March Issue - Towerview

TOWERVIEW MARCH 2013

SPECIAL EDITION: 50TH ANNIVERSARY OF INTEGRATION

Exploring the national gun control debate

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DIY: Music

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A HuffPo editor on his days at Duke

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TOUR GUIDE

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THE PLAZA:

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Black Greek Life Investigating NPHC organizations and their historical roots

BUS STOP

Crazy Camp: A hidden music park off East Campus – best combined with tofu burritos ALSO +A look behind the soundboard of Duke’s homegrown recording studio (p.5)

ON THE COVER Towerview behind Junior Jasongoes Maher and the gates of several local seniors Ehizele Osehobo homeless shelters and Kyle Jones show signs from their respective greek organizations. See full article on p. 17.

MarCH 2013 • VOL. 14 • issue 5

50TH ANNIVERSARY OF INTEGRATION EDITION 17

ALSO +Conversations with one of Duke’s first black students and Duke Chapel’s first black dean (p.15 & p.11)

FEATURES 22 CITY E-Book(stores): With the popularity of tablets and e-readers rising, local independent bookstores are being forced to turn the page

BY MAGGIE LOVE

26 STATE On the Range: A trip to a rural shooting school sheds new light on the polarized gun control debate

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THE LINK

Jimmy Soni, managing editor of the Huffington Post, talks about the importance of writing, risk and approaching advice with skepticism

BY SONIA HAVELE and CIARAN O’CONNOR

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A NOTE From the Editors

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the chronicle’ s news & Culture maga zine

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Matthew Chase and Sonia Havele PHOTOGRAPHY DIRECTOR CREATIVE DIRECTOR ASSOCIATE EDITOR ASSOCIATE EDITOR ASSOCIATE EDITOR EXECUTIVE EDITOR

Addison Corriher Melissa Yeo Chris Cusack Ciaran O’Connor Nicole Kyle Yeshwanth Kandimalla

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Marie-Claire Bousquette, Emily Feng, Andrew Kragie, Maggie Love, Indu Ramesh and Kelly Scurry CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS Jessie Lu, Chelsea Pieroni, Sylvie Spewak, Elysia Su and Melissa Yeo PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Tracy Huang GENERAL MANAGER ADVERTISING DIRECTOR CREATIVE DIRECTOR OPERATIONS MANAGER DIGITAL SALES MANAGER @TowerviewMag Towerview Magazine

Chrissy Beck Rebecca Dickenson Barbara Starbuck Mary Weaver Megan McGinity dukechronicle.com/ towerview towerviewletters@ gmail.com

Towerview is a subsidiary of The Chronicle and is published by the Duke Student Publishing Company, Inc., a non-profit corporation independent of Duke University. The opinions expressed in this magazine are not necessarily those of Duke University, its students, faculty, staff, administration or trustees. Columns, letters and cartoons represent the views of the authors.

To reach The Chronicle’s editorial office at 301 Flowers Building, call (919) 684-2663 or fax (919) 684-4696. To reach The Chronicle’s business office at 103 West Union Building, call (919) 684-3811. To reach The Chronicle’s advertising office at 101 West Union Building, call (919) 684-3811 or fax (919) 684-8295. Contact the advertising office for information on subscriptions. Visit The Chronicle and Towerview online at dukechronicle.com 2010 The Chronicle, Box 90858, Durham, N.C. 27708. All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior, written permission of the business office. Each individual is entitled to one free copy.

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Dear Readers, Born into a prominent family in Philadelphia and a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, it appears as though Julian Abele lived an ordinary life. But something remarkable lies underneath Abele’s facade—and it’s not just that he rose to become a prominent architect at Horace Trumbauer’s firm in Philadelphia. Nor was it just his accomplishments; Abele went on to design prominent buildings in his hometown, including the Philadelphia Museum of Art, before becoming the chief designer of Duke’s campuses as Trinity College transitioned into a university. What was perhaps most remarkable about Abele was that he was not able to sign his name on architectural designs he crafted until after Trumbauer’s death; that he was deterred from visiting Duke’s campus, though it was his masterpiece; and that he proceeded through life “living in the shadows,” as he wrote himself. And hidden he was—it wasn’t until 1986 when the Duke community came to realize the secret behind the campus’ visionary: that Abele was black.

Abele’s story is both a reminder of how far Duke has come in its brief history and an indication of just how little our campus seems to know about itself. As the University uses 2013 to celebrate the 50th year of black student matriculation at Duke, one should remember that Abele’s history was revealed shortly before the University celebrated the 30th anniversary of integration. This fact is a reminder that public displays of commemoration may not mean that we have truly re-written the upsetting narratives buried within our institutional memory.

At the time of this writing, “progress”—or lack thereof—has re-entered Duke campus dialogue with full force. Recent allegations about Duke have been controversial, to say the least—ranging from heavily attended protests of an alleged “racist rager” to accusations that Cameron Crazies chanted an insensitive remark at an N.C. State player. The latter claim ended up being falsified, but the former is a testament to the fact that “progress” is not necessarily something that can be categorically hallmarked, no matter what side of the issue you take. As we continue to engage in debate on the campus that Abele designed for us decades ago, we should be reminded that such controversial events are positives in the way that they force us to shed light on our institutional “shadows.”

In addition to looking at the issues black students at Duke have championed—and still struggle with—50 years after integration, we seek to take our readers on a tour of those aspects of this campus and community that may go unnoticed. We take you to a recording studio hidden in the Bryan Center, to a music theme park tucked under the graffiti’d staircase that leads up to Cosmic Cantina, to a gun school in Sanford, North Carolina and to regional independent bookstores currently coping with the e-book revolution. We hope this issue speaks to Duke’s multi-directional evolution since 1963 and serves as a reminder of the reason why most of us are here—that there’s still a lot we don’t know.

TOWERVIEW 4

Bus Stop

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Assembling a Small Town

by Marie-Claire Bousquette

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uried in the depths of the Bryan Center lies one of the nicest recording studios most college students will ever see. Completely student run, Small Town Records is one of Duke’s best kept secrets, and one that remains such at a high cost to the campus’ creative community.

Small Town not only records Duke students free of charge, but also operates as a booking agent, recording studio, publicist and even venue for a small audience. This one-stop-shop model could very well be the future of the music industry as it compensates for a market that is completely saturated with artists searching for a way to streamline their journey to recognition.

TOWERVIEW | 5

BUS STOP

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PHOTOS BY ADDISON CORRIHER AND CHELSEA PIERONI

Few will question that the music industry is in a state of flux. Music, from folk to electronic, is seeping out of all corners of the Internet and world. It’s up to the college-aged generation to decide where the industry will go.

As Small Town Records President and senior Julian Jacobson describes, a large part of the demographic listening to music is just looking for “good” music. Where he differs from many others is his view that “good” can encompass a diversity of sounds, ranging from hip-hop to experimental rock. Identifying this element of good music is something at which Small Town Records has been increasingly successful, hosting filmed sessions with artists ranging from the Young Rapscallions to Courrier, both acts with widening fan bases.

In addition to finding interesting and appealing new sounds, Jacobson likes to maintain a sense of humor in conjunction with the music Small Town releases. Jacobson says that a rearranged cover of Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble” released in early February by Point Break—the

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band in which he plays—exemplifies this.

Small Town Records was founded by students as a class project in 2006 and later that year became a part of Duke University Union, which continues to provide funding for the studio. Small Town Records’ beginnings were not nearly as glamorous as its current setup. Formerly housed in the basement of the West Union Building, the studio’s control room was literally a converted broom closet—a closet that recorded tracks for Mike Posner and two then-Duke student members of the now-exploding Delta Rae, a folk rock band.

