Friday, February 22, 2019

SINCE 1891

THE BROWN DAILY HERALD FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2019

VOLUME CLIII, ISSUE 19

Basketball star shares unique path to Brown Hunsaker ’20 finds road to D1 basketball through Mozambique, junior college in Utah SENIOR REPORTER

By LI GOLDSTEIN

It took approximately five seconds, 15 steps and one perfectly timed floater for Zach Hunsaker ’20 to become something of a celebrity on College Hill.

The recognition for the newcomer who drained a buzzer beater to take down Dartmouth last season stretched from the Pizzitola Sports Center all the way to ESPN, where the highlight landed at No. 3 on SportsCenter’s Top 10 Plays. Though the full-court sprint, successful shot and subsequent celebration all happened in less than a minute, the lead up to the bucket that sent the Big Green packing stretches back almost six years.

SENIOR STAFF WRITER

TED ORBEN / HERALD

In 2013, Hunsaker had plans to play for an Ivy League team that liked what they saw during his high school years. He had heard little about the school growing up, “just because, in Utah, no one ever talks about (the Ivy League),” he said. But with no other

Phi Beta Kappa elects 34 new members Academic honors organization elects students based on ‘A’ grades, course selection

By CHRIS SCHUTTE SCIENCE AND RESEARCH EDITOR

Thirty-four members of the class of 2020 were elected to the University’s Phi Beta Kappa Society Feb. 13, wrote Chapter Administrator Mary Jo Foley in an email to The Herald.

Phi Beta Kappa, founded in 1776, is the oldest and most prestigious academic honors organization in the nation, Foley wrote. The University’s Rhode Island Alpha Chapter of Phi Beta Kappa is the seventh-oldest chapter in the country, she added. » See HONORS, page 3

INSIDE

Panelists discuss importance of social activism Conversations are part of national series hosted by activist Heather Booth, Tufts senior Wylie Chang

By TESS DEMEYER

§§§

WWW.BROWNDAILYHERALD.COM

Zach Hunsaker became a team captain as a sophomore, “which is actually unheard of,” said friend and teammate Travis Fuller ’19. offers on the table, he decided to continue his basketball career there. But first, Hunsaker decided he would go on a two-year religious mission trip to Mozambique, where his access to basketball was limited to the one he carried onto the plane. The decision to

put college on hold following his high school graduation was an easy one.

As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Hunsaker had always planned to accept an assignment that could send him across » See HUNSAKER, page 2

“I think we need to hate injustice and love people,” said activist Heather Booth in an intergenerational conversation about the past, present and future of community-level social activism Thursday night.

The event was part of a national series of conversations hosted by Booth and Tufts University senior Wylie Chang for Chang’s thesis project entitled “Only If We Organize: Conversations On Social Change.”

Booth and Chang are currently cowriting a book that will draw from the event and similar discussions at other institutions such as Harvard and Tufts, as well as in local forums in Washington D.C. and New York City. Each conversation features a different group of panelists — in Thursday’s conversation, panelists included Booth, Classical High School senior Ahmed Sesay, Kavelle Christie of Planned Parenthood, Tiara Mack ’16 of the Women’s Health & Education Fund and Victoria Strang of the Rhode Island Interfaith

Coalition.

After meeting Booth three years ago, Chang was inspired by her social activism in the conception of his thesis project. Booth participated in the civil rights movement during her time at the University of Chicago, and she also fought for women’s rights before the Roe v. Wade decision.

The 2016 election further compelled Chang to shed light on conversations surrounding activism, Chang said in an interview with The Herald. “We had the idea of putting these stories in conversation with one another and bringing new lessons to the surface,” he said.

The discussion was moderated by Adjunct Lecturer in International and Public Affairs Marti Rosenberg ’97, who prompted panelists to consider factors that may complicate their roles as community activists, such as the power of storytelling and making space for underrepresented voices in social justice.

Rosenberg began the discussion by asking panelists what prompted their activism. Sesay, who is part of the Providence Student Union, said that as an immigrant and a queer person of color, he was inspired by his own history to uplift stories of others.

“My story is where my organizing drive comes from,” Sesay said. » See ACTIVISM, page 3

Alum co-produces Oscar nom ‘End Game’ Documentary executive co-produced by Jim Mittelberger ’78 P’13, focuses on end-of-life care

By ELISE RYAN AND CATE RYAN ARTS AND CULTURE EDITOR AND SCIENCE AND RESEARCH EDITOR

Oscar-nominated “End Game” is a film about love, family, healing and grief, featuring some of the hardest conversations many face in their lives — conversations about end-of-life care for gravely ill loved ones.

The film, nominated for Best Documentary Short Subject at the 2019 Academy Awards, was produced with the help of Jim Mittelberger ’78 P ’13, the film’s co-executive producer. He is also chief medical officer at Hospice by the Bay in Larkspur, California, as well as a clinical professor of medicine at the University of California, San Francisco.

After Mittelburger spent time working at Oakland’s Highland Hospital and assisting with the conception

COURTESY OF NETFLIX

“End Game,” which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in 2018, focuses on the decisions made by families and patients of palliative care. The film has been nominated for Best Documentary Short Subject. of the 2012 documentary “The Waiting Room,” he was inspired to approach producer William B. Hirsch with the idea to make a movie about end-of-life care. “I believe to help people make good decisions … you need to see to

understand. We have such a fear of the unknown,” Mittelberger said.

He also credited the University for inspiring his approach to medical practice. “Brown really stimulated me. … It helped me (to) be both creative

and a scientist,” Mittelberger said, referencing how his peers at the University taught him, “you could make a difference.” Entering Brown with his aspirations set on a career away » See END GAME, page 3

WEATHER

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2019

SPORTS Mosenthal ’21 leads Bears to victory in women’s lacrosse against Quinnipiac University

NEWS University updates CAPS website, makes improvements with BEAR model for students in distress

COMMENTARY Schapiro ’19: Baseball team owners should pay free agents more to join their teams

PAGE 2

PAGE 9

PAGE 11

TODAY

TOMORROW

45 / 25

43 / 32

NEWS

PAGE 2 • FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2019

» HUNSAKER, from page 1 the globe. A plan was in place — he would play college basketball upon returning from Africa. But by 2016, after returning from his mission, the 21-year-old 6’2’’ guard was sitting at home in North Salt Lake, Utah without a single Division I offer.

While in Mozambique, Hunsaker had a change of heart and realized he did not want to spend his collegiate years away from home. His father was the head coach of the Utah Valley University men’s basketball team at the time, and Hunsaker’s older brother had been a four-year starter on the team. Playing for his dad in the same town where he went to high school checked every box and solved every problem. Orem, Utah was the obvious answer for him.

Since there is limited internet access in Mozambique and only two occasions that warranted phone calls home – Christmas and Mother’s Day – most of Hunsaker’s attention went toward the mission. He wore a white shirt and dark necktie every day, picked up conversational Portuguese by speaking with locals and practiced dribbling drills whenever he cold find some free time and a piece of concrete.

Six months before his mission ended, he received an email that diverted his future again. His father had retired from coaching. There was no back up plan. §§§ The strategy of using junior college as an alternate route into Division I athletics went largely unnoticed until Netflix started capturing the trend in its award-winning docuseries “Last Chance U.” Unlike some players featured in the series, who enrolled in JuCo for disciplinary reasons, Hunsaker decided to attend JuCo after receiving news of his father’s retirement. In August 2016, he enrolled in Snow College in Ephraim, Utah as a possible route to D-I basketball.

In Ephraim, most attractions for students are situated along the central road, US-Route 89. In this environment, with little else to occupy his attention, Hunsaker spent most of his time on the court. Once he got back into the groove of playing, his game was near flawless. He helped Snow to a Scenic West Athletic Conference

Championship and led the SWAC in average points per game, free throw percentage, three pointers and total points scored with 613 — 174 more than the player who finished second.

Snow’s head coach and Athletic Director Rob Nielson remembers Hunsaker as not only “the best player” but “the best teammate.”

“Off the court, in everything he does, it’s pretty obvious that he’s a little bit different than most of the guys, so it’s pretty easy to see that he’s a leader. People … are drawn to him,” Nielson said of the comeback kid who would go on to receive NJCAA Division I First Team All-American honors and be named Region 18 Player of the Year.

It didn’t take long for D-I schools to realize what they had passed on years before. Coaches from across the country called, texted, emailed and sent letters trying to sway Hunsaker toward their programs. “It was a lot, fast,” Hunsaker’s father recalls. “You’re looking at a guy that couldn’t find a Division I scholarship” to having offers from over 50 programs. Everyone from Penn State University to Texas Tech University to Columbia wanted Snow’s leading scorer on their team.

Mike Martin ’04, head coach of the men’s basketball team at Brown, remembers joining the frenzy a bit late. He had heard about Hunsaker from a friend while recruiting down South and reached out as soon as assistant coaches confirmed Zach could be “a great fit.”

“Everything was attractive to us,” Martin said. “His maturity, his focus, obviously his talent. … He’s just a young man of really high character, too. The more we found out about him, the more excited we got about potentially adding him to our program.”

And then, the ball was in Hunsaker’s court. He narrowed his choices down to three: Penn State, Indiana State University and Brown. Each had their own pros. Penn State boasted impressive facilities, a strong program and Big Ten Conference membership.

Indiana State held sentimental value, as it is located a few hours from where he was born. Brown offered the best of both worlds, since it allowed him to play basketball in the 10th best conference in the country while getting an Ivy League degree.

