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design:
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Asst. Photo Editors — Sabrina Shaffer, Yunji Yun
“Biological or not, I am a strong and faithful believer in the parts of one’s life making absolutely no sense together. Instead of obsessively centering your precious college time around a post-grad career, find joy by filling your days with schemes, side quests, pranks, and plans.”
online:
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business:
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15* State whose school won the inaugural MBB competition, The Crown
16* 2025 Men’s March Madness champions
18. Anger
20. Nickname of 1 Across’s father
21. For an atom or molecule, having acquired charge
23. What Edward can be shortened to, somehow
25. Liberty Mutual’s avian mascot
26. Most sacred
29. Street, in Lyon
32. Costs an arm and ____
33. Swollen area within bodily tissue
35. Common street sign abbr.
36. Opposite of halal
38. Pixar movie with the shortest name
39. How many g is one dg
41. Be educated
43. MLB team playing at the Yankees’ spring training facility
44. “River” that lets you float around in circles
DOWN
1. Boston’s airport
2. Sound of disgust
3. Preposition made of two smaller ones
4. Straddling or extending across
5. Uncle personification of America (or my roommate)
6* The circular part of the basketball hoop (two words)
7. Frequently confused with e.g.
8. Mean, median, mode, ____
9. Roman garb
11. Land or property document
14* Basketball tactic to creat one-on-ones
17. Legal ownership status represented by 11 Down
19. Light blue hue
22* Game like basketball… but not 24* Patrick Ewing’s number plus Dikembe Mutombo’s number, minus eight
26* Rebounding guard for the New York Knicks
27. More senior
28. Hong Kong and Macau’s official designations within China
30. Lending money with illegally high interest levels
31* How to watch some NBA playoff games
34. One of the Centers located in OSEI
37. Oohs and ___
40. Sodium, briefly
42. The Grand Canyon State, on mail
Eight Georgetown women’s golf players have left the team since 2022, and at least five cited the team’s head coach, Kate Schanuel, as the source of their departures in interviews with the Voice
Schanuel arrived at Georgetown in 2017 and won BIG EAST Coach of the Year. She received the honor again last year when Georgetown golfers were selected as the BIG EAST Player of the Year and Freshman of the Year.
Despite her success, former Hoya golfers believe Schanuel’s leadership fragmented the team and created a toxic environment, leading to mental health issues and poor player development. Last season, three of the team’s seven golfers left, forcing the team to hold open tryouts.
“I wanted to be a professional golfer, but she made me change my career path while I was here,” former player said.
Schanuel did not respond to the Voice’s repeated requests for comment. A university spokesperson did not respond directly to questions about the players’ allegations against Schanuel. However, the spokesperson wrote that, “The Department of Athletics takes seriously any concerns raised by our student-athletes and works to address them comprehensively, fairly, and consistently with Department and University policies and processes.”
In interviews with five former players who spoke to the Voice on the condition of anonymity, each had similar feedback on Schanuel’s leadership style. Players described her as “emotionally manipulative” and “malicious towards certain individuals.”
“[Schanuel] made me question my own worth and who I am as a person,” one said. “The things I grew up thinking were my strengths as an individual, she tore them down.”
One player said that after she failed calculus, Schanuel repeatedly made disparaging comments about her math ability. She said that during a tournament, when the player correctly calculated the distance for a shot, Schanuel told her, “You know how to execute and do math well, I better tell your professor that; maybe he’ll give you extra credit.”
“That was in the middle of a tournament. That is the last thing you should be talking about, let alone make fun of a kid for,” the player said.
After Schanuel made these comments, the former player said seniors on the team started making fun of her math ability, too.
The interviewed former players said that Schanuel also displayed favoritism. One said that “team decisions, lineups, and even day-today treatment often revolved around who she liked, not who earned it.”
According to one player, Schanuel excused a favored team member from having to qualify for the St. Andrews Links Collegiate—a tournament at the renowned Old Course in Scotland. This ensured the favored player was able to compete, even after a string of poor performances.
Players said Schanuel also manipulated team dynamics. In one instance, a player said she told Schanuel that she wanted to quit the team; however, without her there weren’t enough players on the team for a tournament roster. Schanuel told the player that if she quit, Schanuel wouldn’t headline the pre-college camp run by the player and her mom.
“[Schanuel] was like ‘if you don’t go through your commitment with me on this team, then I won’t go through with my commitment with you,’” the former player said.
Former players’ frustration with Schanuel extended into practices as well. Multiple former players expressed frustration with the lack of feedback and development. Some players made excuses to miss team practices, or “punishments,” as one former athlete described, and avoid Schanuel.
“We never really played golf,” one former player said.
The former players explained that Schanuel sometimes prohibited players from practicing at the driving range, restricting their opportunities to improve. Instead, she only allowed the team to play on the course, a two- to three-hour round trip from campus, allowing for only about six holes—roughly 20 shots—per practice.
“In a different environment, one where support, instruction, and belief in players were
consistent, I know I could’ve become a better golfer,” one said.
Several former players told the Voice that they developed anxiety and depression during their time on the team.
“I hated my life because I hated being on the team, and my team was my entire life here,” one said.
The resources made available by Georgetown Athletics to address these mental health challenges felt inadequate, according to the former players.
The ratio of student athletes to athletic department mental health practitioners is more than 700 athletes to three professionals, with a fourth one joining in August 2025, according to a university spokesperson.
“The Athletics Department, and specifically the Sports Medicine department, is dedicated to providing high-level holistic medical care,” a university spokesperson wrote. “Staff are available night and day to address any needs for student-athletes who choose to access available resources.”
Georgetown is one of the only athletics departments in the BIG EAST to have multiple full-time psychologists on staff; however, former players said their mental health still deteriorated as they remained on the team.
“I had mental health issues, and the program made my life so difficult,” one former golfer remarked.
The mental health struggles of the former players and their treatment on the team overshadowed their passion for playing golf.
