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DESIGN: GIAO VU DINH / THE DAILY PRINCETONIAN

To learn from Black voices and teach comprehensively, the Western HUM Sequence needs to radically change

Mollika Jai Singh

Associate Opinion Editor

In my experience of the Western Humanities Sequence (WHUM) so far, I have been thrilled by ancient Greek plays and poetry, begun to explore deeply my relatively new interest in philosophy, and analyzed closely how the politics of ancient Rome and medieval Italy reflect great truths about human nature. Expressions of this type of intellectual growth are what one typically hears from a WHUM student and are a main goal of the sequence, a team-taught set of double-credit courses that spans two semesters, 2500 years of the Western world, and at least five disciplines: history, religion, philosophy, literature, and the arts. What you don’t typically hear from students, however, are the moments of discomfort. But this has also been a part of my experience in WHUM. I felt unimportant when Sappho’s sexuality was not discussed in our lecture or my precept. I felt disappointed when Mahatma Gandhi was not on the spring syllabus this year, as he was last year (it’s one of the reasons I signed up for the course.) I also felt targeted when a student asked me personally about how Gandhi might fit into the Western canon. I was deeply disturbed when the Decameron detailed sexual violence against women, and it almost wasn’t discussed. I know I am not alone. When three of the four Black students in this year’s class dropped the sequence before the spring semester, and I increasingly felt the tokenization of the three Black writers we are reading in the spring, I decided someone needed to investigate the experiences of marginalized students in this class, beginning with Black voices. In order to understand the situation better, I talked to current and former WHUM students and faculty as well as facilitators from a fall 2020 optional discussion series. These conversations reveal that while WHUM has evolved to reflect the times it inhabits, there is much more left to do. Students of color often dropping the course after fall semester, lack of diversity in faculty, and anecdotal mishaps all point to this reality. In order to serve all students with a compre-

ELIZABETH MEDINA / THE DAILY PRINCETONIAN

hensive education of Western culture, especially in a way that makes Black students feel welcome, WHUM needs to radically improve. At first glance, the problem with WHUM appeared to me to be its syllabus, a monster of dozens of writers and texts, with just a handful of women writers and writers of color. But the culture and pedagogy of the course have much to do with the student experience as well, beginning with the concept of the course itself. The official title of the sequence is “Interdisciplinary Approaches to Western Culture.” But students find that that may be a bit of a misnomer, given the particular focus on European writers with a handful of Americans sprinkled in. “I think that's because the invisible word that's in front of ‘the Western sequence’ is ‘the White Western HUM sequence,’” KiKi Gilbert ’21, a former WHUM student, said.

Read the full article at linktr.ee/princetonian.

The reality of imposter syndrome in the COVID-19 era

Maisie McPherson

Columnist

Iremember the first time I heard the phrase “imposter syndrome.” It was at one of the orientation events at the beginning of my freshman year, but as a newcomer to Princeton, everything else around me was so exciting that that new term flew over my head.

I remember the first time I felt like an imposter. It was in MAT 100, and I had just failed the first quiz. Everyone told me to take this class because it was “Foundations of Calculus,” but I still struggled with it. McGraw did not even offer tutors specific to MAT 100 because it’s assumed that the material is digestible. I walked to my dorm from Fine Hall with tears streaming down my face, believing that this singular math quiz would determine the rest of my academic journey.

This was the first time I truly felt like I had no reason to be at a school like Princeton — if everyone said this was supposed to be the “basic” and “easiest” math class at the University, then why did I have any business studying here?

At a school like Princeton, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the accomplishments of our peers. It’s such a privilege to be surrounded by some of the smartest, most hardworking people in the country, but that privilege comes with a price.

Imposter syndrome, defined as a “psychological pattern that causes people to doubt their successes, perceive themselves as terrible at things they’re great at, and experience unsettling fears of being exposed as an impostor,” is a little voice that nags each and every one of us. It’s not necessarily about performance in classes; it can also pertain to how productive you are in a day, how much work you can finish in a short amount of time, or even how little you sleep a night.

I had not felt like an imposter at Princeton since that moment, until the COVID-19 pandemic came.

After three semesters of online learning, I feel more burnt out than I ever have before, like I do not belong at Princeton. Burnout among college students has been extremely prevalent during the pandemic, as some of the most important parts of college have been absent from collegiate life. Feeling like every day is the same, with only a two day “spring recess,” has taken a toll on every student and has made more of them doubt if they’re meant to be Princeton students. Even though I’m living in the same zip code as the University, I feel more disconnected from it than ever.