The choice came down to some advice from his dad, encouragement

THE BROWN DAILY HERALD from neighbors and a visit to Providence. “It felt right,” Hunsaker said of his final decision with a smile and a slight shrug. A few months later in September 2017, he was officially a Brown Bear. §§§ Now, a year and a half into his time at Brown, Hunsaker has found a rhythm. He has caught up with the Bears’ high speed play, continued to perfect his Portuguese and secured a summer internship with Goldman Sachs. His days as the new kid on the team are over, but they did not last long in the first place. A month and a half after claiming a locker, Hunsaker’s teammates already considered him a leader. “He was a captain as a sophomore, which is actually unheard of,” said friend and teammate Travis Fuller ’19. “You will never see that, ever. A transfer from JuCo to an Ivy League sophomore, just joining the team (and) becoming our captain. … That shows you what kind of guy Zach is.”

Fuller jokes that Hunsaker is so humble he would downplay winning an NBA Championship by simply saying, “Oh, I did well in basketball,” but Coach Martin attributes the team’s respect for Hunsaker to that modesty and similar strong values.

“You know what you’re getting from Zach,” Martin said. “As a coach, I can’t give a bigger compliment. You know you’re gonna get his full attention, great attitude, energy and great effort all the time. … He’s always someone you can rely on and you can count on.”

The Bears will be counting on Hunsaker as they head into the final six conference games of the regular season, but a certain Ivy opponent will have their eyes on the guard they first encountered back in 2013.

When Hunsaker’s shot dropped through the net just as the buzzer sounded last season, it was more than just a game-winner over a conference foe. It was a response to the last exchange he had with Dartmouth after returning from Mozambique. “They basically told me they didn’t want me anymore,” he remembers. With the teams slated to meet on the court Saturday, they likely will not want him on the opposing team.

TED ORBEN / HERALD

In This Issue

DAnielle Emerson

Ethan Taswell

2

Bootleg Access

Glaciers Before They're Gone 4

Kahini Mehta 4

To All the Boys Who Screwed Her (Over) Julian Towers 5

The Year with No Host Nicole Fegan

the Clouds 6

Ascending Through

postCover by Stephanie Wu

FEB 22

VOL 23 —

ISSUE 16

FEATURE

Glaciers Before They're Gone A Hiker's Eulogy to 10,000 Years of Ice

By Ethan Taswell

T

Illustrated by Soeun Yoon

e Moeka o Tuawe/Fox Glacier, Westland Tai Poutini National Park, New Zealand Last Year, 28 percent melted Fox Glacier, a paradoxical drainage of ice some eight miles long, alights from the airy western slopes of New Zealand’s highest mountains (where it belongs), cedes to gravity, and allows itself to spill downward through valley and ravine before arriving, strikingly uninvited, in a rainforest just above sea level.

Standing before its terminal face, confronted with substantially more ice than I had ever seen, it was hard not to marvel at its sheer mass—which is funny given that Fox, like most glaciers, is considerably smaller

than it has ever been. The park rangers drive this point home with a littering of road signs starting miles away, delineating the glacier’s past extents. After driving three miles beyond the line of 19th century extent and walking the extra mile past the terminus of the glacier in 2000 to reach what remains, it became quite clear that what appears as monstrous today is, on the whole, rather pathetic.

Standing there, I was nagged by the thought that by attempting to see the glacier while I still could, I was the reason it was disappearing. Part of it, anyway.

Tourism accounts for nearly one-tenth of global carbon emissions, with the bulk of that pollution

coming from transoceanic flights—precisely my means of travel to New Zealand from the opposite side of the world. Did I deserve to see Fox Glacier if I was complicit in its retreat? I stood there in a landscape of indescribable hardness, fluidly sculpted by the glacier, and I was selfish and I was angry and I was awed. I watched it melt.

Conness Glacier, Inyo National Forest, California 2012, 90 percent melted According to the United States Geological Survey, the vast majority of Americans have never seen a glacier. They are something to be read about in newspapers or ogled at on the green screen of nature

Letter from the Editor Dear Readers, Going outside is a fallacy. Touring families traverse our campus, bringing with them small children who scurry under our legs and try to steal our $4.89 caramel shot lattes. I prefer to spend my days in solitude, musing on the fierce inevitability of my death.

But this morning, my mounting hunger forced me to eat at the Sharpe Refectory. I noticed that Brown had developed a student magazine while I’d been inside—“post-”.

Turning its pages, I accidentally sliced my finger upon their serrated paper edge. As crimson blood trickled down, highlighting certain letters and leaving others ominously untouched, I wondered if this could be a sign: Might these words predict my demise?

The first article I read concerned the slow, devastating disappearance of glaciers from the earth; that sucks, but it has also taken centuries.

Was it possible I was intended to endure as long?

But the next piece, an exploration of past friendship, reminded me that humans are not glaciers;

2!post–

our relationships are transient, fragile—and sometimes we get decapitated by elevator doors.

The trail of spilled plasma then led me to twin pieces about staged entertainment: musicals on Broadway and The Oscars at the Dolby Auditorium. My thoughts on these were less existential, though I recalled that Abraham Lincoln was shot at a theater and how that might be the way I go.

Finally, I reached terminus—the end of the magazine. Awaiting me was the story of one girl’s obsession with something called How To Train Your Dragon. Though it had dominated her life, she wrote that now she was ready to move on. I nearly dropped my muffin. Dragons are capitalist lies sold to nerds, but if it was possible for them to let go, maybe I could forget about my own death.

I stepped into the sunshine and waved hello to a small child.

Wow, what an incredible magazine. I’m going to start waking up earlier so I can chase the news truck.

Julian

Managing Editor of Arts & Culture

Songs to Power Walk to Class to, According to post1. “Strut” - The Cheetah Girls (Celina) 2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

-

documentaries, but not regarded—as they should be— as sources of drinking water or founts of irrigation and electricity. Abstract, unreachable, they are to be discussed with scientific reverence but not witnessed.

For most of my life, I was part of this silent majority.

The first time I hiked a glacier, I didn’t even know I was looking at one.

I was a teenager, hiking in the High Sierra, east of Yosemite. I was with my dad and my brother, with the breeding mosquitoes of early August and the black bear trailing the lakeside behind us. We were on the trail to Mt. Conness, past Saddlebag and Greenstone Lakes, to the alpine cirque hanging above at 11,000 feet.

California’s drought had yet to settle into its fiveyear residency and, despite the late summer sun, the snowpack was brimming. The bowl we were in, vacant aside from our echoes, was ramparted by a parabola of granite that rose for another 2,000 feet. Suncupped snowfields mottled these slopes, cementing at improbable angles to what I assumed was the talus below.

It was only later, while crunching on a post-hike carrot and consulting the topographic map in the parking lot, that I realized the basin I had been in less than a half-day earlier was host to Conness Glacier, the largest glacier in the northern Sierra Nevada.

Sourdough Glacier, Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming 2014, 42 percent melted Probably America’s most famous collection of glaciers, Glacier National Park is a bit of a misnomer, and not just because only two dozen glaciers remain of the original 150. Even before they had melted, Glacier was not the Lower 48’s most glacially active region— not even the most glacially active region in the Rocky Mountains; Wyoming’s Wind River Range claims that prize with over 100 glaciers remaining, covering 10,000 acres in ice.

A few years after traveling to Conness, I went backpacking in the Wind River Range, commonly called the Winds, a thoroughly remote piece of wilderness the size of Rhode Island. Accessing the high peaks of the Winds is hard work. Here, in the great upthrust of the Continental Divide, the air is thin, the topography scales grandly, and the weather is unforgiving yearround. After juddering down a four-wheel drive track for two hours, I shouldered a 55-pound pack and trod off from the headwaters of the Green River for a week in the backcountry with my father and brother. On our second day we met a camo-clad man named Dean, a Wyoming Game and Fish employee who, accompanied by his dog, was tracking bighorn sheep. We saw no one else for the rest of the week.

We did see glaciers. After following Clear Creek Canyon to Slide Creek, crossing the saddle, and carrying over the avalanche debris, we came to stand at the edge of the proglacial Baker Lake, cradled in the flanks of 13,120-foot Klondike Peak. A break in the hail afforded a view due south toward J Glacier, a solitary, shimmering fish scale of an ice patch perched on the mountain’s distant face. But Baker’s source loomed much closer: Sourdough Glacier.

Glaciers are often called rivers of ice, and it was not until I saw Sourdough, uncloaked by snow, that I understood why. Some glaciers, like those of Alaska’s western fjords or the Karakoram, are so long and gentle and consistently fed by tributaries

that they resemble great continental rivers—frozen Colorados or Columbias. But this glacier was not such an outflow drifting unhurriedly seaward. Sourdough bounded downstream, a cataract of jumbled ice blocks, thousands of broken igloos hurled below by an angry mountain. Testament to its unrelenting flow, the depths of untold crevasses fissured the surface, itself a strange milky blue. I stood there for a minute or an hour, huddled in my ski jacket and staring wordlessly until the summer sun was rudely shoved aside and another hailstorm swept in.

Nisqually Glacier, Mount Rainier National Park, Washington 2016, 26 percent melted Six hundred miles northwest of Wind River. A couple years later. Ideal mountain weather. These mountains—the Cascade Volcanoes, North Cascade Range, and Olympics—harbor six times more ice than Wyoming. The elevation of the peaks, their high latitudes, and the near-constant precipitation from the winter months steadfastly resolve themselves into hundreds of glaciers across Washington state, more than anywhere else in America aside from Alaska.