“It was so unlike me because I love practicing and being on the golf course, but the entire spring I didn’t want to be at the golf course,” one former athlete said.
The former athletes hope that Georgetown will provide a more supportive and nurturing environment for future players.
“Players need support systems that prioritize their mental health, their development, and their dignity,” one former player said. “This is bigger than just wins and losses, it’s about the well-being of young women who deserve better.” G
green card is more than a form of identification or access—it is the difference between security and instability at a time when personal autonomy is defined by constantly shifting implementations of the law.
As a “permanent resident,” I have frequently been told that my position in this country is secure, but I’ve always felt differently. While I recognize the immense privilege of being a green card holder, I also know that my supposed “legal” presence in this country is tenuous at best, tied to the current ideology of whatever administration holds power.
The Trump administration’s recent surge in publicized deportations and legal threats against immigrants, including against permanent residents like Dr. Badar Khan Suri, has sent panic racing through migrant communities. Fear has shifted from a subconscious awareness to a daily, palpable wraith hanging above our heads—if even permanent residents aren’t safe, who is?
This fear is not novel. Migrants did not suddenly develop a constant awareness of their tentative status in this country the
I carry my life in my pocket
By Ajani Jones Design by Tina Solki
the circles of peers and allies that profess to be safe, the focus continues to remain on the question of status and legality, rather than the lives at risk.
At Georgetown, it feels like the people around me are more interested in engaging in debates on constitutionality, the letter of the law, and the economic implications of mass deportation rather than truly engaging with the most impacted communities. I won’t pretend to think that the world around me will suddenly undergo a mass change of heart, regardless of my strong feelings on this issue.
Rather, what bothers me is that when even allies are more focused on legal semantics, navigating the current climate feels increasingly dehumanizing.
To me, it begs the question: Would the people around me care if what is happening were 100% legal?
the arts and language—a love founded in an environment where these have high cultural capital—could not have been fully realized without allowing myself the room to branch out and grow in a completely new environment. Even more importantly, I’ve been able to meet people who have helped me blossom in ways that I could not have dreamed of achieving otherwise.
But now, as I grow closer to stepping outside into the “real world,” I feel that foundation of hope cracking under the weight of a country that seems to profess louder and louder that I, and people like me, aren’t welcome.
I wouldn’t dare say I’m surprised by this situation. This culture is not new. Many of us were prepared long ago for dealing with an environment that, at best, could be littered with thinly veiled xenophobia and politicized aggression. Over the past few years, I’ve had to navigate my fair share of ill-timed “jokes,” “well-meaning” ignorance, and blatant bigotry—I knew I had to, out of necessity, treat each instance with a great degree of poise. However, what is jarring is that, even in
In centering conversations solely around constitutionality, we begin to lose ourselves in the minutiae of the law—and we must reckon with the humanity lost within ourselves when we, intentionally or otherwise, sideline the humanity of others in critical conversations like these. People are not just losing access to visas or legal residency—they are being uprooted in increasingly devastating ways. Their lives should not be an afterthought.
The discussion surrounding the current sociopolitics of this country must move away from legal semantics. Regardless of the dubious legality of the Trump administration’s actions, or whether his actions are worse than other administrations, the focus should remain on the lives under threat of upheaval. Staring down a future that sits on a, at best, shaky foundation can be taxing mentally and emotionally in ways that are difficult to capture in words alone. It is imperative that we readjust how we tackle the current climate and build spaces that are genuinely safe, in both action and words. Starting here at Georgetown, we must prioritize empathy and patience at a time when our peers need it most.
I want to know what it feels like to not have my life tied to a single piece of plastic— that my ties to this place, my second home, are secure and not under constant threat of being uprooted. G
Why is Georgetown so funny? A dive into comedy on and off campus
BY NINABELLA ARLIS
DESIGN BY SOPHIE ST. AMAND
Georgetown loves a good slogan— “Hoya Saxa,” “Called to Be,” or any cocktail of Jesuit values—the list goes on. However, on his 2019 Kid Gorgeous comedy tour, John Mulaney (CAS ’04) managed to boil down the experience better than any Latin phrase ever could: “I paid $120,000 for someone to tell me to go read Jane Austen and then I didn’t.”
The Hilltop has long been known for producing politicians, diplomats, and business leaders. But alongside these traditionally “Georgetown” career paths, the university has also become a surprising comedy powerhouse, producing notable alumni like Mulaney, Jim Gaffigan (MSB ’88), Nick Kroll (SFS ’01), and Jacqueline Novak (CAS ’04).
This could be thanks to the university's tight-knit network of student-run comedy organizations, including the Georgetown Improv Association, Georgetown Sketch Comedy, the Georgetown Heckler, and GUerilla Improv, as well as popular comedy events like Georgetown Program Board’s annual Funniest Human competition.
But why is this school so funny? The Voice went straight to the source— Georgetown’s funniest students.
Eli Blumenfeld (CAS ’25), winner of this year’s Funniest Human competition and organizer of Georgetown’s inaugural Jewish Comedy Night earlier this month, suggested that the juxtaposition between D.C.’s seriousness and comedy scene could be a reason for the funniness.
“D.C. is not really a funny city. It’s a very serious city where people are always serious all the time, and no one has fun ever. Maybe it makes the comedy stand out, because it’s a contrast to the seriousness of the city,” Blumenfeld joked. “Georgetown is a little bit less topical and leans into the wonky a little bit more.”
Sophie Maretz (CAS ’26), who won the Funniest Human competition in 2024, believes Georgetown’s academic rigor bleeds into its humor.
“The culture and environment of Georgetown itself is like, everybody has their wittiness and their smartness and their quickness, and so the ability of a lot of people on campus to hone it into writing or performing is super fun,” she said. “I feel like it’s stuff that you would really only get at a school like Georgetown because it’s just so smart.”
