Bethel University Clarion May 2021 by The Clarion

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Praying with his eyes open After being forgiven by the man he shot, Pastor Danny Givens transformed his life into one of activism and spiritual leadership. PAGE 25

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Contents

Photo by C.J. Washington

Carrying weight

Bethel University track star Gabe Irons’ fearless attitude and humble demeanor has led him to immense success despite significant tragedy.

13 31 47 A hopeful future for a harsh reality

Two inches off the pavement

Presented bill calls for a change in an almost fifty-year-old statute that lessens sexual assault charges when alcohol is involved.

Bethel students show how skateboarding and longboarding mean more than standing on a four-wheeled piece of wood — for them, it’s a source of community, excitement and relaxation.

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‘Forced into a white box’ BIPOC students and alumni share their encounters with racism at Bethel.

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19 ‘Let’s make stuff’

Photo by C.J. Washington

Student artists share motivation and meaning behind Raspberry Monday 2021 works.

25 43 On the cover:

‘Something has to change’

After being forgiven by the man he shot, Pastor Danny Givens transformed his life into one of activism and spiritual leadership.

The Bethel community responds to the fatal police shooting of Daunte Wright and the verdict of Derek Chauvin’s trial in collective dialogue and lament.

Praying with his eyes open

Photo by Emma Gottschalk May 2021

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From the editor

A letter to those who feel safe By Zachariah Walker

y dad taught me how to drive when I was 13. In his green 2001 Chevy Silverado, he switched places with me, sitting where my car seat used to boost my eyes above the dash so I could watch the corn stalks speed by on the summer drives to his chiropractic office. I sat behind the wheel and adjusted the seat far enough ahead so my legs that hadn’t yet grown into the stilts they are today could reach the pedals. He told me to drive into the field first, the one behind our house where there were no cars to hit or neighbors to judge the way I accelerated in short bursts and pressed my foot on the brake so hard the front bumper nearly tore out clumps of milkweed. After a few days lumbering the pickup over boulders and badger holes, he told me I was ready for the backroads. But I didn’t want to drive beyond our property line. I knew that’s where the cops were. I was 13 years old, barely over five feet tall, 90 pounds if I weighed myself before going to the bathroom, and scared. If I drove on 130th Avenue or any of the surrounding roads, paved or gravel, without a license, I was convinced a police officer would peel out of the forest, blast his siren loud enough to drown out my dad telling me everything was going to be OK, pull me over and arrest me. It was against the law to drive without a license, and I had been told that when you break the law, you get in trouble. And I did not get in trouble. My report cards were perfect, I never swore and I would write notes to my parents whenever I had an impure thought because the guilt would make me sweat. So, the idea of a cop catching me breaking an actual law filled my insides

with dread like motor oil. But my dad convinced me everything was going to be OK. He even said if I did get pulled over, he would quickly switch seats with me so I didn’t have to talk to the officer. Nothing ever happened. I drove on the backroads outside Baldwin, Wisconsin for three years without hearing a siren, my dad telling me before every drive that everything was going to be OK. But remembering that dread, that sweaty, mortal worry that consumed my adolescent brain, makes me think about what it might have felt like to actually have something to fear. Before Daunte Wright was killed by former Brooklyn Center police officer Kim Potter April 11, he was pulled over for an offense less severe than the crime I committed every weekend for three years. His license plates were expired and he had an air freshener hanging from his rearview mirror. Just minutes after being pulled over, he was fatally shot. His girlfriend was in the car with him. I wonder if she told him everything was going to be OK. My dad would have told me, but we live in the middle of the Wisconsin cornfields and look just like the cops. In this issue, the last of the year, you will learn what it feels like to know things will not be OK. You will hear from women who fear for their safety regarding sexual assault. You will read a profile on a track star who experienced the death of his mother and one on an activist who turned an early incarceration into a mission for juvenile detention reform. You will hear voices of lament from Brooklyn Center and calls for justice from students who every day wonder if they will be the next

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Contributors

Zachariah Walker Editor in Chief

zach-walker@bethel.edu

Daunte Wright. The next George Floyd. The next Hyun Jung Grant or Breonna Taylor or Ma’Khia Bryant. In every word, photo, graphic and illustration, I hope you feel these stories. I hope you give them time to breathe. I hope you care. When my dad told me everything was going to be OK all those weekends on the backroads, I believed him. And it was. But reading the stories told in this final issue, my heart breaks for those who cannot bring themselves to believe similar words because they are jarred much too often by more fatal gunshots. More knees on more necks. More injustice. The next time you drive with expired plates or hang an air freshener on your rearview mirror or go for a jog or fall asleep or eat in the DC or dance at a party or sneeze in public without fearing for your safety, I hope you realize your privilege. Because there are many, some of whom are reading these words or have written their own on the following pages, who are daily marred by that fear. I remember that fear. But I was naive. They are not.

Zachariah Walker - Editor in Chief Emma Harville - Managing Editor Jhenna Becker - Copy Editor Emma Gottschalk - Visuals Editor Thanh Nguyen - Assistant Visuals Editor Rachel Blood - News Editor Soraya Keiser - News Reporter Emma Eidsvoog - Lifestyle Editor Makenzi Johnson - Lifestyle Reporter Emily Rossing - Sports Editor Nate Eisenmann - Sports Reporter Alexa Vos - Section Designer Bryson Rosell - Section Designer C.J. Washington - Staff Photographer Ally O’Neil - Contributing Photographer Joe Werdan - Columnist Rylee Forshee - Columnist Hyojung (Alice) Hong - Contributing Writer Caden Christiansen - Contributing Reporter Molly Wilson - Contributing Reporter Ariel Dunleavy - Contributing Reporter Hannah Hobus - Contributing Designer Davis McElmurry - Contributing Designer Aimee Kuiper - Contributing Illustrator

Have a response to a story in this issue? Email Editor in Chief Zachariah Walker at zach-walker@bethel.edu with questions, thoughts or concerns or drop by The Clarion Newsroom during community time Tuesdays and Thursdays to speak with a Clarion staff member.

Want to write for The Clarion? Email our Managing Editor Emma Harville at emma-harville@bethel.edu and she'll get you connected. See all stories online at bethelclarion.com, or follow us on social media: THE BETHEL UNIVERSITY CLARION THEBUCLARION THEBUCLARION BETHELCLARION.COM

Walking the invisible line Opinion By Rachel Blood

veryone says you find yourself in college. I guess I always assumed that phrase was just another one of the clichés to which I didn’t have to pay any mind. If anything, I thought maybe the phrase meant I’d find a career I loved or the friends I’d have for the rest of my life. Maybe those things are true, but in the midst of the midnight drives with my favorite people– the friends who took me in before we even started school here– and the ink-smudged hands from handing out news articles I can’t believe I finally published, I’m also discovering a part of myself that I hadn’t realized I’d been suppressing: my cultural identity. My mom was adopted from South Korea when she was six years old. After spending 16 hours on a flight across the Atlantic and wading through a sea of unfamiliar faces in the Minneapolis airport to her new parents, she grew up as one of the only Asian students in her school district. She wanted to forget that part of herself, so she did. She woke up one morning and didn’t speak Korean anymore. She has no hint of an Asian accent. Now, she teaches high school English. My dad was born and raised in Minnesota, in the little rural town of Dodge Center with a whole lot of siblings and even more pets – 17 rabbits, a parakeet and a dog. When he and my mom lived in California for a short time after they got married, a man drove by while they were on a walk and shouted, “Go back to where you came from!” It took my mom a moment to even realize that the comment was directed at her. My dad, a man of incredible level-headedness, understanding and a laid-back disposition, was livid. “I’ve never been so ashamed to be white,” he told my mom. So here I am, a half-Korean student at a primarily white institution. While I was deciding between colleges, my cultural identity was not a factor. At the top of my pros list for Bethel was the waffle bar, which is now at the top of my cons list, because there is no waffle bar. My lack of concern stemmed from the fact that I didn’t grow up in an Asian culture. There were many times I forgot I was a minority. That’s no fault of my parents or teachers or friends; I just grew up as white-passing. Although I wouldn’t change anything about the way I was raised or how I grew up, it seems crazy to me that the environment I’m in now feels like such a stark contrast to my past despite the same sea of white faces. I filled out a departmental scholarship application near the end of my first semester, and I didn’t check the “student of color” box. I didn’t think I qualified. My high school friends who were more in touch with their Asian identity than I would make jokes about their ethnic backgrounds, mentioning nicknames for people like us. Things like “banana:” yel-

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low on the outside and white on the inside. Because what did I know about South Korea? To my uneducated high school self, the names were amusing; plus, if I made fun of the way I looked first, maybe nobody else would. I still made those jokes when I came to Bethel in August. They would always get a laugh. But when I started reporting for the Clarion and speaking to people from diverse backgrounds, I realized I needed to stop. By exploiting my Asian identity like it was insignificant, I was not only disrespecting myself but other students of color as well. I was disrespecting my mother’s home. I was disrespecting the blessing that is being biracial. I felt I had to make those jokes to fit in, to be accepted by my white peers, to prove I belonged. I wanted to show them I wasn’t a “real” Asian, because I didn’t want to be; that would make me different. And who wants to be different in such a visible way? Especially in a world where breaking news wakes you up with the story of another shooting– police, civilian, school, street– and you aren’t sure whether you should be afraid or not. After the Atlanta shootings March 16, one of my professors reached out to check in and make sure I was doing okay and felt safe on campus. The gesture was sweet and went to show that much of Bethel faculty is trying to make positive change. It just hadn’t occurred to me prior to that email that an Asian American student had reason to feel unsafe here. When the pandemic started, I was afraid to cough in public, even into my mask. I was Asian. If an Asian coughed, it meant they had COVID, and they brought it from wherever they were from. It didn’t matter to the passersby in the aisles of Target that I was born forty-five minutes south of the Twin Cities and that I have never left the country. To them, I was dangerous. Coming to Bethel made me realize that even though I grew up in a very Americanized environment, I do have a cultural identity that I can be proud of. But with that came the realization that I can and will be targeted for the way I look. I’m not entirely white, but I’m not entirely Asian, either. It’s like half of my identity is a majority and the other is a minority, and I don’t feel like I belong on either side of that invisible line. I’m merely walking on top of it, one foot in front of the other like a tightroper, the rope under my sneakers taut and extending so far that I can see no beginning or end. But if I fall, which side will I land on? And will anything or anyone be there to catch me? A few weeks ago, I looked around one of my classes and realized that there were only two students of color in the room. One of them was me. I talked about it with my mom the next time I was home, and

