedagogy to help the working class “realize their power through class struggle,” we can break-free of the social rank norms and work towards a fairer, more equal society.

Class remains a silent yet compelling force that shapes our perceptions, daily interactions, and even opportunities in life. From the pedagogical environments of children to the workplace hierarchies of adults, the semiotic signs reinforce social stratum— often subconsciously. By analyzing semiotic signs and understanding class struggle, we can start to deconstruct systems that support inequality. As the origin of class brainwashing starts in an educational environment, it plays a pivotal role in deconstructing these unfair systems.

Introducing critical pedagogy, deeply analyzing semiotic signs of class and cultivating open conversations about bourgeoise can empower the working class to realize the collective power they have and challenge the class norms we have today.

References

Esquivel, J. (2019). Critical discourse analysis in the bilingual classroom: Uncovering stereotypes in children’s picture books. NABE Journal of Research and Practice, 9(3–4), 198–209. https://doi.org/10 .1080/26390043.2019.1653050

Glennon, L. (2000). Yale: Reflection on class in New Haven. In P. Lauter & A. Fitzgerald (Eds.), Literature, class, and culture series (pp. 360–368). Addison Wesley Longman.

McLaren, P. (2003). Critical pedagogy and class struggle in the age of neoliberal globalization: Notes from history’s underside. Democracy & Nature, 9(1), 65–90.

White, M. L., & Murray, J. (2016). Seeing disadvantage in schools: Exploring student teachers’ perceptions of poverty and disadvantage using visual pedagogy. Journal of Education for Teaching, 42(4), 500–515. https://doi.org/10.1080/02607476.2016.1215543

HER SORROW

A short story inspired by artwork by Asser Saint-Val Aliena Pasantes Penalba, Yilian Garcia, Rosily Tavares, Cristina Amaro

The maker of the Earth, Mama Gaia, knelt by the river, body twisted in pain and worry. What once was a peaceful terrain of exotic flora and fauna living in perfect harmony is now the home of chaos and suffering. Mama Gaia couldn’t believe how far her creation had fallen. Her sorrow could be felt worldwide through the howling winds she released, tearing through the sky in wild currents. She couldn’t take it anymore. She raised her hand, palm marked with symbols long forgotten, and whispered into the wind, “Order.”

Hours earlier…

Mama Gaia woke with a roaring quake, it had been eons since she went into The Big Sleep, and she never expected to be awakened. She had left the world in good hands. The hands of those tiny people that came in colors of browns and whites and that love and care for each other in their strange ways. She stepped out of the water and stood there soaking in the light from her sister, Luna. As she made her way through the water, her tall stature took her from land to land seeing how incredible her world had become. As she observed everything there was one thing she realized. There were now many islands, and she couldn’t wait to see how they were thriving!

Photo: Bruna Macron Weber, “Still Moving”

She stopped at the first island. It was a bit smaller than the others and it lay between the sea and the ocean. As she listened and watched the people of the island, Mama Gaia realized that they were angry and frustrated. They were yelling about how this was their home and that others were trying to drown them out. Flags of blue and red were raised high, posters that crossed out the word “colonization” were everywhere. The people screamed “Mi Isla No” (Not on My Island) and “No Me Quiero Ir” (I Don’t Want to Go). The natives were fighting outsiders from taking their land, from leaving it under water, drowned and devoid of its history and culture. To Mama Gaia, all of this seemed outrageous. Tears started to run down her cheeks as she heard the whisper, “Puerto Rico.”

After her heartbreak, she went to the next island to see if chaos followed. She saw that, unfortunately, it had. As her right foot stepped on the next island, she witnessed people dying. She felt their despair and saw as their human rights were being absorbed. Almost as if by a black hole. Mama Gaia could tell that the people of the island felt imprisoned. Felt as though a void with horns was sucking in their will to keep on fighting. The natives of one of her bigger, yet still tiny, islands knew that if the void kept breathing in their life source, they would not be able to stop their land from being fully overtaken with pain. Mama Gaia knew it too. Tears started to run down her cheeks as she heard the whisper, “Cuba.”

She left it alone. For now, at least.

She needed to see if the rest of her creations were suffering just the same.