Small Town Records is hyper-aware of the college generation’s need for an experience that is both visual and auditory. Younger generations, so accustomed to multi-tasking, want their music to span more than one dimension of sound and visual experience, Jacobson says. That’s why in the past year, Small Town has incorporated videos into their new releases through their distribution website, BDBeats. com. BDBeats releases videos weekly

that range in style from drum covers of hip-hop jams by Point Break drummer, junior Tyler Matte, to instudio recordings of artists passing through the Durham area. The immediate market for these releases is the Duke and Durham community, but Small Town recognizes the power of the Internet. The label’s ultimate dream is to reach a national audience through the rapidly growing power of social media—an ambitious objective but certainly not impossible if the label keeps growing at the rate it has since its inception.

This spring, Small Town Records will release four new albums, varying in genre from singer-songwriter to funk-rock. Sophomore Christina Lan, graduate student Mike Wang, Point Break and a currently unnamed band are all releasing albums on the label.

These albums will drop at the Small Town Records Release Party April 18 at Devine’s Sports Bar and Grill.

In summer 2012, Small Town Records found out that it would be losing its space in West Union as a result of upcoming renovations. With this

in mind, Small Town worked with the University to relocate and expand, moving into the Bryan Center, where it now shares Duke Student Broadcasting’s studio. The new facilities feature a significantly larger control room than the old studio had, as well a slew of traditional recording equipment—including a mixing board, a computer, microphones and other recording equipment.

As a newer organization, Small Town Records has significant potential to be molded into whatever students are seeking—including sound engineering, filming, marketing and finance. “[Small Town Records is ] a collaborative effort… students own what the progress is,” says studio manager and senior Laura Valk. “It’s something to take hold of and direct in the way you want it to go.”

The studio offers free re-

cording to any Duke student who schedules practice time. With the number of Duke students who played an instrument in high school, there should be an abundance of musical collaboration throughout the Duke community, Jacobson said.

Yet, many students don’t even bring their instrument along with the move to college. “Why do you have to abandon what you love and you’ve been doing for so long?” Jacobson challenges.

As more students discover the opportunities provided

by Small Town Records, one would hope that this changes.

“If you are interested in music at all, you need to check out Small Town,” Valk adds.

“It is the hub of music at Duke.”

Jacobson conveys the label’s philosophy perfectly: “I just want people to make music and have a good time.” n

TOWERVIEW | 7

BUS STOP

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CAMPING UNDER COSMIC story by Indu

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Ramesh + photos by Addison Corriher

onfession time: I’ve been going to Cosmic Cantina during this, my senior year, as much as I did when I was a naïve, 15-pound-lighter freshman.

I don’t know if it’s an urge to relive the sense of wondrous innocence and exploration and collectivity of experience that so defined my freshman year—a weird desire to mark my Duke experience with a reassuring symmetry.

Maybe it’s a defiant refusal to believe I only have one semester left before graduation. More likely, it’s my discovery of their tofu burrito, what I believe is the establishment’s vegan magnum opus. Whatever they marinate their tofu in is a treasure. But if there is one thing that definitively draws me into this late-night eatery with consistency, it’s the music park below.

Crazy Camp Music Park is a strange space—one that, unlike my freshman year, presents a unique sense of place.

To get inside the venue, you enter an opening next to the graffiti’d staircase, through curtains made of sleeping bags— that staple that breathed life into me during cold, sleepless nights in K-ville, and through two feet of snow in Pisgah National Forest, the destination of my Project Wild March trip. See what I mean about symmetry?

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The feel is organic. The floor is a mosaic of stone and the furnishings all wood in the raw (tree rings and bark browns intact). And what stuff the room houses: rectangular swings that hang from the ceiling with thick rope, artfully crooked panels that house a guitar each, a bench that looks borrowed from the throngs of East Campus, long teeter-totters that throttle their users skyward with surprising force and speed—such that I consciously applied the rules of torque I learned from my mediocre stint in physics to survive the ride. The vast majority of furniture is constructed from the same tree, the bartender tells me, a fallen tree donated from a ranch in Hillsborough. And yes, when I say bartender, I mean it—there’s a bar, with a limited but welcoming selection of beer, wine and tequila.

The space is one where musicians of all skill levels and genres can come together and jam without stress or stereotype, to the backdrop of a fun theme-park setting. You’re welcome to bring your own instruments, and some musical tools are provided: guitars, drums, recording equipment, even the occasional pan flute. The guitars come with a special bridge that keep them in tune; the drums are housed behind a clear plastic wall that reminds me of both

a spaceship and the Plexiglas at the Louvre that (anticlimactically) guards the Mona Lisa; the pan flute occasionally makes an appearance on the side counter. There’s a large red yurt surrounded by Christmas lights that contains tree stump seats and stools for both musicians and audience members. And for those worried about aural health, there’s a wineglass with earplugs atop the bar. All music recorded is posted to the park’s website.

The place was opened last year by Cosmos Lyles, the heavenly-named owner of Cosmic Cantina. Fun fact: he’s a Duke alum who majored in physics and engineering of all things (maybe that just explains the teeter-totters?).

I visited Crazy Camp Music Park around its opening last year, post-Shooters, and it was an empty room of pure potential. Sure, the music equipment was still there, but the wooden furniture, the bar—that all came later, week by week, as the place closed during the workweek for renovation. I was put on a texting listserv that advertised its hours and, after the bar opening, offered the occasional free drink. On one visit, I sang a piece about meningitis while a friend shared a story about her pet bunny rabbit. They are recorded on the website.

Now, the listserv is gone, replaced by regular 10 p.m.-2 a.m. Friday and Saturday hours. There’s a board in the corner where you can sign up for jam sessions. Fewer free drinks are offered, but you might get a discount if the music you play gets a stranger to dance. The place still feels new, in a state of flux, and continues to be renovated weekly.

The bartender tells me that Lyles’ vision for Crazy Camp Music Park was a place where everyone would feel famous. As I sit on a rectangular swing happily munching a tofu-filled masterpiece, I don’t know if I quite feel famous. But I do feel like I’m in some way bridging the gap between the naiveté of freshman year and the transience of senior spring, as graduation lurches its scary head closer and closer. Over an appreciation for music, marinated tofu and semi-dangerous teeter-totters, my former and current selves bond. Thanks to this space, this collective of music and late-night food and experience, I approach Cosmic with the same wonder I did when I was a freshman. As I swing, burrito in hand, it’s a comforting thought. n

You enter an opening next to the graffiti’d staircase, through curtains made of sleeping bags.

TOWERVIEW | 9

THE PLAZA

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50

SPECIAL EDITION:

Remembering Duke’s first years of integration

ILLUSTRATION BY ALAN DIPPY; GRAPHIC BY MELISSA YEO

YEARS LATER:

‘ON THE HEELS’ OF A DREAM by

ANDREW KRAGIE

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PHOTOS BY JESSIE LU

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he Rev. Luke Powery came to Duke at a momentous time. His first year coincides with the 50th anniversary of Duke’s first black undergraduates, and he is the Chapel’s first black dean.

Powery’s approach to balancing leadership and race offers a surprising contrast to the way other black leaders have cast themselves— President Barack Obama being the most notable example. Obama steadfastly avoided talking about race or identifying himself as a “black candidate” during both of his presidential campaigns. He acknowledged the legacy of race in our country but downplayed his own ethnic background in hopes of post-racial unity.

I wondered if Powery would share that perspective. I asked him if he feels a difference between being the first black Chapel dean and simply being the sixth Chapel dean.

He said that he did.

“There’s more responsibility because of the historic moment— not just being the first, but the convergence with the celebration of the 50th anniversary,” he said, acknowledging that his work at the Chapel could “pave the way for future generations.” But alongside that sense of responsibility comes “a sense of humility.” Powery often

THE PLAZA: SPECIAL EDITION

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PHOTO COURTESY OF UNIVERSITY ARCHIVES Above, Duke Chapel sketches by Julian Abele, who was the chief designer of the Chapel. At the time of construction, Abele was denied recognition of his role in designing the Chapel because of his race.