While students can hone a distinctly Hoya sense of humor through oncampus organizations, many Georgetown comedians find value in venturing into D.C.’s wider comedy scene. David Edwards (CAS ’24), who was the 2022-23 editor-in-chief of the Georgetown Heckler and now performs standup, emphasized this broader exposure.
“Comedy in D.C. forced me to leave Georgetown and go to different parts of the city and see different places and do comedy for different audiences,” Edwards said. “There’s a big difference between doing comedy for students—a bunch of people who have similar cultural touchstones as you and similar-ish experiences—versus doing it for a bunch of 30-year-olds at a bar in Dupont Circle or Adams Morgan.”
This support continues after undergrad, too. Edwards shared that Gary Simons (CAS ’21), who won Funniest Human five years ago and spent the past year opening on tour for comedian Mike Birbiglia (CAS ’00) (who also won Funniest Human, 27 years ago), offered advice to both him and Haq.
Edwards and his roommate, Zan Haq (SFS ’24), even brought the off-campus comedy scene to campus by organizing Comedy for a Cause in 2023, featuring both student comedians and professional D.C. comics. The event raised money for Rangila’s Action Against Hunger fundraiser, showing comedy’s use as a vehicle for activism.
The Heckler, a satirical publication, often uses humor to address political issues. An example of this is Edwards’s brainchild: a “Right to Feet” booth next to Right to Life, an anti-abortion student group, in Red Square.
“Comedy doesn’t create a specific outcome, but it can create attention and energy. And then it’s a question of how you want to use that attention and energy,” Edwards said.
With sold out shows and popular Instagram accounts, Georgetown comedy basks in campus support.
“The respect that it gets is really significant, especially for the people in the groups, from the student body,” Maretz, who has participated in every aforementioned style of campus comedy, said.
Edwards also said that collaboration between clubs was common when he was a student.
“The comedy community is great. Everybody's very close knit. There's tons of people in the Heckler that were in the other groups, in GUerilla and Sketch and Improv,” he said.
“It’s just nice that Georgetown has people who have done comedy before that seem to be willing to give advice and be nice,” Edwards said. “It’s helpful that there are people who’ve come before you.”
In true Georgetown fashion, students approach comedy with intensity. Comedy clubs can be surprisingly competitive, with rigorous audition processes and regular practice schedules. But when students don’t make one comedy organization, they’re often directed to others, creating multiple pathways into the community.
“I got rejected from all the consulting clubs because I thought that’s what I wanted to do. And so I auditioned for the improv club and also got rejected from them. And then they told all the rejectees that there’s this other comedy club called Sketch Comedy that are taking applications due in like a week,” Blumenfeld said.
While Georgetown may always be better known for producing politicians than punchlines, its comedy outlets have created a surprisingly robust community.
So, why are Hoyas so funny? As Blumenfeld notes, maybe Georgetown’s funniest asset isn’t our intelligence or activism aptitude but the strong support system among students, both past and present.
“Georgetown is a school full of students looking to support their friends in any endeavor,” Blumenfeld said. “It’s really just a room full of friends out there.” G
In support of schemes
BY PHOEBE NASH
DESIGN BY MAGGIE ZHANG
his March, after striking the perfect ratio of Lau time to lawn time (which is to say, a whole lot more of the latter), I proudly proclaimed this spring to be a “side quest semester!”
I fill my weekends with random excursions, visits from long-distance friends, and even a spontaneous trip home—which admittedly felt less whimsical after the six-hour flight. My school days are packed with off-campus lunch plans, long runs across D.C., and a whole lot of time outside.
“I’m at the point in my life where I just carry my hammock wherever I go,” I told my mom one day on the phone.
I’m no neuroscientist, but I think if you cut open my brain you would find a bunch of cartoon-style blueprints of my latest plans accompanied by a too-long voice memo explanation.
To a certain extent, I think this love of side quests is genetic. You cannot convince me that my 6-foot-5, double varsity athlete brother’s decision to spontaneously join the school musical his senior year was not rooted in our unique genetic code—or perhaps was striking evidence of the Troy Bolton effect.
Biological or not, I am a strong and faithful believer in the parts of one's life making absolutely no sense together. Instead of obsessively centering your precious college time around a postgrad career, find joy by filling your days with schemes, side quests, pranks, and plans. Not to fall into cliché, but you are so much more than your LinkedIn experiences or CommonApp activities—seriously.
With a shocking lack of scholarly research, I must instead turn to the experts in my own life. My pranking sidekick (or perhaps me, his), Alden, is the ultimate schemer. He pumps whimsy into both the endless chaos of our summers as camp counselors and the more sterile aspects of adulthood. He finds happiness in the simple parts of life: a bike ride to work, rainy day adventures, or even the search for a battery recycling location—this last
prioritizes these activities, valuing seemingly ‘childish’ choices like climbing trees and doing cartwheels simply because they bring joy. For Alden, the floor is always lava.
While Alden’s all-encompassing embrace of schemes might seem daunting, micro-dosing unpredictability could be the solution for those addicted to rigid routines. Discover new music, challenge your dining hall habits, or maybe even take a class in a new department.
To an untrained eye, a side quest can seem embarrassing; not everyone has subscribed to this lifestyle. Understanding—and I mean truly internalizing—the idea that “the worst they can say is no” is a prerequisite. It is easy to get stuck in the hypothetical world of predicting others’ reactions. If you’re caught up in what other people think of you, walk away from campus; strangers are an infinitely less daunting audience.
To redirect toward a life of whimsy, it is necessary to separate who you are from what you do. While the clubs and subjects you spend your time on are important, this form of identity building can be restrictive. On a campus full of resumes and Georgetown intros it seems our identities are shaped by our majors, clubs, internships, and well-rehearsed interview responses. However, the most interesting parts of your character certainly go beyond this.
Who are you? Your friends and siblings, the teams you root for, foods you love, your favorite places, and any other part of your identity that doesn’t necessarily fit on a resume deserves a more prominent place in that response.
