The Development Issue

the development issue

The State Press and ASU Student Media

Social Media

state press magazine

Editor's letter

Anyone who’s ever been in the proximity of ASU knows development happens on every inch of this campus. I mean, innovation is simply impossible without development. Whether or not the development is considered a net positive, change is always happening here.

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EXECUTIVE EDITOR

Angelina Steel

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Camila Pedrosa

MANAGING EDITORS

Savannah Dagupion

Madeline Nguyen

DESIGN EDITOR

Monica Navarro

ENGAGEMENT EDITOR

Anna Olp

WRITERS

Abigail Beck

Audrey Eagerton

Fatima Gabir

Claire Geare

Gib Manrique

Leah Mesquita

ILLUSTRATOR

Andrea Ramirez

PHOTOGRAPHER

Hajin Lee

In this issue, writers tackle various facets of development, from the resurgence of film photography and the film development process to how the University’s Indigenous land acknowledgement may be developed upon. They pass down comical lessons on how to be LGBTQ+ in college and satirize the experience of simply giving up on school and relaxing. One writer halfjokes about how to properly interact with Hawaiian people in a redux of a 2022 story, and another shines light on an organization giving students a chance to develop business ventures. Finally, one reporter examines the pushback faced by students who vocally and publicly support Palestine.

Until next time,

Made by students, for students

A national platform helps ASU students kick-start their personal brands

For most college students who spend their hours sitting in lecture halls, sifting through textbooks and cramming for exams, running a small business may seem like just a daydream to entertain during class. But for ASU students who’ve taken that dream and made it a reality, an online platform Student-Made at ASU has been making these business ventures a lot easier since last fall.

The platform is the ASU chapter of the program Student-Made, which was launched by for college students to help aspiring student entrepreneurs start their own businesses. Business partners Lindsay Reeth and Ryan McElhinney, who graduated in 2019 from Elon University in North Carolina, started developing the program as juniors in 2017.

“The idea came about organically,” Reeth said. “We started meeting

by Leah Mesquita Designs by Monica Navarro Photos courtesy of Jenna Serag

students who were running businesses out of their dorm rooms, and we thought it was the coolest thing.”

As Reeth grew curious about these student-run small businesses, she was surprised to learn that almost none of these entrepreneurs were business majors, nor were they targeting their products to customers on campus.

“On a customer base, we felt a campus community is even better than something like Etsy that’s very diluted with all different kinds of creators,” Reeth said. “We wanted to connect (students) with supporters that encourage their business because they go to the same campus or they’re connected to that campus.”

In December of that year, Reeth and McElhinney debuted StudentMade with a pop-up-style event for the holidays featuring 15 student artistentrepreneurs. The following year, Reeth said it became 10 times bigger.

After graduating and moving to another town in North Carolina near Appalachian State University, Reeth and McElhinney were inspired to launch Student-Made at a campus

other than Elon University.

Today, Student-Made has partnered with 13 campuses across the country, including ASU, Marquette University, Michigan State University and Benedict College. This upcoming fall, students at the University of Arizona are slated to launch their own Student-Made chapter, making it the second Arizona university to partner with the program.

Some of the partnerships StudentMade has forged have come after the program established connections with the universities first, according to Reeth. However, she said it’s also common for students to contact the program about opening chapters on behalf of their schools.

“Sometimes, we’ll reach out to a campus if we hear about them and say, ‘We’re really interested in launching on your campus,’” Reeth said. “Sometimes universities reach out to us, and sometimes students reach out to us and say, ‘I want this program on my campus.’”

Students who decide to sell with Student-Made follow a business model

Reeth calls the “long division way,” in which the work of running a small business is divided among multiple student workers to take the burden of launching an operation off any one student.

“A huge part of our program is the value for the student managers that operate the platform,” Reeth said. “For example, the student creator would submit products to be sold, and the website manager would upload the products to the website. Instead of you being the person to upload them yourself, you have someone who uploads them for you.”

Each Student-Made chapter operates like a “mini-company” run by seven student managers, who direct tasks like campus engagement, social media outreach and finance, according to the program’s website.

“I focus more on engagement,” said Ashley Manalo, a freshman studying business with a focus in global politics and the community engagement manager at ASU’s StudentMade chapter. “I reach out to individual creators, get information relayed

in a centralized manner and plan community events.”

As a first-year student, Manalo found she had enough time to start a part-time job because of her lighter workload. She first heard about Student-Made while scrolling through the University’s student employment website, as she came across an open position for a student manager at the program’s ASU chapter.

In her role, Manalo said she receives an hourly wage that is comparable to most student jobs at the University. In her position, she’s limited to working 15 hours a week, according to Manalo. At ASU, student workers typically cannot work over 25 hours a week on average.

Manalo said, Reeth’s vision, which fosters connections between student customers and creators, is something she values in her managerial position.

“The nice thing about StudentMade is that it’s very local,” Manalo said. “As ASU students, we know what that workload is like, and being able to see other people who can have these businesses on top of all of that, … it’s

just kind of cool.”

Student entrepreneurs

B ecause Student-Made chapters are managed by students and sell students’ products, Reeth said they operate as teaching models for budding entrepreneurs.

“We really pride ourselves on being an easy-access educational program for students of all kinds that want to try a business,” she said.

Universities that partner with Student-Made pay the program to have it operate on their campuses, Reeth said. In turn, student entrepreneurs who work with Student-Made are paid through direct deposit every two weeks, but they must pay a mandatory $60 fee each semester they work with the program, she added. The program is particularly unique in that it does not take any of its sellers’ profits, according to Reeth.

Student creators who work with Student-Made at ASU, like Jenna Serag, a freshman studying computer science, have said a small fee is deducted from

“It’s like my imagination turns into reality.”

— Jenna Serag

each sale. However, Reeth said this is a processing fee taken by Stripe, the online sales platform the company uses.

Because Student-Made has such a niche market on the campus of each college with which it’s partnered, Reeth said larger multinational corporations that also host small businesses, like Etsy and Depop, simply cannot offer the same shopping experience.

“If you’re an (alum) of ASU, instead of going to Etsy, (you) can say, ‘I’m going to go to Student-Made and find a cool student business and support someone who was in my shoes 20 years ago,” she said. “There’s something special about that.”

While the COVID-19 pandemic paused many college students’ bustling lives, Kyerra Williams saw an opportunity to launch a small business.

“I know I eventually wanted to start my own boutique, and because the whole world shut down, I thought, ‘why not?’” the junior studying food and nutrition entrepreneurship said. “I always knew I wanted to sell clothes

that I would wear, not just stuff that I knew would be popular.”

One year later, she opened Ashanti Ave Boutique. At first, Williams operated her business using Shopify, another online store company. Then, she stumbled upon Student-Made at ASU while registering for classes, eventually becoming a student creator on the platform.

“I kept seeing it everywhere,” Williams said. “I just reached out, and that’s how I found out about it.”

Williams said her pieces tend to cost between $28 and $30. When setting costs, the student creator factors in the price of materials and production time. She charges double the cost of materials for boutique-style clothing while the prices of her graphic tees are closer to the cost of supplies, she said.

Student-Made has helped Ashanti Ave Boutique receive significant exposure, which has helped Williams’ business break even, she said.

Even though she is studying food and nutrition entrepreneurship,

Williams dreams of one day opening and operating her own brick-andmortar store.

I work full time right now with school,” Williams said. “I just know there’s no way I could operate (a business) the way I want. So my plan after graduation is to open a storefront.”

Because Williams aims for the items sold by Ashanti Ave Boutique to be trendy, she said her small business has steep competition with fast-fashion stores, like Forever 21 and H&M.

Although she knows the importance of supporting independent brands firsthand, the student creator said she understands why younger people are still buying items from large corporations instead.

“I used to be a broke high school student who only made $7.25 an hour, so I was always looking for cheaper stuff,” Williams said. “But I would prefer people to shop small just because I know what goes behind it.”