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remembers the many people who paved the way for this historic appointment, particularly individuals from Duke’s unique history.

“There’s a lot of history interwoven in Duke Chapel in terms of race and racism,” Powery said, referencing the Harvard University glee club that gave a Chapel concert in 1941­—whose sole black member was turned away from the stage, forcing him to cancel his trip to the state. For decades after, every single minister who preached from the Chapel pulpit was white. Considering the long trajectory of race relations at Duke, the dean paused to reflect on the account that hits closest to home.

He recalled the story of Julian Abele. In the corner of his office (which features a colorful library with a sliding ladder, stained-glass windows and a rustic side table) sits a portrait of the prominent Philadelphia architect. Although Abele contributed to the blueprint of much of today’s campus, he is

most celebrated for almost singlehandedly designing the iconic Chapel itself. However, his enormous role went unheralded for decades. Tradition has it that after the Chapel’s 1932 completion, Abele never got to see his final masterpiece due to the state’s Jim Crow laws and threats of racial violence. Other sources suggest that he was eventually able to visit campus but was then denied a room in a Durham hotel. Details aside, Abele was unfairly denied recognition for his visionary role in creating one of the most visited landmarks in all of North Carolina. Given the racial politics embedded within Duke’s institutional memory, Powery recognizes that he is part of “history in the making.”

The wider Durham community celebrates Powery’s appointment as a giant leap in that history. He has been stopped on the street in Durham and told by black residents, “You don’t know what this means.” It’s a novel experience for many to see a black administrator at the institution that occupies such a significant place in

the life of this city.

At a recent public school fair, Powery was stopped by a woman whose child works at Duke. She asked if he was Luke Powery, which he confirmed.

“I am so proud of you,” she said, without introducing herself.

“There’s a lot of history interwoven in Duke Chapel in terms of race and racism.”

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he first five black undergraduates at Duke started classes in September 1963, shortly after Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his famous “I Have a Dream” speech during the March on Washington. The University has come far from the days when the

Chapel’s architect was unwelcome in Durham and when black performers were turned away from the Chapel.

“We’re on the heels of Dr. King’s dream...which has not yet been fulfilled,” Powery reminded me. “It’s something you live into, and hope for.”

Powery invites Duke students to not only remember the struggle of times past but to consider those who cannot be here due to lack of access and opportunity or discomfort in this not-always-welcoming space. He calls for a balance between celebrating the great distance the University has progressed and “remember[ing] the hardship and struggle, and also the ongoing struggles.”

He sees his own appointment as a step in the right direction. But at the end of the day, he acknowledges that his own role is a small one in the larger struggle toward a more inclusive and welcoming university.

“I am human,” he said. “I am the dean of the Chapel who happens to be black.... But I’m a human being.”n

TOWERVIEW | 13

THE PLAZA: SPECIAL EDITION

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From the Vault:

a look back at coverage of major events on campus pre- and post-integration 7

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1) A 1974 “Fight Racism” flyer distributed on campus 2 & 3) Chronicle headlines about 1961 Board of Trustees decision to allow black graduate students to matriculate

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4 & 5) Campus reacts to assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in April 1968 with “silent vigil” 6 & 7) Students take over Allen building in 1969 in effort to make campus more friendly to Duke students, prompting police retaliation

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An interview with one of Duke’s first black undergraduates

PHOTOS COURTESY OF UNIVERSITY ARCHIVES

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ilhelmina Reuben-Cooke’s primary prerequisite for a college was that it was far away from South Carolina.

For that reason, Duke didn’t top her short list of potential colleges when it came time for her decide where to matriculate in the early 1960s. But she had other reservations about Duke as well—her father was a doctorate student in the Divinity School at the time, and even his promise to keep his distance if the two ended up on campus together wasn’t persuasive.

After her father’s advisor suggested that Reuben-Cooke consider attending Duke, however, the then-high school senior was finally convinced to see campus for herself—a campus which she later realized was captivating. “[My going] to Duke was not pre-planned,” ReubenCooke, Woman’s College ’67, says now. “I visited the school primarily so that my father could please his advisor.”

Fifty years after her initial matriculation, ReubenCooke now stands amidst a diverse group of alumni and students conversing in the lobby of the Fitzpatrick Center on this February afternoon. Gathered for the Duke Career Conference, individuals of all colors mingled because of their connection to their alma mater. Indeed, ReubenCooke played a unique role in the development of what the University stands for today: now a professor of law at the University of the District of Columbia, she was one of the first black undergraduates to enroll at Duke. And making history was the name of the game for her family; her father was a member of the first class of black doctorate students at the Divinity School, making him one of the first four black students to matriculate at a Duke graduate school.

“I felt like I had a sense of obligation [to attend], and like I was being afforded a great opportunity,” ReubenCooke says of her decision to join a predominantly white institution.

Reuben-Cooke was joined by four other students in the Fall of 1963, at the height of the Civil Rights Movement.

Mary Mitchell Harris and Cassandra Smith Rush joined Reuben-Cooke in the Woman’s College while Gene Kendall and Nathaniel “Nat” White Jr. entered the all-male Trinity College. Today, Kendall, White and Reuben-Cooke are the three surviving members of the original cohort.

Duke had chosen to integrate long after many other schools in the South, which had either chosen or were forced to open their doors to all worthy applicants, regardless of race. The University of North Carolina system had integrated in 1955. That Duke—as a private institution—had the power to internally choose whether or not to desegregate allowed the University to take the proper steps to ensure a smooth transition.

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THE PLAZA: SPECIAL EDITION

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Yet Duke was not the most inviting campus. At the time of the students’ enrollment, the University had no black faculty, administrators or trustees, and the students came to find segregated bathrooms and designated “colored” signs throughout campus.

“We did not expect violence, but we were confronted,” Reuben-Cooke says.

Despite coming from a segregated school system, Reuben-Cooke asserts that she did not feel out of place in an academic setting with white students.

She noted that her high school had an integrated faculty and that she had taken a class in New York in which she was the only black student. At Duke, she recognized that she and the other black undergraduates would likely be the first blacks—or “negroes,” as she notes was the term used at the time— that many of her fellow students would interact with on a peer level.

“I grew a lot at Duke. I was engaged in many activities, met people and was involved in campus life,” ReubenCooke reflects. “I did not just sit around in my room.”

Her many activities included the

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Young Women’s Christian Association and the then-named Freshman Advisory Council, which she would later lead.

She believes that the structure of the Woman’s College was probably more supportive of its students since the dormitory system meant that female students usually lived in the same dorm all four years, thereby fostering a strong community. Reuben-Cooke went on to be elected May Queen, which required that she receive the most write-in votes of any female student in her class.

Back on campus at events like the recent Career Conference, Reuben-Cooke has been active in observing her alma mater commemorate a half-century of integration—in many ways marking her arrival at Duke. She says that her opinion of the celebration depends on the motives of the University.

“If it is simply to say we opened our doors, then that’s not much,” she remarks.

Duke should use this opportunity to examine what it means to be inclusive and to look at how the University has grown from diversity, she says.

“Because of [Duke’s] Southern roots, it cannot escape discrimination,” she notes. “But the expectation is that Duke confronts these problems.”

Reuben-Cooke, who went on to serve two terms as a member of the Board of Trustees, says that continued controversies concerning race do not faze her, but are indications that the University has room for progress.

“It’s a sign that there is still work to be done in making Duke a community for all,” she comments.

Her advice to all students, including students of color, is simple yet profound: “Claim the University as your own: You belong here and make the most of it. Build networks. See Duke as an opportunity to build yourselves and to serve others.” n

BRIDGING THE GREEK GAP

story by EMILY FENG

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photos by CHELSEA PIERONI

hen junior Jason Maher walked on Duke’s campus as a freshman, greek life was the last thing on his mind. He had a few black friends who had “crossed” and joined a historically black fraternity but had never considered the option himself. As he became more familiar with student life, however, his interest in community service led him to notice, to his surprise, that those most active in this vocation were also members of black fraternities.