Sun-drenched, shorts against snow, I was ascending alongside one.

Mount Rainier, by far the most prominent peak in the continental United States, is attempted from a base camp on the stratovolcano’s southeast shoulder.

I was on my way to this camp via the Muir Snowfield, a 3,000-foot headwall rising out of the wildflowers of Paradise meadow. Directly east of Muir Snowfield is Cowlitz Glacier, frequently hidden from hikers by the spine of Anvil Rock. To the west, the snowfield drops off vertiginously into the canyon of Nisqually Glacier, a massive tongue that collects itself from the crater’s rim and tumbles into upper icefall before eventually coursing briskly through another four miles of igneous rock.

Part of the Nisqually’s draw is its visibility to tourists who make the drive to the Paradise Inn. But seeing the glacier is not the same as hearing the glacier.

Climbing a 30-degree slope is a rhythmic process: the metronomic scuff of boots on snow, the steady pant of your climbing partners struggling against the lactic acid in their thighs. As I made my way alongside the Nisqually, this rhythm was periodically interrupted by a cavernous wail—deep, resounding, speaking on geologic time, unconcerned with onlookers.

Placing the exact source of this sound proved impossible. Each time the glacier creaked and groaned in protest against the sun, there was never a hint of rockfall, calving, or flash flood to explain the emanation. Organ-like, each crevasse its own pipe, the glacier played disjointed and inharmonious notes without fear of discovery. For most of the day I labored upward, humming to the tune of splintering ice somewhere near me, only occasionally stopping to make sure that an extra-large rumble didn’t signify an impending avalanche.

Haupapa/Tasman Glacier, Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park, New Zealand Last Year, 17 percent melted New Zealand, 32 times smaller than the contiguous United States, has 10 times its number of glaciers. The nation’s largest, Tasman Glacier, runs for 15 miles from the heights of the Southern Alps to the relative flatlands of the Mackenzie Basin. Three miles wide

and 2,000 feet thick, the glacier single-handedly covers over 25,000 acres in permanent ice sheet, nearly three times the area of ice cover in the whole Wind River Range.

After a serpentine drive along the Tasman River, the road comes to an end behind a hillock of rubble, the glacier’s terminal moraine. Scrambling up this 300-foot tall debris pile provides your first view of the Tasman Glacier and its terminal lake, where meltwater runs off the glacier and pools behind the moraine. The lake is huge, over five miles long and thousands of feet deep, with boat tours consistently milling around the most recent crop of icebergs. The lake is also brand new; before 1990, there was only ice.

Few people make it onto the Tasman, and even fewer to the glacier’s eastern flank, which requires boating across the terminal lake. But in New Zealand, a case of beer is a valid form of currency. And on a misty fall morning, it bought me and a friend a ride from a cruise operator across to the Tasman’s lateral moraine, where I splashed off the bow, wet my Gore-Tex through knee-high runoff, and began picking my way across shoreline boulders.

That night, we pitched our tent by a pool of meltwater on the moraine overlooking the terminal face of the glacier. Tasman’s calving face rises 160 feet tall, an ice wall of skyscraping proportions. Though the surface of the lower glacier is covered in rock, the ice of the terminus is exposed. It is not a uniform white.

Marbled geodesically, Tasman’s ice is a candied rock, carbonic striations banding in one spot, while the royal blues crystallize elsewhere.

In the morning we ventured onto the glacier— the first time in my life I had actually stepped atop one. Each crevasse was no longer a line of shadow in the distance but now a very present danger, a potential plunge dozens of feet into a canyon of eerie translucence. And when we emerged back on the moraine—exclamatory, exhilarated, and a bit relieved to be walking on solid rock—I noticed that the entire face of the glacier had peeled off during the intervening hours and was floating helplessly: hundreds of housesized wontons floating in a glacial soup, destined to warm, to melt, and to be swept away.

Te Moeka o Tuawe/Fox Glacier, Westland Tai Poutini National Park, New Zealand This Year I returned to Fox Glacier a month ago, during summer in the southern hemisphere. Not quite one year had elapsed since I last visited. The glacier was still there. It was still impressively large, a frozen tendril reaching from mountains to sea. And while I stood rooted before the terminal face, still dwarfed by ice and rock, it was nevertheless impossible to miss the reduction in the glacier’s mass, another row of ice cubes taken out of the tray.

On the opposite side of the world, on the roof of America, the same is happening. My dad spent a summer in the Winds 30 years before I went there with him. We stood on the same ridgelines. We largely saw the same views, glaciers included. Thirty years from now, if I take my son or daughter back, they will stand, a speck on a summit, and see mountains and canyons and rivers and cliffs; they will see the sun rise (still east) and the sun set (still west); they will see bighorn sheep and wildflowers and alpine lakes. And I will point toward Sourdough Glacier, but they will see no ice.

“Oh, I have a fun story about my birth.”

“I haven’t matured since I was three years old.”

Febryary 22, 2018&3

NARRATIVE

Bootleg Access A Door to Musical Theatre

By Danielle Emerson Illustrated by Caroline Hu Picture this—a young Native girl sitting in her bedroom quietly cursing her limited internet connection. She scrolls through YouTube, clicking on videos with bizarre names; "Autumn going to bed (definitely not the Deaf West production of Spring)," "don’t do drugs part 1,” "Mean Girls Make Pink Slime On Wednesdays!!! (SHOCKING)."

Yes, this girl is scrolling through YouTube’s mini collection of illegal theatre bootlegs. And she does not regret it—in fact, she revels in it.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this girl is me. Growing up on the reservation involved living through a variety of unique experiences—walking down to the flea market, feeding Rez dogs table scraps, and breathing in the soft scent of burning cedar mixed with frybread grease from dinner. I love these experiences. They’ve turned me into the person I am today. But there are also experiences I’ve missed, things I’ve never gotten to do.

I watched with envy as parents in films went out to Broadway shows every other evening with toddlers and reluctant teens in tow. My frustration was intense—I wanted those experiences. I craved those experiences. But they never came. My life was limited to dirt, yucca plants, and steamed corn stew.

My first exposure to musical theatre came from my mother’s scratched disc of Phantom of the Opera.

I loved it. I carried around a beaten CD player, thick and covered in peeling VeggieTales stickers. As my obsession grew, I craved visual content. Thankfully, Phantom was adapted into a movie, and it hooked me instantly. I watched that movie over a hundred times (no exaggeration). Soon, my tastes expanded into The Sound of Music, Hairspray, and Into the Woods.

Thankfully, each of these productions was adapted into a film as well that was, by most means, more accessible.

This luxury lasted until my interests shifted to a new musical—Spring Awakening. There is no movie adaption for this production. At first, I accepted this and focused on the soundtrack instead. But soon, a craving developed. I wanted to see the set, the actors, the costumes, the blocking. I wanted to see the lighting and hear the band. I wanted to sit in a theatre and see the show play out on a stage. I wanted the full experience. But as a girl from the Rez, such desires were far out of reach.

That is, until I opened YouTube.

The internet is a pool of entertainment and information. You can find cooking videos, craft DIYs,

4!post–

and college lifestyle vlogs—the whole world at your fingertips. So, it’s no surprise that I found an online community providing the theatre experiences I craved. I watched these videos late into the night, squinting at the small screen of my cell phone. I sat at lunch tables, shushing friends who attempted to talk over Ben Platt’s opening monologue in Dear Evan Hansen. I walked through parking lots lipsynching along to the songs in Rent. And as I applied to colleges and the stress of essay-writing became overwhelming, I turned to Waitress, tearing up at the tender moments and smiling softly at Sara Bareilles’s witty writing.

And I’ll admit, nine times out of ten, the video quality is awful. Shaky video footage, blurry and out of focus with inaudible dialogue and fuzzy pictures.

But bootlegs became an integral part of my theatre experience. In some ways, they were my only link to an actual one. There weren’t many theatrical performances on the reservation. I was alone in my obsession.

But the YouTube bootleg community gave me a place to channel my ever-growing interests.

It provided me access to what otherwise would have remained out of reach. Not everyone has the opportunity or privilege to attend one of these shows.

Not everyone has the time or the resources to spend on travel or hotels. Bootlegs combat these disparities; they are the first step to equal access in theatre viewing. Who are we to deny access to those of lowincome status? Who are we to deny access to those in rural areas? Who are we to deny access to young teens across the U.S. with no way to New York City?

Bootlegs shouldn’t have to exist on YouTube as illegal entities. Performances should be made readily available and distributed by a streaming service or as DVDs. Shows should be professionally recorded and shared, not contained and sheltered. These are experiences everyone should have the opportunity to partake in, whether that’s in the comfort of their own homes or within the theatre itself. Of course, such a platform can’t exist without the aid of artists, so we must ensure they are supported—whether that’s through purchasing a CD or blogging about their latest professional advancements.

Whenever homework becomes too much, or I’m looking for a good distraction, I turn to YouTube’s comforting collection of bootlegs. As a low-income Native girl from the Rez, I might never get the chance to see an actual Broadway show, but recordings, especially if shot professionally, can compensate for that.

Now if you’ll excuse me, a video titled “not a musical about a founding father Act 1” is calling me. I must answer, because who knows when YouTube will take it down.