Like Williams, Serag also launched her small business, Dulcet Jewels,

during the COVID-19 pandemic.

“It (started) as a COVID hobby, but I’ve always been artistic,” Serag said. “I used to sell drawings and paintings before that. … Student-Made at ASU gave me my own site, so that helps put me out there.”

Serag said Student-Made contacted her, offering an opportunity to sell items on the platform, which kick-started her DIY jewelry business.

“Honestly, I feel like computer science and making jewelry have a few things in common,” Serag said, referring to her major. “Putting in the hard work and seeing it pay off when you get your final product (is similar to) creating a website, you know, coding it and designing it. … It’s like my imagination turns into reality. It’s the same thing with jewelry.”

Serag said she spends anywhere from 30 minutes to a few hours creating her jewelry pieces, which range from

delicate cherry beaded earrings to vivid turquoise necklaces.

As far as Serag’s target audience, she believes anyone can find something at her shop.

“I (also) make custom (orders), so if you want something, I can definitely create it for you,” Serag said. “We can work together and make your vision come true.”

While Serag works to meet the expectations of her customers in a timely manner, she said she does feel the pressure of operating a small business as a college student with a heavy workload.

“Small businesses are usually a one-man show,” Serag said. “We’re the ones who are creating the item. We’re shipping, and we’re advertising it to you. We’re doing everything, and so I definitely feel like people should be more patient because there’s so much effort that’s put into it.”

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1. Pearl Bow Earrings

2. Star & Moon Earrings

3. Cherry Earrings

4. Bow Necklace

5. Pink & Periwinkle Necklaces

Jewelry by Jenna Serag

Satire

How to talk to a Hawaiian, pt. 2

Learn how to properly interact with a Hawaiian — but try to get it right this time

If it wasn’t already clear, I’m Native Hawaiian. And although it may not seem like it would, this part of my identity prompts a lot of interesting interactions.

As a result, almost two years ago I wrote a piece for the magazine called “How to talk to a Hawaiian.” Of course, I got rave reviews (my grandma thought it was funny). HOWEVER, after said piece was published, it seemed none of you took me seriously.

So here I am, writing yet another article in the hopes that you finally get it this time — but with a twist.

by Savannah Dagupion

Illustrations by Andrea Ramirez

Since the last article was published, I have been curating a list of everything wrong about awkward interactions I’ve had with people, and I’m presenting it to you, my dearest readers. Some may call this public shaming, but I call it behavior modeling.

Side note: If you feel as if you inspired any of these points, you probably did. Bust out a notepad and a pen, and pay attention.

Without further ado, here is the second iteration of my how-to guide — or rather, long list of don’ts — so you can stop irritating me be well-informed.

Picture this: I meet someone for the first time. We exchange names, followed by “Where are you from?”

They say they’re from some landlocked state that people never stop in on a road trip. Like Arkansas. I pretend to be amazed. I say, “I’m from Maui.”

Pause.

At this point, the conversation can go a number of ways. Prior to the deadly Aug. 8, 2023, wildfires that wiped out a large chunk of my island, I usually received the following reactions:

◆ “Wait, where is that?”

◆ “Oh cool!” followed by a series of invasive questions about how I grew up.

◆ “My family and I vacation there every year!” I immediately don’t like you because it means you have more money than self-awareness.

◆ “I’ve always wanted to go there! You should take me.” No.

◆ *Moves on with the conversation like a normal person* (CORRECT ANSWER)

HOWEVER, now that my island has been invaded by parachuting news organizations and colonizers who want to use the wildfires as an opportunity to build their latest paradisiacal tourist trap, I’ve gotten a new kind of reaction. I say, “I’m from Maui.” A look of

disdain flashes across their face as they muster a half-hearted “Is everything okay? I heard about the wildfire. That was just terrible.”

What do you expect me to say? At this point, you’re just forcing me to lie to you because it’s easier than admitting that half of my family is displaced, a place meaningful to my upbringing is ashes, and I’m constantly worried about aid for victims, environmental issues and tourists exploiting my home.

Also, don’t act like you care all of a sudden. I bet if I told you to point to Maui on a map, you’d point to O‘ahu.

If you are at any point reading the news and see a headline with “Maui” or “Hawai‘i” in it, you don’t need to send it to me. I promise.

You don’t need to prove to me that you remember where I’m from. I remember where you’re from, and you don’t see me sending you articles of the latest bike theft in your hometown.

Also, it’s really bold of you to assume that I don’t already know what’s going on. Hawaiian Airlines merging with Alaska Airlines? I saw the article before you sent it to me. The Lahainaluna High School football captains doing the coin toss at the

Super Bowl? It’s literally posted on my Instagram Story. The Maui wildfires? I WAS THERE.

Seeing an article with “Hawai‘i” in the headline and sending it to me is like sending an Instagram Reel to someone who’s chronically on TikTok — they saw that video two weeks ago, and it’s old news to them already.

Sure, I’m flattered that you like to think about me, but cut it out. Start thinking about that group project you haven’t contributed to or the dirty dishes that have been sitting in your sink for a week.

A question I get asked pretty often is what professional sports teams I root for. Now, I see the vision. I really do.

There aren’t any professional sports teams in Hawai‘i, so it’s interesting to learn about how we decide who we want to pour all our energy into before facing a disappointing defeat at the end of the season.

Sometimes it’s a West Coast team because that’s as far as we can travel before breaking our bank accounts. Sometimes it’s a team that has someone from Hawai‘i on it. I heard the Phillies are pretty cool because they have a guy called “the Flyin’ Hawaiian.” He must fly pretty well considering how far Philadelphia is from Hawai‘i.

Now, I know we’re all taught to never judge a book by its cover, but

look at me. Do I look like I have a favorite professional sports team? I make magazines for a living and do homework 24/7. Seriously. The one professional baseball game I went to in my entire life was because it cost $5 for ASU students, and I ended up studying for my Principles and History of Journalism quiz the whole time. PRIORITIES, PEOPLE. Don’t worry, though. No hits were made, which is why I started studying in the first place. Baseball, am I right?

But when I get asked this question, I like to have fun by just picking a random team. Now, I’m not a complete idiot when it comes to sports. I know which teams are from which cities and which teams have the cutest mascots. I also live with two sports journalism

majors and a die-hard 49ers fan. Often, if I know what city someone is from, I’ll just say I like their team — unless they’re complete losers. My roommate thinks my favorite NFL team is the San Francisco 49ers. Other times, I’ll say my favorite NBA team is the Orlando Magic because of Stuff the Magic Dragon. If we’re talking about baseball, I like to say my favorite team is the Savannah Bananas. I know they’re not in the MLB, but at least they’re interesting. Plus, we have the same name.

So, if you’re looking for a serious answer, I really don’t have a favorite team — unless it’s the University of Hawai‘i men’s volleyball team. That way, I stay winning.

We’ve all been in those classes where the only thing that matters is writing a discussion post and replying to two classmates every week.

I know these classes can seem pointless and annoying, but unlike you, I actually like to put thought into my discussion boards.

Recently, I took a class that required me to analyze someone’s rhetorical leadership and write about it in a discussion post almost every week. I made it my goal to choose Native Hawaiian leaders so I can refresh my knowledge on my culture. Also, as someone who grew up in Hawai‘i, it’s just a lot easier this way. I will have unique answers and won’t have to say I look up to Smokey Bear or Yoko Ono like my classmates do.

So, a lot of my discussion posts revolved around my Hawaiian culture and perspective as a Native Hawaiian. And for some reason, a lot of my peers liked to take them as opportunities to get their mandatory word counts out of the way and get back to, I don’t know, strategizing their next message to their situationship.

Here’s a real reply I have gotten to one of my discussion posts:

“Hi Savannah! It’s cool that you’re from Hawa’ii. I have a friend from high school who goes to the University of Hawa’ii in Waikiki. Also, when I visited, it was so beautiful there. I think you chose a great topic. It’ll help you understand another culture’s experience more.”