There is a deeper psychological benefit of this redirection away from pre-professional posturing and toward schemes and other silliness. It's a lifestyle largely and beautifully devoid of caring what other people think of you. This may seem impossible, and I too am still rewiring my brain from the
throes of the seventh grade. But, without the pull of external validation, there is plenty of opportunity to spend your time for your own sake, perhaps, on a side quest or two.
My friend Arthur, ever the philosopher, brought up a flaw within the very term “side quest.” This narrative framing as a side event to distract someone from their “main purpose” can undermine the value of the quest itself, he argues. After all, if a side quest—or perhaps scheme, to avoid this semantic issue—results in developing a friendship, understanding yourself more, or simply having fun, how can that detract from any overarching goal?
Perhaps we must challenge the concept of having plans entirely. I am all for finding meaning, life passions, and even an interesting career (believe it or not). But a five-year plan can feel limiting. It fails to recognize the nuance of life and the unexpected beauty of everything going “wrong.” It can also create an unnecessary divide between the version of yourself that exists now and the one you hope to be. By contrast, schemes can teach us to be comfortable with spontaneity and see the beauty in an unplanned life.
Unfortunately for the planners among us, it’s impossible to predict the unpredictable. We must live in the madness. There are plenty of opportunities to market yourself to others. Prospective employers, grad school admissions, and even opinionated relatives will still demand your well-packaged summaries and single-page life stories. Yet, schemes, on any scale, push back against a culture that forces us to live a life that looks good on paper. Rebel by finding joy in the uncertain, whimsical, and random. G
Dear readers...
I am writing to you as my final production night is underway. I’ve attended these nights since my freshman fall, when I joined as a designer. Since then, the Voice has given me many things, including making Georgetown my home.
I’ve spent so much time trying to do and be my best for the Voice that I haven’t had much time to describe how I feel now. So I’ll say just a little, and add more later, when I’m ready. I’m grateful for all this paper does for our community and for the chance to carry that on in my time in college. I can’t even begin to thank everyone for their work, friendship, chaos, and joy. I feel humbled to end my time here, but more than that, I feel so excited to let what comes next flourish without me.
Here’s to what’s still ahead, and thank you all, one final time, for reading,
P.S. One of my many, many projects for this magazine has been to beloved columnist and socialite. Below is one final word (from me) under that pseudonym.
Dear Hoyas,
Ican’t help but feel turned on by the line-up of community activities for Georgetown Day 2025 on April 25! The Georgetown Program Board has me in a chokehold these days, especially that wet foam party ;)
We are eager to present a joyful day with many activities. True community forms from caring for one another, not drinking to your heart’s content at 7 a.m. (a time you have never woken up at to attend a Georgetown class, ever) and stumbling to the front lawn at 10 a.m. to stuff your face with a burger.
As a reminder, Georgetown Day is a class day, and you must show up for your proficiency exam, which you’re absolutely going to slay! Rules for the day are below:
• Stained common room couches (post-fucking by J.D. Vance) must be taken outside residences or placed in elevators.
• Stuff a Jack the Bulldog to give to your situationship to keep on their bed when they break up with you.
• Drink as though the (holy) water can save you. Rest in Peace, Pope Francis.
• Amplified sound by Charli xcx and Taylor Swift only.
• No yacking before 9 a.m.
• Sleep in, honestly, this has gotten way too early.
• Seniors, sneak into the first-year dorms to visit your humble beginnings and relive your first times at Georgetown.
• Carry borgs that read “The Borgtown Voice” ONLY.
• Wristbands for people who won’t get GERMS-d after two shots.
• Stumble past the Lau guards to use the bathroom at least twice, only to realize you have to slip down to Lau 2.
Let’s choose to celebrate Georgetown Day in the spirit with which it was first created: to truly care for one another by confessing everything you’ve left unsaid all year. Together, we can celebrate a Georgetown Day that everyone in our community can enjoy and never remember.
xoxo, Gossip Rat
Georgetown becomes second top 25 university to offer a disability studies major
BY ELAINE CLARKE AND CONNOR DWIN DESIGN BY CECILIA CASSIDY
After years of advocacy from those involved in Georgetown’s Disability Studies Program, the university will now offer a disability studies major, according to an April 15 announcement. Students in the College of Arts and Sciences can declare the major starting fall 2025.
English professor Libbie Rifkin founded the disability studies minor in 2017, and those involved in the program have been working to expand the offerings since.
“About two or three years ago, many students started saying, ‘Why can't we have a major?’” pediatrics professor Toby Long, a faculty member of the Disability Studies Program since its inception, said. “So, we started looking into it and doing some investigation of other universities that have a major—and there's not very many of them.”
After several years of work, Georgetown will become the second top 25 university to offer a major program dedicated to disability studies this fall.
“There are very few non-professional liberal arts, interdisciplinary disability studies majors like the one that we now have at Georgetown,” professor Quill Kukla, director of the Disability Studies Program from 2022 to 2024, said. “We felt like we had the opportunity to do something very cutting edge.”
According to Kukla, the minor’s success inspired the major, and both will serve as integral parts of the program going forward.
“A lot of people want to attach the minor onto a pre-med program or a pre-law program or something like that, which doesn't really give them room for a whole other major. So our minor is still extremely important,” they said.
“But, for people who really are looking for a career in or near disability studies itself, or something that has to do directly with disability, the major is going to be a really good option.”
The disability studies major is designed for students pursuing a
variety of career paths including academia, health policy, occupational therapy, social work, and health and disability law.
Long said that the expansion of the program into a major will open up space for students to do more in-depth study and scholarship around disability, as well as provide further opportunities for internships and research with faculty.
“There are many faculty throughout the campus that work in areas related to disability, that would be fabulous opportunities for the undergraduates to work with and explore issues—some issues that may not, at first blush, be affected by or affect people with disabilities,” Long said.