To All the Boys Who Screwed Her (Over) From Her Best Friend

By Kahini Mehta Illustrated by amy choi

My best friend and I, we were transcendent. She transcended boundaries, and I transcended borders to be her best friend. My other friends hated it.

“I just don’t agree with her lifestyle,” one of them told me one day. I told her she didn’t have to.

My best friend acted like she didn’t care.

Most people still think she doesn’t. *** She called me up crying one night. “He called me his sex toy,” she said, heartache in her voice. “He told everyone I slept with him. I didn’t sleep with him.”

Try telling that to anyone else. When you’re the type of person who enjoys having sex, few will ever doubt that you did.

“I loved him.”

I stayed silent. I didn’t know what to say to that. *** Another time, she called me up drunk.

“He kissed me. I didn’t want to kiss him. But he kissed me. I think I need to puke…”

She didn’t come to school the next day. Perhaps it was just as well. His girlfriend wouldn’t have bveen nice about it. *** My best friend likes to paint. I think she has unprecedented talent. So when she designed a shirt for me that said slut on it, I wore it with pride.

My father hissed in disapproval. “How can you wear that out in public?”

“But Dad, what’s wrong with it?”

“Do you want people thinking you’re a slut?”

“But Dad, what’s wrong with being a slut?”

He had no answer to that.

So I kept the shirt on.

After laundry day, though, the shirt mysteriously went missing. *** My best friend has the strongest moral compass of anyone I’ve ever known.

When I saw her with a red handprint across her cheek the day after a party, my blood heated with ire. I even cried. My teardrops were the sun’s temper, bottled up and hurled at the feet of anyone who dared to hurt her.

“But he said he wasn’t seeing anyone!”

I just shook my head.

The next day, he wore a matching handprint across his face, and I, a smug grin across mine.

“Why would you do that?” my best friend hissed.

“Now his girlfriend’s going to hate me even more than she already does. Now everyone’s going to hate me more than they already do.”

I think that was the first time my heart broke.

ARTS&CULTURE *** Her first boyfriend made it through my entire interrogation.

I was almost impressed until I heard him tell his friends what a good lay she was.

I never hated language as much as I did that day, and I never felt as sick to my stomach as I did that minute.

She called me up later to tell me how much she loved him.

I felt my heart break even more. *** The next one was a good guy, I like to think. The type of pure the world bends over backwards to protect.

Maybe that’s why she never gave him a chance. *** She was a super-genius, my best friend. I think maybe that’s why they pulled her up for cheating when her answer sheet matched another girl’s.

I don’t remember that girl’s name, but I do remember that her skirt was twice as long as my best friend’s. *** When I got my first boyfriend, my best friend hated him.

Two days later, I caught them kissing.

But I also saw her push him away in protest.

So when I walked in, and he told me that she came onto him—that my best friend came onto him—I told him that he’d be better off trying his luck elsewhere.

He was making out with another girl one week later.

No one called him a slut, though. They were too busy cheering him on. *** The last time I spoke to her, she’d been recovering from a suicide attempt.

I knew some people would think: Of course she’d flirt with death—she flirts with everything, doesn’t she?

I think she’s on antidepressants now, but I can’t be sure. She doesn’t talk to anyone from her past.

I saw her portfolio online last week.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her art so colorful.

Her Facebook status says she’s engaged to be married.

Inside my chest, I can feel my heart rebuilding itself from the tatters of years past.

I wonder if I’ll get a wedding invite. We always planned on being each other’s maids of honor. At least, she planned on being mine. She didn’t think she’d ever get married. She was so used to everyone around her telling her that she didn’t deserve love.

She’s online now.

Slowly, but resolutely, I begin to make a message out to her: “Hey. I just wanted you to know you deserve love.

You deserve it more than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

She reads the message but doesn’t reply.

I can’t blame her, though. Not after the rest of the world already has.

The Year with No Host

and past; each is a prop extending a meaningless show into longer forms of meaninglessness. Letterman just made the function impossible to ignore.

Of course, it’s not as if there had been no precedent for an unlikable host. The ’90s were, after all, the Seinfeld decade, when sarcasm and irony made their big cultural splash, and Letterman’s Late Night debut had been key in predicting that shift. The disinterest with which he interviewed celebrity guests had been a true breath of fresh air, his barbs poking through their airs and endearing him to workaday Americans. But as with much ’90s culture, Letterman’s postmodern necessary element of the Academy Awards—a

innovation was mostly a product of laziness: Speaking

ceremony that routinely honors the dubious likes of

to Vulture in 2017, he admitted, “I was single-minded

Sam Smith, Jared Leto, and Harry and the Hendersons—

in getting through my hour, and sarcasm is so easy.”

2019’s decision to ditch the emcee isn't the same kind of

Just like the Oscars, then, Letterman didn’t

terrible choice (at least, not the same as painting Billy

actually give a sh** about America’s time. Watching

Crystal in blackface—look it up). No, this was less like

him host, you can sense his delight in wasting it.

a blunder and more like a last resort. Just two months

After the opening musical number, he strides in to

ago, Kevin Hart was set for the gig, and the choice of

riff about the show already running “five minutes

the sorta-hip, kinda-young comedian suggested the

late”—a total punk move. From there, it’s on to a

Academy had finally, perhaps, set its dying-old-man

string of outrageously protracted non-jokes—the

touch somewhere near the pulse of things. But alas,

most infamous of which sees Letterman simply

the star stepped down when the history of his offensive

repeating the first names of Uma Thurman and Oprah

tweeting resurfaced—a now-familiar cautionary tale

Winfrey for a minute straight. And his triple reuse of a

that’s still much hipper and younger than Kevin Hart.

punchline about sitting Attorney General Janet Reno

But for anyone baffled by the cultural distinction

might be even worse. At first, audience laughter is as

that follows the Oscars through all its forms—be it a

nervously boisterous as ever, but as the celebrities

questionable list of winners to canonize forever or

realize they’re not being cut to anymore, it begins to

a butt-numbing television “event” to suffer through

die off. Soon, only Letterman is laughing, and he gives

right now—this year’s ceremony unbags an exciting

all his gags a big self-satisfied guffaw. Whether this

possibility: Are we finally getting rid of this sh**? If

signals his contempt for the gag or private recognition

you know the real deep-state secret about the Oscars,

of some brilliance the audience cannot perceive, it's

it’s that it’s a capitalist scheme operating under the

clear he knows he's wasting our time.

pretense of saluting artistry. As wins and nominations

Letterman’s a strong troll, and his comedic

boost box office for 2018’s films, studios reverse

terrorism would be theoretically admirable were it not

engineer 2019’s contenders from their template.

so obviously reinforcing the Oscars’ corporate mission.

Prestige filmmaking becomes a safe, homogenous

Any time the ceremony threatens to accumulate

landscape of rock biopics and weepy romances.

meaning, to be about something more than itself,

Yet cinephiles have long held faith that the

Letterman shuts it down. Jamie Lee Curtis, pointing

Oscar ceremony would one day destroy the Oscars

to an absence of female tech nominees, gets deflected

themselves. Each year, our nerdish grumbling about

with a joke about her sex life. The activist efforts of

snubs and undeserving winners is dwarfed by the mass

actors Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon are belittled

popular annoyance of normal people: They just want to

as “pissiness” before the stars are even allowed to

go to bed. On average, the show will unpack its trophy

speak. When Letterman is loosed on the street to talk

case across four long, arbitrary hours, with unfunny

cinema with ethnic New York taxi drivers, he chooses

schtick and self-satisfied tributes to classic cinema

to linger racistly on their inability to recite Robert De

designed to pad things out for maximum advertising

Niro’s famous line: “You talkin’ to me?” The message

dollars. If America sits through it, it’s because the

was clear: we are in control, and we have decided

Oscars still possess enough cultural mystique to gather

nothing matters.

significance around who wins them. But glamour

That's what 's instructive about the hatred for the

fades, and 2018’s ratings were the lowest yet. You can

1995 ceremony: Letterman made no effort to disguise

google Best Picture in the morning.

Oscar's inconsequences. If people hate 2019, it'll be

That’s why the solo celebrity host—a relatively

because without a host, the show was unable to hide

new concept in the ceremony’s 90-year history—

it. Will audiences be savvy enough to know? There is

has been so important: It provides the illusion of a

one symbolic moment near the end of 1995 that gives

human sensibility. Hosts are the conceptual limb

me hope they will. Letterman strides on stage with a

that can fold a cynical, focus-grouped sprawl into the

rug tucked under his arm. He finds room for a wan joke

appearance of a spontaneous evening. In 2014, when

about this hilarious incongruity, but quickly sets the

Ellen Degeneres interrupted the show and broke

tube on the ground. Stepping forward to the audience,

Twitter with a group selfie, it felt like the earnest whim

Letterman points to some unseen attendee and asks

of her dorky, internet-mom persona. In truth, it was a

“Can you help?” The camera crew have no more

product placement paid for by Samsung.

idea who this mystery figure is than the audience,

What will it mean when the show has no friendly

so they leave the camera on Letterman, creating

face to disguise its opportunism? We’ll find out

the impression that the host is now recruiting the

Sunday, but for now the answer may lie back in 1995—

viewer to help him. Turns out that’s not far from the

the popular choice for the worst Oscar Ceremony

truth, because after a long pause, the angle changes,

ever. Though nerds grit their teeth remembering the

and Letterman has been pointing to none other than

year Pulp Fiction lost to Forrest Gump, most recall it

Tom Hanks—America’s everyman! The actor seems

as the year a smirking, irreverent David Letterman

genuinely surprised and runs gamely on stage to help

Illustrated by Gaby trevino

played host. Through a series of endless unfunny jokes

Letterman unfurl the rug. Hanks asks if he can sit

and pointless detours, the Late Night star verbalized

down, but Letterman says to stay—there’s a surprise

It seems disastrous: For the first time in three decades,

the Academy Awards’ unbridled contempt for its

coming. He tells the audience to hold their applause

the Oscars will be presented without a host. While

audience—their confidence that we’ll watch no matter

as a mangy-looking dog runs in from the wings and

terrible choices are, to some extent, a conceptually

what. At his core, he was no different than hosts future

instantly begins to chase its tail in circles on the

Predicting This Year's Oscars by Looking Back at 1995's

By Julian towers

Febryary 22, 2018&5

ARTS&CULTURE carpet. Taken aback, the host introduces the animal as Sadie—his face falling—“the dog who spins when you applaud.” Though the audience quickly begins to clap its hands, the Oscars’ cynical trickery stands exposed. Tom Hanks cannot conceal his disgust. Sadie scratches her thigh with her nose.