When Mama Gaia finally reached the next island, the whisper gave way to a scream or perhaps even a cry, “Haiti.” The once-strong and united island was now on fire, with the locals turning against one another, mothers and children being split up, fathers carrying firearms, and sons doing the same. The world’s evils have destroyed the lovely island and the people she had known and come to love. Mama Gaia started crying when she realized how drastically her people had changed. She watched as mothers held on to their children to prevent the gangs from taking them away, and she saw the fear in their eyes as they cried out for help. Mama Gaia observed how the powerful people did nothing but watch as the women vanished from homes giving their people no hope in stopping the fire that was now set.

Mama Gaia witnessed how this became the norm for them, how it would occur every day, and how no one would come to the island that was previously the source of strength and freedom to offer aid. It was as if nothing would change till this island was completely burned and nothing remained. How could she possibly leave them in such a state? How could she have left them like this? What can she do?

Mama Gaia, overwhelmed by the weight of what her eyes had seen, sank to her knees on the shore. The world she had once nurtured with care had become a broken, fractured place. But as her tears fell to the earth, Luna, her sister, appeared beside her. She could feel Luna’s comforting presence, a calming warmth that seemed to settle her pain. With a gentle hand, Luna placed her palm on Mama Gaia’s forehead.

“Rest, sister,” she whispered softly, “Let me carry your sorrow for a time.”

To protect her from the overwhelming sadness, Luna whispered a lullaby of ancient rhythms, and slowly, Mama Gaia’s weary eyes closed. She drifted into a peaceful sleep, as her sister held the weight of the world in silence, guarding her from the chaos that had stolen their creations’ joy.

Photo: Bruna Macron Weber, “Untangling Myself”

Christian women continue to push for progress, refusing to accept outdated limitations on their roles in faith communities.

Sigma Tau Delta Academic Essay Honorable Mention

HOW HAS CHRISTIAN WOMEN’S ACTIVISM

INFLUENCED THE FIGHT FOR EQUALITY WITHIN RELIGIOUS INSTITUTIONS AND SOCIETY?

Adaeze Butters

Christian women have been pivotal in changing and shaping religious institutions and society. Throughout history, their resistance to traditional gender roles and activism for equality have been debated within and outside the church. Although the intersection of feminism and traditional Christian teaching is often seen as impossible due to their difference in world views, faith-based activism has often contributed to broader societal progress and the evolution of female denominational leadership. Women of faith have continued to fight for causes close to their hearts. However, religious institutions are more hesitant to adapt to modern perspectives, making their advancements more challenging. Growing up, I witnessed my mother’s struggles as a deacon in our church. Her experiences illuminated women’s difficulties in religious leadership roles, from subtle resistance to overt opposition. There was always a distinct barrier between her and her male counterpart. Nevertheless, my mother’s faith was stronger than any opposition; she continued moving up in her priesthood and being an active parish member. Her contributions were contested but also rallied and built a stronger relationship between churches and communities. Seeing her perseverance sparked my interest in understanding how Christian women have historically fought for equality and how their activism continues to evolve.

Christian women have long been at the forefront of social and religious reform. Their activism has shaped both religious institutions and secular policies. Figures like Frances Willard, who played an important role in advocating for women’s right to vote through organizations like the Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU), and Fannie Lou Hamer, who used her faith to push for racial and economic justice, demonstrate the lasting impact of Christian women’s activism. Today, Christian women continue to plead for equal leadership opportunities in churches and social justice causes, from reproductive rights to economic justice, but despite their efforts, their activism is still not taken as seriously as it should be, disrespecting both women and the religion. Walker (1999) argues that “The bible offers a diversity of images of God, from which the church has selected mainly masculine terms– limiting our understanding of the divine human relationship” (p. 19). In making this claim, Walker brings light to the constant change to the bible over the years and urges us to break away from such limiting, misogynistic understandings of our relationship with God. She further states that religious traditions and practices should be reviewed to consider women’s experiences, perspectives, and their need for equality and freedom (p. 20). Christian women are not only advocating for their place in leadership but also enriching the faith with a more inclusive perspective.