I hope that, moving forward, the University realizes the toll the pandemic has taken on students and offers more mental health resources. I hope that imposter syndrome is recognized as one of the biggest problems students are currently facing and that a greater effort is made to combat it. The recent suicide of first-year Yale student Rachael Shaw-Rosenbaum is a tragedy; the University should realize that putting students’ mental health first is not something they can just “check off the box” for — it is a necessity.

At a time when students, including myself, find themselves questioning their validity, highachieving universities should emphasize the importance of rest instead of adding to students’ stress.

To the great Class of 2025, the class with the lowest acceptance rate in history, know that you are here because you belong here. You made it here during times when everyone has been questioning themselves. I’m sure at some point you’ll feel how I did in my MAT 100 class or how I’ve felt at times during the COVID-19 pandemic, but remember that you were accepted during the most selective year for a reason. We cannot wait to have you here.

We should expect, not glorify, Princeton’s financial aid

Andi Grene

Columnist

When my parents came to visit me over spring break, my father told me just how lucky I am to be attending Princeton. Not only am I lucky to call myself a student at an Ivy League, he said, but I am lucky to be going here for a price more manageable than almost any other university would have offered me nationally.

There is an implicit sense of indebtedness that is associated with a generous financial aid package. Right before I saw my parents, I had a conversation with a friend who is also on financial aid, and who felt particularly beholden to the University for its generosity. However, the reality is that Princeton is not particularly generous for allowing its students to graduate without inevitable mounds of student loans; rather, our school has met the expectations naturally assigned to an institution of its financial power and capability.

When gearing up to receive decisions in the winter of my senior year, I was under the impression that I should be endlessly appreciative of an aid package that did not send my parents and me into colossal debt. The average student debt accumulated after college is over $28,000, which neglects to take into account the interest that will inevitably accrue. When a middleclass American student accepts admission to a private university, they are essentially bound to that institution not only for the four years they will attend but for the years — sometimes even decades — that it will take for them to pay off their debt.

There were few things that impressed me about Princeton as much as the fact that so much of the student body graduates debtfree — 83 percent, to be exact. As long as my financial aid remains consistent, I will graduate without leaving my parents or myself any debt at all. My family often uses the word “incredible” to describe the money I am receiving. At an institution with an endowment of over $26 billion, it should not be a surprising act of flattery to receive a sufficient financial aid package.

My father would identify this attitude as one of ingratitude. He juxtaposes my financial aid package at Princeton to what I would have received from Brown, which I spent significant time fawning over when initially solidifying my college list. To prove Princeton’s extraordinary charity, my father reminds me that Brown’s package would be at most half, if not less, than what I receive from Princeton. I argue that it is not benevolence that drives Princeton’s suitable aid, but rather a recognition of the obvious. In a world where most universities choose to look away from the clear financial need of their applicants, Princeton chooses to keep its eyes open.

Financial aid is not about luck, as both my friend and my father claim — it is about necessity. Princeton has deemed my family, as well as many others (61 percent), in need of the aid it granted us. I am grateful that I have received the aid I have, but I refuse to remain as shocked by it as I was when I opened my acceptance letter. We operate within standards that have been exponentially lowered to meet the penny-pinching of most American colleges, but when one has chosen to attend a university with an endowment larger than the GDP of 48 percent of countries in the world, it is essential that we hold our school accountable to its resources and recognize that they have met, rather than surpassed, our standard for generosity.

I am incredibly thankful for the opportunities that Princeton offers its student body. Princeton opens doors for students that are constantly surprising and amazing. As I enter my third month on campus, these doors seem to grow wider and more numerous, complete with summer stipends worth thousands of dollars and countless compensated employment opportunities. The indefinite capabilities of Princeton to serve its student body only reaffirm that while we should be celebrating its commitments to making a superb higher education possible for so many, we must recognize that this is a commitment that Princeton is obligated to fulfill.

I can say without a doubt that luck played a tremendous role in my admission to Princeton — there are thousands of qualified candidates who did not receive a spot at our University, but for some serendipitous reason, I was awarded a seat. I am, and will always be, hugely grateful to Princeton for letting me attend, and I believe that every Princetonian should feel equally so for the curious alignment of stars that landed us a spot at the nation’s top institution.