Each year, the Oscars spin in a trivial circle for nobody’s entertainment but their own. This year, don’t let them think they’re doing it because you’re clapping for them.

Ascending Through the Clouds

Life, Learning, and How to Train Your Dragon

By Nicole Fegan illustrated by Hanna Rashidi The opening line of the first How to Train Your Dragon book is, “There were dragons when I was a boy.” There’s no warning—just the fact that there were dragons once, and then they were gone. As my official entrance to the HTTYD universe, this was an unpleasant jolt. What do you mean the dragons will be gone? I’ve only just gotten here, and I have to accept that it will all come crashing down before I even know what hit me? Certainly I had bigger things to worry about—SATs, a failing relationship, and my unending “bout” of clinical depression. But for a brief moment, I concerned myself solely with the fact that one day, the dragons would be gone and I would have to bid them goodbye.

I first discovered HTTYD in 2014, when I was 16.

While perusing 8tracks, the long-forgotten playlist website which had recently taken the internet (or at least Tumblr) by storm, I ended up listening to a playlist containing “This is Berk” by John Powell, the first song in the HTTYD score. Upon hearing it, I was spiritually enraptured; I have always had a soft spot for movie scores, but the musical mastery and Nordic bent of Powell’s song captured my attention in a way I wasn’t expecting. I watched the movie later that evening and witnessed for the first time what many people experienced as kids in 2010: The charming Viking village of Berk, our plucky young hero, Hiccup, and Toothless, the dragon with whom Hiccup forms a bond. I saw the second movie when it came out in theaters that summer, and Powell’s franchise scores soon replaced all other music as my chief homework soundtrack. How to Train Your Dragon entered my life

with a force, quickly becoming an irreplaceable fixture in my teenage life.

For the last two years of high school, everything revolved around the HTTYD movies and their music. In the hours I spent anxiously anticipating my acceptance to Brown, I needed a song expressive of the same boundless triumph I would feel upon being let in, so the glorious “Test Drive” rang in my ears all day. When I first fell in love, the overwhelming feeling reminded me of the multiple crescendos of “Romantic Flight,” which plays as Hiccup and his romantic interest, Astrid, soar through the clouds into the northern lights. But my most enduring memory of the HTTYD soundtrack involves its connection to a different movie. One night, watching the romantic dramedy Stuck in Love with my two best friends, I could sense everyone in the room making an uncomfortably close connection between me and one of its characters—a girl destroying herself and everyone around her with her tumultuous mental health. Powell’s song “Forbidden Friendship” spoke to me on repeat as I drove home. In the same way Hiccup and Toothless tiptoe around each other as the song plays, I began to feel as though I, too, were tiptoeing around my own issues.

There was no order to my high-school relationships; I was sad, and so were my friends, and we all festered in each other’s sorrow. But there was order to How to Train Your Dragon and the way the films and their soundtracks functioned in my life. Every day, there was the promise of waking up to “See You Tomorrow” as my alarm, listening to the full scores while writing essays at midnight, and watching the movies whenever I wanted to feel something both special and familiar. They laced age-old tales of friendship, love, and loss with sounds I had come to recognize as essential to my being.

To be clear, these movies didn’t solve my problems; I was still hardened and hollow and tired. Though the HTTYD movies made me feel something, it was

“That’s exactly what I meant about Alt-J being so different, because no one else could put Miley Cyrus next to French poetry and make it work.”

Aubrey McDonough, “the weirdest band of today’s alt scene” 2.18.16

“So, the movie isn’t really about jazz. I just wish someone would tell Damien Chazelle that.”

Zach Barnes, “La La Lame,” 2.23.17

6!post–

devastating that nothing else could. But soon I began to wonder: If I could fall in love with a kids movie, then could I perhaps fall in love with something I had lost all those years ago? I mean, my emotional attachment had never been about the film’s plot alone—after all, what could I, a depressed New York girl, see in the story of a medieval boy and his dragon? My obsession was more to do with the fact that I had something I could call my own—something that no one else in my life cared about, but that would remain mine through everything.

It followed me as I made my way out of my hometown, met new friends who had never seen the worst of me, and began new adventures.

Now, five years after HTTYD entered my life, the final movie comes out this weekend. I will have to face the dreadful reality that Hiccup promises in the film’s trailer: “There were dragons when I was a boy.”

Again, HTTYD was never really about the plot for me. But still—I’m not sure I’m emotionally prepared for it to end. Part of me thinks I shouldn’t make too big a deal of this; when I think clearly, I know my post-dragon life won’t look any different from what it looks like now. The music will remain in all of my playlists, and my friends will continue to lovingly roll their eyes every time I try to get them to watch the movies with me.

But despite this knowledge, when I walk into the movie theater on Friday evening, I will probably begin crying instantly. We all know, at the end of those two hours, the universe will be entirely different: Berk will lose all of its dragons, Hiccup will lose his best friend, and I will lose the one thing that has accompanied me in my pivotal transition from unhealthy to genuinely happy. But I suppose part of getting better is learning not to need the key changes of a movie score or the animation of an aurora borealis to actually feel like a human being. You see, there was a movie franchise about dragons when I was a girl, and I’m finally ready to watch the credits roll.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Anita Sheih a FEATURE Managing Editor Sydney Lo Section Editors Kathy Luo Sara Shapiro Staff Writers Sarah Lettes Caroline Ribet

NARRATIVE Managing Editor Celina Sun Section Editors Liza Edwards-Levin Jasmine Ngai Staff Writers Danielle Emerson Abbie Hui Naomi Kim Anneliese Mair Kahini Mehta

SOCIAL MEDIA Caleigh Aviv Camila Pavon

ARTS & CULTURE Managing Editor Julian Towers Section Editors Griffin Plaag Emily Teng Staff Writers Rob Capron Kaela Hines Pia Mileaf-Patel

Want to be involved?

Email: post@browndailyherald.com!

HEAD ILLUSTRATOR Rémy Poisson BUSINESS LIAISON Saanya Jain

CO-LAYOUT CHIEFS Jacob Lee Nina Yuchi COPY CHIEF Layout Designers Amanda Ngo Amy Choi Assistant Copy Editors Steve Ju Sonya Bui Nicole Fegan WEB MASTER Mohima Sattar Jeff Demanche

NEWS

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2019 • PAGE 9

THE BROWN DAILY HERALD

Mosenthal ’21 leads lacrosse to weekend win Sophomore attacker ties program record for most goals scored in single game

By ALEX SMOLAR

How important is it for the team to get such a big win to start the season?

It’s really important. It just sets the tone for our season and sets a really good momentum builder going forward.

SPORTS EDITOR

The women’s lacrosse team opened its season Saturday at home with a 16-9 victory against Quinnipiac University, led by the formidable offense of Risa Mosenthal ’21.

Mosenthal, an attacker from Campton, New Hampshire, scored eight goals in the matchup, tying a program record for the most goals scored in a single game.

Mosenthal finished her rookie season with 55 goals, the second-most of all time for an individual in a single season at Brown. She also completed her last campaign with 64 points, the third highest tally in a single year for the Bears. She was awarded second team All-Ivy honors for her efforts in 2018. For her impressive performance against Quinnipiac, Mosenthal has been named The Herald’s Athlete of the Week.

Herald: Congratulations on the great performance against Quinnipiac. How does it feel to tie the program record for the most goals in a game?

Mosenthal: It’s definitely really exciting. It’s just really exciting that we won — I’m more excited about that than tying the record.

» ACTIVISM, from page 1 Mack described coming to the University as a “culture shock” due to the overwhelming amount of sexual education she received here compared to her conservative southern upbringing.

In her sophomore year, Mack began teaching sex-ed to local high school students. “Nobody in my community was talking about (sexual education),” Mack said. “I didn’t realize that that was the voice I needed to understand the world of social justice. It’s about giving people the agency to talk about things that they need to grapple with in their everyday lives.”

Sharing the stories of those who do not have the power to do so themselves is vital to activism when done correctly, the panelists agreed. “A key part of organizing is giving people confidence in themselves to take that first step of action,” Booth said. “It’s not just the telling of the story, it’s the power you bring to it.”

Christie emphasized that a balance between storytelling and lobbying is key to her work with Planned Parenthood. She stressed that alongside storytelling, there is even more power in giving people the platform to share their own.