Okay so a few notes:

◆ You put the ‘okina (‘) in the wrong spot, and you used an apostrophe instead, but at least you tried.

◆ There’s no University of Hawai‘i in Waikiki.

◆ I already know it’s beautiful there.

◆ “Another culture’s experience”? Girl, this is my culture, and I’ve been experiencing it.

I’m not saying that no one is allowed to reply to my discussion posts or that it has to be some sort of aweinspiring reply. I’m just saying you look a little silly, and I find your attempt at talking about Hawai‘i comical. That’s all.

One day I was walking with an acquaintance, and we were talking about speaking other languages. We talked about Spanish because we were both taking Spanish classes at the time, and then they asked me if I spoke any other languages. Naturally, I said I can speak decent Hawaiian.

Immediate confusion flooded through their mind and onto their face. “Wait, Hawaiian?” they said. “Is that not just English?”

Now, I don’t know how many of you thought the same thing as this poor, innocent friend I am putting on blast, but immediately, no. Hawaiian is not English.

Maybe you just learned that. You know who you are. And I’m not mad — I’m happy that you’re learning and

that I was able to teach you something new today. I’m just disappointed. Like, REALLY?

What. Did you think Polynesians sailed through the Pacific in ships singing sea shanties? Did you think we say “aloha” for shits and giggles? Did you think “‘Ohana means family” was made up by Walt Disney? Why do you think they’re telling you what it means?!

No, pal, there’s a whole language. And we’re lucky there even is a language because haole almost wiped it out when they came over and banned the practice of Hawaiian language and culture in our own schools.

So, word of advice from me: Get educated. You know, the reason they invented the internet was for researchers to share information and

educate people. But instead, you waste your screen time watching “Grey’s Anatomy.”

A Pau — that’s like “The End” by the way

That wasn’t so bad, was it? I hope you learned some things! Seriously. Don’t make me write a part three, I swear.

And to my fellow Hawaiians out there, I wish you the best of luck dealing with these people because I know you do.

‘Land is like a person’

The value of land acknowledgements through Indigenous voices

“What does it look like to actually acknowledge the land that you’re on and then make up for everything that’s been done to that land?” Nataani Hanley-Moraga said.

Hanley-Moraga, who is Diné and Hunkpapa Lakota, has lived in Arizona all his life. Now, he is a senior studying American Indian studies at ASU.

As a former Mr. Indigenous ASU, a student ambassador tasked with “promot(ing) the ideals of the Native American community,” according to Sun Devil Sync, Hanley-Moraga was invited to countless events to give land acknowledgment statements. Such statements acknowledge the origin of the grounds ASU’s campuses sit on — Akimel O’odham, or Pima, and PeePosh, or Maricopa, lands.

“I think ASU is really good at putting us on their brochures and their programs,” said Rowan Moore, a doctoral student studying sociology who is Sicangu Lakota.

The drive to innovate overshadows the value of land recognition at ASU, Hanley-Moraga said. For him, the University merely saying that the origin of the land it’s on matters isn’t enough.

by Abigail Beck

Photos by Hajin Lee

It’s the way ASU treats the land. It’s the way ASU treats the communities that cared for it before the University did.

“We live in a time right now where things like land acknowledgments and appreciation of Indigenous peoples (is) almost like social currency,” HanleyMoraga said.

A history of the land

Plaques acknowledging the ancestral lands ASU sits on emerge from planter beds around campus. Taglines at the end of ASU emails allude to the area’s Indigenous past. A video produced by ASU’s Alliance of Indigenous Peoples has been adopted by the University and serves as a nod toward the school’s perpetual occupation of Indigenous lands during graduation convocations.

Additionally, in 2015, University President Michael Crow published the “ASU Commitment to American Indian Tribes,” in which he recognized that “Arizona State University is located in Indian Country.”

Crow went on to acknowledge the tribal nations that inhabited the grounds ASU is located on for centuries and to

affirm the University’s commitment to local Indigenous communities.

“We are dedicated to supporting tribal nations in achieving futures of their own making,” Crow’s statement read.

Neither the video nor Crow’s statement is explicitly labeled as an official land acknowledgment on behalf of the University. When contacted, a University spokesperson offered Crow’s statement, along with the video, which she said was “official” in an email.

Entities within the University, like the Sandra Day O’Connor College of Law and the ASU Library, have also created their own land acknowledgment statements.

“The law school is located on the ancestral lands of the Akimel O’odham and further acknowledges that Arizona is home to 22 Tribal Nations that comprise 27% of Arizona’s total land base,” the college of law’s acknowledgment states.

While ASU Library’s land acknowledgment is similar, it adds that “ASU Library acknowledges the sovereignty of these nations and seeks to foster an environment of success and possibility for Native American

students and patrons. We are advocates for the incorporation of Indigenous knowledge systems and research methodologies within contemporary library practice.”

Jacob Moore, vice president and special advisor to the president for American Indian Affairs, believes land acknowledgments are the first concrete step toward land sovereignty for Indigenous communities.

“It does have to be diplomatic in that not only do you acknowledge those that are here now and those that have been here before, but also the fact that there are others that have passed through that region that may not necessarily be here,” he said.

“Are you going to bring out the Indians and then make this statement, and then somehow satisfy whatever guilt you might have and then send them on their way?”

In terms of content, Jacob said land acknowledgments are most impactful and valuable when they not only highlight the people who deserve sovereignty but also recognize the injustices Indigenous people have experienced.

“Does it commit to really addressing the injustices that hopefully are embedded in the statement, acknowledging that there were injustices, and to what degree is the institution willing to create a just

future?” he said.

Furthermore, Rowan believes the populations who have historically oppressed Indigenous people should be delivering land acknowledgment statements as a sign of respect.

“It shouldn’t be Indigenous peoples’ labor to acknowledge the lands for you,” he said. “As settlers, you should be the ones doing that work.”

To Hanley-Moraga, land acknowledgments mean nothing without dedicating the necessary work and time to fully appreciate the land that is being occupied. Land is sacred and deserving of respect and preservation, he said.

“Land is like a person,” HanleyMoraga said. “It’s breathing. It’s living. It’s moving and changing. It’s evolving.

“In order to encapsulate all that and respect the land as a person, rather than just a thing, there’s work that’s required.”

For him, this involves widely hiring Indigenous staff and faculty throughout the University, as well as creating on-campus programs for Indigenous peoples and land preservation.

Hanley-Moraga views ASU’s efforts thus far as nothing more than “the bare minimum.”

“We need to be listened to and taken seriously,” Rowan said of Indigenous student voices at ASU. To

him, community building is everything, and that starts with University officials.

“Having an initiative where you … invite students from diverse schools to talk and to hear what we have to say is a great first step,” Rowan said.

Fostering community

Hanley-Moraga knows community. In addition to being a self-described artist, poet, rapper, writer and scholar, he is also a student archivist at ASU’s Labriola National American Indian Data Center. Labriola serves as an Indigenous library, with an allIndigenous staff that aims to “provid(e) a culturally safe space within academia for critical learning, scholarship, creativity, and reflection for community healing,” according to its website.

But for Hanley-Moraga, who originally studied economics, Labriola is more than a library. It’s the place he’d escape to after classes at the W.P. Carey School of Business, where he felt his drive to give back to his Native community was not prioritized. To him, the business school felt like a Fortune 500 machine — an assembly line that wasn’t built for students with community-oriented objectives, like his.

After those classes, he’d head to Labriola, located in Hayden Library on the Tempe campus and in Fletcher

Library on the West Valley campus. There, he would rant to the library’s directors — the people who intimately understood the frustrations he was facing.

“They definitely heard me sometimes saying, ‘Man, screw this program, screw these teachers, and screw this, and screw that,’” HanleyMoraga said.