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she explained how she had shielded my brothers and I the best she could from racism. I hadn’t known that her precautions had been necessary. When I was six years old, she told me, I had earned enough change from doing chores around the house to buy something at Target– very likely a stuffed animal, though I can’t recall. We were standing at the counter, my mom waiting as I grinned and counted my change. A middle-school-aged white girl stood behind us in line with her mom. She huffed out an annoyed breath. “Would you ch*nks hurry up?” Her mother was unphased. Mine was appalled. The cashier looked horrified, and my mom didn’t want to cause a scene. She didn’t want me to know that anything was wrong. She simply placed herself between me and the girl, let me finish my purchase, and hurried us out of the store. Before my mom told me that story, I hadn’t even known that “ch*nks” was a word, much less a derogatory one. I’ve been very fortunate in that way. I’ve been blessed with an amazing, understanding and protective family. I never felt like the odd one out, even in my mostly white suburban town. Nobody at Bethel has been overtly racist towards me. I suppose I’ve spent 19 years of my life living up to another cliché: Ignorance is bliss.

I’m not sure if it’s the current state of the world or the white, conservative environment of Bethel that has made me finally realize I’m truly a minority. I’m more aware and educated now than I ever have been, but I have so much left to learn. Regardless, it’s time that I embrace my identity as an Asian American woman, especially as a journalist who wants to spur positive change in the sometimes difficult-to-navigate environment that is White America. So I’ll keep searching for myself in the three years I have left here, putting my identity together like a puzzle that’s even more difficult than the Rubix cube I finally conquered over last year’s quarantine. And maybe instead of worrying about landing on one side of my invisible tightrope, I’ll tear it down.

Illustration by Aimee Kuiper

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Carrying w Bethel University track star Gabe Irons’ fearless attitude and humble demeanor has led him to immense success despite significant tragedy.

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weight

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Photo by CJ Washington

By Caden Christiansen

abe Irons grasps the triangular handle of the 35-pound metal weight with both hands. With his long, curly brown hair flowing, he slowly begins to swing it around around his head. The weight leads his entire body into several full spins, inching him forward before launching the weight into the air. What some would struggle even holding, the six-foot-sixinch Irons hurls more than 60 feet downfield. But despite his remarkable strength and athletic ability, the remnants of tragedy and loss loom over Irons’ large frame. A thrower on the Bethel University men’s track and field team as well as an offensive lineman on the football team, Irons grew up in the small town of Lake Mills, Iowa, where sports and competition played a significant role in his family. “We grew up with some sort of sporting equipment in our hands,” Irons said. “[All] year round I was always in a sport.” Whether manifested through track and field, wrestling or football, Irons’ competitive spirit ran deep from an early age. Watching his older brother Noah wrestle at Air Force Academy and oldest brother Ben throw and play football at Bethel, Irons was inspired to cultivate the same values of hard work and dedication that his brothers displayed in their sports. Irons’ father, Gary, was a prime example to all three of them, not only as their dad, but also as a coach. “My dad has been our wrestling coach and football coach throughout our whole lives,” Irons said. “He was always tough on us through athletics and that gave us all a competitive spirit.” Iron’s mother, Roxanne, also played a large role in supporting her sons throughout their various athletic journeys.

Gabe Irons practices throwing for the weight event in the back corner of the west parking lot where the throws pit lies. Irons currently ranks fifth in the nation for discus throw and fourteenth for hammer throw, and is looking forward to the national championship meet scheduled for May 27 through May 29. “He’s leading the MIAC in two events, he has three school records, and he is the most humble kid in the world,” teammate Odera Onwualu said. | Photo by CJ Washington

“My mom was a big part of our sporting life as well,” Irons said. “She came to every single game from when my brothers were three and four to when I graduated high school.” With such strong love and support from his family, Irons grew into a dominant athlete in high school, making it to the state tournament in wrestling and earning alldistrict honors in football. But amidst all his success and accomplishments, Irons and his family began to notice some problems with his mother’s health. “It started during my junior year of high school and we started seeing some signs that we thought were stroke signs,” Irons said. “My dad and my mom went to a couple different hospitals and found out after a little while that it was ALS.” With Irons’ brother Noah being away from home at The Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colorado, his parents were hesitant to break the news. “They told my oldest brother Ben pretty early,” Irons said. “But Noah and I weren’t told until the summer.”

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In June of 2017 as Irons finished his junior year of high school and his older brother returned home, their mother told them the news. “It was 15 minutes of just bawling,” Irons said. “We were just upset that it was happening and that they didn’t tell us right away.” ALS, or Lou Gerhig’s disease, is a terminal illness with no known cure that progressively weakens the nervous system and impacts the ability to function as nerve cells begin to weaken and break down. With little knowledge of the disease and its implications, Irons and his family were fearful and left with many questions and unknowns. “You hear about Lou Gehrig’s disease and you read ‘Tuesdays With Morrie’ in school but you don’t really know what it’s like until it happens.” Irons said.

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Irons and his family began to see the repercussions of the disease as his mother’s health began to deteriorate quicker than expected. In some cases of ALS, the extremities and limbs of a patient are affected first, but in Gabe’s mother’s case, her voice and diaphragm were attacked first.

“You hear about Lou Gehrig’s disease and you read ‘Tuesdays With Morrie’ in school but you don’t really know what it’s like until it happens.” GABE IRONS

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“She couldn’t speak for most of the time so she had to use her iPad to text us,” Irons said. “And that was rough because she was a music teacher and she loved singing and she lost that ability pretty quickly.” As the summer came to an end and Irons entered his senior year of high school with his mother battling a terrible disease, the emotional weight he carried began to take a toll.

led his team to a 3rd-place finish in the Iowa state wrestling tournament while finishing third in the individual state tournament as well, all while his mother watched with pride from her wheelchair in the stands. She passed away on March 1, 2018 just weeks after the competition had ended. As Irons finished his senior year in wake of his mother’s death, he began to turn the heads of college coaches with his athletic ability. One of these coaches was Bethel’s track and field coach Andrew Rock, who was already acquainted with his family after coaching his older brother, Ben. “Gabe’s older brother was on my team here a couple years before,” Rock said. “Ben had told me about his younger brother Gabe so I started following him when he was a junior in high school and texting with him throughout the recruiting process.” But with older brother Ben and father Gary both attending Bethel themselves, Irons found himself reluctant to follow in their footsteps. “Originally I didn’t want to go to Bethel,” Irons said. “I wanted to blaze my own trail.”

Photo by CJ Washington

Luckily for both Irons and the track and field team, he felt most at home in Arden Hills and chose to commit to Bethel. Now in his junior season, Irons has posted impressive numbers in all four throwing competitions including breaking the school record for the 35-pound weighted throw with a distance of 60 feet 3.75 inches. Posting two 1st-place finishes in the discus throw, four first place finishes in the weighted throw, and two 1stplace finishes in the shot put, Irons’ impressive repertoire speaks for itself. But the track star is not quick to boast his accomplishments.

“I went through a lot of changes that year,” Irons said. “I stopped being as outgoing. I just went to school, did my stuff, came back home and went back up to my room. I didn’t personally feel like I made a conscious effort to talk to my mom as much as I should have.” As Irons faced tough times at home, he found the drive to lead his Lake Mills High School wrestling team to the state tournament. With one of his primary supporters fighting for her life every day but still continuing to cheer him on from the stands, Irons found strength in trying to do everything he could to make his mother proud. “I didn’t lose my love for sports,” Irons said. “But it kind of encouraged me to want to push for it even more because her goal was to watch me win the state wrestling meet.” In February of 2018, Irons

“I didn’t lose my love for sports, but it kind of encouraged me to want to push for it even more because her goal was to watch me win the state wrestling meet.” GABE IRONS

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“You read a lot about him in the headlines about how well he is throwing, but you would never know it,” Rock said. “He is very humble and very down to earth and just a great guy to be around.” With all of Irons’ recent success, Rock does not attribute it to his large frame or impressive strength, but the fearless attitude he brings to each and every competition. “Quite frankly, he’s not scared to be great,” Rock said. “There

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“Quite frankly he’s not scared to be great.”

is a lot of pressure and the fear of failure, but he’s not afraid of that stuff.” Iron’s brings much more to the team than his outstanding achievements. As he and his teammates continue to build on a successful season, the junior track star leads by example with his work ethic and determination, motivating those alongside him. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be as good as I am now,” fellow thrower and Bethel senior Odera Onwualu said. “He’s helped me so much over the last couple years with my form and just having someone to compete against.”

Coach Andrew Rock

With the loss of his mother still fresh in his mind, Irons has been able to inspire his team through the nontraditional, pandemic-affected track season by opening up about the hardship and reality of pressing on while still grieving. “He shared a devotion with our team last year and he really was vulnerable with the team,” Rock said. “That was a powerful moment for Gabe and a powerful moment for our team. I think we all grew a lot that day.” As Bethel track and field enters the latter part of its season, Irons looks to build on the successful

performances he has put together thus far. He is currently ranked fifth in NCAA Division III men’s track and field for discus throw and 15th in men’s hammer throw. With the support of both teammates and coaches, Irons is ruthlessly chasing his goal of becoming a national champion. He says one of his greatest motivations is his mother’s spirit. “I always draw motivation from the competition in general, and that part doesn’t change,” Irons said. “But I know now that she is at every single event and is watching down from heaven, and I have to compete for her through that.”

Design by Alexa Vos

Photo by CJ Washington

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A hopeful future for a harsh reality

Presented bill calls for a change in an almost fifty-year-old statute that lessens sexual assault charges when alcohol is involved.