After taking a semester off, Maher returned to Duke and began the process of initiating the rush process to join Phi Beta Sigma, a process which took him months to complete.

This is typical of rushing a Black Greek Letter Organization—the technical term for the organizations, which are theoretically open to members of all ethnicities (not doing so would actually be illegal on both a federal and state level).

And contrary to popular belief, the “black” in BGLO includes within its purview not just those of African descent, but those from the Caribbean and Pacific, as well.

Unlike the heavily structured and formal process of Panhellenic Association recruitment or the equally structured but less formal process of Interfraternity Council rush, aspirants of a BGLO must seek out members of their organization of choice. Only when they have demonstrated

acceptance and receptivity toward the lifelong ties and principles of their organization are they accepted into the fold of brother- or sisterhood. Because of the difficulty of joining and the smaller presence of BGLOs on Duke’s campus, most Duke BGLO memberships number in the single digits.

Throughout the entire business of membership intake—as the process is frequently termed—new members must keep their participation secret from even their closest friends until they are “unveiled” in front of the community-at-large during a probate, which to uneducated eyes can seem overwhelmingly chaotic and primitive.

Due to a variety of mutually reinforcing factors—their numerically small presence, the secretive and selective process of intake, the weightier, lifetime commitment when joining—Duke’s black fraternities and sororities have continued to be dogged by a sense of mystery that has cemented the social boundaries between BGLOs and other social groups on campus.

Those that participate in black greek life and those that do not settle into socially separate, parallel tracks, which few individuals bridge. Has what first began as a means for advancing black leadership, academic excellence and lobbying for civil rights become irrelevant in today’s more progressive, integrated college atmosphere? Have BGLOs become TOWERVIEW | 17

as exclusive and self-segregating as the predominately white fraternities to which they founded themselves in opposition?

Fighting Fire with Fire

Have BGLOs become as exclusive and selfsegregating as the predominately white fraternities to which they founded themselves in opposition?

The answers to these questions trace their roots back to 1906, when the first black fraternity was founded. The founders, a group of seven black men, thought that by forming a close-knit literary and social group, they could combat significantly higher dropout rates of their black peers and offer a support system for the beleaguered, colored minority then immersed in a largely white campus. Importantly, the brothers of Alpha Phi Alpha, as this fraternity came to be known, was at first constituted to be open to all male minorities but later reconfigured itself as limited to black males only. There was a strong impulse to use fire to fight fire.

“If we are not permitted to join other fraternities, we must form a fraternity of our own,” an Alpha Phi Alpha chapter president responded in 1949 when asked about the need for exclusive minority fraternal organizations. “We have no other choice.”

But perhaps the story goes even further back (as most stories do when we really start to unravel the tangled web of cause and effect) to 1703, when the first ever fraternal organization was founded at the College of William and Mary.

To a large extent, fraternities have always been instruments for solidifying existing power structures. The first successful greek organization was founded in 1776 and mirrored the social status quo of its constituents: white, Christian males.

As students of other religious and ethnic backgrounds began trickling into American college campuses, these organizations didn’t respond by opening their membership to all persons, but instead began identifying themselves in contrast.

This us-versus-them, zero sum game mentality that dominated early BGLOs has definitive, traceable historical roots. The five fraternities and four sororities that now make up the National Pan-Hellenic Council were formed from the overt discrimination they faced among predominantly white institutions (or PWIs as they are more commonly referred to—BGLOs have codified historically antagonistic elements just as they have been categorized by an acronym).

The first black fraternities and sororities formed on PWIs directly because they were excluded from the predominantly white social scene. Hispanic and Asian American Greek letter organizations soon followed suit a few decades later, often under the guidance of older BGLOs. Born out of racism and strengthened by unity in the face of discrimination, BGLOs consequently entrust members to support each other in maintaining the black community, achieving academic excellence and instilling the principles of leadership in their members. The ultimate goal was, and still has been, even more long-term: facing institutionalized forms of racism, BGLOs hoped that by picking elite black students they might one day train the next generation of community leaders who, as lawyers, professors and other esteemed community leaders, would forward the cause of civil rights on behalf of the black community. W.E.B. Du Bois

This isn’t a once a semester,

let’s-all-wear-our-letters-and-look-pretty charity event for the sake of having a charity event.

gave a name to this theory: “The Talented Tenth,” which would lead the other nine-tenths of their peers out of the ignominy of inequality.

“We want strong powerful men to lead. Martin Luther King Jr. is one of our honorary members—that’s who we’re looking for [in new members],” explained Kyle Jones, a member of Duke’s chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha.

Joining a BGLO is akin to committing oneself to a way of life that transcends one’s four years in college. The term for pledging a BGLO is “to cross,” a term rife with metaphysical transformations. A new member is figuratively reborn, distinguishing themselves from their past selves by demonstrating they are ready to fully come into one’s own as a brother or sister.

“It’s the sisterhood,” emphasizes Najerie Danns, who is the chapter president of Alpha Kappa Alpha, the country’s oldest black sorority.

This means that alumni networks, especially given the smaller sizes of BGLO chapters, are incredibly tight; Duke chapters can “count on other state chapters to attend our events every week,” Jones informed me. Rushing can take months if an aspiring new member does not fit the expectations of their desired BGLO. Unlike today’s current IFC fraternities, as many a disillusioned critic will point out, BGLOs have largely remained true to their founding principles.

“The social aspect is there, but it isn’t the focus,” remarks Jones. More important seems to be the focus on community service. Duke BGLOs each have several causes, often directly related to improving the black community (think STI testing, male mentorship programs, tutoring in the black community) for which they host regular service events. This isn’t a once a semester, let’s-all-wear-our-letters-and-look-pretty charity event for the sake of having a charity event. It’s a huge undertaking, especially because there are only a handful of members in each chapter, which in a circular is probably one of the reasons why so few people join.

than “haughty, color-struck, violent, politically unaware, culturally inept...organized gangs.” Morpheus is on the far end of the spectrum, but behind a few of the polarized accusations he puts out are some legitimate concerns.

Are they “haughty?” The “Talented Tenth” mentality is still arguably pervasive. Alpha Phi Alpha, both Duke’s oldest historically black fraternity and as well as the nation’s, was accused in 2006 of considering its members to be “better than everyone” before being temporarily suspended from their national chapter that year. Duke’s undergraduate population nears 6,700 students, with at least 10 percent considered “black.” Of this rough estimate of 670 students who traditionally make up the membership of BGLOs, a tiny fraction actually join one of the nine Duke BGLO chapters, each of which averages around five to seven members. More likely than elitism, however, the probable explanation is that the small numbers attest to the level of ideological rigor that Duke chapters have maintained among their members.

And what about being “culturally inept?” More relevant are the accusations that multicultural organizations—and since the inception of the new house model, multicultural living groups—promote self-segregation. Supposedly, these encourage Duke students to cluster into closed sub-communities comprised of those with similar cultural or ethnic backgrounds at the expense of an inclusive, holistic community of students.

How about BGLOs being “color-struck”? The term originated from a play written by Zora Neale Hurston and refers to “colorism,” the act of judging blacks by the relative hue of

Responding to Criticism

But as with any large social phenomenon, BGLOs have displayed behavior seemingly inconsistent with their founding principles. Hazing has historically been even more of a problem for black fraternities than it has for their nonmulticultural counterparts, though the severity of several instances has produced significant reform. Then there are the subtler, more insidious critiques. Some purport that BGLOs are now irrelevant given that black students no longer face explicit racism at America’s generally more liberal colleges and universities, and that they instead promote elitism, arrogance and insularity among the black community.