Our admission to Princeton and our financial aid packages are two completely separate entities. Although we can, and should, feel honored to have been deemed deserving of a Princeton acceptance, only a gentle satisfaction is warranted in regards to aid. Princeton has the power to pave the path for a new metric of financial aid; we must normalize the notion that it is possible to end one’s obligation to higher education after the four years one has formally agreed upon. No one should be bound to mounds of debt for decades. Princeton’s recognition of that fact is not exceptional; it is expected.

Andi Grene is a sophomore from Manhattan. She can be reached at agrene@princeton.edu.

MARCH 2020

‘Everything I have is here’: International students and the COVID-19 crisis

EDWARD TIAN / THE DAILY PRINCETONIAN

Ashira Shirali ’22, Ananya Vinayak ’22, Bharat Govil ’22, and Manya Kapoor ’22 (from left to right) packing.

By Edward Tian

Staff News Writer

Hours before President Donald Trump announced a travel ban affecting 26 European countries on Wednesday, the Indian Group of Ministers announced their own travel ban, extending to overseas citizens of the country — individuals who are ethnically Indian but citizens of foreign countries.

Manya Kapoor ’22 and Ananya Vinayak ’22 were plunged into a state of panic. They needed to find a way to return to their home country, and fast.

Kapoor didn’t sleep. She didn’t study for her chemistry exams. She scrambled instead to find a flight to India — any flight to India — before the travel ban’s enactment at 12:00 p.m. GMT on March 13.

On Wednesday night, Nassau Hall made an announcement of its own: “All students who are able to must return home and stay home for the rest of the semester.”

For most domestic students, the University’s directive meant navigating the pain of a semester cut short. For many international students, the pain was different. Forced to monitor the evolving crises both in the United States and abroad, they continue to grapple with unanswered questions, most pressingly whether they can and should stay on campus.

“In some ways, they heard our voices,” Bharat Govil ’22 said of the directive. “They didn’t kick everybody out.”

Following a petition against forced departure from campus that garnered over 3,500 signatories, the University granted leniency to students from countries with CDC level 2 or 3 warnings, allowing them to petition to stay on campus for the remainder of the term. A major rise in CDC levels on Thursday morning greatly increased the number of affected students; as of March 12, every European country had been elevated to CDC level 3, the highest warning level for the coronavirus infection.

Ben Clarke ’20 is one student affected by the University’s warning level policy. Clarke is from Northern Ireland — where 20 cases of coronavirus have given the country a CDC level 3 warning — and thus eligible to remain on campus.

Clarke characterizes the effect of the University’s announcement as “more permanent” for international students than it is for domestic ones.

Domestic students may be leaving campus, he said, “but after graduation, they’ll work and live in the same cities. I’ll be in the U.K. I haven’t cried yet. Many of my American friends have already cried.”

He spent Thursday afternoon with his club soccer team, Wawa United, a group that he’d spent the last two years building “from the ground up.” In an emotionally charged moment, Clarke huddled around his American teammates and shared parting words to his team members.

A concern even more pressing for some international students than the travel logistics of returning home is whether they feasibly can. A variety of regional concerns, like local internet connection and health care infrastructure, on top of the financial burden of international flights, complicate their decisions.

“There’s no way I’m returning back to Brazil,” said Elie Svoll ’22, who lacks health insurance in his home country. “All of my friends — and everything I have — is here.”

Simeel Angdembe ’23 decided not to return home to Nepal because of the economic burden. “I cannot afford to fly back,” says Angdembe. At the moment, the University is offering sponsorships of $150 for travel costs. Put simply by Angdembe: “That is not enough.”

Brian Gitahi ’23, from Kenya, also pointed out the disruptions to academic work for many international students.

“Returning home costs money, then there are internet problems, and we have to take classes at 3 a.m.,” he said.

Direct flights to many international countries are also becoming harder to find, particularly in Asia, the epicenter of the coronavirus.

Eager to return home to Singapore, Rachel Qing ’23 found that all direct flights to the country before next Friday were fully booked. “I finally booked a flight to Singapore for a week from today,” she said.

Despite 12 new cases of coronavirus announced by Singapore on Wednesday, Qing is insistent on returning home. “Singapore is like China,” Qing said, “where we think the crisis has already peaked out and things are getting better.”