Activists also touched upon the issue of intersectionality and representation in their work, highlighting the importance of “minding the empty chair,” or acknowledging notable absences

When did you first start playing lacrosse, and when did you decide that you wanted to play in college?

I started in fifth grade. Probably my freshman year of high school, I decided (that I wanted to pursue lacrosse in college).

Why did you decide to come to Brown?

Two of my older sisters went here, so I learned a lot about the school through them. I really liked it besides the lacrosse aspect, from what they told me. So, I decided to look into (Brown) for the lacrosse, too.

Do you have any pre-game rituals?

I just kind of listen to some music.

I’m not a big rap fan, but before games I’ll listen to rap to get pumped.

As a freshman, you scored the second-most goals in program history with 55. How do you want to build on that performance this season?

This year, I definitely just want to play the best as possible and just do everything I can to contribute to our team’s success.

in conversations about community organization. Activists in positions of privilege must assure that they are always serving the needs of those they intend to serve, Booth said.

In spite of the faults of the current presidential administration, Booth said in an interview with The Herald, “sometimes an opponent of a better society can be one of the major sparks to creating a movement for justice. In some ways, Donald Trump has been one of the best sparks and organizers for that change.”

Nicole Gehret ’21 was particularly interested in learning more about ways to make social change more accessible, especially in Providence. “I’m really interested in how we reach out in a way that is equalized and individual,” Gehret said.

In an interview with The Herald, Booth offered advice to young activists, urging them to “follow your passion, find an area that you care about, look for organizations that are working on it that you feel are effective and have a theory of how they are going to win.

And if you don’t find an organization, you can go out and create one. Look for the connections between the issues, because we are stronger together,” Booth said.

Through these discussions, Chang hopes “to show that organizing works, and organizing is important, and organizers really like each other, and it’s a joy to be in this work.”

LI GOLDSTEIN / HERALD

COURTESY OF BROWN ATHLETICS

wwwBreaking records does not mean that much to me unless we’re doing well. So, I just hope that I can contribute to winning and getting our team to the playoffs.

What are the team’s goals for the year?

We want to make the Ivy tournament, so that’s kind of the overarching goal — just to be really successful in our games and prove to people that we can compete with top programs.

» HONORS, from page 1 Election to Phi Beta Kappa is based on academic achievement within a rigorous curriculum, according to the election procedures posted on the University’s website. Elected as juniors, the University’s newest members of Phi Beta Kappa must have completed a minimum of 20 courses over five semesters at the University and earned at least 18 grades of “A” or “S with distinction.” Two-fifths of the courses must be in the arts, humanities, social sciences or pure mathematics. No more than one-third of a class’s electees may be selected as juniors.

The Alpha of Rhode Island holds elections three times a year: in February to elect juniors, in April to elect seniors and in late May to elect seniors who transferred to the University as juniors, according to the election procedures.

Those elected are as following: Rebecca Bael Aman ’20, Herald opinions editor Emma B. Bouton ’20 Samuel Cai ’20 Chuyi Chen ’20 Miranda J. Christ ’2 Andrew Bernard Cogut ’20

Lucy Rachel Duda ’20 William Frederic Evans ’20 Summer Linn Gerry ’20 Ari Goldbloom-Helzner ’20 Miriam A. Gordin ’20 Abigail Leah Haber ’20 Anja Hendrikse Liu ’20, former Herald copy editor Richard Yuanqi Sui Huang ’20 Calvin Taehun Jin ’20 Shawn Rishi Kant ’20 Rachel Dara Landau ’20 Ian Caldwell Light ’20 Alejandra Mena ’20 Anna Hitomi Nakai ’20 Olivia Orr Nash ’20 Simran Gurunath Nayak ’20 Molly Catherine Naylor-Komyatte ’19 Jennifer Fay Osborne ’20 Camila Simone Pelsinger ’20 Nicholas Andrew Plotkin ’20 Caelan James Lang Ritter ’20 Sarah Beth Shapiro ’20 Charles Ethan Fenning Steinman ’20 Caitlin Emi Takeda ’20 Fengyi Wan ’20 Nina Mae Wolff Landau ’20 Jack L. Xiong ’20 Emily Louise Yang ’20

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

» END GAME, from page 1 from medicine, Mittelberger said, “I actually came to medicine (because) I liked working with people.” He cites his experience taking care of his grandfather after his time at Brown and before medical school as a defining moment that drove his decision to specialize in hospice and palliative care.

Mittelberger introduced Palliative Care Physician Steven Pantilat to Hirsch, which brought the UCSF’s Medical Center, into the film. “We thought there should be a movie about palliative care that really tells the story of the work that we do,” Pantilat said.

Even after getting clearance to film at UCSF, it took multiple years until the documentary was finalized and released.

The film opens at the UCSF Medical Center in the hospital room of Mitra, a 45-year-old cancer patient whose family is grappling with her rapidly progressing disease. Working with UCSF’s palliative care doctors, they consider what choices she would make about her own end-of-life care if she is able.

While end-of-life service accessibility has increased across the nation, “there are still a lot of misunderstandings about what palliative care is,” Pantilat said. The team at UCSF hoped the film would showcase the “interdisciplinary nature of our work — it’s not just doctors, there’s really a team of doctors and nurses and social workers and chaplains,” he said. They also hoped the film would portray the “breadth of palliative care,” and especially the notion that it is not just for people who are on the brink of death.

Instead, it can help patients at all stages

of a disease, Pantilat said.

The film features another hospice care facility in an effort to articulate the diversity of care available to people at various stages in the end-of-life experience. The videographers also visit the Zen Hospice Guest House, a buddhist-inspired care facility housed in a San Francisco Victorian. BJ Miller, a palliative care physician at UCSF, is shown visiting patients at the house.

In an interview included in the documentary, Miller explained his personal experience with suffering — he lost both of his legs below the knee and his left arm below the elbow after being electrocuted in an accident when he was 19 and a sophomore at Princeton.

“I did brush up against death myself,” Miller said in the film. “It was a spontaneous … immediate, crazy experience.”

The guest house closed in 2018 due to lack of funding, but the work of Zen Hospice remains strong in San Francisco through ongoing volunteer education efforts, Pantilat said.

“What I tell patients is: you have doctors who focus on the illness itself. … Our focus is more on the whole person and your quality of life.” Palliative care physicians address symptom management, lead discussions around hard decisions facing patients and their families and provide emotional and spiritual support. Palliative care is the effort to help you “live as well as possible for as long as possible,” Pantilat said. Hospice, which is what many traditionally think about when considering end-of-life care, is only one aspect of the end-of-life experience.

“Ever since I was at Brown, I’ve really been interested in … making healthcare focus on the needs of people rather than the needs of doctors and

hospitals,” Mittelberger said.

“End Game” premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in 2018 and has since been purchased by Netflix. It was directed by Robert Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman, who have worked on films together in the past. Neither are newcomers to the awards circuit — both won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature for “Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt” in 1990, and Epstein for “The Times of Harvey Milk,” in 1985.

Filmed in cinéma vérité style, the documentary has no voice-over and avoids interjections by the filmmakers. While some patients or families acknowledge the camera’s presence, the camera often simply inhabits their rooms, capturing honest conversations.

While interviews with palliative care professionals are dispersed throughout, it is the patients’ stories that make up the bulk of the film’s 40 minutes.

In that short time, viewers are made intimately aware of the challenges each character — patient or family member — faces while accepting, denying or preparing for death.

“We decided we wanted to show real people interacting in an environment that we thought demonstrated good care,” Mittelberger said. “My goal is to have people see beauty and have dignity … in all parts of life.”

The potential for beauty in death was a theme at the core of the film — in a closing scene, as mourners place flowers on the body of a loved one, Miller says “Grief ain’t easy, but it can be poignant and gorgeous.”

Mittelberger said he would be “cheering with some of (his) co-workers” when the short documentary winner is announced this Sunday, Feb. 24.

COMMENTARY PAGE 10 • FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2019

THE BROWN DAILY HERALD

EDITORIAL

University should invest in English, Literary Arts The Herald reported last week about the difficulties students face enrolling in English and Literary Arts courses, given high demand and the small size of workshop-based classes.

This phenomena is not new; double or even triple the number of students who can enroll in workshop classes have consistently shopped them during the first few days of the semester. While the University claims to be providing support to these departments, our institution should do more. The University must provide larger budgets and more faculty members to English and Literary Arts, reflecting in its resource allocation that writing workshop courses are valuable to the Brown curriculum.

With such a high demand for English and Literary Arts workshop courses, the University should offer more classes in these departments. Already, the courses are larger than recommended by the National Council of Teachers of English, which puts the ideal class size at 15. At the University, most English workshops and all introductory and intermediate Literary Arts workshops permit up to 17 students, if not more. It is tempting to respond to enrollment frustration by increasing class size, but doing so would put significant strain on the ability of professors and students to provide quality feedback on each student’s writing.

While four professors cited budgetary constraints as impediments to adding more courses, Senior Associate Dean of the Faculty Janet Blume told The Herald that the departmental budgets are “not insignificant.”

With disputed accounts and vague statements, the Brown community cannot know how much money these departments have — making

it impossible to determine the root of the problem and advocate accordingly. In this vein, the University should strive toward transparency and publish more specific budgeting information — such as each department’s funding — so that students and community members can work alongside University administration and faculty to find a solution.

A part of this solution must come through increasing the number of full-time faculty members in the English and Literary Arts Departments to match the high volume of students interested in the subjects.