These traits prompted one especially polemical essay written by some Internet commenter named “Morpheus,” who claims BGLOs have degenerated into nothing more

their skin, or as Jason puts it, “black people discriminating amongst themselves.” Although BGLOs are technically open to students of all ethnicities, is there an implicitly exclusionary culture that favors those who possess this ambiguous quality of “being black,” as exemplified by their skin tone? “[The Sigmas] are founded on the principles of the inclusive ‘we,’ not exclusive ‘we,’” Maher firmly states when I ask, haltingly, about the presence of colorism. And I would have TOWERVIEW | 19

reason to believe him, because Maher, devoted Sigma that he is, is not actually black. He is a Panamanian who speaks Hindi who also happens to be in a historically black fraternity.

Again, the answer is not as straight forward as it may seem.

An “Us” Versus “Them” Mentality—still?

Finding answers is especially difficult given that those in and outside of BGLOs have a less than ideal amount of interaction. It’s as if there are those that participate in “black” greek life and those that don’t—a subsection that also includes those who participate in “regular” greek life—live in two parallel worlds here at Duke, two multiverses that occur simultaneously but never overlap with one another. But this selfsegregation is a two-way street; the traditionally “white” fraternities and sororities we think of necessarily have a share in the stratification with BGLOs. Distinguishing “black greek life” from “greek life” by adding the modifier ‘black” insinuates that black greek life is a variation on the mainstream, a minor offshoot of some major group.

Implicitly, the way we describe multicultural greek life solidifies the status of these organizations as not only the social minority, but an aberrant one at that—one that insists on being different from “normal” greek life.

However, just as self-segregation is multidirectional, so are its causes.

“Before I became a Sigma, I just wasn’t seen by the black community,” Maher recalls, “I had a few close freshmen friends who were involved in the black community and that’s how I knew some people.” Even today, he recounts how his chapter president jokes that he isn’t “really black,” a quality which I gather means something along the lines of partaking in the standard smorgasbord of activities (Mary Lou Center, black community volunteer) and again, the coloristic assumption that there exists this cultural characteristic of “blackness” that is often predicated on skin color. Circumstances soon changed, however: “As soon as I crossed, there must have been something like 200 friend requests. People 20 | TOWERVIEW

“Skin is your first form of who used to pass identification. You walk me by say ‘hi’ into a classroom on the first now.”

Ehizele Oseho- day of class, and who do you bo (moniker, Z), sit next to? Most likely the president of the Duke Phi Beta Sigma those we perceive chapter explained that before joining the organization, Maher “wasn’t re- to be similar to us.” ally involved in the black community.

When he joined, that validated him to other people [in the black community].” The incident attests to the strength of the black community but has the unfortunate consequence of hardening the social boundaries drawn around such communities. To cross, one has the burden of proving one’s authenticity.

When collaboration or overlap between these multicultural greek organizations does occur, it frequently still happens within the same zero-sum framework that characterized the early rise of BGLOs. At Duke, black fraternities and sororities have tightened ties with one another and reached out to other multicultural greek organizations—especially Lambda Phi Epsilon, a hispanic fraternity, and Lambda Phi Chi, its female equivalent—to host joint events and fundraisers.

“That sounds an awful lot like all the minority organizations just linking up with one another against some hegemonic majority,” I commented wryly.

Jones shrugs and smiles apologetically. “Yeah, there’s less a feeling of judgment, but that’s kinda just the way things work.”

Some of how the “way things work” is structural: there is little incentive for larger greek organizations to understand or partner with a BGLO since their small memberships mean that they often cannot contribute much in manpower to fraternities or sororities that can number more than a hundred.

Although NPHC has joint meetings with IFC and Panhel, its concerns regarding membership intake and service are often completely different from the more socially or recruitment oriented concerns of their greek counterparts.

Nor have there been genuine, concerted efforts to understand the traditions of the BGLOs. Maher reflects on a Chronicle article that he says was rife

with misquotes and shallow reporting: “it felt like”—here, he makes a face as if he has tasted something bitter—“it just felt half-hearted, a light touch, like we should be satisfied with this kind of coverage.”

More importantly, psychology also works in strange ways. “We immediately and more easily associate with the people who look like us. Skin is your first form of identification,” Jones explains. “You walk into a classroom on the first day of class, and who do you sit next to? Most likely those we perceive to be similar to us.”

Maher continues this thought: “I’ve seen it happen over and over again. I’ve

done experiments before, where I wore a tie for a week straight. Suddenly, people who previously had not noticed me were sitting next to me in class, all because I changed the way I looked.”

Not everyone has docilely followed suit. “I’m friends with all sorts of people—that’s just the kind of person I am,” exclaimed Osehobo. He’s loud and full of energy, and within the half hour span that I talk to him, he probably waves ‘hello’ to a good third of the people who pass by. “I walk both sides. I hate playing the race card.” Osehobo’s eternal friendliness means that he forged lasting connections with all sorts of people freshman year, and he balances his fraternity’s social scene with other friends.

But in the nervous frenzy of friend-making during the first weeks of a Duke freshman’s year, too many of us exhibit the more comfortable routine of associating with people similar to ourselves. Suddenly, Marketplace tables begin to fill with monochrome groups of people—Danns was so confused by this phenomenon that she wrote a sociology paper entitled “Why I don’t know any white people.” Once these groups solidify within the complex web of social relationships, it becomes hard to bridge different groups.

Misunderstanding ensues. “People see the black community as insular and close-knit. They’re afraid to come to our events because they might be the only white person,” Osehobo explains. “People have a perception of black par-

ties, like we’re gonna call them out for dancing with someone’s girlfriend or something.” More insidiously, some people, ever afraid of making a racial gaffe in today’s politically sanitized atmosphere, avoid going to BGLO parties altogether.

Perhaps the division is culturally informed, with people of different social groups simply possessing different social codes and enjoying different things. “Honestly, what keeps [black people] from going to white parties is they’re simply not fun,” Osehobo says. “What happens at a frat party? You stand around and drink, talk, play beer pong—which is drinking—and talk some more.”

But that does not mean that these social dynamics cannot change. Tacitly accepting the inevitability and immutability of these observations only perpetuates the status quo. And in my discussions, each interviewee exhibited a willingness and history of engaging people of all backgrounds and social groups.

Maher, realizing the mantle of responsibility that he had inadvertently accepted as a non-black member of a black fraternity, is enthusiastic about his role as cross-cultural liaison, but would like to see more people translate individual resolution into action. We end our long conversation on an optimistic note: “I wasn’t afraid to go up and sit with a group of all black people in the Marketplace. I’d be like, ‘Hey, sup?’ I’m a bridge, a gateway.”

Implying, of course: So can you. n

“I walk both sides.

I hate playing the race card.”

TOWERVIEW | 21

22 | TOWERVIEW

the next chapter: CAN INDIE BOOKSTORES SURVIVE? n a winter night in Raleigh, a man wearing khakis, a red sweater vest, a tweed jacket and a tan cap steps up to the pulpit. “Brothers and sisters,” he addresses his congregation, “in the beginning was the word.” He pauses, the crowd hanging onto his every word . He continues: “And the word was with God, and the word was God.” His audience sits on plastic white chairs and wooden benches. The speaker is Allan Gurganus, one of several writers who have come to “testify” on behalf of the Quail Ridge Books and Music store for its 28th anniversary celebration.

The primary object of their praise is bookstore owner Nancy Olson, who opened the store with her husband in 1984 with little bookselling or retail experience with the exception of a nationwide tour of 24 bookstores.

As writer Jill McCorkle recalls when she takes the podium, she met Olson at a Southeast Booksellers Association convention when she was about “this green”— here she taps the forest-green wall behind her—where Olson asked McCorkle if she would like to read her pieces at the store. (“I’ve heard sometimes bookstores have writers come to read,” Olson had said).