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By Emma Eidsvoog and Ariel Dunleavy

Minnesota man can’t be charged with felony rape because the woman chose to drink beforehand, court rules,” a Washington Post headline reads after a sexual assault conviction was overturned in the Minnesota Supreme Court in March. The case, where a woman was sexually assaulted while intoxicated, was appealed due to a Minnesota sexual misconduct statute written in 1975. The statute states a person who sexually assaults another is guilty in the third degree if “the actor knows or has reason to know that the complainant is mentally impaired, mentally incapacitated, or physically helpless.” While the facts of the case weren’t debated during the appeal, the definition of “mentally incapacitated” was, since the woman wasn’t forced to be drunk. The court found the definition only includes those who are intoxicated against their will. In the case of the Minneapolis woman, she had been drinking alcohol and taking drugs prior to meeting the man, so she was labeled as voluntarily intoxicated. The decision and new ruling was met with outrage. It sparked a campaign to

change and strengthen the statute regarding the sexual assault laws in Minnesota, specifically calling for the law to state that all intoxicated people are incapable of giving consent to sex. This statute is the difference between the perpetrator charged with a gross misdemeanor or a felony. A felony charge would put him on the Minnesota Predatory Offender Registry and increase his prison sentence. Instead, the court released him from prison and ordered a new trial for the man. Close to home While Bethel doesn’t carry out disciplinary actions based on criminal statutes, Title IX Coordinator and Compliance Officer Cara Wald follows policies set in place for the university. “If a person is intoxicated, voluntarily or not, that person is unable to give consent,” Wald said. “Consent is one of the many issues that we examine when we receive a sexual assault report.” Wald says the Supreme Court decision could easily be misunderstood and believes the justices’ “hands were tied by the Minnesota statute’s language.” The court didn’t have the capacity to change

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“Sexual assault cases are grossly underreported, and it certainly doesn’t help when there are a lot of media stories about intoxicated victims not getting protection” Kelly Moller, Democratic State Representative, Minnesota the law, but encouraged lawmakers to do so. One Bethel student, who has preferred to remain anonymous, shuddered after reading the headline repeated over and over as more news outlets around the country reported the news. Her own experience mirrored the court case. “It has opened the door again where I thought I’d shut it enough to finish school and finish it out here,” she said. “We hear this headline and it’s just hard.” During her freshman year, she was sexually assaulted after a homecoming dance. She had been drinking alcohol when a male friend who was with her, assaulted her. This male student had been sexually suggestive for weeks leading up to the assault and made it obvious through Snapchat messages and comments that he wanted a sexual relationship with her. “Freshman year, that was how I saw men; they saw me as somebody to sleep with,” she said. The student didn’t report to Bethel’s Title IX or anyone else. She had a prior experience reporting an incident to Student Life and felt drained from the process. “Now I would never report it because

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it’s not real,” the student said. “Maybe there’s more to it that I’m missing, but from the headlines and from what I’ve read, why would I go through the trouble of putting myself through hardship and reliving the trauma to have someone say, ‘Well, you were voluntarily intoxicated. It’s not real.’ I would feel like death at the end of that.” A new bill for change A new bill is moving through the Minnesota legislature that will update the wording in this sexual conduct statute. Legislators who wrote the bill are hoping to expand the definition of “mentally incapacitated” to include voluntary intoxication. Democratic state representative Kelly Moller and Republican state representative Marion O’Neill co-author the bill that aims to fill the gaps in the Minnesota law. “Sexual assault cases are grossly underreported, and it certainly doesn’t help when there are a lot of media stories about intoxicated victims not getting protection,” Moller said. The current bill, House File 707, is based on the framework of a previous bill, entitled ‘Hannah’s Law,’ that was

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Trial and Bill timeline: May 2017: A Minneapolis woman was sexually assaulted after a night of drinking alcohol and consuming drugs. The man was convicted of third-degree sexual misconduct.

July 27, 2020: The man appealed the conviction on the basis of a wrong interpretation of the phrase “mental incapacitation”. The court determined it to be ambiguous, therefore, Khalil’s appeal went through.

2019: Marion O’Neill, a state representative, introduced a bill to implement changes. One of those changes being the definition of mental incapacitation. At the time the bill needed more work and input so a group of sexual assault survivors, advocates and criminal defense lawyers assembled.

proposed after a young woman fell victim to the loose terms of the sexual assault law. This case could not have been charged, due to some loopholes involving intoxication and protections for children under the current law. Moller wants to note that there are some legal protections when it comes to voluntary intoxication and sexual violence. In 2019, Moller and other legislators created a working group comprised of sexual assault survivors and advocates that aimed to share their experiences and give recommendations to ensure the statutes are able to provide justice for victims like Hannah. Bethel task force taking charge Philosophy professor Sara Shady says that there’s an unhealthy or harmful discussion of sex on campus which makes reporting sexual assault, especially in the context of drinking, more difficult. Shady is part of a working group that addresses the problem of sexual assault at Bethel. Once the group was formed, they began to draft guidelines and plans that were approved by the Faculty Senate and Cabinet. Since 2019, 90 posters with QR codes leading to Title IX’s website have gone

up in freshman hall bathroom stalls. The websites titled “Complaints and Concerns” and “What to Expect” have been updated by the working group and include next steps for anyone who has experienced sexual assault. One of the working group’s goals is to implement an NCAA “Step Up” bystander curriculum, which Bethel Athletics will utilize. “The Step-Up Bystander training is an awesome training that extends beyond sexual violence into bullying/hazing, alcohol use/abuse – even a potential tool for recognizing racism or other kinds of bias,” Gretchen Hunt, a member of the working group, said. Their plan is to test out the training on a small group during the next academic year before completely adopting the plan. The task force also plans to start voluntary discussion groups led by faculty and staff to talk about sexual assault. “We hope that the training and the education that we provide to our students and employees gives individuals valuable information on this topic,” Wald said.C

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April 8 2021: The senate passed and adopted the entire bill, it is now moving through both the house and the senate

March 24 2021: The Minnesota Supreme Court overturned the case nearly four years later. The court decided that the woman was voluntarily intoxicated and therefore was not mentally incapacitated. The courts decision on the case was hinged on the meaning of “mentally incapacitated” as the law states. The man was released from prison after spending more than a year in custody.

February 2021: A new bill was introduced that would create a new sexual extortion crime. This would make it illegal to blackmail or threaten someone as a way to force them into sexual behaviours. This bill also ammends the definition of mentally incapacitated to state that soemone in this state “incapable of consenting or incapable of appreciating, understanding or controlling” their actions or conduct.

March 30 2021: The bill proposal has been passed through house committees and is now waiting to be voted on in the senate.

Resources The “Sexual Misconduct and Sexual Harassment Policy” website includes phone numbers, office locations, emails, and names of those who you can report sexual assault to inside and outside of campus. Included are confidential resources as well. The “What to Expect” website contains information on what to expect when you report a sexual assault or harassment to the Title IX Coordinator. If you are in immediate danger, call 911. 24-Hour Emergency On-Campus Office of Security and Safety 651.638.6400 Office location: HC103 Cara Wald, Vice President of People and Organizational Development Title IX Coordinator/Compliance Officer c-wald@bethel.edu Office: 651.635.8657 Cell: 612.709.4783 Office location: ANC530

Confidential Source: Counseling Services 651.635.8540 For more information: https://www.bethel.edu/human-resources/complaints-concerns/sexual-misconduct/ https://www.bethel.edu/human-resources/complaints-concerns/reporting-complaint-concern/what-to-expect If anyone is looking for an advocate outside of campus or other information Minnesota Coalition Against Sexual Assault 161 St. Anthony Ave., Ste. 1001 St. Paul, MN 55103 Phone: 651.209.9993 Fax: 651.209.0899 info@mncasa.org Another great resource if you are unsure of what to do http://rapehelpmn.org

Definitions: The Minnesota statute defines “mentally incapacitated" as when “a person under the influence of alcohol, a narcotic, anesthetic, or any other substance, administered to that person without the person's agreement, lacks the judgment to give a reasoned consent to sexual contact or sexual penetration.” Design by Bryson Rosell May 2021

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Fear has Opinion By Emma Harville

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must have looked ridiculous, crouching there on the cold basement bathroom tile with a fistful of Kleenex. I didn’t care. I was determined. I stared hard at my target and it stared back, waving one of its eight slender, hair-like legs at me. It wasn’t really about the spider. At least not entirely. It was more about proving to myself that I wasn’t afraid anymore — of spiders, of people, of the future in front of me. So I crouched there, poised to kill. And I watched the tiny black arachnid spinning webs in the corner of my bathroom transform into the anxieties and fears and frustrations that dwelled in the darkest corners of my brain. I thought back to middle school, when the chaos seemed to start. When I went into survival mode rummaging through my older sister’s closet to steal American Eagle T-shirts that would impress girls with highlighted hair and hyena laughter. When I allowed thick gel eyeliner to settle into the creases under my eyes because I thought it made me cool and pretty and mature. But I had odd fears I couldn’t explain. I hid in fruit-scented locker-room stalls and calculated the time it would take Mrs. Wilhelm to call everyone to the gym, just so I could avoid making conversation with someone for those dreaded 15 minutes before playing indoor kickball. In class I couldn’t pay attention to what my teacher was saying; I was too busy obsessing over whether impromptu group work was part of that day’s lesson and whether I had friends in that class to join a group with. My mother told me that when I was four years old, my preschool teacher was concerned I had selective mutism, a severe anxiety disorder in which a person is unable to speak in certain social situations. But my mother wasn’t worried. When adults

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at church made jokes about my “shyness” or tried to get me to talk, she simply said, “Emma will talk to you when she’s ready.” Fifteen years later, I came to Bethel and majored in communication. I brushed my teeth alongside 20 other girls on a communal floor, worked at a call center and joined the student newspaper. By senior year, I became editor-in-chief. People who knew me from childhood took one look at me and said, “Wow, you’ve grown so much!” I thought I was cured. But those habitual fears never fully went away. They lingered and wrapped around my body like a sticky spider web. They looked straight at me as if to say, “I could kill you if you let me.” I recently drove to Valvoline for a long-overdue oil change, and I saw a group of mechanics standing outside the garage smoking cigarettes, yelling and cackling at one another. Without thinking, I zipped past the entrance and into an adjacent neighborhood. I was back on the bathroom tile, paralyzed with a wad of Kleenex in my hand. As I drove past rows of manicured lawns, I realized I’d been treating my hairy, eight-legged fear like a dear old friend. I’d been pulling up a chair for it at my dining room table and hand-feeding it pieces of myself, pieces that weren’t even left for me to give. I had fallen into a core belief that I was fundamentally different from everyone around me. They were normal. I was not. But parked in front of a big yellow house, I cornered that arrogant intruder inside of THE CLARION

me and squashed it. Hard. I threw its crumpled body on asphalt and watched it fall into a dizzied panic, each of its eight legs slowly disintegrating to dust and mixing with the bits of gravel below. Then I reached a cul-de-sac, turned around and steered my car into the Valvoline. A few nights later I lay on my musty gray carpet with a sleeve of saltines and decided I didn’t need normal. We all hide things about ourselves that give us fright; we all know what it’s like to feel inadequate next to shinier, prettier, more accomplished people. So if normal existed, I didn’t need it anymore. I was ready, just as my mother always knew I would be.