To this, Alexander Soto, Labriola’s director, or Eric Hardy, the program coordinator, would explain that sometimes, the structure of programs works against Indigenous people, saying, “Everything you’re going through is meant to happen that way so you don’t get through,” according to Hanley-Moraga.

The opportunities Labriola provided that allowed HanleyMoraga to give back to his community ultimately pushed him to switch his major to American Indian studies.

Labriola at its foundation is not about community; rather, it creates it, Hanley-Moraga said. It houses a collection of speculative fiction, poetry, creative writing and art. More than just a center for anthropology and history, it’s a place to DJ and dance. It’s a “community approach to librarianship,” he said.

“These institutions are not made for us,” Hanley-Moraga said of students of color, including Indigenous students.

“It’s not really a place where we’re given the ability to strive. It’s a constant uphill battle.”

Rowan feels similarly, as he also emphasized that there is not enough space at the University for Indigenous students like him, such as those in the Indigenous LGBTQ+ community.

“Queer indigenous folks, there’s a lot of us here,” he said. “We’re just not represented well.”

Spaces like Labriola, however, are designed for Indigenous students and other students of color, as they help foster community, Hanley-Moraga said.

At Labriola, Hanley-Moraga’s connection with Soto, with whom he shares a love for hip-hop, brought him back to making his own music. Beyond music, the community at Labriola brought him to seek ways to promote data sovereignty and to speak about the importance of protecting Indigenous intellectual property.

Like Hanley-Moraga, Kaihalla George, a senior studying political science and American Indian studies, was also hungry for community. She is Seneca and serves as the president of Alpha Pi Omega, an Indigenous sorority on campus.

She said there are layers to the feeling that she’s out of place in a university setting like ASU: Not only is she Indigenous, but she’s also a woman

and a first-generation student.

Being involved in Greek life while being Indigenous is uniquely complex, George said. She said Alpha Pi Omega’s outreach to other sororities on campus has improved, as her sorority hosts events that “showcase the resiliency of the beautiful cultures that we still have today and the differences we all have. We tend to just be generalized as just being Native American or Indigenous.”

But to George, culture goes deeper than these baseline labels. It is expressed through dance, language, song and history, she said.

Coming from New York, she is one of several members of her sorority who are from out of state.

“My experience is a good example of the community away from home,” George said of the connection she has discovered through Alpha Pi Omega, forged by bonding over “that feeling of being away from your homelands.”

Wherever one may find community, be it in a sorority, a library or beyond, Hanley-Moraga believes it must also be a fundamental factor in a fulfilling land acknowledgment statement.

“It needs to come from the community,” he said. “It needs to be in the language. It needs to be real. It needs to be 100% honest. And then again, it needs to be backed up by action.”

‘To suppress our voices’

From event cancellations to controversial proposed legislation, students supporting Palestine criticize Arizona universities and local government over threats to proPalestine speech

WheneverSalam visited the West Bank, it felt “like breathing fresh air after losing breath.” Her family’s village, Rammun, served as her safe haven. To her, it was a home filled with welcoming neighbors who also cherished community, who treated her “as a person.”

Salam, an ASU student who requested to be identified only by her first name for privacy reasons, was born and raised in the U.S., but the West Bank has long served as her home. During middle school, she lived there for two years, and she still visits every summer.

But ever since Israel declared war against Hamas on Oct. 8, the West Bank has become a different place from the one she has come to know and love. Not only have more checkpoints sprung up and more roads been closed, but the war has personally impacted those close to her.

A couple of months ago, her friend’s uncle, who lived in the West Bank, was kidnapped by the Israeli army — one of numerous terrifying interactions that people in her circle have had with the Israeli military. Salam herself is no stranger to such encounters.

As a child, Salam was tear gassed, along with her siblings and other members of her village, by soldiers in

by Fatima Gabir

the Israeli army.

“All I remember is the noise (of tear gas) being shot out, and then all of a sudden, I was coughing and crying,” Salam said. “I spilled all the water from my water bottle on my sweater and told my siblings to breathe through (the fabric) because that’s what my mom told me (to do), just in case anything happened. Why does a kid need to know how to breathe through tear gas?”

Incidents like this would occur in her village when it seemed Israeli soldiers were searching for someone there in particular, Salam said.

News of the violence hasn’t been isolated to the Palestinian territories. As information regarding the situation has spread, communities worldwide have responded, including on college campuses. Thousands have taken to the streets, calling for an immediate ceasefire and urging politicians, companies and institutions to divest from Israel.

As an active participant in events, protests and organizations supporting Palestine, like the Phoenix chapter of the Arizona Palestine Solidarity Alliance, Salam has witnessed the response in Arizona firsthand and other people’s reactions to it.

“It’s so surreal knowing that you’re hundreds of miles away (from the Palestinian territories) and you’re still

facing so much injustice and disgusting actions for no reason,” she said.

While Salam appreciates that Americans have become more aware of Israel’s occupation of Palestinian territories, she is concerned the conversation has shifted from calling for a liberated Palestine to platforming a mere ceasefire.

“A ceasefire is a temporary fix,” Salam said. “If you get a huge, deep cut, you’re not going to go (with) a Band-Aid. You’re going to go with the stitches. If Palestine was liberated, there wouldn’t be a need for a ceasefire.”

Facing backlash

Amid the ongoing violence, pro-Palestine movements on college campuses nationwide have faced shutdowns and even threats of censorship from their universities, from last-minute event cancellations to the suspension of pro-Palestine student groups. Altogether, universities’ efforts to silence pro-Palestine movements and student groups on campus amount to suppression, activists have declared at schools nationwide.

ASU is no stranger to receiving these accusations. In November, an event featuring Palestinian American Rep. Rashida Tlaib, D-Mich., was suddenly canceled while College

Republicans United at ASU was able to invite the controversial former Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio to campus that same month.

The University is also reportedly investigating allegations that the ASU chapter of Students for Justice in Palestine threw rocks at an Undergraduate Student Government meeting over Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions legislation. These incidents have raised concerns about ASU’s commitment to freedom of speech as a public university, despite the University maintaining its stance that it “support(s) students and promote(s) a safe environment where diversity is embraced and the free exchange of ideas is nurtured and encouraged,” according to a 2020 statement.

Although the University of Arizona has an obligation to protect freedom of speech as a public university, Baya Laimeche, president of the SJP chapter at UA, did not expect the level of pushback that her club faced starting in October — from both students and university officials.

On Oct. 12, the chapter canceled a pro-Palestine rally it was slated to hold that day after UA president Dr. Robert Robbins released a statement the day before declaring statements made by the national SJP organization were “antithetical” to the university’s values.

“I want to be clear that SJP is not speaking on behalf of our university,” he wrote. “But they have the constitutional right to hold their views and to express them in a safe environment.”

As a result, the club responded in an Instagram post that it did not feel safe to hold its protest due to Robbins’ “inflammatory letter.”

“Most of the backlash that we have faced comes with the ground of advocating for Palestine in the United

States, which has always kind of been a very hostile environment,” said Laimeche, a senior studying political science, Arabic, and Middle Eastern and North African studies at UA.

Since then, she said organizing in support of Palestine on campus has been difficult, as safety has been a top concern.

Elaina Sajadea, a graduate student studying public health and co-president of the SJP chapter at Northern Arizona University, said there were few proPalestine groups on campus, if any, when she started at the school in 2018. While the SJP chapter at NAU was founded in 2011, she said it was “almost nonexistent” until October.

Even though Sajadea, who is the daughter of a Palestinian immigrant, said she knows many people in Flagstaff who identify as Zionist, she has also noticed many students and community members are interested in organizing and advocating in support of Palestine. However, Sajadea feels many people who support Palestine do not do so openly out of fear for the response they’d receive from those who do not agree with the pro-Palestine movement.

“You need to be careful about the repercussions,” she said.