In addition to sharing stories about Olson, speakers fawn over the store itself, calling it a “democratic space,” a “sanctuary” and “the heartbeat of the community.” After each writer speaks, Olson returns to centerstage and with a look of mock conceit, says, “wasn’t that wonderful,” before promoting the speaker’s upcoming book. She is wearing a purple shirt with white lettering that reads, “All’s Quail that Ends Quail,” over a white turtleneck that matches her short hair.

At the end of the night, guests mingle around punch

and two cakes sculpted like open books. As indicated by the speeches, the event is more than a celebration. It is a call for the preservation of the store—and by extension—of all independent bookstores. It’s no secret that the independent bookstore business has been shrinking.

As today’s readers increasingly make the switch to ebooks, about 200 independents a year find themselves going out of business, according to the American Booksellers Association.

Bookstores in the Triangle region have managed to stay afloat, but they haven’t escaped this trend altogether. The Regulator Bookshop in Durham has consolidated books in the upstairs portion of the store (arranging the same inventory with more books spine out than face out) and rented out part of its basement to a clothing store. Chapel Hill’s Flyleaf Books has added a used books section and is selling more non-book items, like jewelry.

“All the independents are trying to figure out what they can do, focus more on events, focus more on what makes them a community space,” says Land Arnold, a co-owner of Flyleaf.

Over at Flyleaf, the books lining the shelves are flagged with dozens of recommendations handwritten by the staff. Some employees have gained loyal followers, Arnold says. In the age of the e-book, bookstore owners like Arnold are reminding customers of what they can offer that chains and websites can’t.

As Quail Ridge store manager Sarah Goddin puts it, “It’s not so much the book itself. It is the sense of community and having a place you can discover things and interact with other people.”

TOWERVIEW | 23

GRAPHIC BY MELISSA YEO

O

Story by MAGGIE LOVE photos by SYLVIE SPEWAK

“It’s the sense of Community and having a place you can discover things & interact with other people.”

hen compared to money spent online or at chains, a higher percentage of money spent at local stores stays in the community. The Regulator boasts a 45 percent return of revenue to Durham, in contrast with a 13 percent return for chains and a 0 percent return for online purchases, according to the store’s website.

The main reason for this difference is that unlike chains, local businesses buy many supplies and services from local businesses, according to a 2009 study conducted by Civic Economics. Economists at the Institute for Local Self-Reliance have also suggested that money spent at local businesses circulates more quickly, and as a result a greater number of people profit. Also, because independent stores tend to have lower profits than chains, the majority of their revenue goes toward paying for salaries and supplies (which are often bought locally).

This is a less romantic, but justifiable, reason to frequent the independents, which tend to be loved for their idiosyncrasies, like the nook with the typewriter at Shakespeare and Co. in Paris or the 18 Miles of Books at the Strand in New York. Yet the nature of independent bookstores is good for more than just added quirk. They give each store manager a freedom in choosing titles that chains don’t have—a trait that Quail Ridge displays in its office. On the door is a bumper sticker that reads, “A PBS mind in a Fox News world.” On the wall, hanging beside family pictures and various posters, including one for “Cold Mountain,” there is a poster that reads, “Books: They have been beaten and burned, drowned, tortured, imprisoned, suppressed, executed, exiled . . .”

It is here that Goddin, a petite woman wearing a pale blue sweater, recounts the story of one controversial nov-

W

24 | TOWERVIEW

el. When Salman Rushdie’s “The Satanic Verses” was first released, stores selling the book in London and California were bombed. Various American bookstore chains, including Walden Books and B. Dalton, decided not to sell the novel, citing the need to protect their employees. No Walden Books manager would have been able to sell the novel even if she had wanted to. Many independent bookstore owners, on the other hand, made the risky decision to do just that. In his memoir “Joseph Anton,” released this September, Rushdie publicly thanked independent bookstores.

In response to recent profit-cutting trends, independents are considering significant changes to their business models, including the introduction of on-demand printing by way of Espresso Book Machines, which can be used to print personalized versions of books in print, self-published titles and works with expired copyrights.

But EBMs don’t come cheap. In addition to the machine’s cost, the amount of space it would require and the time needed to train employees are deterrents to purchasing one, says Tom Campbell, coowner of The Regulator.

Arnold seconds this sentiment. “We can’t attempt things at this moment that won’t be at least in the short future profitable.”

Goddin has observed the process of N.C. State’s EBM, but says that she’s not yet convinced it would be enough of a hit with the general public to justify installing one in the store. However daunting it might be for an individual store to install an EBM, it could “be a neat thing for local area stores [including Flyleaf and Quail Ridge Books] to maybe go together on,” Campbell notes.

Still, the machine is a print-based solution to a largely Internet-driven problem.

Recently, independents have started stepping up their online presence. Quail Ridge encouraged customers to tweet reasons they value the store, and awarded a $25-gift card to one of those tweeters at its 28th anniversary celebration. The store also has an Affiliate Program through which store supporters can link their websites to the bookstore’s website free of charge, and then receive a commission for each sale made. Currently the program only has 15 to 20 members, Goddin estimates. She slips in the fact that Amazon had a similar affiliates program, but when the North Carolina Legislature announced its plans to charge a sales tax to Amazon for North Carolina affiliates, the company dismissed them.

Flyleaf, which has a similar program, “[doesn’t] get much traction from that really,” Arnold says. Even if more focus is put on online sales of physical books, it’s the online sales of e-books that really make a difference.

A Harris Interactive poll conducted in March 2012 indicated that almost a third of American adults use an e-reader or a tablet.

This percentage has nearly doubled since 2011, while print sales have declined. E-books became the primary format for adult fiction in 2011.

Well aware of these trends, independents are carving out their own share of the e-book market. The American Booksellers Association, which seeks to promote the interests of independently-owned bookstores across the country, recently made a deal with Kobo, a Toronto-based e-book company. Quail Ridge, Flyleaf and The Regulator each began selling the e-reader, which comprises about 3 percent of e-reader sales in the United States, in stores this fall. After buying the Kobo, customers can purchase e-books through the independent bookstore.

In the Quail Ridge office, Goddin motions to a tote bag at her feet which contains a “Kobo Kit”—according to a handwritten label—that staff use to learn the Kobo system. The e-readers are on display at the cashier station. “I have been sort of anti-e-books, but I have to admit I took the Kobo Glo home, and I really liked it, so I have to eat my words,”

Goddin says. Since the store started selling the devices in November, Quail Ridge has sold about 30.

“I think we’re going to be very competitive in selling e-books, and people can get out of the Amazon jail,” Campbell notes.

By “Amazon jail,” Campbell means that Kindle users don’t technically own their books. In 2009, the George Orwell novels “1984” and “Animal Farm” were—ironically— deleted from Kindles by Amazon, which reasoned it had initially purchased the works from an unlicensed vendor.

F

rom their vantage point in the midst of these literary trends, independent booksellers don’t seem convinced that the grip of electronics will last. Arnold says Flyleaf, now in its third year of operation, hasn’t been around long enough to accurately judge the effect of e-books on sales.

“I can see people talking about it constantly, but all the stats show that people who do buy e-books and e-readers also buy physical books still,” Arnold says. “It’s not the category killer that the iPod was to music sales.” He goes on to say that “the dirty secret of the e-book is that it’s not a sustainable model for anyone,” as publishing houses also suffer financially from selling e-books, and that shopping for books online does not provide the same opportunities for “serendipitous discovery” that can be found in a bookstore.

“I think with e-books there is a question, and it hasn’t been fully tested yet, whether [when] you’re reading, and you’re trying to really learn something, are you going to learn as well reading on a screen as you will reading a book?” Campbell says. “We obviously prefer real books, but for people that are reading digitally, we want them to be able to be our customers as well.”

Just as independent bookstores in the Triangle have started to sell e-readers, it seems tablets may be edging them out as the preferred method for e-reading. Arnold attributes Flyleaf’s “underwhelming” Kobo sales to the growing popularity of tablets.