Students and faculty recognize that disability intersects with other fields of study and aspects of life, such as law, culture, medicine, art, and more. For this reason, it’s critical that the program is robust, according to Paige Benish (SFS ’28), who is considering a disability studies minor.
“Disability is such a facet of human life, and it's so misunderstood and stigmatized by society,” Benish said. “It's really exciting that some people are going to use their undergraduate time to become experts in that and hopefully influence the world for the better based on the perspectives they get.”
Professors are also excited to see the program expand after years of advocacy from faculty and students, according to Theodora Danlevich, an English professor who teaches disability studies classes.
“I think disability studies is a very valuable perspective that informs virtually all struggles towards justice, because the orientation towards disabled experiences helps us to really hone in on fundamental ways in which structures and systems need to be reassessed and reimagined,” she said.
The disability studies major fits well with Georgetown’s values, such as cura personalis, Kukla said.
“A major that really emphasized thinking about how people have diverse bodies and minds and perspectives and are enmeshed in networks of care and vulnerability and dependency and strength and so forth, was just a really good fit with what Georgetown claims to value,” they said.
Long echoed Kukla’s sentiment.
“It's a perfect place to have an academic unit that investigates disability, not as an impairment, but as a component of the life course,” Long said.
Benish is excited for the new major, but emphasized the importance of the Disability Studies Program remaining centered around the leadership and experiences of disabled people. According to Kukla, many, but not all, of the current faculty have disabilities.
“I see a potential scenario where we have the disability studies major in place, but we lose leadership of disabled people, and then it becomes, ‘Oh, we're studying about disabled people,’” they said.
Benish added that disabled experiences are not a monolith and hopes that the program is careful not to teach it that way, especially when non-disabled professors teaching courses about the disability.
“In general, disability is such a dynamic, versatile thing that different people go through wildly different stuff, and so, even as someone who's been disabled my almost entire life, I don't experience everything. I don't have the authority to talk about everything,” they said.
Despite this caution, Benish emphasized that they are still excited about how the growth of the program could allow others to better understand the perspectives of disabled people.
Kukla believes that disability studies’ growth into a major will bring it deserved attention in the academic world, which is especially important for a subject focusing on diversity that exists on campus.
“A lot of our faculty—not all, but a lot of our faculty— are disabled and a lot of our students are disabled,” they said. “It's a place where disabled community members are fully contributing to the intellectual life of the university, which I think is really exciting.” G Editor’s note: Paige Benish is a contributor to the Voice.
Let's 'touch base' with the language of advocacy
BY STELLA LINN
DESIGN BY KATIE REDDY
“Can we get this in by EOD” … “Let’s coffee chat about this” … “Just touching base to see if you have the bandwidth”
We’ve all heard these types of phrases endlessly at Georgetown, especially given the Hilltop’s pervasive corporate culture. In class projects and clubs, we use this language instead of speaking like normal 20-year-olds. In some contexts this makes sense—a consulting club is naturally going to use language created by consultants. However, there are certain spaces that do not need this language. Namely, political organizing.
Yet, this language is used all the time in spaces that should be about connection. As co-president of H*yas for Choice (HFC), Georgetown’s reproductive justice organization, I am by no means immune. Despite being a club that is supposed to bring people together to make change, we still have “action items” that we ask people to “circle back on.” We perpetuate corporate language, reinforcing an unnecessary barrier of hierarchy because the language is cold, distant, and mirrors historically exclusionary systems. It is counterproductive to creating any type of measurable change.
Corporate language dates back to the 1920s, when American factory owners were trying to more efficiently run their businesses. They experimented with environmental factors like lighting and temperature, but realized nothing drastically changed productivity like making employees feel seen. When employees believed that their bosses were paying attention and valuing their work, they got better. Employers began using buzzwords to do just that. The key is that the laborers felt like they were being paid attention to, not that they actually were.
Business jargon evolved from there. In the late 1960s, management in marketing and finance created today's corporate vernacular to improve efficiency and hide unethical practices. After consulting groups were brought in, phrases like “restructuring,” “letting go,” and “streamlining” were coined to justify firing people. Consulting groups specifically took
language intended to make people feel seen and turned it into a way to obfuscate immoral actions. Many of these words were popularized by McKinsey and Company, who employed such phrases while engaging in massive corruption, unethically targeting opioids to high-need communities, and defending fossil fuel companies.
This language enforces hierarchy by creating a barrier between employees and employers, shielding what upper management does from the general labor force. It hides genuine emotion, interest, and plans behind “paradigm shifts,” “bottom lines,” and “benchmarking,” using impersonal language to the point where no one is actually saying anything.
Speaking in this manner clouds the goals and actions of an organization, in some cases intentionally. In social justice work, while it may not be deliberate, when corporate language is taken outside of the internal group and used for volunteers, advocates, or community members at large, it hides the groups’ true aims. This jargon has become so normalized that no matter an organization’s intention, people use it. However, every time we use language like “deliverables,” “synergy,” and “proactive leadership,” we put up a wall of formality between ourselves and members of our community. We place ourselves in a hierarchical and corporate culture that does not value personal connection. These systems are exactly what advocacy and organizing fight against.
together to go protest or texting your parents to sign a petition. And it works. In voter turnout alone, typical organizing measures make someone 0.29% more likely to vote. With relational organizing, that number is 8.3%. To do this work, organizers use much more tangible language. They use personal stories and shared experiences. Rather than “let's circle back on this,” one may say, “I’ll text you tomorrow.” It’s a small change, but it makes a big impact.
The entire point of organizing is to encourage people to care. Employing impersonal corporate jargon only works against you. There is no way to get someone interested or passionate when you tell them you will “run their ideas up the flagpole.” How are you supposed to change any minds when you don’t say anything real? While the first step is language, the broader issue at hand is bringing organizing back to a human level. This language was developed to make people feel seen, but organizing efforts must actually see people.