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May 2021

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Illustration by Aimee Kuiper

‘Let’s make stuff’ 19

Raspberry Monday 2021

By Makenzi Johnson

he 49th annual juried student art exhibit, “Raspberry Monday,” was on display in the Johnson Gallery from March 29 to April 20. Art and design students submitted their artwork, varying from paintings, sculptures, digital media, photography and more, to a panel that decided which pieces will be on display. Various awards, including the Raspberry Monday Award and others, are given out to students as well. The art exhibit is an opportunity for students to display their art for the public, jurors, staff and faculty, students and guests. The Clarion asked some of the “Raspberry Monday” participants to tell us about their pieces and the inspiration behind them – here’s what they have to say:

Malakai Holloway

Annah Chriske

“Breathe” Painting and embroidery

“Transverse CT of abdomen” Drawing

“This was made a couple days after George Floyd’s murder. A few days after I had some time to grieve and process it, I knew I wanted to make some art about it. I titled it “Breathe” because no doubt, that’s a direct correlation to the case, to the murder. But there’s something so empowering about [the woman in the painting]. She’s breathing; she’s free. I made this piece because African Americans, we have barely any time to breathe. People are always looking at us differently, looking at our skin color before looking at us as a person. She is the ultimate ‘I’m breathing; I’m free; I don’t have a care in the world.’ Her head is up; she’s elevated. It’s a reminder that everyone needs to breathe every once and a while because we’re all holding our breath.”

“I took this from a CT scan, basically if you were getting cut like a transverse. I’m a biology and an art major… Here’s just some fun organs, your spine, your liver, your two kidneys, a bunch of your hollow digestive organs, and then your pancreas… I love anatomy and human physiology, how the body works altogether, how we have this amazing system and how it’s so intricate. It’s just so crazy that we can run and do stuff. I wanted to make something that was maybe kind of gross, or like your inside organs are gross, but turn it into something beautiful.”

Photo by C.J. Washington

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Photo by C.J. Washington

Hannah Hobus

Halle Ritgers

“Take notes” Digital art print and watercolor

“A slow understanding” Painting

“I was inspired by my own culture – I’m halfKorean, half-white, so that was super big here. It was really heavy on me with the pandemic and everything going on that I felt like I had to express it, which was super cool… I was thinking of the stuff happening in Minnesota, especially with George Floyd, and the solidarity between people. I think it’s so cool that we have this shared experience, yet with so many different cultures and backgrounds. It’s amazing how people are coming together despite a pandemic.”

“I had been working on another series that I was starting to get fed up and annoyed with, so this was just a free piece I decided to do on my own time, not really thinking too much about what I’m doing in other classes or other series… It’s not necessarily a sad, somber piece, but I have been reflecting a lot on lament and understanding pain and those sorts of things in your life and how those things can still create beauty in your life… I think the color tones reflect the things I was feeling at the time.”

Ava Raisanen

Josh Vana

“Corn dog” Painting

“Wolf ” Sculpture “What really drives me as an artist is pushing past my own limits. So I don’t do a project if I think it will be easy; I do it because I think it’s not going to work. As a Christian artist, if I can complete the dream on my own, it’s like, ‘Oh I can take a step, but if I need God to complete the task it’s no longer me that completes the things; I can give homage to someone else.’”

May 2021

“I’m really interested in nature and animals; I also like to bring my humor into my art. I had this idea many years before, but never did anything about it. I got this big canvas from my pastor who told me to do something with it, so I just played around and had fun with it… It’s really fun to see how people react to this painting, whether I know them or not – it’s cool to hear what they have to say about it.”

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Photo by Makenzi Johnson

Abrianna Marsh “Sanctuary” Bronze sculpture “I was drawn to the idea of deer being these harmless, defenseless animals that kind of turn to the woods for protection. Growing up and watching the deer in our yard… we had an albino doe in our area (Frederick, Wisconsin) for maybe 20 years or something, and my mom was telling me about this one time when my older sisters were younger and one of them started crying. The deer was in the yard and kind of stood there and looked concerned almost, like, ‘Oh, is everything okay?’ I feel like [deers] are these ethereal beings.”

Maddie Antikainen “Twisted momentum” Wood sculpture

Photo by C.J. Washington

“This piece was originally done for one of my classes; it was about implied motion. I thought this was a good way to resemble that, even though it seems like progress isn’t always happening in our lives, that something is always happening and you can see it through the little, intricate pieces when the whole piece comes together.”

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Amy J Harr

Brandon Barnaal

“Postcard from another home” Collage

“Doors, Agra, India” Digital print

“I made these right after I got home – I had been living in Italy for two months studying abroad, and then I got kicked out of the country…I went through the trauma and the stress of leaving due to the pandemic, twice, and I got home and had all of these pictures and all of these experiences and I didn’t know how to deal with them… A lot of it was an expression of what I was losing, the stuff that I was remembering and the experiences I had lost that I never got to experience… When I was [in Italy] I did not like it there; I hated it because I felt like I wasn’t where I needed to be, and then at the end, right when I got home, I felt like I wanted to stay there longer because it was challenging and I liked that.”

“This is from my India trip during J-term. I went with Textura, and basically there was this endless corridor that I approached. It really captivated me, this idea of not being able to go beyond the group and explore what was present because we had to stay together. But there was something beyond really calling me; I wanted to pursue it. Specifically with this piece, I gave this allure of a rainbow and a kind of monochrome background to draw you into what is beyond the front door. I wanted to distort this front door because I only had a vision of what was in the front; I was never able to depict what is behind, what is beyond. That is what this drives from, my own exploration of this space that I physically couldn’t enter.”

Photo by Makenzi Johnson

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Gissele Oliviera “Youthful tears” Ceramics “I wanted to focus on people’s insecurities and see them on display. I had a girl in my class come up to me about another art piece I am working on currently, and she goes, ‘I walked in and I saw your piece and thought, ‘Oh yeah, that’s a human body. But I had to take a step back, and I looked at it and thought that it’s so normal to me because that’s what I see in the mirror, but I don’t see it represented in art.’ She was almost in tears; I was like, ‘Oh my gosh; that is so cool,’ because that’s what I want – I want people to be like, ‘That looks like me,’ but it’s being appreciated as a work of art instead of just a human body.”

Photo by C.J. Washington

Eleanor Carlson

Aimee Kuiper

“On the seventh day” Ink drawing

“Brown eyes poetry series” Mixed media and poetry

“This was a meditation on the Sabbath… every seventh circle is complete. I used India ink and a stencil. You’re starting a gesture; it’s going a little more, a little more, a little more, but it’s never complete or whole until the seventh day, the seventh circle. It’s a meditation really, pretty minimalistic in that regard. Kind of just, ‘Okay, what does it mean to go through my week? I’m building on it; I’m working; I’m also being spent more. Yet on the seventh day, that’s when I can be complete and whole and rest.”

“A lot of these photos come from a really crazy part of my life, so it was really good to look back on it and see it as positive despite the crazy and weird… [The poems] are all part of a series I started, “The Brown Eyes Poetry Series,” in reaction to how there are so many stories and poems of blue-eyed people or green-eyed people. I really, really wanted green eyes as a kid, and so those first couple years at Bethel I was like, ‘No; my eyes are so cool and I should write poetry about them and about other people’s eyes because it’s so amazing.’”

The name for the Raspberry Monday exhibit came from a Monday, summer day in 1972. Don and Florence Johnson, involved in the Bethel Art Department, were driving home after picking raspberries when they got into a car accident and Don became covered in what seemed to be blood. It turned out to actually just be raspberry juice from all of the berries that got crushed in the crash. The Johnson’s laughed in relief, thanking God for protecting them. After the crash, the couple decided to fund the art scholarship, the Raspberry Monday Scholarship Award, and their legacy has lived on for 40+ years at Bethel.

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May 2021

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Praying with his eyes open After being forgiven by the man he shot, Pastor Danny Givens transformed his life into one of activism and spiritual leadership. By Soraya Keiser

astor Danny Givens was baptized in prison. He had been in prison for six years already when he decided he needed to start going back to church. “I really just reached the end of myself,” Givens said. “I didn’t care what it was, I just needed to go somewhere and hear some word. You know, I needed to hear some hope.” Six months into his churchgoing, Givens heard a message on Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Givens couldn’t believe that God was thinking about him. A man who started selling drugs at the age of 10. A gang leader. Someone who had shot an off-duty police officer in the stomach. Givens was incarcerated for attempted armed robbery of a Veterans of Foreign Wars Hall, a popular Rondo neighborhood hangout in St. Paul, when he was 19. He exchanged fire with off-duty Ramsey County sheriff ’s deputy Art Blakely, a pillar in the Rondo community. Blakely was shot once in the stomach. Givens was shot twice. After his surgery, the first thing Blakely said was “How is the young man?” Blakely lived only a few blocks from Givens and his family, so immediately after being discharged from the hospital, he went to Givens’ mom’s house to see how she was holding up. “This is our community. This is Rondo,” Givens said. “We lean into tension.” Blakely didn’t want 19-year-old Givens to be stuck in prison for the majority of his life. Unbeknownst to Givens, Blakely wrote to the judge to get him out early. He wanted to give Givens a second chance. Instead of having to serve up to 60 years, Givens ended up serving 12.