“In fact, half as many e-readers were sold in 2012 as 2011.

And this is all e-readers, not just Kobos,” Arnold wrote in an e-mail. “I bought one… and have yet to use it.”

Book Industry Study Group survey revealed that 17 percent of people who do their reading online—and 38 percent of people who buy e-books weekly—use a tablet, and 9.2 percent use a smartphone. Both percentages represent increases from the previous year. These numbers are reflected in a growing number of tablet models. In addition to the iPad and Google Nexus, users will soon be able to choose from Toshiba, Samsung, Lenovo, Dell, HP, Fujitsu, Asus and Acer devices.

Quail Ridge recently began selling the tablet form of the Kobo e-reader, the Kobo Arc. But whether independents will succeed at uniting their traditional model with emerging technologies remains unknown. “I’m not sure they will see their local bookstore as a place to buy [tablets]. We’ll see!” Goddin wrote in an e-mail.

Only time—and readers like you—will tell. By the way, in what format are you reading this article? Independent booksellers might like to know. n TOWERVIEW | 25

jumping the gun debate story by sonia havele & ciaran o'connor photos by elysia su xx | TOWERVIEW

“I

’ve never even touched a gun before.”

“Me neither…”

As we pulled into the parking lot of Deep River Sporting Clays and Shooting School, located about an hour’s drive southwest of campus, our ears were suddenly confronted by the steady “pop-pop-pop” of sustained pistol fire, punctuated by the deeper, more ominous “BANGs” of the shotguns we’d soon be shooting. Our nostrils filled with the acrid yet alluring scent of freshly-burnt gun powder.

“I’m nervous.”

“Word. This is gonna be dope though.”

Since neither of us had any experience with firearms, we decided we had better shoot a gun before we delved any further into our exploration of gun culture and gun control, issues that provoke widely divergent and often intensely emotional reactions from Americans—and Duke students— on all sides of the issue.

And so we journeyed to Sanford, North Carolina to rent a shotgun and spend a crisp, sunny afternoon walking around the ground’s sprawling sporting clays course and attempting to shoot down the six-inch orange plates being launched across the sky by small spring-loaded “trap” machines operated by our 16-year-old shooting guide, Matthew. Along with the requisite eye and ear protection, we were provided with a handsome, semi-automatic 20-gauge Beretta Silver Pigeon shotgun and 50 shells apiece.

“Most of the people here, all they want to do is have fun,” Bill Kempffer, the owner and lead instructor, told us before we set off on the course. “This is a family place. It’s no different than going and buying a tennis racket.”

We weren’t quite sure how to take this; for us, guns also bring to mind images of violence and horror: televised spectacles of unspeakably evil school shootings, inner-city communities ravaged by gang violence and spur-of-the-moment suicides made possible by the startling availability of lethal weapons in America.

But at the same time, there was something spellbinding about standing amid the rows of polished wooden rifles and the glass-enclosed showcase of toy-like black Beretta pistols, exhibited for sale inside the facility’s pro shop. This contradiction—of feeling both perturbed by such easy access to life-ending weapons and mesmerized by the opportunity to hold and fire one of the most controversial American symbols in our bare hands—was unsettling.

“P

ull!”

The clay spun out of the machine at a terrific pace. Following the disk along for a second or two with the long shotgun nestled firmly against one shoulder, we took turns squeezing the trigger: one shell, then the other.

BANG. BANG. We both missed. It took several more shots before either of us connected. But when we did, the feeling was empowering, intoxicating even. We had just blown something out of the air from a distance of more than 200 feet.

“I can see why people like this.”

“Yeah… [CLICK]… Pull!”

I

n retrospect, there were many moments that gave us away as first-timers: our satisfied smirks at the bellowing sound of our first gunshots, our earnest and surprised reaction upon learning that people can and do buy guns from Wal-Mart and, most transparently, our age. Having shot his first gun before learning the full alphabet, our shooting guide, Matthew, has been operating firearms for more than 10 years. At 16, he owns several of his own firearms and spends his weekends leading beginners like us around the facility’s 13-station shooting course. At 22, we were a peculiar combination of lowlybeginners and late-blooming Yankees. But at least we were curious.

A

mid the heightened national conversation about America’s gun violence epidemic, we detected a new sense of urgency in the voices of those who expressed opinions both for and against gun control. In the wake of a spate of horrific mass shootings that culminated in a national nadir at a small elementary school in Newtown, Conn., gun safety activists argue that the national mood toward regulating firearms has softened. They see an opening to push through Congress legislation that would ban “assault weapons”—an ambiguous definition that includes certain semi-automatic firearms that can inflict mass casualties in a short amount of time­­—expand background checks and close well-documented loopholes

TOWERVIEW | 27

that allow people to buy guns from private dealers at gun shows and flea markets without being screened.

While gun rights advocates are generally opposed to renewing the federal ban on assault weapons—they see the proposed law as arbitrary and ineffective at preventing gun violence—there is an emerging consensus that activists on both sides might find common ground on expanding background checks to ensure that guns don’t wind up in the hands of criminals or individuals with a history of mental health problems.

“I think it’s possible to reduce the amount of gun violence we have without banning guns,” said junior David Winegar, co-President of Duke Democrats. For Winegar, enforcing tighter background checks, eliminating the socalled “gun show loophole” and cracking down on firearm trafficking should be the primary areas of concern.

“It would require a lot more regulation,” he said, “but I think it’s possible.”

Gun control advocates frequently say that 40 percent of gun sales in America occur without any background checks. But Kempffer disputed that number, insisting that the concern over background checks was overblown.

“Statistics—if you’ve done any study of statistics, you can make them say anything you want,” he asserted.

Kempffer believes the most important concern is ensuring that law-abiding citizens can adequately protect themselves. Making it harder to obtain firearms, he believes, would only undermine Americans’ sacred right to bear arms.

The right of the people to keep and bear arms, codified in the second amendment, is deeply ingrained in American history­—after all, we threw off the yoke of British imperialism with muskets and bayonets. While early understandings of the amendment suggested that it applied only to state militias, the notion that it covers an individual’s right to bear arms has become conventional wisdom over the last 50 years, a shift some legal scholars attribute 28 | TOWERVIEW

to the rise of the modern conservative movement and a sustained and forceful lobbying effort led by the National Rifle Association.

In 2008, the Supreme Court channeled public opinion when it affirmed an individual’s right to possess firearms for self-defense in the landmark case, District of Columbia v. Heller. Today, even liberal Democrats pushing for more stringent gun control laws acknowledge that the second amendment protects this basic individual right to bear arms. But where should the government draw the line? As that debate plays out in the halls of Congress and in classrooms and living rooms across the country, it’s important to consider that guns mean different things to different people. Part of why discussions surrounding national gun policy can feel so frustrating has to do with the divisive nature of gun culture itself.

“Statistics—if you’ve done any study of statistics, you can make them say anything you want.”

Sophomore Alex Smith captured this frustration perfectly, decrying the degree to which the debate over gun control has become hyperpolarized. “Everyone’s at opposite extremes,” she said. “I’m not hopeless, but I have a lot more faith in the country on other issues.”

When it comes to guns, coastal liberals and rural Americans don’t just disagree—they speak different languages.

Those in cities have a compelling crime-fighting interest in curtailing individuals’ rights to bear arms, while those in rural settings associate rifles with generations of family tradition and are taught, early on, how to use them safely.

Benton Wise, a senior from South Carolina who “grew up around guns,” explained how learning to respect firearms was an important part of his upbringing. “In some ways,” he said, “guns defined my childhood.”

Wise began hunting at age 8 and got a new gun every year. He developed a profound appreciation for sportsmanship and spoke of the value of learning to use guns in a safe way. When he came to Duke, he founded Duke Ducks Unlimited, a club dedicated to teaching students about preservation, restoration and protection in the outdoors.

Every year, the club sponsors hunting trips in which students learn how to handle guns appropriately.