Using this language isolates you from the very groups you are trying to organize for. When these words are used when speaking to someone who has never been exposed to corporate speech before, it creates further exclusion. Those groups that have been systematically excluded from spaces that teach this sort of language are typically the communities being supported by organizing efforts in
While there are some circumstances where specialized formal language, such as specific legal jargon, can be helpful, we should, by and large, stop. Organizing only works when people feel connected to you. The entire purpose is to inspire people about your cause enough to make change. That can’t happen when you put up the invisible wall of corporate speech and hide your true message. We need to put the influence of consulting culture aside. Save the buzzwords for another time; now is when we need to talk, care, and connect with others. We need to be real, and that starts with language. G
Suzanne Collins’s new novel explores hope and community as acts of defiance
BY ALISON KARKI
DESIGN BY ELLE MARINELLO
Despite my excitement for Suzanne Collins’s novel Sunrise on the Reaping, I harbored simultaneous skepticism. I feared it would regurgitate the message of the original Hunger Games trilogy.
I was mistaken. Sunrise on the Reaping recontextualizes what readers previously understood about the Hunger Games, tracing its history through Haymitch Abernathy’s story. In fleshing out the gruesome details of his games, Collins illustrates that the Capitol’s propaganda not only manipulates its citizens but also misleads us, the readers, about the scope of the original trilogy’s rebellion. The novel reveals the covert dangers of the regime, exposing the Capitol’s long history of erasing resistance and censoring its citizens.
Throughout Haymitch’s games, Maysilee Donner, one of the other District 12 tributes, is outspoken about the need to control her narrative—and “paint her own poster”— so that the Capitol sees district members as human. She makes flower necklaces for younger tributes, acknowledging them as family instead of competition. She eats food with utensils in the hope that the Capitol will not portray her as animalistic. Yet, ultimately, President Coriolanus Snow edits out these moments from the official Games broadcast.
Despite the Capitol’s attempts to hide the truth, the districts have always fought to preserve it. One of the most striking revelations in Sunrise on the Reaping is how
previously rebelled but failed. As punishment, Snow reaped Beetee’s son, Ampert, with the aim of murdering him, and—more cruelly— forced Beetee to mentor him. Mags and Wiress were also tortured by the Capitol for their defiance after the second Quarter Quell. However, these punishments did not instill submission in them, as they continued their decades-long plan for rebellion in the original trilogy.
One of the Capitol’s most depraved tactics is physical control over its citizens, demonstrated through the dehumanization of characters like Louella McCoy, a 12-yearold, tan-skinned Seam girl from District 12. After the tribute’s untimely death before the Quarter Quell, Snow procures another young darker-skinned girl to be genetically altered with Louella’s features. He does so, not only to conceal that the Capitol let a tribute die before the games, but also as a means to surveil the others. Snow tortures, starves, and implants a listening device in this new girl, whom Haymitch nicknames ‘Lou Lou.’ Her body becomes a symbol of state violence—her identity erased and her form repurposed. This control echoes the historical exploitation of bodies, particularly Black bodies, in surveillance, revealing how the Capitol’s power is enforced through the violation of the person itself.
Sunrise on the Reaping is saturated with death and suffering, perpetuating the idea that there are no winners in war, while also portraying the resigned and grief-ridden state of trauma survivors. Even those who ultimately survived have lost everything: their life partners, their family, their own minds.
The characters who die constantly “haunt the narrative.” Just as Rue’s death is a catalyst for Katniss’s fight, the ghosts of Louella, Ampert, Maysilee, and Lenore Dove, Haymitch’s girlfriend, gradually shift his mindset from implicit submission to revolution. The presence of these characters is felt long after their deaths—through music, poetry, and most of all, paralyzing grief. During Maysilee’s funeral, Burdock Everdeen, Katniss’s father, sings Lucy Gray’s song “The Hanging Tree” in a small act of defiance.
The same haunting quality resonates in Collins’s reference to Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” from which Lenore Dove takes her name. In the poem, Lenore is the narrator’s lost love whose absence drives him into obsessive mourning and insanity.
Collins intersperses paragraphs of “The Raven” between scenes to signify Haymitch’s descent into madness following Lenore’s death.
As Haymitch’s world is shattered, he distances himself from his community, turning to drinking to drown his sorrows. To district members like Haymitch, grief is constant in their everyday lives. The only way they know to survive is through dissociation.
He who was once a sober moonshiner’s apprentice became a jaded alcoholic by the Capitol’s doing. In the new prequel, Collins offers a new perspective to Haymitch, showing that his nihilism is not the absence of belief but rather armor to shield himself from pain.
In the last chapter, Plutarch asks Haymitch: “You were capable of imagining a different future. And maybe it won’t be realized today, maybe not in our lifetime… We’re all a part of a continuum. Does that make it pointless?”
Haymitch’s cynicism is all too familiar in our own world; it feels irrational to have hope, imagination, and optimism in the midst of an oppressive regime. Yet, if we were only ever hopeful when it was a rational feeling, nothing in the world—whether it be in Panem or the country we live in—would change for the better.
Hope strangely exists despite all odds. In the epilogue, Haymitch frolics in a meadow and tends to geese, mirroring the quiet joy Lenore Dove once found in the same act. He affectionately calls another young girl, Katniss, “sweetheart”—a name he once vowed to reserve for Louella. He shares stories with Peeta and Katniss about Burdock, Lenore Dove, and Lucy Gray, carrying forward these memories through love instead of mourning. After decades of numbing his grief, he is finally sober.
In the end, Haymitch shows us a light at the end of the tunnel: painting his own poster, not with defiance, but with community and a life still worth tending to. G
senior year apartment I share with four of my closest friends. I’m in tears as I silently sing along to the newly released, live version of “The Cut That Always Bleeds.” While I’m not currently suffering from any gaping, love-induced wounds, hearing this version fills me with something deeply wistful. When I first became obsessed with this song, I was singing it in my New South dorm freshman year after my sister and I saw Gray in concert. I slid in socks across the vinyl flooring while “Maniac” played, and sat on the HFSC balcony washing out the sounds of cars with “People Watching.” Two of my earliest pieces for the Voice were about Conan Gray, actually. You could say freshman spring was my “Conan semester.”