Givens, now 43, had grown up in the church, attending regularly with his grandparents. When he was nine years old, Givens’ grandmother told him he was going to be a preacher when grew up. She said she just knew it. Yet Givens ran from this life, getting involved in the drug-filled violence that soon became normal to him. It wasn’t until after those first six years in prison that Givens noticed God working in his life. Sitting in the very back of that Saturday service on Jeremiah, it finally clicked for Givens. The preacher held an altar call, saying everyone in the congregation was saved if they wanted to be. “I was almost kind of stunned or numb, and the Holy Spirit shook my head no,” Givens said. The preacher then called out to him saying, “Young brother in the back, you ain’t saved?” The Holy Spirit shook his head even harder. That was when Givens was invited to receive the Baptism of the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in tongues. He walked up to the front of the church and bowed his head in prayer to start, but the preacher tilted his chin up. “Lift your head up, young man, and open your eyes. Anything that God is going to do for you, he is going to do for you with your eyes wide open,” Givens recalls the man saying. And the Baptism took place. “God touched me then,” Givens said. “I received my call.” After the ceremony, he was told to leave and tell people that God changed his life. Immediately the next day, Givens was in the prison yard leading Bible study and prayer groups. Four months later, Givens preached his first official sermon. He’s been preaching ever since. Although he was not officially ordained until being released from prison in 2008, Givens al-

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ready knew he wanted to take his faith further, so he enrolled in Bethel’s Adult Undergraduate Christian Ministries program. “I was going to school to be an informed believer,” Givens said. The program introduced Givens to his mentor and friend, Dr. Gary Stratton. As the director of the Christian Ministries program at the time, Stratton held interviews with all incoming students. After their first interaction, Stratton knew that Givens was going to be a compelling asset to the program. “His insight into human nature because of his life experiences was just kind of breathtaking,” Stratton said. Through Bethel’s Christian Ministries program and into his creation of Above Every Name Ministries, a congregation that, according to its website, prides itself on being a “church for the people.” Givens has not been afraid to confront hurt within his community and form close relationships. Above Every Name has become a pillar within the Rondo community and the greater Twin Cities area. “I think he is one of the most important alumnus spokespeople for Bethel,” Stratton said. “Just how passionate and articulate he is in terms of articulating Bethel’s values of being both a peacemaker and a justice-bringer. He is doing it.” In 2010, two years after being released from prison, Givens was walking near his mother’s house when a truck stopped in the street. Blakely’s truck. He rolled down the window and asked Givens, “And your name is, young man?” Givens responded. Blakely put his truck in park. And the next thing Givens knew, he was

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Pastor Danny Givens is pictured in Unity Church - Unitarian, the building his congragation Above Every Name Ministry, meets in. Photo by Emma Gottschalk

“When I received my calling, the charge that I got from God was to be to others what nobody has been to you, and Chief Art Blakely was to me what nobody had been before.” PASTOR DANNY GIVENS

May 2021

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“Love is my gospel, and justice is my religion.”

August 1977 Born

1991

First arrested

PASTOR DANNY GIVENS enveloped in a hug. “I love you. I forgive you. I am so proud of you,” Blakely said to Givens. This love that Blakely shared has stayed with Givens through his ministry. “When I received my calling, the charge that I got from God was to be to others what nobody has been to you,” Givens said. “And Chief Art Blakely was to me what nobody had been before.” Givens commends Blakely for his continued service to the Rondo community and hopes to mirror that with Above Every Name. “[Blakely] was a man in our community that has done great work as a sheriff but also as a man. As a father. As a leader,” Givens said. “And so I continue to carry on that legacy of keeping my heart open and that ministry of presence.” As the clergy liaison to the #BlackLivesMatterMpls movement, Givens leads prayer vigils, provides spiritual counsel and does interfaith work with other religious groups who are working towards equality. Givens has received pushback for the support he has given this movement as well as that of the LGBTQ+ community, but he doesn’t regret it. “I’m out here with God’s children,” Givens said. “Love is my gospel, and justice is my religion.”

April 1996

Attempted to rob a VFW hall and sentenced to prison

August 2002

Preached first sermon

June, 2002

Baptized in prison

February 2008

Released from prison

April 2011

Founded Above Every Name Ministries

May 2011

Graduated from Bethel’s Christian Ministries program

2015

Became clergy liaison for #BlackLivesMatterMpls

Design by Thanh Nguyen

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Pastor Danny Givens explains the importance of interfaith work in the space his congregation rents from Unity Church - Unitarian in St.Paul. Photo by Emma Gottschalk

May 2021

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At the shelter,

I have no bad days

Opinion By Rylee Forshee

“Ah. This Minnesota weather is just like all men. Deceitful.” Alisha was real funny. She had a way of making your day better with just a five minute interaction. I laughed as I asked her how her day was going. “Oh I’m blessed as can be. I can’t complain.” I’m always taken back when guests say things like that. Although I’ve never been homeless, I seem to complain a lot. But the guests hardly ever complain. For them, their heartbeats seemed to be enough. “I got breath in my lungs so it must be a good day,” they reply. “God is good.” “Just another day in paradise!” I work as an advocacy intern at a homeless shelter in downtown Minneapolis. Usually I’m helping families find employment and affordable housing, contacting case managers, watching children while parents fill out paperwork, delivering meals or doing mundane intern tasks. Most days at the shelter are hard days. Last year, when the Bethel volleyball team was on a losing streak, our coach reminded us about bad days. The days you lose loved ones or get the news of a diagnosis. So I try really hard not to say the words “bad day” unless I truly mean it. Instead, I’ll say “hard day” or “tough day,” because for me, the bad days are rare. Every day, I watch single mothers call landlords for hours while their children demand attention. I see fathers work three jobs so they can someday give their children a bedroom of their own. I watch 8-year-olds help serve their siblings meals while their parents contact case managers. I see grandparents care for grandchildren and children care for grandparents.

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I hear stories of sacrifice as parents chose to pay for their children’s food instead of their own medication. I see kids carry heavy emotions in their tiny hearts. I look into the grief-stricken eyes of a community that has had to watch another father, husband or son be killed by a police officer. I watch as individuals fight to survive in a system created for them to fail. Those are my tough days. The days I witness injustice happening all around me while it seems the rest of the world chooses to look the other way. The days I sit with others on their bad days. The days I look into wet eyes and realize my past beliefs are causing tears. It used to be so easy to tell a single mom to work harder. Or to say “my vote doesn’t even matter.” But on the tough days, I realize I so often replaced the word “privileged” with the word “blessed.” I realize I don’t have as many bad days because of the color of my skin. I realize the truth behind the phrase “life isn’t fair.” And still, good days seep through the cracks and fill my soul. They look a lot like my idea of heaven. They are the days filled with kids with big laughs and curious minds. The days spent working alongside colleagues who look, think and act differently than me, working toward justice, hope and community. Celebrating a job interview with a guest I’ve worked with for weeks. The good days look like weepy eyes and feel like tight hugs as families move into their new apartments. On those days, we celebrate sobriety, celebrate triumph and celebrate each other. On those days, we have breath in our lungs.

Illustration by Aimee Kuiper

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Bethel students show how skateboarding and longboarding mean more than standing on a fourwheeled piece of wood — for them, it’s a source of community, excitement and relaxation.

Two inches off the pavement Peter Kraakevik shows off his skills with a skateboard | Photo by Bryson Rosell

T in o p

May 2021

loud, metallic clang echoed through Kresge Courtyard. Cheers, whistles and hollers followed from the small crowd that was forming. Longboarders and skateboarders alike showed up to ride around or test their skills jumping over a long metal rail that someone lugged into the courtyard. Skateboarders accelerated, repeatedly driving their feet into the ground, approaching the rail. In lightning-fast movements, they jumped off their boards, over the rail, and back on their boards — sometimes gracefully, sometimes not. But even if they tripped and fell, they got back up and tried the jump again. Longboarders whizzed by, talking to one another and cheering on the skaters. Not everyone who showed up came knowing the others, but by the end of the afternoon, everyone had been introduced to one another.