This differs from the U.S. federal government’s reaction to managing this pandemic, which has been characterized as slow and unprepared. In New York state, cases have quadrupled last week, causing officials to plead for more test kits from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

“I [would] definitely feel safer if I caught this in Korea,” Jean Cho ’20 said, noting that health care is more accessible in her home country of South Korea with diagnostic tools and coronavirus testing available at local clinics.

Despite this, Cho plans to remain on campus because of visa concerns and her senior thesis on the effects of social isolation on bumblebees, which requires lab work on campus.

Applications in particular for Optional Practical Training (OPT) visas, necessary for working in the United States, have been a major concern for seniors, as approval requires remaining in the country.

Cho, who is applying for a work visa for prospective employment in New York, said “We don’t know if we’ll be able to enter the country again. It’s difficult for us to just leave.”

“As international students, we will need to support each other and work to lift each other’s spirits,” said Sultan Al Habsi ’22, an international orientation leader from Oman. Al Habsi, who is remaining on campus, acknowledged ongoing uncertainties regarding food availability and isolation on campus.

Cho is also a former international orientation leader. On the verge of tears, she shared that many of her “frosh,” struggling with the logistics and burdens of returning home and hoping to remain on campus, have reached out to her over the past week.

“It’ll be our chance to help the freshmen one last time,” she said.

DECEMBER 2020

Princeton says it avoided COVID-19 furloughs and layoffs. For some contract workers, that isn’t the case.

By Ellen Li and Miguel GraciaZhang

Associate Features Editor and Staff News Writer

Editor’s Note: Princeton Mutual Aid helped to arrange interviews for this piece, some of which were conducted in Spanish, and provided volunteer translators.

The Daily Princetonian granted interviewed workers anonymity for fear of retaliation. The piece refers to those interviewees with capital letters.

This article has been updated to clarify that DACA recipients are eligible for unemployment and to remove mention of DAPA. This piece has also been modified to more thoroughly protect sources’ anonymity and security. from my supervisor saying that they closed down due to the pandemic,” A. said, “and that they couldn’t do anything to help us.”

Unlike other Campus Dining workers, A. was not directly employed by the University. Their paychecks came from Restaurant Associates, the contracted catering company that runs services in Prospect House, Palmer House, EQuad Café, Genomics Café, and Café 701.

Restaurant Associates has worked with the University for over 20 years. In 1998, the company was acquired by Compass Group P.L.C., the largest contract food service company in the world.

Desperate to know their work status, A. repeatedly called and emailed their supervisors. After learning they were on furlough, they still did not know when or if they would be called back.

B., another Restaurant Associates employee who worked at the University, said that several coworkers attempted to follow up with supervisors to learn when they might be able to return to work. Their co-worker, C., tried calling, texting, and emailing managers. No one replied. In the end, C. went to their workplace in person to ask around.

“[C.] had to find out if they had to look for another job,” B. said. “We have bills to pay in this country, and no one wants a boss who only lets them know important changes when he feels like it.”

According to another furloughed worker, D., after an initial email informing them of the furlough, “the manager there never called us or sent an email. We spent a long time without hearing from them: about 5–6 months.”

At first, workers were told that they would return to work in two weeks, then a month, then in the fall.

On Aug. 7, around one month before contract workers expected to resume work on campus, the University announced that most undergraduates would remain remote for the fall. As a result, A., B., C., and D. have now spent nine months on indefinite furlough.

“I was hoping that we could get supported by Princeton, since we had worked there for years,” A. said. “But we didn’t.”

Interviewed contract workers told The Daily Princetonian they are among at least 50 Restaurant Associates employees working for the University who were placed on indefinite furlough during the week of March 12. They said they know of at least five who were laid off. Several of those furloughed or laid off had been working at the University for many years — and in some cases, decades.

When asked about the March furloughs, Restaurant Associates Senior Vice President of Creative Services Sam Souccar deferred comment to the University, citing contractual obligations.

“Due to the nature of our contract with the University, we are not able to discuss any details relating to our associates or operations,” he wrote.

According to University Spokesperson Ben Chang, “Restaurant Associates has informed us that it is complying with all employment laws and internal policies relating to its dealings with its personnel, and that it has not received any requests for assistance from its staff during the furlough.”

Chang declined to disclose the number of contract workers furloughed or laid off since March. Since the spring, administrators have repeatedly assured the Princeton community that all staff remain employed.