Taylor Swift released Midnights (2022) in my sophomore fall. I sat on the bottom bunk of my Kennedy dorm, parsing through the album track by track while my best friend slept in the bed above me. The moment I reached the bridge of “You’re On Your Own, Kid,” everything ground to a halt: “From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes / I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this.” I had been struggling to stay afloat that semester, organic chemistry wrecking my relationship with academic validation. But any time I played that song, I felt cradled in its authenticity. I would listen to it as I sat by Dahlgren Chapel at night, using it like a mantra before exams: “Take the moment and taste it / You’ve got no reason to be afraid.” That song will always take me back to sophomore fall, but it doesn’t reopen old scars. Now, “You’re On Your Own, Kid” is recognition of how I survived that semester, and how proud I am of the care I put into my academic career. In January of my sophomore spring, I realized I hadn’t befriended anyone in the Voice’s Leisure section—at least, not enough to talk to them outside of Leavey 424. I decided to attend my first Voice party, and looking back through my camera roll now, there are two videos from that night
A love letter to music in my four years at Georgetown
BY NIKKI FARNHAM
GRAPHICS
BY
that capture the moment everything changed. In the first, I’m singing Taylor Swift’s “Better Than Revenge” at the top of my lungs, surrounded by four girls that would become my best friends in Leisure. In the second, we’re screaming the bridge to “Cruel Summer” smiling ear-to-ear. It was the first time at Georgetown that I felt part of a community, a corner of campus where my love of music and film would be reciprocated with the same zealousness. Queuing up “Better Than Revenge” became tradition at every Voice party moving forward, and I screamed along with those same girls every time.
When I first discovered Maisie Peters’s “History of Man” in junior spring, I played the song on repeat for weeks. I sang it to myself in my Vil B bedroom and soaked the lyrics into my skin as I crossed the courtyard to get to class. That was a “Maisie semester” for me. “There It Goes” kicked off my mornings, telling me that the universe was shifting in my favor. “The Good Witch” served as a reminder that I am constantly surrounded by love. And I turned to “Run” when I wanted to echo that boys suck. The Good Witch (2023) became the backing track to that period of my life— to no one’s surprise, I listened to “History of Man” a grand total of 182 times.
There was more defining music, of course. So much more, I can’t keep count. There was Noah Kahan’s Stick Season (We’ll All Be Here Forever) (2023) when I returned to campus after losing my grandfather in junior fall. The Percy Jackson musical when my friend and I worked on orgo lab reports at three in the morning. Rihanna whenever my roommates and I got ready to go out, outfit compliments flying left and right. And Griff’s Vertigo (2024) as I watched the sunset from our Jes Res window, a view of the Potomac I had been craving since freshman year.
My relationship with music changed entirely in college. Whether I was dancing, singing, sleeping, crying, or shoveling oatmeal in my
ELLIE TA; LAYOUT
BY
MAGGIE ZHANG
mouth as I walked to class, my Spotify got me through it all. I had songs curated for when I needed to concentrate in a Lau cubicle, or when I needed to feel understood. I put together playlists for myself and others and sat on oh-so-many couches with friends singing new releases. Paired with every song is a distinct memory of a “who” and “where” at Georgetown, little landmarks for me to remember my college years. More than that, though, they remind me of how much I have grown since I moved into that New South dorm. So thank you to music, and thank you to Georgetown. I’ll remember you long after I leave the Hilltop.
Love, Nikki G
Nikki’s top 10 most influential albums of college (in chronological order):
1. Kid Krow (2020) by Conan Gray
2. Future Nostalgia (2020) by Dua Lipa
3. AURORA (2023) by Daisy Jones & The Six
4. the record (2023) by boygenius
5. Stick Season (We’ll All Be Here Forever) (2023) by Noah Kahan
6. The Good Witch (2023) by Maisie Peters
7. Zach Bryan (2023) by Zach Bryan
8. WE DON’T TRUST YOU (2024) by Future and Metro Boomin
9. Secret of Us (2024) by Gracie Abrams
10. All of Taylor Swift’s discography
DESIGN BY PAIGE BENISH
Georgetown students say it can be hard to keep a roster as an athlete
BY IMANI LIBURD AND AUBREY BUTTERFIELD
Athletes at Georgetown seem to have it all: access to a prestigious academic institution, D1 dreamsturned-realities, and a plethora of articles highlighting their achievements from campus publications. But while they may make threes on the court, shooting their shot in the dating world is not always as successful.
The Voice asked seven athletes about their relationships and the obstacles of dating while playing a university sport. Some athletes have chosen to be anonymous so they can speak more freely about their challenges and experiences in the dating scene.
When asked if they have been searching for love on campus, many pointed out that being in a relationship doesn’t exactly fit in with the demanding life of a student athlete.
“It’s definitely more complicated with dating—there’s so many requirements,” a football player said in an interview with the Voice . “There’s things you have to do to make sure that both people in the relationship are happy and with college athletics, you’re so time-constrained, with the actual athletic part, with the school, it’s very hard to balance those two things—let alone add in the third dynamic of a relationship.”
For athletes looking for love, the football player said it’s necessary to give up something for the relationship to work.
“I think to adequately have a good relationship, one thing has to sacrifice,” the football player said. “In my case, football, your academics, or the relationship. It’s very hard to manage all three.”
Being a student athlete requires demanding hours dedicated to one’s
sport. That alone can make it hard to reserve time for another person.