‘We’re not going anywhere’

Along with the University’s responses to students’ expression of support for Palestine, Salam believes state legislators’ reactions to proPalestine student groups at state universities, including controversial proposed legislation like House bills 2178 and 2759, are “100% forms of censorship.”

HB 2178, which was introduced in January, would allow students at Arizona’s three public universities to

designate which campus clubs their $35 semesterly student fees would support. HB 2759, introduced in February, would ban student organizations that “(promote) a foreign terrorist organization in any manner that places a Jewish student in reasonable apprehension of imminent physical injury” from being formally recognized by their universities.

Some advocacy organizations supporting Palestine, like the Arizona chapter of the Council on AmericanIslamic Relations, are concerned HB 2759 may target pro-Palestine student groups. In November, Rep. Alma Hernandez, D-Tucson, who was among the lawmakers who introduced the bill, responded on X to a post highlighting Columbia University’s suspension of SJP, saying she “expect(ed) Arizona universities to do the same.”

The way state legislators openly identifying as Zionist, like Hernandez, are treated, as compared with the way those who support Palestine are treated, also raises ethical concerns in the wider discourse surrounding the Israel-Hamas war, Salam said.

“When (state legislators) call for a Zionist state of Israel, that’s not (seen as) wrong,” she said. However, Salam added that when those of Palestinian descent, like her, and other supporters of Palestine chant “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” some consider it to be a call for violence.

On Oct. 24, ASU released a statement declaring that it had cofounded a coalition of higher education institutions condemning Hamas’ attacks against the people of Israel on Oct. 7.

“We Stand Together with Israel Against Hamas,” a statement released by the coalition read. “We are horrified and sickened by the brutality and

“I don’t know what they think they’re accomplishing (if they ban) us off campuses except for showing their true colors that they will not support Palestinians in any capacity. We’re not going anywhere.”

— Baya Laimeche

inhumanity of Hamas.”

While the University also wrote in the Oct. 24 statement that it believes “the Palestinian people are not represented by Hamas,” in the months since, ASU has not issued any more statements mentioning Gaza or the Palestinian people.

“We talked about Oct. 7, well, let’s talk about Oct. 6 or Aug. 22,” Salam said, referring to incidents in which Israeli forces killed Palestinian civilians.

“We’ve had to remain vigilant about standing up for our right to freedom of expression on college campuses,” said Finn Howe, president of SJP at ASU, a club dedicated to “promot(ing) justice, human rights, and self-determination for the Palestinian people,” according to its Sun Devil Sync page.

Many students and community members with ties to ASU who support Palestine, including Howe, have criticized the potential impact that HB 2178 and HB 2759 would have on SJP chapters at Arizona’s public universities and other clubs representing marginalized students.

“That is a sort of challenge we faced, as well as trying to protect our academic freedoms and from those in government,” Howe said.

In December, the SJP chapters at all three public universities in Arizona condemned the state House’s Ad Hoc Committee on Antisemitism in Education on Instagram for not inviting them to a meeting about antisemitism on school campuses. At the meeting, SJP chapters were a “focal point,” as the “hearing was held to provide a pretext to

introduce legislation to de-charter and withhold funding from our chapters on Arizona university campuses, violating our rights to expression as well as due process,” the statement read.

“There are many testimonies of people calling for our organization to be silenced, removed from campus, and really, to suppress our voices,” Howe said.

Even though numerous speakers at the committee meeting criticized SJP for sparking hate on school campuses, Howe said SJP has made numerous clear statements against antisemitism.

“Students for Justice in Palestine is irrevocably committed to preventing religious and ethnic discrimination of all kinds, including antisemitism,” the December joint statement read. “We reject the notion that criticism of the State of Israel or Zionism as a political ideology constitutes antisemitism.”

The three SJP chapters at Arizona’s state universities are constantly collaborating by creating joint statements, such as their December one about the committee meeting, and showing solidarity for one another despite being over 100 miles away from each other, Laimeche said.

“Every time there is some sort of attack on Israel or active resistance from the Palestinian people, the consequence is almost always devastating for the Palestinian people if we’re talking about proportionality,” she said. “We started organizing after Oct. 7 to call an end to the bombings and to stop what we anticipated would be a genocidal attack.”

If HB 2178 and HB 2759 were

passed, Laimeche said she’s unsure how SJP UA can continue to function.

“I don’t know what they think they’re accomplishing (if they ban) us off campuses except for showing their true colors that they will not support Palestinians in any capacity,” Laimeche said. “We’re not going anywhere. The students that are a part of SJP are not a part of it because it’s just another club, they genuinely believe in Palestinian liberation.”

For Laimeche, the most devastating part of organizing in support of Palestine is having to stand by as she sees her Palestinian friends suffer in a way she didn’t know was “humanly possible.” She said the former vice president of UA’s SJP chapter, who graduated in May, has lost over 30 family members since October.

“Having to witness that from the people that I’m very close to and have known for years has taken a toll on me,” she said.

As a result, Laimeche said UA’s SJP chapter has launched a campaign to establish a cultural center for Middle Eastern and North African students. This center would serve as a mental health resource for Palestinian, Arab and Muslim students at UA, according to Laimeche.

“SJP has taken the role of supporting, but we’re just students as well,” Laimeche said. “The overarching feeling that we have gotten in the past months is that Palestinians are not safe anywhere — not on their own university campuses in the U.S., not in Palestine.”

In focus: The resurgence of film in the digital age

Film photography is making a comeback. Here’s how ASU students are keeping the traditional way of capturing moments alive

WhenAidan Ruiz decided to buy a film camera on a whim, he didn’t expect the used Nikon with a broken autofocus would ignite a passion for photography. After acquiring the camera in a meeting with the seller, the senior studying finance threw in a 36-photo roll and proceeded to shoot all of it on campus.

What he captured could be described only as “horrendous,” Ruiz said.

But he was hooked. Though Ruiz had taken photos with a digital camera before, his infatuation with film’s nostalgic grain and raw quality inspired him to experiment with different formats, lenses and subjects. Since then, he’s added another film camera to his collection — a 65-year-old Mamiya RB67 — but his vintage Nikon remains a favorite.

“I still own that camera today,” Ruiz said. “I still shoot with it every weekend.”

Even though today’s generation lives in a digital world where iPhones can capture videos in 4K Cinematic mode with just the tap of a finger and cutting-edge cameras can operate at 120 frames per second, many are still running to eBay and thrift stores in search of old film cameras.

by Leah Mesquita Photos by Hajin Lee and courtesy of Ava Hanson

“Film just hits different,” Ruiz said.

‘A very expensive hobby ’

“ The entire process of having to slow down when you take photos — because you know film is expensive and you have 36 shots per roll — is an entirely different experience than taking (photos) on a digital camera,” Ruiz said.

Ruiz puts his film camera skills to work as a part-time automotive photographer, for which he attends car events or photo shoots throughout Arizona every week. As a result, Ruiz estimates that he goes to a store to develop film at least once a week.

Despite its popularity among younger photographers, film photography comes at a cost. Along with the price of purchasing a film camera, Ruiz said he pays roughly $4 to develop film every time he clicks the shutter button.

“The cost is definitely coming out of my own pocket,” Ruiz said. “I’m very fortunate that I do have a job that pays relatively well for a college student. It allows me to at least scratch this itch of photography that I have every once in a while.”

Isabella McDonald, a junior studying criminology and criminal justice, fell in love with film photography back in high school after shooting with disposable film cameras.

“I was looking at eBay all the time to see if I could find a vintage camera for cheap,” she said.

She ended up ordering an Olympus Infinity Stylus, a camera that sells on eBay for anywhere from $55 to over $170. When the pricey camera arrived, however, it was broken, forcing McDonald to go on the hunt for a new film camera.

Instead of trusting another reseller, McDonald received an old film camera from a coworker who no longer used it.

“It was an old Yashica Japanese vintage camera,” she said. “I’ve been shooting with that one ever since.”