By Nate Eisenmann For sophomore Peter Kraakevik, meeting new people is part of the fun. He emphasized that when he shows up to a skate park, everyone there will either pay no attention to him or, more likely, will be outgoing and friendly. The idea that something as simple as skating is a way to bring people together is one reason Kraakevik loves it. He believes strong bonds between skaters stem from the risk-taking nature of the activity. “There’s a reason why skateboarding is in the Olympics. You have to have a lot of determination and you have to be willing to take risks,” Kraakevik said. “Anyone who [skateboards] is kind of like that, so it brings everyone together.” First picking up a board just a few years ago, Kraakevik has embraced skateboarding culture and encouraged other Bethel students to get involved. When fellow sophomore Ben Anderson met Kraakevik at Bethel, the two started skating together

Jacob Reddin flips his board in mid air as he jumps down the stairs behind the HC | Photo by Bryson Rosell

— Kraakevik on his skateboard and Anderson on his longboard. For Anderson, riding his longboard is all about the utility and less about doing tricks. “I love the idea of just cruising for miles and miles with [friends],” Anderson said. After getting a concussion last fall while riding, Anderson was cautious to get back on his board this spring. But when invited by Kraakevik, he got back up. “He asked and I couldn’t say no,” Anderson said. Although the longboarders and skateboarders sometimes clash over which is better, they can agree on one thing: Skating or longboarding, tricks or no tricks, the main reason to keep four wheels on the pavement is the people.C

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Isaac Verdoorn

“Don’t be afraid to make a mistake. Be willing to spend some time not being good”

Isaac Verdoorn speeds past the WLC on his longboard | Photo by Bryson Rosell

May 2021

Ben Anderson | Photo by Bryson Rosell

Graphic by Davis Mcelmurry

The Anatomy of a Skateboard

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“[Longboarding] is a nice break in my day”

Window Image

May 2021

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The matter of masks Conflicting views on face-covering protocols divide the Bethel community and spur administrative response. By Rachel Blood and Molly Wilson

Photo by Emma Gottschalk

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ophomore nursing student Naomi Petersen finished wiping a table in the Monson Dining Center during an April dinner shift. She turned to find two male students wearing masks under their noses standing by a table and talking to a friend. Petersen asked the students to wear their masks properly. With a “yeah, yeah,” Petersen was dismissed. Taking a deep breath, she walked away to tell her manager. Dean of Student Life Jim Benjamin cites that 108 official documentations of follow-up emails regarding COVID-19 policies were reported in the fall 2020 semester. At this point in the spring 2021 semester, there are 53. Benjamin attributes the lower number to students simply being used to or tired of the pandemic, but the decrease in reports does not necessarily indicate a decrease in protocol breaks. The majority of the reports stemmed from requests for others to wear a mask in a common area such as a residence hall. Very few reports have occurred within the classroom. Others have included breaking room capacity or visitation rules. Benjamin suspects the reason the fall reports reached a higher number was because the Bethel community was still getting accustomed to the reality of the recent pandemic requirements. The standard response for most of said reports is a follow-up email clarifying the face covering policy. Repeated incidents might result in a person-to-person interaction to talk about the situation. Oftentimes Benjamin is the one to clarify protocol with that student, try to understand the reasoning behind their actions and remind the student that peers or their families may be immunocompromised. “The goal of all of that was really to have a reasonable response. We’re trying to do this together,” Benjamin said. The most frequent concern brought to Student Life comes from a lack of face coverings in the BC and common buildings. Student Life chose to implement a proactive practice of sending out Student Life employees to thank people around the buildings for wearing their masks and giving out gum and mints as a thank you. On occasion, this job also requires asking

students to pull their masks up. “It’s a little dicey because people are drinking or eating,” Benjamin said. “Sometimes, that seems really clear to me, but then we have some students who sit with a drink all day long, and that’s the reason they say they don’t have to wear a mask. We’re asking people to be reasonable.” The most severe consequence Student Life has thus far had to resort to was a temporary ban on the non-compliant student’s presence in common buildings. Concerned peers reported the student’s refusal to wear a mask to Student Life, and multiple meetings were held. However, the student continued to refuse to wear their mask in common areas. Benjamin said the student wore a mask properly while in class and while practicing and competing as an athlete, so he gave an appropriate consequence: The student could attend class and practice, but was temporarily suspended from the common buildings. Benjamin praises staff, faculty and students alike for rising to meet the challenges presented by the pandemic. Bethel’s goal has been to remain open for the entirety of the school year with students on campus and attending in-person classes. Although many value mask-wearing and participate in keeping others accountable and safe in public spaces in order to keep students on-campus, others argue face coverings are simply not effective. “Even on the box of surgical masks, it says it does not prevent the spread of COVID-19,” freshman special education major Raine Raderschadt said. For freshman missional ministries student Lily Owen, the issue rests with a different kind of health: mental. “The connection piece has been so left out of the conversation,” Owen said. “We have another population that’s really suffering, and they don’t get any say in improving their wellbeing.” It also concerns Owen that individuals have a tendency to think and speak negatively of peers who choose not to wear masks without knowing the reasoning behind the choice. “At some point, we have to get back to life. And people need life,” Owen said. “There are some people who need normal life or they won’t continue to live.” Senior organizational communications major Emma Boley simply wants a choice. She supported masks at the beginning of the pandemic,

but following the release of a vaccine, believes people should be able to choose whether to wear a mask based on their comfort level. For others, the issue with the mask mandate is not a matter of personal choice as much as a matter of the decisions of individual businesses and institutions. PSEO student and biochemistry major Sam Schutz wears his masks in all public spaces as required, but does not believe that a state mandate should be in place. On a trip to Florida, where the mask mandate has been lifted, every business Schutz entered required face coverings. “That was because of the business owners being responsible,” Schutz said. “I shouldn’t be allowed to walk into some random person’s store not wearing a mask if they want me to. They should have every right to kick me out.” Senior social studies major Tyler Hayft sat at a table in the Brushaber Commons just before spring break, coffee in one hand and a donut in the other, with his mask around his chin. He said that Heritage Hall Resident Director Emily Allen approached him and asked him to put on his mask, to which he explained that he was eating and socially distanced from those around him. When Allen continued to request that he put on his mask, Hayft grew frustrated because he did not see where he was at fault. Allen reported Hayft to Student Life, who followed their protocol for mask policy violations. “It was lonely on campus last spring,” Allen said. “Masks are a part of what allowed us to be here safely.” In response to the increase in face covering conflict, Bethel nursing students Lizzy Carson and David Jankowski, communications student Brook Lorsenson and psychology student Alaina Sandau have worked alongside Professor of Nursing Kristin E. Sandau, PhD, RN to implement a pro-mask campaign across campus. Carson addressed the reality that those who have access to campus services and technology may easily overlook the hardships the pandemic places on surrounding communities. “When I look at the demographics of those with underlying health conditions and those with lack of accessibility to resourcing, I am reminded of the privileges which I hold,” Carson said. “With that in mind, I am motivated to wear my mask and continue to do what I can do to stop the spread so that I can better love the Bethel community and our surrounding neighbors too.”

“We are the wealthiest country on earth, and through our collective actions, did not protect our citizens.” PROVOST ROBIN RYLAARSDAM May 2021

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A survey sent to all Bethel community members Have you witnessed on-campus conflict regarding wearing face coverings?

45.5% 54.5%

Do you support wearing masks on campus?

31.2% 68.8%

Yes

Kristin Sandau’s team created a “creative mask meme” competition in which Bethel community members submitted memes to be judged by President Ross Allen and BSG President Elizabeth Szilagyi. Additionally, colorful posters encouraging community members to continue wearing masks were posted around campus the last week of April. “My passion is to maximize our in-person experience, which includes safety of others and cooperation with the Minnesota Department of Health,” said President Ross Allen. “[Kristin Sandau’s team] is working on a message to ensure students remain persistent with good mask hygiene as we finish the year, especially given the variants and the increasing impact on younger people.” CDC guidelines only allow maskless indoor interaction without social distancing for those who are fully vaccinated. There is no way to know who has been vaccinated in any given classroom, coffee shop or dorm. “Honestly, to see people refuse to mask or respect protocols has been painful to see and dangerous for those of us who work in healthcare,” Kristin Sandau, who worked 30 years as a hospital nurse, said. “For us, it feels like a disregard for vulnerable folks and under-appreciation of how fortunate we are to actually have masks. We can’t drop our guard too early before more are vaccinated.” Kristin Sandau cited Kaiser Health’s report that more than 3600 U.S. health care workers died of COVID-19 within the first year of the pandemic. Another nursing student spent the summer of 2020 working in the ICU. She has been granted anonymity due to strict rules from hospital organizations regarding publicizing information about employee experiences. “It can be difficult to really understand the severity of a situation like COVID-19 unless it’s staring you right in the face,” she said. “I watched as COVID put the lives of pregnant mothers, healthy middle-aged adults and so many more at risk. We are all tired of wearing a mask, but they are all exhausted from fighting day in and day out on the frontlines. We all have a part to play in winning this battle against COVID-19.”

Other Bethel community members who feel strongly that masks remain necessary include new Provost Robin Rylaarsdam, who also holds a Doctorate in Molecular Biology. At Bethel, she has seen noncompliance with face-covering protocols that she attributes to a combination of warm weather and COVID-19 fatigue. While she thinks face covering protocols may still be in place come fall, Rylaarsdam expects that social-distancing guidelines may loosen significantly. A common argument made by those opposed to the mask mandate is that no peer-reviewed studies exist proving the effectiveness of masks. Rylaarsdam points out that a peer-reviewed study only a year after the virus discovery would be impossible. Instead she points to the public health outcomes of countries who implemented mask mandates early. “We are the wealthiest country on earth, and, through our collective actions, did not protect our citizens,” Rylaarsdam said. “I don’t know if we’ve had the worst effects of the pandemic, but we certainly have not done it best. Mask-wearing and its contention here is part of it.” Rylaarsdam believes wearing masks for the safety of those around us is a double responsibility: one as citizens and one as followers of Christ. Petersen continues to see students in the DC neglecting masks and social distancing protocols. Encouraging mask-wearing, she cites her trust of scientists specializing in the field of disease control and knowing that COVID-19 spreads through droplets that are significantly decreased by wearing a mask. “While [masks] are not a perfect solution, they do far better than absolutely nothing,” she said.

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May 2021

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The rock cries out Opinion By Joe Werdan

hat is Bethel? Merriam-Webster defines it as the house of El (“El” meaning God). This is the most important meaning for us –– for Bethel –– because we literally believe it. We consider Bethel a place of worship. We understand ourselves as God’s people. That Bethel is the place where God dwells doesn’t just mean God is here — it means, too, that God is with us. It means we encounter God in our community — in and through relationship — and this is what makes Bethel the house of God. It means we see God, know God and hear God speak. But where? That question brings me to the one thing I feel like I have to talk about most — the rock. Perhaps the rock outside Kresge Courtyard isn’t where you think of God being. Perhaps you know and are known by God most intimately in Chapel, a residence hall or on the disc golf course. What comes next is not to say that God does not speak in any of those places. Rather, it is to say that, as well as we might know this God, this God who is in Christ is also hidden. So perhaps we ought to look again. And perhaps the place to start is the rock. Ahmaud Arbery. Breonna Taylor. George Floyd. “Black Lives Matter.” This is what it reads. Each name is painted in red over the blackness of the rock. But what does it say to us? What does it mean? On the surface, the phrase “Black Lives Matter” might read as Black lives matter more than white lives. Or, worse, it might come off as saying white lives don’t matter at all. However, this isn’t what “Black Lives Matter” is trying to say; it isn’t what it means. If the words themselves could speak –– and I think they do –– they would say something quite different to us. These words are more than symbols and sounds. They are stories. And when spoken, these stories take on life; the words come alive. They cry out to us. We cannot ignore the rock. We must listen. What do we hear when we do? We do not hear, as some claim, that Black lives matter more than other lives. Rather, we hear that “Black Lives Matter,” as my friend Kadrian Chambers puts it, means that “of all lives, Black lives have never actually seemed to matter.” That is what it means. It means that Black lives are and have been devalued; that they have been stripped of their life; that, as much as we say “All Lives Matter,” even in good conscience, it simply is not the truth. And it cannot be true until Black lives truly matter, until they are seen and heard and we hear those words as truly living. That is what the rock says. “Black Lives Matter” –– that is the Truth. Those names painted in red within hearts of gold are full of life and are living. The rock, for us, is God’s very Word. It encounters us with truth and judgment and demands we hear its voice. This very stone cries out. It is speaking to us. Will we listen?