The English and Literary Arts concentrations are among the larger at Brown. In the graduating class of 2018, English was one of the top 10 most popular concentrations, and Literary Arts was 16th most common out of 81 concentrations. But their popularity among undergraduates is not reflected in faculty size.

While 35 seniors graduated with a degree in Literary Arts last spring — in comparison to 19 in Mathematics — Literary Arts has only 17 faculty members while Mathematics boasts 28.

The University must also follow through on its commitment to give more of those in “visiting faculty ranks” full time jobs. Of the 17 faculty members in Literary Arts, only 12 are full-time. Visiting faculty are paid less and often have to balance their responsibilities with trying to find a tenure-track job. Further, with less of a reliable future at the University, they may be less connected to campus resources and unable to serve as long-term mentors. The University needs to make more of a concerted effort to hire full-time faculty to allow the departments to gain the stability necessary for sustained growth.

Ultimately, writing is part of Brown’s curriculum and its liberal learning goals, and the University should continue to support the growth of classes that promote writing as part of its core mission. Four of the 11 Liberal Learning Goals, which students are required to review prior to declaring concentrations, directly relate to English and Literary Arts workshop classes. These goals compel students to “work on your speaking and writing,” “expand your reading skills,” “enhance your aesthetic sensibility” and “collaborate fully.” Small workshop classes allow students the opportunity to work on their writing through multiple rounds of edits, discuss frequently with peers and the professors and explore their own creativity. The University’s commitment to writing should be shown through an increased focus on supporting these courses and departments.

While the University has taken steps to support the Literary Arts and English Departments, the University’s leaders need to have a more concrete plan to meet workshop course demand. Without such a plan to increase funding and faculty, the University risks preventing its students from fully experiencing the open curriculum and the unique nature of workshop classes at Brown.

browndailyherald.com

@the_herald

@browndailyherald

youtube.com/browndailyherald

Sections

Multimedia & Production

Business

Editor-in-Chief Emily Davies

Arts & Culture Editors Elise Ryan Annabelle Woodward

Design Editors Kyle Cui Bilal Ismail Ahmed Dylan Tian Julie Wang

General Managers Ravi Betzig Nicholas Masiakowski

Senior Editors Anita Sheih Sarah Wang

Metro Editors Colleen Cronin Sophie Culpepper Celia Hack

Editorial Page Editors Grace Layer Krista Stapleford

News Editors Katherine Bennett Jacob Lockwood Melanie Pincus Allie Reed

post- magazine Editor-in-Chief Anita Sheih

Science & Research Editors Cate Ryan Chris Schutte Sports Editors Alexandra Russell Alex Smolar COMMENTARY Opinions Editors Rebecca Aman Emily Miller Derek Simshauser

Head Photo Editors Tiffany Ding Benjamin Turuño Copy Desk Chief Kelley Tackett Illustrations Editor Daphne Zhao Video Editor Victoria Caruso Max Dekle Graphics Editor Sarah Martinez

SINCE 1891

NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY

Photo Graphics Web Video Opinion Sales thebdh.org/join browndailyherald.com/join

Location: 195 Angell St., Providence, R.I. www.browndailyherald.com

Editorial Leadership

Managing Editors Anna Kramer Priyanka Podugu

The Brown Daily Herald

Editorials are written by The Herald’s editorial page board: its editors, Grace Layer ’20 and Krista Stapleford ’21, and its members, Elisheva Goldberg ’22, Eduard Muñoz-Suñé ’20 and Riley Pestorius ’21.

Send comments to editorials@ browndailyherald.com.

Find us online! facebook.com/browndailyherald

JOIN

Office Manager Diane Silvia Directors Sales: Bersabel Yifru Finance: Rudra Srivastava, Reynaldo Blandon Strategy: Edwin Farley

Editorial contact: 401-351-3372 herald@browndailyherald.com

Advertising contact: 401-351-3372 advertising@browndailyherald.com

Submissions: The Brown Daily Herald publishes submissions in the form of op-eds and letters to the editor. Op-eds are typically between 750 and 1000 words, though we will consider submissions between 500 and 1200 words.

Letters to the editor should be around 250 words. While letters to the editor respond to an article or column that has appeared in The Herald, op-eds usually prompt new discussions on campus or frame new arguments about current discourse.

All submissions to The Herald cannot have been previously published elsewhere (in print or online — including personal blogs and social media), and they must be exclusive to The Herald.

Submissions must include no more than two individual authors. If there are more than two original authors, The Herald can acknowledge the authors in a statement at the end of the letter or op-ed, but the byline can only include up to two names. The Herald will not publish submissions authored by groups. The Herald does not publish anonymous submissions. If you feel your circumstances prevent you from submitting an op-ed or letter with your name, please email herald@browndailyherald.com to explain your situation.

You can submit op-eds to opinions@browndailyherald.com and letters to letters@browndailyherald.com. When you email your submission, please include (1) your full name, (2) an evening or mobile phone number in case your submission is chosen for publication and (3) any affiliation with Brown University or any institution or organization relevant to the content of your submission.

Please send in submissions at least 24 hours in advance of your desired publication date. The Herald only publishes submissions while it is in print. The Herald reserves the right to edit all submissions. If your piece is considered for publication, an editor will contact you to discuss potential changes to your submission.

Commentary: The editorial is the majority opinion of the editorial page board of The Brown Daily Herald. The editorial viewpoint does not necessarily reflect the views of The Brown Daily Herald, Inc. Columns, letters and comics reflect the opinions of their authors only.

Corrections: The Brown Daily Herald is committed to providing the Brown University community with the most accurate information possible. Corrections may be submitted up to seven calendar days after publication.

Advertising: The Brown Daily Herald, Inc. reserves the right to accept or decline any advertisement at its discretion.

The Brown Daily Herald, Inc. is a financially independent, nonprofit media organization bringing you The Brown Daily Herald, BlogDailyHerald and Post- Magazine. The Brown Daily Herald has served the Brown University community daily since 1891. It is published Monday through Friday during the academic year, excluding vacations, once during Commencement and once during Orientation by The Brown Daily Herald, Inc. Single copy free for each member of the community. Subscription prices: $200 one year daily, $100 one semester daily.

Copyright 2019 by The Brown Daily Herald, Inc. All rights reserved.

Periodicals postage paid at Providence, R.I. Postmaster: Please send corrections to P.O. Box 2538, Providence, RI 02906.

COMMENTARY FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2019 • PAGE 11

THE BROWN DAILY HERALD

Who is the ‘we’ in WE@Brown?

JORDAN ALLUMS STAFF COLUMNIST From Feb. 7 until Feb. 9, I had the pleasure of representing Brown at the 24th Annual Black Solidarity Conference sponsored by Yale. Hundreds of black undergraduate students gathered to attend workshops, network and foster connections with one another. During a moment of free time, I was scrolling through Facebook when I came across an advertisement for “WE@Brown,” a women’s empowerment conference to be held in Salomon Hall March 9. I was momentarily intrigued by another opportunity to be a part of a large group of undergraduates to celebrate our common identity.

However, as I learned more details about the conference, my burst of enthusiasm was replaced by growing wariness. The headlining speakers for the conference include three women who are each prominent business and entrepreneurial figures.

Keynote speaker Lisa Caputo ’86 is the current executive vice president of marketing, communications and customer experience for Travelers.

The opening remarks will be delivered by Haley Hoffman Smith ’18, author of “Her Big Idea.” The closing remarks will be delivered by Stephanie Kaplan Lewis, a graduate from

Harvard and co-founder and CEO of Her Campus Media. As I stared at the photos of these speakers, I found it ironic that, while at a conference where I felt included and validated, I was reading about an event where all the leading speakers will be white.

At a historically white institution like Brown, the implicit racial bias that is apparent to me in the selection of speakers for WE@Brown did not surprise me. I was more so disappointed to see yet another example of the centralization of white woman-

individuals organizing WE@Brown would do well to mimic this act of self-awareness.

There is an argument to be made that if women of color are excluded from the mainstream feminist movement, then it is best we create a movement of our own. Such is the origin of Womanism, a term that author Alice Walker first used in her book “In Search of Our Mothers’ Garden: Womanist Prose.” Walker describes Womanism as “another shade” of feminism, one that highlights the ex-

ment. If we do not insist on dismantling majority white spaces, those leading them will never be forced to reevaluate their narrow perception of successful women who deserve to be included in the mainstream. White women who are already included will continue to operate under the false impression that either the issue of race is solved by means of affinity spaces or that representation is not a pressing issue.

I know that we as women of color are all exhausted with spending

As for the coordinators of WE@Brown, I implore you to reflect on your planning process for the conference and confront the reasons why the leading guest speakers do not include ethnic minorities. hood in today’s feminist movement.

This past January, the organizers of a women’s march in Eureka, California canceled their Jan. 19 event due to concerns that the participants would be mostly white women, thus lacking crucial perspectives from female minority groups. The group did acknowledge on their Facebook page that the event had been planned in a way that focused on the perspectives of the majority white leadership, and so the group postponed their event so that minorities would have the opportunity to co-direct the march. The planned event has been rescheduled to March 2019. Going forward, the

periences of black women and women of color in general. Womanism arose from the dearth of minority representation in the feminist movements of the 19th and 20th centuries, when the middle-class white women who led the movements often neglected the nuanced forms of oppression that ethnic women suffered.