Even though McDonald used to go through rolls of film more frequently, she has since slowed down due to the high cost of developing film.

“Any time I would go on vacation or somewhere out of my usual routine, I would bring it along,” McDonald said. “But it’s a very expensive hobby.”

While there are cheaper alternatives to film photography that can still capture its unique aesthetic —

Photo courtesy of Ava Hanson

such as apps like Huji Cam — McDonald believes using tools on smartphones to capture film photography-like images defeats the entire purpose of film.

“I do not like those apps at all,” McDonald said. “If you want something that looks like a film photo, just go buy a $15 disposable camera and get that developed. It makes the whole ritual so much more exciting because you have to wait to get your results back.”

The darkroom

As photography becomes more digitized, places that specialize in rapid film development have become few and far between, according to Bloomberg. In 1993, a year before Apple launched the first color digital camera that cost less than $1,000, the number of active onehour photo stores peaked at 7,600. Just 20 years later, in 2013, only 190 shops remained throughout the country.

Although dropping off rolls at local drugstores remains a popular option for film photography enthusiasts, many have complained these places are often unreliable, preferring to develop their

photos themselves.

Ava Hanson, a junior studying biochemistry, has developed film from start to finish many times in her friend’s darkroom.

“Buying the film, shooting the film, developing the film and making the prints — the whole process is what makes film so special,” Hanson said.

Developing film is a multipart process that requires darkness, various chemicals and water, according to B&H Photo Video.

The first step in the process involves soaking the film in developer, a combination of chemicals that activate the compounds in the film that were exposed to light when the photo was taken.

Water is then used to rinse off the chemicals, stopping development so the compounds do not become overdeveloped. The film then undergoes a “fixing” process in which it’s exposed to chemicals that will make the image

appear clearly on the film.

The fixer is then washed off, and the film is hung to dry, ready for photographers to print its images onto photo paper.

Despite knowing the development process inside and out, Hanson admitted that sometimes, she’d rather send her photos away to get professionally developed to ensure they come out perfectly.

“It depends on what you’re shooting,” Hanson said. “There are certain shoots I’ve done that I know what’s on (the rolls), and I don’t want them to get messed up. I’d rather just send it somewhere and not deal with the stress.”

While the darkroom process requires time, patience and a number of tools, Hanson said the DIY aspect of

the development experience is a useful skill that’s worth knowing for film photographers, even if it’s not their goto development technique.

“Developing your own (film) is special in its own way,” she said. “Scanning (photos) one by one and holding them up to the light is super fun, but if you’re a photographer and you strictly drop off your film, I have no hate toward that at all.”

Resisting digital

As avid film photographers, both McDonald and Ruiz are members of the Film Photography Club at ASU. The club’s Instagram account is flooded with over a hundred multicolored and grayscale photos spattered with vintage grain and washes of light, which were captured by students who partake in the old practice.

McDonald said she prefers film photography over digital photographs because it captures the fleeting feeling of nostalgia.

“That’s what the first photos were

made from,” McDonald said. “Every old picture you see has that grainy texture, and the colors are so vibrant.”

Ruiz said shooting with film has granted him the expertise that someone using a digital camera might not have, giving him an edge in the highly competitive world of automotive photography.

“Film photography is the rawest form of photography,” Ruiz said. “I think the way that you really learn how a sensor on a digital camera works is by starting with film.

“(You have to know) how the predecessor to your digital camera works in the first place.”

Ruiz said anyone can pick up a film camera and begin working with film photography joking that he learned film techniques online at “YouTube university.” However, the learning never stops.

“I’ve been shooting photos for three years at this point, and there’s stuff I couldn’t even begin to tell you how to do,” Ruiz said.

Look. I know it, you know it, we all know it: If you’re here, you suspect you fall somewhere on the LGBTQ+ spectrum. Yes, this is just like the “Am I gay?” quizzes that you Googled on the private browser of your mom’s phone back in middle school — if you’re not gay, why are you looking it up?

So yes, you know you’re queer, but I’m assuming that you, my dear baby gay, don’t have the slightest idea of how to navigate being a young, queer college student. Being away from home for the first time is scary enough, so having to simultaneously come to terms with the feeling that you’re different than most people is enough to make your college experience feel like a big queer slasher film.

Lucky for you, I have heard your pleas. I, Gib Manrique, in my eternal wisdom, have decided to help you hopeless homosexuals and publish my painstakingly scientific findings, gathered throughout my storied career in gay-ology.

I’ve known I was gay since I was 10, so I have just the right amount of internal conflict and suppressed homosexual urges to make me an expert in this field.

This is for all my new queers out there. So buckle up, buttercup — it’s time to graduate from a Hamilton-listening, best-friend-kissing, repressed little teenager to a full-blown queer adult.

Feb. 5, 2024

Dear reader,

If you’re still unsure of your sexuality, I imagine the first step for you here would be confirming that pesky little existential question: AM I QUEER??????

Woah dude, chill out. How am I supposed to know? Honestly, I’ve been an adult for only two years, and I’m still trying to figure out my exact answer to this question myself.

When I first came to college, I identified as nonbinary, but I ended freshman year even further on the transgender spectrum. Now, I identify as a trans man — kindof. It’s complicated, but what about being LGBTQ+ isn’t?

As you can tell, I had an identity crisis that was just a tad (a lot) more intense than the other fresh-out-of-high-school kids around me.

Back then, whenever I opened up about my identity to people, I always felt a twang of nausea. I knew I was lying about something, but I didn’t know what. It felt like no one in the world could help me.

If this sobfest is ringing any bells for you, I would recommend making an appointment with those ASU counselors whose contact information your community assistants have posted all over your dorm building in a Fortnite-themed display.

It can be terrifying figuring out who you are, but lean into that feeling. College, especially freshman year, is the time to try new things, so don’t let fear stop you.

Suppressing your true emotions will not make them go away, no matter how much you insist that you’re cutting your hair just because of some TikTok trend, not a gender identity crisis. Believe me, I’ve already tried.

Everyone around you can probably sense you are queer anyway. I was so obvious about being transgender that my friend placed bets on how long it would take me to come out. He gave me about a year. I came out as a transgender man three months later while listening to Green Day on the bus.

Please don’t change yourself to fit in. No one knows you on campus yet, so you’re allowed to mess up. There are no expectations you have to conform to, so go kiss that random hot person in the corner at that house party!

And most of all, be proud.

Your biggest fan,

Gib Manrique

Feb. 20, 2024

Dear reader,

Get ready for phase two of queerdom. I can practically hear your screams of:

I FIGURED OUT I’M GAY, BUT I’M SO FAR BEHIND!!! I’LL BE ALONE FOREVER!!

Luckily, college helps you discover things that the people in your repressed little hometown have never even heard of. Yes, I’m talking about sex, among other things. So many gay people enter college and try to figure everything out alone even though they’ve never even held hands with another homosexual. It’s sad, really

Fortunately for you, here’s everything you need to know about queer sex and romance:

• Gay first base: Sex

• Gay second base: Say “I love you,” and form a deeply codependent relationship

• Gay third base: Adopt a cat

• Gay fourth base: First date! Woo!

• Gay fifth base: Break up or get married. Or both!

• Optional gay sixth base (if you really want a challenge): Move in with your partner and their best friend, who is also your mutual ex. Then do a switcheroo and start dating the other ex while they become your new best friend.

Now you might be thinking — I

KNOW HOW TO HAVE SEX! I’M SET FOR LIFE!

No, you’re not. Being gay is more than just sex, despite what many homophobic nutjobs want you to believe. To survive this, you need some friends, also known as oomfs.

There are many stereotypical gay cliques out there, all stemming from the internet subculture they were raised by in place of their parents. Each one has its own set of extremelyofficial rules and regulations, and lucky for you, I’m an expert.