When asked whether guns unnecessarily empower violent individuals, Wise said he was “distressed” by acts of gun violence and acknowledged that firearms can be a “megaspeaker” for those who wish to inflict mass pain.

While he does not favor increased weapons bans, he supports background checks for every gun purchase. The most pressing issue, he concluded, is not limiting access to firearms, but changing America’s “culture of violence” and attitudes toward weapons of such power.

But Jaisal Mariwala, a junior from Mumbai, India, who has never shot a gun before in his life, said he had trouble understanding Americans’ attachment to firearms. “As an outsider, it just looks like the access is too easy,” he said, noting that India enforces far stricter gun control measures than the United States and endures far less gun violence.

And indeed, the United States has a higher rate of firearm-related homicides per capita than any other developed country. According to data compiled by the United Nations, an American is 20 times more likely to be killed by a gun than someone from another developed country.

This isn’t surprising given the fact that America has far more firearms (300 million by some estimates) than any other nation on Earth.

While gun rights activists acknowledge the issue’s confounding circularity, they argue that with so many guns out there, the government has an obligation to ensure that people have access to firearms for self-protection.

“The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun,” said Wayne LaPierre, the NRA ex-

ecutive vice president, at a December press conference in which he called for armed security guards in every American school.

“As an outsider, it just looks like the access is too easy.”

But many advocates of stricter gun control measures, including President Barack Obama, argue that the government can reduce gun violence through “common-sense” policies that seek to keep guns out of the hands of those who would use them to commit acts of violence. In his most recent State of the Union address, Obama did not call on Congress to enact specific policies like the proposed assault weapons ban; instead he urged Americans to “come together around common-sense reform­, like background checks that will make it harder for criminals to get their hands on a gun.” Whether America’s hyper-polarized Congress will actually vote on such bi-partisan gun legislation remains to be seen, but it seems as though the most realistic short-term approach will occur on middle ground.

T

he warm afternoon sun began to set as we left the 13th and final shooting station. Although we were slightly discouraged by our relatively poor showing— together, we only shelled five out of 100 clays—we left Sanford with a newfound respect for gun culture and an enhanced understanding of unfamiliar perspectives on gun control. As the policy debate rages on, we feel better positioned to take a stance—or at least understand the complexity surrounding the bipolar nature of the national discourse. It seems that everyone agrees that America has a problem with gun violence, but our brief adventure to this small North Carolina shooting school illustrated the scope of misunderstanding and cultural disunity that informs impressions on both sides. n TOWERVIEW | 29

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Meet Jimmy Soni

2012 was a big year for Jimmy Soni, Trinity ‘07. In January, Arianna Huffington hand-picked Soni to serve as the managing editor of her popular news website, an accomplishment that motivated Forbes to name him one of the “30 under 30” in its list of media moguls. In October, Soni went on to co-publish his first book, “Rome’s Last Citizen: The Life and Legacy of Cato, Mortal Enemy of Caesar,” which chronicles the life of Marcus Porcius Cato, a champion of Roman republicanism. Though only 27, Soni has accumulated a wide range of experiences, having studied in Ireland, written speeches for the mayor of the District of Columbia and gained experience in management consulting. Here, Towerview’s Matthew Chase asks Soni—who was also a Chronicle columnist in his times at Duke—to discuss post-graduation life, risk-taking and the future of journalism.

Since graduating in 2007, you have successfully been involved in a wide array of careers. Given that many Duke seniors feel that they are constrained to a select few career paths—such as consulting and banking—what value have you gained from these atypical ventures?

I’ve learned how I do (and do not) want to spend my time. That’s no easy thing. If you’re not careful, your career can become stuck on autopilot, but it’s easier to avoid that when you meet and befriend people who live life deliberately. I’ve had amazing examples in my life, friends who are writers, military veterans, media personalities, teachers, historians, chefs, artists, poets, musicians—and by living vicariously through their experiences, I’ve clarified what I value and what I want to spend my days working on.

Can you talk about the value of taking risks (especially in your career path), and how to best manage those risks?

At the outset of my career, I took a well-worn path.

Then I realized that wasn’t for me and I took a few risks— and that’s when I found work I loved. Was that a given?

Probably not. In general, I’m suspicious of anyone peddling blanket advice about risk. People’s life circumstances are too diverse, their motivations too complex. What I can offer is a simple Stoic exercise I do anytime I’m on the threshold of a new venture: I write out in pain-staking detail what the absolute worst-case scenario would be. If I failed completely today, how would tomorrow feel? Once it’s written, I print it out, read it, and keep it close at hand.

As you might expect, the worst case is never quite so bad as you believe. A simple meditation on failure can be a greater call to action than a thousand daydreams about success.

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How have you eased the transitions between the different jobs you have held? What character traits were constant throughout your varied careers? What skills do you believe are crucial to being able to successfully navigate a diverse post-graduation plan?

Great mentors have made the transitions easier. In fact, two public policy professors from my Duke days— Bruce Payne and Bruce Jentleson—have been particularly helpful at each juncture. I’m deeply in their debt for the many frantic phone calls they’ve fielded over the years.

As far as skills, I would put writing atop the list. I’m far from where I want to be as a writer, but the combination of my coursework at Duke and writing for The Chronicle gave me a leg up when I graduated. Learn how to write, especially when Duke gives you every chance to learn. Frankly, it’s a shame that the only required writing class is Writing 20—a class you take when you’ve only just begun at Duke. If I could wave a magic wand and change the curriculum overnight, I’d have a required writing class every semester for four solid years (note: the virtue of graduating is that you’re allowed to say such blasphemous things). Put simply: clear writing is clear thinking. And you’d be surprised how far you can get in the world if you’re able to express yourself with coherence.

What do you think of the future of journalism? What repercussions do you think the shift to an online news cycle will have on the quality of news content and how readers will interact with that content?

I’m sanguine on the future of journalism. For all the challenges of the last decade, we’ve also seen the rise in that same time of Politico, The Huffington Post, The

cian—history’s first recorded filibusterer, Daily Beast and ProPublica—and that’s in fact—and someone whose refusal to just scratching the surface. Disruptions “Anytime I’m on the bend his principles pushed his beloved Reare tough in any industry, and there’s no public over the edge. We have too many doubt the last decade has been a particuthreshold of a new lone wolves like that already. For me, Cato larly rough time for journalists. That said, venture, I write out is a cautionary tale for our time—the ultimore people are creating content now than ever before, and it’s a safe bet that in painstaking detail mate lesson in why compromise is an essential ingredient to a functioning repubdue to the web, online video and mobile what the lic. technology, more people are consuming absolute worst-case content than ever before, too. That’s a remarkable thing, an achievement on scenario would be.” We imagine that your many careers have kept you quite busy. What advice do you par with the advent of the printing press. have for maintaining a strong work/life Going forward, I think traditional mebalance? dia companies will have to work to keep up, This might only be one weary man’s opinion, but but that effort will create even more innovation and force I think “balance” has become a false idol. Right now, us new players to stay on our toes. my work is my life, and I’m more than happy with that You have written that Marcus Porcius Cato, the subject choice. That won’t be true forever, of course, but in of your recent book, matters in today’s world because his general, I think it’s up to each person to decide what “mission was to live life on his own terms, even (and some- “balance” looks like for them. For me, right now, it times especially) when those terms put him at odds with means being intentionally imbalanced in the direction everyone around him.” In light of recent political “gridlock,” of my work. Decide what your ideal is and go for that. do you think that adopting Cato’s political legacy would Though—and this may be the only indisputably true help—or hurt—today’s politicians as they try to make D.C. thing in this entire interview—take any advice with a healthy dose of skepticism, but be especially doubting “work” better?

It’s tough to make the case that more Catos would when said advice comes from the life experience of a help our politics. Cato was an uncompromising politi- still-wet-behind-the-ears 27-year-old. n

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