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May 2021

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Roland Osagiede, who grew up in Brooklyn Center, poses for a portrait. Photo by Emma Gottschalk

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‘Something has to change ’ The Bethel community responds to the fatal police shooting of Daunte Wright and the verdict of Derek Chauvin’s trial in collective dialogue and lament. By Rachel Blood and Nate Eisenmann

ather, son and brother Daunte Wright was shot and killed by Brooklyn Center police officer Kimberly Potter April 11, just 10 miles from where Derek Chauvin sat on trial for the murder of George Floyd. President Ross Allen addressed the tragic event in a Bethel community email April 13. “Last Sunday’s police shooting of Daunte Wright—in the midst of the trial of Derek Chauvin, the tragedies that took place in Atlanta and Colorado, and so many other instances of violence—weighs heavily on the entire Bethel community,” he wrote. “We grieve for the friends and families of Daunte Wright and so many other individuals of color who face an increased risk of violence in our country.” A Minneapolis jury convicted Chauvin on all charges in the death of Floyd April 20. “While it cannot restore the life that was lost, this verdict is an important step toward the justice and reconciliation that we, as Christ-followers, seek,” Allen said. Senior social work student Roland Osagiede grew up in Brooklyn Center. He was there last week for the protests happening in front of the police stations, directly across the street from where he attended high school. Osagiede, who found out about Wright’s death via a phone call from his brother, did not personally know Wright, but knows a few

May 2021

people who did. “The fact that this happened in my hometown is honestly very scary,” he said. “I have a lot of sadness, anger and fear in my heart. I easily could have been Daunte Wright, which is what is most scary. Daunte Wright could have been any one of my family members.” Each day, Osagiede’s mother wakes up hoping not to see one of her sons dying on the news. “If I’m being honest, I don’t feel safe in my neighborhood, and I’m sure many BIPOC families feel the same way,” Osagiede said. “I’m afraid to call the police for help because of what could happen. There is a huge disconnect between the police and people of color.” Many of the police officers in Brooklyn Center live outside of the city, making it difficult for them to know and serve the community properly. Wright’s death lessened Osagiede’s trust in the Brooklyn Center Police even more. Osagiede sees Wright’s death as a tragic accident that could and should have been prevented by Potter’s years of training and service. In similar situations with white people, he said, there seems to be more room for de escalation. He attributes the lack of deescalation to one thing: fear. “I believe the officer made this mistake because she was nervous,” he said. “Why do you think she was nervous? I believe it’s because of the color of Daunte’s skin. I definitely under-

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stand that police officers have families that they want to make it home to every night, but something has to change.” As members of the Bethel community come to terms with and process the reality of racism, Allen encourages all to engage in conversation with one another: RAs, RDs, student life staff, professors, friends or the Counseling or Christian Formation and Church Relations Offices.

“The fact that this happened in my hometown is honestly very scary. I have a lot of sadness, anger and fear in my heart. I easily could have been Daunte Wright, which is what is most scary. Daunte Wright could have been any one of my family members.” “My door—and my inbox—is always open,” Allen wrote. On April 21 at 9 p.m., just under 30 hours after the Chauvin verdict, students filed into the Underground for a “Liturgy of Lament,” a student-organized event focused on providing a

Gus Tiffer speaks at the Liturgy of Lament event in the Underground on, Wednesday April 21. Photo by Ally O’Neil

space for attendees to express their feelings concerning the trial verdict and the death of Daunte Wright. Senior Elizabeth Szilagyi, in collaboration with Adjunct Associate Professor of Biblical and Theological Studies Dale Durie, planned the liturgy, a customary practice in which Christians participate in a variety of kinds of worship such as prayer, scripture reading and reflection. This particular liturgy involved the repetition of a reading from chapter five of the book of Amos; this passage is one of lament for the lack of social justice. “I’ve been doing this for years and years. But I’ve never used a pure lament passage for [a liturgy],” Durie said. Durie explained the flow of the liturgy in four steps. There would be a reading of the chosen passages, followed by a time for reflection on particular words and phrases that stood out to the participants. Next there was a time for writing down a prayer—any prayer that came to mind.

Finally, there was a period of rest and for processing. “Do not be a human doing, but a human being,” Durie said, in regards to the fourth step of the liturgy. He stressed the importance of staying focused on God and offering up any thoughts that came to mind. “There is permission to be angry...to be fully human in this moment,” he said. For many students, the fourth part of the liturgy—rest and contemplation—was the most meaningful. “I enjoyed the few minutes to just be,” sophomore Nancy Alquicira said. Whatever emotion students felt throughout the night, Durie wanted to ensure that they would feel comfortable in that moment to work through what they were feeling. “We’re all processing different things,” Durie said, “for some it’s [the pandemic], others it’s the trial or Daunte Wright. Hopefully it was an experience where God was meeting them where they were at.”

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Memorial created for Daunte Wright in Brooklyn Center. Photo by Hannah Hobus

May 2021

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‘Forced into

a white box’

BIPOC students and alumni share their encounters with racism at Bethel. By Hyojung (Alice) Hong

BLACK STUDENT Before I go into detail about my particular experience with prejudiceness at Bethel, I would like to state that this is one of many stories that I could tell and that there are several unheard stories from other BIPOC students. In my research principles class we were allowed to work with a partner for our research project, so I asked another student if she wanted to work with me and she agreed to it. As the semester progressed, I could sense that she was very uncomfortable around me. Everytime I came into class and attempted to communicate with her, she would not engage with me at all. When I would ask important questions pertaining to our project, she would reply with one word answers. I tried my best to communicate with her in person and through emails. In addition to this, I did almost all of the work. Later on in the semester, I went to class, sat next to my partner, and tried communicating with her... I was sitting right next to her and she decided to email me instead of directly talking to me as if I’m unapproachable. She emailed me saying, “Hello, sorry I wasn’t able to tell you this earlier, but Dr. Anderson said it would be okay if we worked separately on our project since it is a larger one. We could both work on the same subject, but separately and I think it would be better if we did that.” After class I met with the professor and the professor told me that my partner emailed her saying that I did not help her on a particular assignment which is a complete lie because I worked on that assignment all night while my partner did the bare minimum. It is ironic because she is conducting a study on prejudiceness towards minorities but she can’t even work with a minority and her prejudiceness clearly came to light. Thankfully this professor knew my partner’s story did not add up because I submitted nearly all of our assignments. I was given the option to do my project separately, join another

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group, or start all over. I chose to start over for various reasons. However, this was an extremely stressful process for me. I completely lost motivation and I was struggling with many other things outside of school. I wanted to share this story because these types of situations occur at Bethel on a daily basis and it is swept under the rug. This is just one example of barriers that BIPOC students have to endure. Lastly, I would like to add that these prejudiced circumstances are extremely detrimental to the mental health of BIPOC students, so it is important for us to not only address this issue but to implement ways in which BIPOC students can be supported as well as enforcing a no tolerance policy for prejudiceness of any kind.

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INDIGENOUS STUDENT My existence is constantly questioned as my ethnicity is seen as a club or a party trick. I am constantly asked “how native are you” as I am asked to justify my existence. I always reply the same way, “I am native enough.” I have been asked so many insensitive things that I have come to make a list, things like, “do you live in a teepee?”, “Do you have running water?”, “Are you a US Citizen?”, “Do you have stuffed eagle body parts?”, “Are you a pagan?” etc. My culture views women very differently, and some of the things that are talked about freely and commonly among other men make me incredibly uncomfortable. Yet if I speak out I am ostracized as odd, or “unmanly.” I am not able to listen to the music that I am used to or eat what I am used to, as it upsets or offsets those of western culture that inhabit the space around me. I am forced to fit into a white box that I am not in any way happy in; I sneak what I can in here and there to be able to connect to my ancestors and remember who I am. I often find myself losing who I am and what I love as I am forced to be this person that I am not, this western version of myself that I do not enjoy, yet see no real way to avoid this. As the only proud Native in my friend group here at Bethel, I am always aware of any topic of any class that may even touch on the topic of Native Americans. I have also been overlooked and shrugged off as simply a white person. I am white-passing and this is a burden that I have to carry; it is a daily reminder that my ancestors were raped and killed for the fun of it, as they were seen as less. I am forced to look like the aggressors of history while living in a community with the survivors. When I tell people I’m Native, I immediately see a change in the demeanor of the conversation. Often I have been talked down to and jokes have been made at my expense as I had distanced myself from the majority. These people were obviously nervous and somehow almost always made the wrong move. I often try to avoid the topic of race or land in this country so that I do not have to fight off a crowd of people all by myself. Yet here at Bethel, we do not really talk about Native Americans if not as a thing of the past, or as one entity. This needs to change and it needs to change now.

May 2021

“My existence is constantly questioned as my ethnicity is seen as a club or a party trick.”