• The mainstream: When you say “gay” to a straight person, this is what they’ll think of. I’m talking about those twinks you see in every Netflix romantic comedy. Surprisingly enough, they don’t just exist in movies to assist Drew Barrymore, and they’re not just skinny, hairless men who are into fashion, despite that one court scene in “Legally Blonde.” Once you become friends with one, you learn they can have some depth. Get on their good side — you’ll know once they start calling you “bitch” and “babe” — and they’ll become your life companions. The downside is they will perpetually be surrounded by a mob of straight women who treat them like pets. Whenever you hear one say “yas queen” or “huntyyyy,” run. That twink is a sleeper agent for white women who attend gentrified drag brunch, and he will try to get you to party with him. Girl, I am transgender. Do you think I can go to FIJI daygers?

• Granola: This is for all my outdoorsy, Timberland-clad, Northern Arizona University queers out there. These are the queer people whose lifelong aspiration is to merge with a tree. The primary stereotype of this clique is the granola lesbian,who wears Birkenstocks and drives a Subaru Outback. While granola gays are usually very kind — hell, they adopt abandoned pit bulls and make fresh vegan fettuccine — never get on their bad side. Not only are they absolutely jacked from all their hikes, but they’ll also drag you along to camp with them and force you to sleep on the forest floor outside of the two-room tent they bought to have sex in.

• Indie/artsy: These are the gay people who have fluffy hair, more piercings than you can count, a thrifted sweater from a dead grandpa and a ukulele they learned to play on YouTube. Expect someone who owns vinyl records from bands “you have never heard of” (The Smiths) and desperately wants to be Scott Pilgrim or Ramona Flowers, the quintessential manic pixie dream girl.

WHAT IF I DON’T FIT A STEREOTYPE? AM I DESTINED TO BE ALONE?

Well yes.

I’m kidding. You don’t actually have to perfectly fit into one of these cliques to have friends.

There are so many types of people out there, especially at ASU, that it’s impossible to label them all. Many people don’t even want a label. At the end of the day, just find people with whom you can survive this whole college thing.

The friends I’ve made in college may not be the type of queer people I hung around before coming to ASU, but that’s been an overwhelmingly positive surprise. Now, my world is much bigger than the cigarette-eating, TV Girl-worshiping indie kids I hung out with in high school.

Don’t put all your eggs in one rainbow basket.

Your bestest friend and local sex-pert, Gib Manrique

Feb. 29, 2024

Dear reader,

Pardon me, but it seems I’ve left out a crucial part of being gay in college: academics, the whole point of us all shacking up together on one campus like this. Getting a degree is technically the real reason why you moved across the country, definitely not because you wanted to escape to a new place where no one knows your deadname.

WHAT DO I DO NOW? WHAT DO I STUDY?

Obviously, the first place everyone goes to pinpoint the gay majors in college is the arts program.

I remember being freshly 18 and terrified at my first InfernoFest. After listening to straight guys attack the musical star Wallows and feeling disheartened about choosing ASU, sitting in front of a bunch of students from the Herberger Institute for Design and the Arts with dyed hair and watercolor tattoos felt like a gift from God. It was like I was a lone gay sailor catching sight of a lighthouse after being lost at sea for eight months.

While studying art is certifiably queer, I am not one to limit gay people. Queer people are allowed to dedicate their academic careers to essential endeavors, like cultivating creativity in the musical theater program, or useless fluff, like engineering or astrophysics.

In all seriousness, there are queer people in every major!

Except business. There are no queer people in the business school. Queer people would wear much more fashionable suits around the Tempe campus than the plain black ones business students don.

So don’t limit yourself. But if all else fails, there will always be the queer angels over there at Herberger to welcome you home with open arms.

No matter what you study, however, just know that all of these classes are “woke,” meaning that professors ask students what their pronouns are at the beginning of every course. The problem is that a lot of the time, I’m the only person in my classes whose pronouns might not fit my outward appearance. I stand out like a he/they-pronouns-having thumb in the middle of my Introductory Sociology class.

It’s also humiliating when a professor reads the deadname you have listed on the class roster and you have to correct them.

Still, it does get easier. The split second of embarrassment fades, and then everyone calls you the right name and uses the right pronouns — for the most part.

Unless doing so would actively put you in danger, I would suggest being honest about your identity in class. By doing so, you’re pushing back against people who want you to stay quiet about who you are. Don’t let anyone take you away from you.

The loudest person you know, Gib Manrique

March 11, 2024

Dear reader,

YAY! I DID IT!

My work here is done. ACTUALLY…

Oh my god, what? What could you possibly still want from me?

I’ve given you all the tips and tricks I know, so now I’m confident that you’re finally ready to take on the big queer world of ASU by storm.

DESPITE EVERYTHING, I STILL FEEL LIKE THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME. WHAT DO I DO?

Well, in all my gay wisdom, I still feel this way too. It’s difficult not to when there are still people out there trying to make queer existence illegal. Sometimes, the only thing I can do with all this frustration is scream. Like this:

OH, UH-

ACKNOWLEDGE MY EXISTENCE. I’M ALIVE. I’M FINALLY EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED TO BE. IS THAT NOT ENOUGH? WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE PEOPLE ONLY LOOK AT US WHEN WE DIE IN HEADLINES? WHY DON’T THEY CARE?

…

My bad, I had a little moment there. Even with all my knowledge, a diva can sometimes be down.

Being gay is difficult. Not just in college, but in life, because we’re taught to be ashamed from the second we begin questioning the societal normalities that are shoved down our throats. Through all these silly little notes, I want you to know that some people want us to feel scared. The people who hate us are hoping fear will finally shut us up and keep us from being gay. So keep being super annoying — I mean proud — and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

It’s difficult to wake up every day and feel like you’re completely alone in this world. But you’re not. There are plenty of people reading this who are just as confused as you are. The issue is you won’t find them if you’re hiding. You can go your entire life feeling alone and unwanted, but what kind of life is that?

Gays just want to have fun, and for once in our miserable, suppressed queer lives, we will, goddammit.

Your local transgender almost-20-something, Gib Manrique

Baby gay starter pack

by Claire Geare

Illustration by Andrea Ramirez

Fandom Instagram account that’s lowkey doing numbers — Who knew so many people needed “Heathers” content?

Frog earrings — Shrinky Dinks (duh!)

Kanken bag — It’s all you wanted for your 13th birthday

Crystals you don’t know the meaning of — You saw an older girl wear them on TikTok and ran to your local gentrified hippie store

“Hamilton” tee — Hot Topic-acquired because you can’t afford to see the show

Cringe Hot Topic pins - I see right through you and know there’s a Twenty One Pilots pin on there…

Fake Doc Martens — Mommy and Daddy won’t buy you real ones :(

My semester of rest and relaxation

I give up.

by Audrey Eagerton

Illustration by Andrea Ramirez

Here’s my genius elevator pitch: Let’s all just give up and sleep for the rest of the spring semester.

Whatever your justification may be — from an act of protest to finally prioritizing your mental health to simply identifying as a hibernating bear — I know my own reasoning lies somewhere between all three.

I didn’t decide to make sleeping my full-time job for no reason. It’s an idea — no, a calling — that’s been brewing for a while. Probably since I saw a horde of engineering students armed with lightsabers try to ride a Starship robot like a horse into battle — haunting.

Before my life became sleeping 14 hours a day like my idol, Dakota Johnson, I used to wake up for my draining routine and wish I could just become one with my mattress. No, I don’t mean figuratively. My most desperate wish between the hours of 6 and 9 a.m. was to be made of memory foam and covered in a novelty Joe Jonas blanket from 2007.

Then reality would set in, and I would have to trudge to class, overpriced and over-sweetened coffee in hand.

For 90 minutes, I’d be subjected to the torture of pretending to listen to my professor drone on. Of course, they’d check in on the glassy-eyed class only during the last five minutes.

This semester, one such professor decided to start his first class with “Your degree will probably be useless in 10 years.”