I am in full support of affinity spaces for ethnic minorities. Additionally, however, I argue that we cannot rely solely on these spaces to further diversity and inclusion efforts at Brown and elsewhere. Women of color must assert their rightful space in the mainstream feminist move-

our mental and emotional energy on making our white counterparts aware of racial bias. Therefore, I recommend that, only if we feel able, women of color should attend WE@ Brown in large numbers. Attend the workshops and ask the industry leaders how well integrated women of color are in the workplace environments of their respective companies, not just numerically, but professionally and socially. Overall, I imagine that the optics of a crowd of women of color will force the coordinators to confront the diversity of women to whom they are accountable if their mission indeed is to empower wom-

en at large.

I do not mean to insult those speaking on the WE@Brown panel; they are impressive women who have every right to be there. I am mainly arguing that the event should expand to include women of color as leading speakers.

Therefore, for the coordinators of WE@Brown, I implore you to reflect on your planning process for the conference and confront the reasons why the leading guest speakers do not include ethnic minorities.

Attending this event as a woman of color would not have to be so mentally and emotionally draining if the event appeared to be conscientious of women of all backgrounds. When you are planning WE@Brown for next year, do make a concerted effort to include more women of color as speakers and workshop facilitators in order for your conference to be more intersectional. Ultimately, you are responsible for redefining who exactly the “we” is in WE@Brown.

Jordan Allums ’21 can be reached at jordan_allums@ brown.edu. Please send responses to this opinion to letters@browndailyherald.com and other op-eds to opinions@ browndailyherald.com.

The players make baseball JAMES SCHAPIRO SPORTS COLUMNIST So Manny Machado got a job. Great.

I really mean that — it’s a fantastic thing for baseball that Machado signed a ten-year, $300 million contract with the San Diego Padres.

Along with Alex Bregman and Nolan Arenado, Machado is one of the top third basemen in the game. He has 175 home runs at the age of 26.

His defense is almost supernatural.

He has already been worth almost 34 Wins Above Replacement in six and a half seasons. And entering his prime, he just had the best offensive season of his career. Maybe he’s just getting started.

Yes, it’s a good thing for baseball that Machado is highly valued. It’s just a shame that we’re still waiting to say the same thing about Bryce Harper … and Craig Kimbrel … and Dallas Keúchel … and all the other major league free agents who are still unsigned. These are players who could make a dozen teams better in an instant, but owners are unwilling to pay for them.

Forget Bryce Harper for a moment. Let’s examine the problem as a whole. As Jeff Passan of ESPN reported last week, “A liberal accounting of the so-called XX(B) free agents — ones who have six-plus years of service — counts about 50. Of those 50, about half are clearly major-league-

caliber players.” In other words, as of Feb. 15, 25 players good enough for major-league contracts do not have them.

Meanwhile, at Forbes, Maury Brown examined the comparative growth of baseball revenue and player salaries. His findings were simple: “The growth of league revenues increased at a faster pace than compensation back to the players grew.” MLB revenues have grown from about $6 billion in 2010 to $9 billion in 2017, but the percentage of revenue spent on player salary has shrunk from 51.1 percent to 50.1 percent. It might seem

one of the best closers in baseball history. And baseball’s Collective Bargaining Agreement expires in two years. All together, a work stoppage seems more and more likely. The question is, which side has a problem? One side – either the players or the owners — needs to be content with a smaller share of MLB’s revenue. So which side is it?

Looking at specifics, it doesn’t seem like a particularly difficult question. Where should the money fans spend on baseball go? To the players! Baseball is baseball because of the players. Your favorite team’s owner

vast majority of MLB revenue will go to either major league players or owners. So before complaining that $30 million a year is a ridiculous salary for someone who plays a game for a living, fans should ask themselves: If Manny Machado making $30 million a year is too much, would they rather that money go to the Padres owners? Ron Fowler and Peter Seidler, according to Forbes, bought the team in 2012 for $600 million. The Padres are now valued at $1.27 billion. Just by holding ownership stakes in the organization, never mind actually doing anything, the Padres owners have

So when you call a player too greedy for demanding multiple years or more dollars, you’re siding with the owners, because they pocket the money if the players don’t. like a small decline, but in 2017, that one percent gap represented $90 million. And based on the data available for 2018, which shows a steep decrease from previous years, that 50.1 percent is likely to decline further.

Owners are spending a declining share of baseball revenue on player salaries and quality free agents are having more and more trouble finding jobs. Twenty-five major league caliber players remain unsigned, including a 25-year-old outfielder with an MVP award on his shelf and a pitcher on track to end his career as

could bring in a new owner tomorrow, and nothing would change. Or your team’s owner could swap out the entire roster for new players, and you might be angry enough to give up baseball forever.

The essential fact that fans need to grasp when confronting this question is that by and large, the choice between the players and the owners is binary. Sure, there’s some wiggle room — minor league players most certainly deserve a substantial pay raise, as do concessions workers, groundskeepers, ushers, etc. — but regardless, the

seen their combined net worth increase by more than $600 million.

Pick any team in baseball, and the results are the same. John Henry’s ownership group bought the Boston Red Sox in 2002 for $380 million — the team is now worth almost $3 billion. The Tampa Bay Rays, the least valuable team in baseball, generated $700 million in wealth for owner Stuart Sternberg after he bought the team in 2004. So when you call a player too greedy for demanding multiple years or more dollars, you’re siding with the owners, because they pocket the

money if the players don’t.

Owning a baseball team comes with a certain amount of civic duty.

Baseball is more than just a business — it’s almost like a public good, so owners have a responsibility to ensure that they put the best players on the field. Machado has been paid.

Now pay Harper. And Kimbrel. And Keuchel. And all the other free agents who play good baseball but can’t find a team who will pay them.

Or don’t pay them. Keep bringing the players’ share of revenue down and make the players strike. But don’t expect fans to come to the ballpark to watch replacement players. The players make the game, and losing their support will damage owners’ revenue in ways that paying the players never could. It will be interesting to see what happens to the Padres’ revenue during a work stoppage, when instead of Manny Macahdo, Wil Myers and Eric Hosmer, the Padres’ biggest star is no-name replacement player Average Joe.

James Schapiro ’19 can be reached at james_schapiro@ brown.edu. Please send responses to this opinion to letters@browndailyherald.com and op-eds to opinions@browndailyherald.com.

NEWS THE BROWN DAILY HERALD

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2019

University updates website for students in distress Site made more accessible for students, new ‘BEAR’ model replaces ‘Question, Persuade, Refer’

By OLIVIA BURDETTE STAFF WRITER

A revised version of the University’s “Helping a Student in Distress” website launched earlier this month, which aims to be more accessible for students experiencing mental health issues and peers hoping to help them, according to an announcement from the Office of the Vice President for Campus Life.

Counseling and Psychological Services and Student Support Services assisted the Office of the Vice President for Campus Life in updating the site, which provides information for faculty, staff and students to help peers whom they believe may be in stress, distress or crisis.

“The old site was more directly targeted toward nonstudents seeking to help a student,” said Timothy Shiner, senior associate dean of students and director of Student Support Services.

“So expanding it to also have information that is written more to the student lens was part of the goal.”

Students may find it difficult to differentiate between stress, distress and

crisis, and the updated site describes how students may go about addressing each level of concern with their peers, Shiner said.

“We don’t necessarily want staff, faculty (and) students thinking that if somebody cries they automatically have to go to CAPS, because everyone cries. But more sort of having a dialogue with them and understand(ing) if it’s momentary stress or something that’s been building and impacting their functioning or if it’s something that’s a safety issue where you need more support,” said CAPS Psychologist Erin Lane-Aaronian.

The new website incorporates a new model for helping students in distress, called the BEAR Project, which stands for Be Present, Engage, Ask and Refer.

Brown had been using a national model called QPR, or “Question, Persuade, Refer,” but Lane-Aaronian and CAPS Licensed Independent Clinical Social Worker Jorge Vargas developed the BEAR model to better fit the needs of the Brown community.

The “BEAR project is the evolution of our suicide prevention training that we were doing on campus with QPR,” Vargas said. “So the way that we envisioned it was that instead of just focusing on suicide, we wanted to be supportive of people in lots of different stressful situations.”

COURTESY OF BROWN UNIVERSITY

Visual designers worked to make the website more engaging for students, as well as to help students differentiate between stress, distress and crisis.

Dorothy Jiang ’19, an independent concentrator in Intersectional Mental Health and a member of Project LETS, studied QPR as part of her senior capstone project.“I personally have found that QPR can be a little bit reductionistic in terms of addressing identity and culture, not only from a race, ethnicity and personal identity perspective, but

also from a campus culture perspective,” Jiang said.

The Office of the Vice President for Campus Life also hired a visual design team from University Communications to create new, more colorful graphics to better serve the student audience.

“We know that students right now just scroll through things, and if they

see a big paragraph they’re not really going to engage with it, so we’re definitely catering to students by making it clear and concise,” said Assistant Director for Campus Life Initiatives Isabella Dueñas. “Especially because it’s a crisis resource, it needs to be clear, and it needs to be simple.”

CORRECTION Due to an editing error, a previous version of a Feb. 21 article was titled “University Council of Students approves changes to Elections Code.” In fact, the Undergraduate Council of Students approved the changes. The article is now titled “Undergraduate Council of Students approves changes to Elections Code.” The Herald regrets the error.

WINTER IN PROVIDENCE

BENJI TORUÑO / HERALD