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ASHWANI CHUMBER, INDIAN AMERICAN STUDENT ALUMNA As an Indian student at Bethel, I felt safe and knew that racism wouldn’t be directed at me due to the proximity to whiteness that comes with my ethnicity. However, this somehow opened up a door for others to talk down about other BIPOC students, particularly Black students. I would have white classmates tell me about how they were annoyed by a certain Black student who was in their class. One of my white friends would oversexualize and fetishize Black men while also acting disgusted if a Black man wanted to date her. ‘It’s just a preference....’ Sure... Freshman year, I had a white friend who did not hesitate to say the N word if it was in a song. Sophomore year, I was friends with someone who called Black people dirty and said she always felt unsafe around Black men because ‘they all want me.... why wouldn’t they?’ I also had a white male friend who felt that it was justifiable to hate Mexican men because his sister dated one who was predatory. Unfortunately, I felt that I was in a position to help these people stop being racist, when in reality they were using me as their token friend of color in order to justify their actions.

ASIAN STUDENT During the fall semester at Bethel, there were only two POC in my PE class. I was one of the two POC, and during my time in class, a white girl came up to the other POC and asked if we were sisters. I was shocked and curious why she thought we looked alike, because we are from two completely different geographical regions in Asia.

“I am still working toward embracing my identity as a biracial individual”

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“My life story and hardships rooted in that pain is not a ‘perk,’ nor is it an advantage. The fact that some white students view it as such reveals the ignorance in this student body”

ASIAN STUDENT During my freshman year of college, I brought some food from home. This dish that I had, we eat normally at home so I didn’t think anything of it. However, one of the girls from my floor walked in and was like, ‘That smells disgusting.’ And from that moment on, I knew that this was about to be a long four years.

AFRICAN AMERICAN STUDENT Hearing about Bethel’s ‘great community’ has always stung because I’ve never felt it. I tried so hard to fit in, but I can’t deny my Blackness for the comfortability of white students. I should be able to come as I am. Because I’m open about the struggles of being Black in America, I’m instantly a social outcast. Someone will read this and rip me apart, which is why I’ve chosen to be anonymous. Being a BIPOC student on campus either means you water aspects of yourself down or have only a few friends. I only have a few friends, but I love them for their full selves and they love me for my full self. They march alongside me and stand up against murder; they don’t politicize my existence to give them a reason not to care. They care about me, my community, my people. They are the ones in which I see the Christ my mama taught me about.

May 2021

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MIXED STUDENT

LATINX STUDENT

Being a person of color at Bethel University can be described in one word: exhausting. Constantly being surrounded by people who don’t look like you is depleting. There have been numerous times where I have considered transferring schools because of the trauma that goes along with being a person of color in a predominantly white institution. The responsibility of educating faculty and peers about race and cultural competence is placed on the shoulders of students of color repeatedly.

“The responsibility of educating faculty and peers about race and cultural competence is placed on the shoulders of students of color repeatedly.”

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“They’re a product of their environment.” That has always been the phrase that dwells in my mind when I try to wrap my head around the many exhausting and hurtful moments that I have had to endure in my time here at Bethel. I used it as a way to understand why someone voted the way they did, or why even as Christians, students here refused to offer even a sliver of empathy towards their peers of color. And up to now, I used it so I did not have to actually take on the full force and effect of their words or actions. But not anymore. I had a conversation with a friend that reminded me that phrase is no longer an excuse, reminding me that there comes a point when that phrase no longer means anything. That even if the life of most students here has been shrouded in ignorance and privilege, it is no longer enough to justify their ways of disregarding BIPOC students and the issues surrounding us and our communities. There is so much out in the world, and you should not limit yourself to only what your parents or church have surrounded you in.

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“I think Bethel has a lot of room to grow as an institution.” ASIAN STUDENT I feel like in the past two weeks with the shooting in Georgia, there was a lack of acknowledgment of the hurt that Asian Americans feel at Bethel. I did not hear anything immediately from administration to grieve or even an email to acknowledge the pain that we are feeling. I think Bethel has a lot of room to grow as an institution. There was no direct email from the President right away to say something about it to make me feel safe. It feels like no one is behind [me] besides a few professors who I personally connect to. I did not see any support from BSG besides Alice Hong. However, she is a student of color who is hurting right now, and she is supporting other students who are also hurt. That’s not how it should work. BSG as a whole, not just a leader of color, needs to make sure that we matter, that we belong here. And that we deserve to be cared for here. Because we also pay to go to this institution, and BSG has to be more responsible for all of our experiences as students here.

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“Being a person of color at Bethel University can be described in one word: exhausting.”

The few looks I get when I wear my cultural clothes or when I put our traditional clay makeup on my face doesn’t get to me, but what really made me feel like an outcast was when I experienced racism from my own adviser. I had changed my major, and when I was assigned a new adviser, I had no trouble with it and was looking forward to meeting with her. What I later learned about this new adviser was that every time I would meet her, she would be discouraging and would always say that I would not make it into my dream career. She would always try to convince me to change my major or future plan because I was not ‘good enough.’ It’s not anything new when the students treat you differently, but you wouldn’t expect to be treated like this by someone who should be encouraging and supporting you.

Photo, collage, and design by Hannah Hobus

May 2021

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Opinion

I see my mom in the Atlanta shooting victims 효정 인성아 굿모닝

엄마가 걱정이 돼서 그러는데

혹시 어느 누군가가 폭력을 휘두르르려고 하거나 싸울려고 하면 무조건 피해

같이 싸우려고 하지말고.

무조건 사람 있는곳으로 피하고 도와 달라고 해

다치면 안돼

엄마두 조심할게

Illustration by Aimee Kuiper

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By Hyojung (Alice) Hong 효정 인성아 굿모닝 Good morning Hyojung and Inseong (myself and my sister) 엄마가 걱정이 돼서 그러는데 I’m saying this because I am worried as a mom, 혹시 어느 누군가가 폭력을 휘두르르려고 하거나 싸울려고 하면 무 조건 피해 but if anyone tries to be violent towards you or tries to fight with you, you have to run away no matter what. 같이 싸우려고 하지말고. Do not try to fight back. 무조건 사람 있는곳으로 피하고 도와 달라고 해 Make sure you run to where people are and ask them for help no matter what. 다치면 안돼 You cannot get hurt. 엄마두 조심할게 I’ll make sure to be careful too.

hese texts were sent after my family read the horrific news that eight people were killed March 16 in a suburb north of Atlanta, six of whom were Asian women. Cherokee County Sheriff ’s spokesman Jay Baker claimed the white terrorist was having a “bad day;” that he suffered sex addiction, a habit at odds with his Christian faith; that killing those women was a way of removing sexual temptation. Was that supposed to make me feel better? That he’s actually a great Christian who just struggles with sexualizing Asian women and went ahead and specifically killed them when Target ran out of chocolate on his grumpy day? How ridiculous. How hurtful. How racist. I see my mom in the victims of the shooting. Hyun Jung Grant was only 51 years old, and her life was stolen from two sons both close to my and my younger sister’s age. That could have been us grieving our mother’s death in a nation that pulls the corners of its eyes at us and oversexualizes our women. I’m angry at the politicians who still use rhetoric such as “China virus,” “Kung Flu” or “Wuhan virus” when discussing COVID-19. It’s ridiculous that people don’t acknowledge how America’s xenophobic history and language is the reason why our Asian elders are being set on fire, why a two-year-old and her family were stabbed in Texas by a white man, and why people are yelling at Asian Americans to go back to where they came from. Do people not understand that impact is felt so much more than intent? It doesn’t matter that people who call COVID-19 the “China virus” didn’t want all these Asian hate crimes to happen. Because they did happen. I don’t care about intentions when

May 2021

people are listening to what is said and killing people because of it. It is not Christ-like to ignore the pleadings of the Asian community, and instead we must call for mindfulness toward problematic rhetoric. Just this past month, my mom and I were parked at the McDonalds near Bethel when a white man pulled up next to our car, peered inside and glared at us while shaking his head angrily. You know what makes me even angrier, though? My mom, not fully understanding the racist history of this nation as a first generation immigrant, just smiled at me and said, “Maybe he’s just having a bad day.” How many more “Ni-hao’s” do we have to get in the middle of a grocery store, and how many more beatings do our elderly need to endure for people to stop taking their bad days out on us? My mother often visits me at Bethel so I can help her fill out insurance and banking paperwork, a duty I’ve taken on as her eldest daughter since a young age. She often ends her visits with a sad sigh, tears welling up in her eyes. In Korean, she softly tells me “I’m sorry that this has become a burden to you. I’m supposed to take care of you, and here you are, taking care of me.” Knowing that it worries my mom when I cry in front of her, I often hold my breath and smile back, reassuring her she doesn’t have to apologize. She’s the kind of mother who would wake up at 5 a.m. to make my sister and I fresh pizza for lunch so we could feel more “American” at school. The kind of mother who searches the internet for American lunch recipes and signs her daughters up for the Go Bananas summer reading programs. The kind who comes into my room at midnight with a plate of fruit to encourage me through a late night of studying. With an aching shoulder and arthritis developing in her elbow, she wakes up at 3 a.m. every day to work at Walmart — motivated to fund her daughters’ education. I see my mom in the victims of the Atlanta shootings. My heart aches for them. They were the Asian American moms who left behind memories that I and generations of young Asian Americans hold onto dearly. They are our mothers, our sisters, our grandmothers. Did that man in the parking lot know that he angrily shook his head at my strong, Korean American mother who is sacrificing her time, energy and health for her family? It’s people like that man in the parking lot and ignorant public figures who make standing up for myself at a predominantly white place like Bethel so exhausting. So, I have a few questions for everyone reading this. Does it make you angry to see the #STOPAsianHate art exhibit by the Egg stairs? Do you roll your eyes when you see the canvases painted with “We are not a virus?” If so, you are a part of the problem, and you might become the person in the parking lot who shakes their head at the sight of Asian people. And your kids might be the ones who stretch their eyes out at those who should be embracing who they are, those who are so much more than “ching chongs.” I am so tired. So, I ask that you think about why you feel the way you do. And if reading this is uncomfortable for you, think about how uncomfortable it is for me to even have to write it.

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