It’s not the first time I’ve heard this, but to hear it on a Tuesday at 8 a.m. when I’ve already spent years of my life and tens of thousands of dollars in tuition just to have a seat in this class was a slap in the face. I glanced around at the other students in the class, and it seemed the comment flew right over their heads. They were still the same chipper, optimistic workers of tomorrow who believe they’ll be able to make a living wage right after graduation — adorable.

But for me, the comment was an omen. “Screw this,” I thought. What further education do I need? If my degree is useless, then what does it matter if I just walk out of the classroom and hibernate until spring semester is over?

So I got up, grabbed my backpack, said I was going to the bathroom — a

professor should never question a girl going to the bathroom with her backpack — and never returned.

I have been rotting in my bed with Wallace, my emotional support Porgi (he’s a pug-corgi mix), ever since.

I regret nothing.

The spiral

It took me a couple of hours after walking out on my professor to go through the stages of grief over my future career and accept that he was right. My degree, schooling and future in the working world is meaningless. Now that I’ve arrived at that epiphany, it’s time to have some fun. And by “fun,” I mean boatloads of melatonin and lucid dreams.

This may surprise you, but I used to be a straight-A student. The mere thought of submitting an assignment late used to send me into a panic and frantically jolt me awake in the middle of the night to triple-check that I hadn’t missed anything on Canvas. Now, all I want to do is play “Murder on the Dancefloor” on repeat and prance around my apartment while doublefisting Simply Spiked Lemonades.

Academic advisors will say this is a classic case of burnout. But I didn’t “burn out.” Burnout is something people like to pretend happens slowly over time because that makes it preventable.

Fools. Nothing in college happens slowly. After a string of unpaid internships, paralyzing imposter syndrome, 130 credit hours and counting, volunteer work, parttime jobs and near-constant anxiety attacking from all angles, we are all bound to explode.

After the initial impact comes clarity and the realization that the world is cruel, professors don’t care, parties are all the same, classmates are annoying and predictable, and Michael Crow is slowly replacing us all with robots. So we might as well take a Marie Kondo approach to life and do things that spark joy while throwing the rest out. For me, nothing sparks more joy than sleep.

So that’s how I found myself leaving class and never returning. I am

now living and vibing in the nuclear fallout of the consequences of my own actions.

Too tired to innovate

In nature, winter is a time of rest. Even trees take the winter off, only to come back stronger in the spring and resume the noble, yet futile, work of trying to save the planet. This is my tree time. Give me a few months, and I swear I’ll solve climate change.

In the meantime, imagine me as one of those men who are so frustrated with society that they take off to live in the forest so they can build log cabins and, I don’t know, commune with moose. I just substituted the moose with Wi-Fi, heated blankets, a multistep skincare routine and books about faeries.

It’s mid-March and my days go as follows: I wake up around 8 a.m. to feed Wallace and let him out. I may not be going to class, but if nothing else, I am a competent dog owner. Then I return to

hibernation until about 2:30 p.m. in the afternoon.

After that, I usually migrate to my standard-issue gray pleather couch, where I rewatch an episode of “Normal People,” have a refreshing cry and then switch to a ‘90s romantic comedy as a palate cleanser while eating the first of my many daily bowls of cereal.

Every night, no matter what day of the week it is, the parties always start around 10 p.m. That’s my cue to grab my headphones, bathrobe and pepper spray and to breathe in the fresh Tempe air during my crime-fighting vigilante walks — yes, I’ve been watching “The Lego Batman Movie.”

Turns out, Tempe can be peaceful when it’s devoid of 20-somethings doubling up on rented scooters.

If you’re still not convinced of my way of life, your concerns may be valid, but I’ve clearly become enlightened.

You see, one of my last straws before diving headfirst into this hibernation plan was the announcement of ASU’s new partnership with OpenAI

in January.

It was an inclusive way to usher in the new age of AI by saying “Fuck you,” to liberal arts and computer science students alike while giving a pat on the back to any business bros who get their diplomas handed to them after four years of jumping off roofs onto folding tables.

When you’ve spent tens of thousands of dollars on an education that’s supposed to prepare you for the emotional damage of corporate life, you’d think you’d be taught those valuable skills. But no. Your university decided to throw its lot in with cheating robots, and if that’s not a clear sign to give up like me and the mountain men, I don’t know what is.

Another perk to the hibernation lifestyle, especially if you want to maintain your GPA, is you can use this new ASU-OpenAI partnership to your advantage. Let ChatGPT write your fivepage essay, discussion post or coding project. Maybe use the three hours of the day when you’re fully conscious to

proofread it, or don’t. You’re golden.

If you fall into any trouble, remember that your professors are probably using ChatGPT too, the University condones it, you have a strong legal case to defend yourself, and nothing matters in the grand scheme of things anyway.

Back to my nap

Back to life, back to reality

Hibernation can’t last forever. After about three months, your friends become a little too concerned and start knocking on your door, yelling things like, “I’m keeping the baby!” and demanding to come in and disrupt your dream featuring Henry Cavill. Bills have to be paid, your dog has grown tired of your attention, and the sun, unfortunately, starts looking warm and inviting again.

My hibernation ended a few weeks after spring break. To my surprise, I missed people — some of them at least — and going for walks, and seeing

engineers with lightsabers and foods other than cereal.

Sleeping is important — possibly the most important thing there is — but even the bears and trees wake up, and so must we all.

I enrolled in a Session B Introduction to Philosophy course, and after months of continuous REM cycles, I felt like Henry David Thoreau emerging from Walden Pond (my bedroom).

Thanks to ASU-backed large language models, my grades remained steady, and everyone was none the wiser. But this philosophy class was the first time since freshman year that I actually wanted to try.

Hibernation recharges the brain and heals the soul. If you’re not yet persuaded to try it, just know your school work is bound to improve too.

If you are like me, overwhelmed and questioning reality, don’t ignore the call of the pillow. Full-send the slumber. Rest, relax and thank me later.

the spm crossword.

1. According to Nataani Hanley-Moraga, “We live in a time right now where things like land acknowledgments and appreciation of Indigenous peoples (is) almost like social ___.”

2. Allegedly how many hours a day does Dakota Johnson sleep at most?

3. Isabella McDonald said she prefers film photography over digital photographs because it captures the fleeting feeling of ___.

4. According to “How to talk to a Hawaiian, pt. 2,” don’t use the ___ as an opening to a conversation with the author.

5. The first step in developing film involves soaking the film in ___, a combination of chemicals that activates the compounds in the film that were exposed to light when the photo was taken.

6. According to the author of “How to talk to a Hawaiian, pt. 2,” the only professional baseball game she ever went to was because it cost $5 for ASU students, and she ended up ___ the whole time.

7. Salam believes state legislators’ reactions to pro-Palestine student groups at state universities, including controversial proposed legislation like House bills 2178 and 2759, are “100% forms of ___.”

8. UA’s SJP chapter has launched a campaign to establish a cultural ___ for Middle Eastern and North African students. This center would serve as a mental health resource for Palestinian, Arab and

Muslim students at UA, according to Laimeche.

9. According to Gib’s guide to being unconventionally homosexual in college, this type of gay person wears Birkenstocks and drives a Subaru Outback. They adopt abandoned pit bulls and make fresh vegan fettuccine.

10. Alpha Pi Omega is an ___ sorority on campus.

11. According to the satirist of “My semester of rest and relaxation,” one of her last straws before going all in on her hibernation plan was the announcement of ASU’s new partnership with ___.

12. Student entrepreneurs who work with Student-Made are paid through direct deposit every two weeks, but they must pay a mandatory $60 fee each ___ they work with the program.

13. According to Gib’s guide to being unconventionally homosexual in college, what base do gay people say “I love you,” and form a deeply codependent relationship?

14. Students who decide to sell with Student-Made follow a business model Reeth calls the “long ___ way,” in which the work of running a small business is divided among multiple student workers to take the burden of launching an operation off any one student.