Feminist theological discourse has challenged conservative interpretations of scriptures. Christian women have nudged the church toward modern-day inclusivity by re-examining biblical texts, highlighting women’s roles in the bible, and advocating for the participation of women in the clergy. Religious institutions have responded in differing ways to the growing demand for equality; some churches, like the Episcopal and Methodist churches, have embraced women’s leadership and ordination, while other churches have not. The debates over women’s ordination have been going on for years and remain a central issue, with Conservatives arguing that a woman isn’t ready to lead the church. Scholars such as Howell and Thompson (2018) have documented the disparities in respect, wages, and positions of women in the clergy . According to them, when the downfall of the organization is blamed on women, false evidence is provided that women do not lead well (p.17). They further state that the church is no exception to the gender wage gap (p.17)

Despite these inequities, Christian women continue to push for progress, refusing to accept outdated limitations on their roles in faith communities. They have continued to extend their activism beyond the religious setting, delving into political and social issues. Their activism has influenced discourse on reproductive and economic rights and has been a catalyst for women’s movements. During their fight for economic justice, Christian women have not been silent in addressing wage disparities, discrimination, and poverty. They have created initiatives that aim to alleviate hunger and poverty, established shelters for survivors of domestic violence, and created mentorship programs for young girls. They profusely debate on access to contraception, healthcare, and the ethics surrounding abortion. Some Christian women advocate for reproductive choice, while others take a pro-life standpoint, emphasizing alternatives such as comprehensive sex education. They advocate for policies that put health and safety first despite having different opinions. The work they do is not without criticism, though, since conservative groups within religious organizations frequently oppose their advocacy on the basis that it clashes with traditional Christian principles and gender roles.

One obstacle that has been a continuous threat to Christian women’s activism is opposing views from conservative religious leaders. Many older men oppose female clergy members due to gender bias and resistance to change. There is a generational divide in the church, with many older people taking a traditional stance on women’s roles. To further complicate their advocacy, many argue that the problems they fight for, clash with their faith. The intersection of faith and feminism is a complex issue, but not an impossible one. Ambrose (2022) agrees; she writes, “how they incorporate religious convictions and feminist frameworks are not an impossible combination” (p. 379). Some women believe in both their religion and women’s rights. Even though the idea seems alien, their faith and feminism make sense to them and should not be questioned by those who primarily value conservative teachings. Theological debates over scripture interpretation continue to fuel tensions regarding gender roles and authority within religious settings. Another significant obstacle is the lack of uniformity in activism across cultures. In communities that are more heavily conservative, women are persecuted, deprived of education, degraded, and denied leadership positions, making it extremely difficult for them to fight for equality.

While Christian women’s activism has been instrumental in pushing for gender equality, they have and continue to face systemic resistance from society and the church. The status of their activism suggests that it will persist, adapting to theological opposition and striving for greater inclusivity. In my opinion, while faith and feminism continue to be seen as a messy mix, their intersection will be the most crucial part in reshaping religious and social norms. For this reform to happen, Christian women must persevere. They must ensure that the fight for equality within religious institutions and society continues to evolve, shaping a more just and inclusive future.

References

Ambrose, L. M. (2022). A messy mix: religion, feminism and pentecostals. Gender & History, 34(2), 369–383. https://doi.org/10.1111/1468-0424.12618

Howell, S. H., & Thompson, A. (2018). The experiences of women in church and denominational leadership. Priscilla Papers, 32(4), 15–18.

Walker, B. (1999). Christianity, development, and women’s liberation. Gender and development, 7(1), 15–22. https://doi.org/10.1080/741922929

PIVOT & PRESERVATION

Josiah Manners

She turns, not to escape, but to reclaim— air bending around her, braids unfurling like ink on a blank sky.

No walls can hold her, no frame can fix her. She is movement, a breath between then and now, a pivot toward joy.

She lands, weightless yet grounded, feet brushing the hush of unseen floors. She is here— not for toil, not for spectacle, but simply to be.

She reaches, not for what is lost, but for what remains.

Did you eat?

The question lingers, woven in grains of ceramic rice, softened by the heat of yesterday’s hands.

A whisper of love, a promise of presence. She moves, she nourishes— a dance, a ritual, a story without an ending.

She is still here. She will always be. She is the promise. She is the memory. She is the movement that never fades.