“First and foremost, you don't have a lot of time. You are constantly doing things for your sport and, most of the time, at weird hours that don't allow for you to have much time for yourself, let alone another person,” a women’s soccer player wrote in a direct message to the Voice
Depending on whether an athlete is in or out of season, their schedule will look different. While being out of season gives them more time, when an athlete is in season, their entire day is filled with sport-related responsibilities.
“In season, it’s tough: you’re leaving every weekend, more or less. Half the weekends [of] your fall semester you have to leave for two days, and then during the week, it’s early mornings. You have to wake up about six in the morning, get ready for practice, meetings, lifts. You’re normally done around noon and then you have class,” the football player said.
Student athletes have to fulfill more than just athletic requirements. Being students, they also have to find time to study and do homework, which can leave them little time to do anything else.
“From 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. I am doing things that I can’t get out of, and then after that I have ‘me time,’ but ‘me time’ I have to eat and then do my work. And by the time I’m done with all of that, it’s probably 9 or 10 p.m., if not later, because I’m probably gonna need a little bit of [time] in between after practice because I’m not like a robot. I need to exhale after my whole day,” Maria Filippova (CAS ’27), a volleyball player said.
One athlete mentioned that as a student athlete, the only time you may be able to see your partner is at night.
“When you meet someone only at night, it’s a little bit different and I guess the [relationship] expectations are a little different. And sometimes I don’t personally like the expectations that come with that,” a women’s track and field athlete said.
With this limited time and the numerous hours of practice daily, it’s almost expected that athletes would only hang out with people in their sport. Other than affecting their ability to date someone, it also impacts their friendships.
“It’s hard to sustain friendships, honestly, that aren’t on your team,” Filippova told the Voice . “I have a best friend who goes to UMD and I don’t even really get to call her. And that's basically my sister.”
Sho Garcia (CAS ’28), a baseball player, stated that he felt close to his teammates because he doesn’t get time to meet many new people. However, he disagreed with the idea that athletes only hang around other athletes.
“It’s pretty tough honestly. We really don’t get that much time to go out and meet new people,” Garcia said. “I feel like there’s a pretty big stigma around how athletes don’t hang around non-athletes. I think that’s completely untrue.”
Student athletes did not only call out perceptions about friendships, though. The women’s track and field athlete believes that non-athletes glorify the idea of being with or “bagging” an athlete.
“People who aren’t athletes think very differently about people who are athletes in that sense,” she said. “When it comes to talking to people
or relationships, there’s a lot of stereotyping that goes around, not only physically but also personality-wise and what they think they gain from talking to or being with an athlete.”
Despite those negative perceptions, some athletes still search for love, but have unfortunately had no luck.
“Respectfully, all of the past guys that I’ve been in communication with in that sense were, as much as they want to act like they’re serious and they’re in it for the long run, they literally never are, and it’s pretty easy to figure out in a couple of months,” Filippova said. When asked if dating a college athlete would be easier than dating a non-athlete, most athletes absolutely agreed that it would be.
“It’s a lot more relatable because we know how hard it is on each other,” Garcia said. “If we have the time, then we would definitely be able to meet new people and try and find someone that we really enjoy being around. But, it really depends on time and how much we have.”
These athletes emphasized the common ground found within an
athlete pair: tough schedules, sport struggles, and living an uncommon college experience.
“This is definitely very common and happens a lot because when you date another college athlete, you both understand the lifestyle that you have chosen, and it is much easier to explain hardships and time management with someone who understands you. Arguments are a bit easier to convey and you both have the ability to relate to each other on some of these hardships,” the women’s soccer player wrote.
However, Filippova doesn’t think that dating another college athlete is as good as it is made out to be. Although she acknowledged that they would probably understand what she is experiencing, seeing each other would still be a big challenge.
“If he’s not a fall sport, for example, let’s say it’s basketball or lacrosse in the winter or spring, our schedules might not exactly align, but that almost makes it worse because then he’s gonna be busy at a different time than I’m busy,” Filippova said.
Dating non-athletes comes with its own struggles.
“I’ve tried to talk to non-athletes as well. It’s definitely easier in the sense of like, he actually has time to speak to me, so that’s really cool. However, I feel bad when there are certain obligations that I have that take my time away,” Filippova said. “So that adds a strain on the relationship. So, I feel like either way, not to be a pessimist, but it’s almost a lose-lose, whoever you pick.”
Despite these numerous hardships, some Georgetown athletes have managed to find love on the Hilltop. A men’s lacrosse player,
who is dating another college athlete, believes that communication is made easier because they are both athletes.
“I think dating a student athlete, in general, we know each other’s deal pretty much, so it’s like, I know she won’t be on the phone for that long. I know I can’t expect a response until like 4 o’clock or 5 o’clock. And I think we have a lot more leniency towards being off your phone,” he told the Voice
Though not dating another college athlete, Hashem Asadallah (CAS ’27), a men’s basketball player, has found his experience with his partner works because of their understanding of his commitments.
“My communication during those hours isn’t the best because I’m usually so busy. I mean that does sometimes cause conflict, but if you have an understanding partner, it makes it easier,” Asadallah said.
Asadallah points out that although his partner is not a college athlete, they still have responsibilities outside the relationship as well.
“Just cause she’s not a student athlete, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have commitments such as school, work, time to study. We try to make sure that our schedules align or we make time to see each other with all the stuff we have going on,” Asadallah said.
Regardless of the many challenges of dating as a college athlete, it’s not impossible to make it work. Some athletes have seen their teammates form great relationships despite having to manage being a student athlete.
“At Georgetown, there’s very few guys that are like, ‘I’m trying to go to the NFL.’ They’re playing football for the team, but really to enjoy it,” the football player said. “It’s not like there is that pressure of, ‘I need to be completely undistracted, I need to be at every single thing so that I can make it to the NFL.’ So, I think that in that situation, people were better able to have relationships.”
Ultimately, it’s up to the athlete.
“I think that it is manageable,” the football player said. “It’s very tough, but I think if I found somebody that I actually really saw a future with, then I would have sacrificed.” G