Contributors

Cristina Amaro (art major), Yilian Garcia (management), Aliena Pasantes (pre-professional biology), and Rosily Tavares (undeclared) met in a Caribbean Literature course, where they visited the art exhibition The Whole World Is Churning at the Barry University library. While looking around, they were astonished by Asser Saint-Val’s artwork. Together they wrote a short story about how they saw SaintVal’s art and what it made them feel.

Rachel Avshalumova is an English major. She is a member of the Phi Eta Sigma and Sigma Tau Delta honor societies.

Rickey Bradwell III is an advertising and public relations major, who has published previously in the book The Upcoming of Bright Minds (2020), produced by the teen entrepreneurship program, F.I.G.H.T. / Hungry Sharks.

Adaeze Butters is an English major who is passionate about equality and social justice. Through her research, she hopes to shed light on how Christian women have advanced equality and promoted their leadership within the church through theological discourse, leadership, and advocacy

EnaCastillo-Barillas is deeply inspired by both still and moving imagery and explores themes of surrealism, psychedelia, and religious analysis. Currently pursuing an MFA student in photography, Castillo-Barillas seeks to master technical aspects such as camera equipment and color treatment to bring visionary concepts to life, whether her own or those of other directors.

Victoria Paulo Cursino (studio art), Cindy Moreira (education), Jarad Ramos (management), and Maylahnne Tercero (pre-law) collaborated on “El Vuelo Perdido del Águila Dorada.”

Trevea Hanna is a biology major from The Bahamas with a passion for writing in her spare time. As she pursues her academic studies, Hanna looks forward to combining her love for science with her creative interests.

Shania Howard is a 2024 psychology graduate who writes for fun while working toward a law degree. She hopes to write a book someday, when the time is right. Until then, “Copy Cat” is her latest project.

Isabella Koelkebeck asks, “Biology major? What does that have to do with writing? Actually she found her passion for science through books. She has loved reading since age two, and of course writing naturally followed. For Koelkebeck, writing is an art— a way to craft words into a beautiful canvas of understanding.

Sara Kurz graduated in 2025 with a graphic design major and a photography minor. She is passionate about photographing people, character, and movement.

Josiah R. Manners, a sophomore scholar from Palm Beach Gardens, Florida, is a modern-day renaissance man whose intellect spans theology, business, and the creative arts. Known for coining the term invisible brilliance, he writes on the unseen genius embedded in everyday people, overlooked systems, and the quiet tension between potential and perception.

Angelo “Los” Mitchell is a 2025 graduate equally skilled in photography, graphic design, and writing.

Billy McCray is a 2025 biology graduate who was born and raised in Miami, FL but is of Nicaraguan and Honduran descent. Growing up in the community of Little Haiti, he has always had a fondness for the people, the culture, and the land. He collaborated on “River of Red” with finance major Isaiah R. Lubin and social work major Rose Piercin.

Devin Rodriguez is a double major in finance and management.

Lojan Shaker is an English major and Sigma Tau Delta member, who has presented at the honor society’s annual conference. She also plays on the Barry University national champion tennis team.

Joshua Sherman is a sophomore studio art major with a passion for writing, art, and storytelling. With a deep appreciation for horror and dark fantasy, Sherman explores how media shapes perspectives and reflects societal themes. An interest in cultural analysis led to research on racial representation in horror, blending creative storytelling with academic exploration.

Shenae Simmonds is a second-year student who is passionate about education and youth development. Her research explores the long-term effects of mentorship for students in middle and high school, focusing on how guidance from mentors shapes academic success, personal growth, and career choices.

Grace Steffan loves poetry because of its intricate nature. She finds it is the easiest way to define the complexity of life.

Ray Taltoan is a computer science major from Philadelphia, who likes to do music on the side, and enjoys spending time with loved ones. He has been writing poems since he was six and it has always been a major part of his life.

McKayla Theleus, Florida born, is a second-year English and Theatre major. She plays on the women’s volleyball team and has a strong passion for both the arts and sports.

Alexia Vorbe is a 2025 graduate in television and digital media, with a particular interest in the art and film of her native Haiti and throughout the African diaspora.

Bruna Marcon Weber is a photographer and artist based in Miami, Florida, currently completing a Master of Arts in Photography With works exhibited in the Curated Fridge, Grand Gallery, and others, she has been experimenting with a variety of techniques to explore gender issues, the unconscious, and social inequality.