Suture Issue XIII

SUTURE

EDTIORS-IN-CHIEF

Henry Gooding

Katie Cristiano

EDITORIAL BOARD

Rorie Newman

Lauren Prims

Amaris Martins

Morgan Hodoroweski

Paige Hescock

Ava Cargan

Samantha Flaherty

Issue XIII, Spring 2024

Suture is a student-run academic journal associated with Hamilton College that showcases insightful and eloquent critical essays in the humanities, arts, and social sciences. Suture is a peer-edited journal grounded in the belief that access to incisive, original criticism is essential to anyone’s development as a reader, scholar, and appreciator of the creative arts and humanities.

Dear Reader,

We write this note with a heavy heart. In the beginning of April, Hamilton lost a vital member of its community, Basil Brown ‘24 (he/him). Basil was a dear friend to many, an artist and advocate, and a passionate, creative, ingenuitive person. He made a lasting impact on conversations and initiatives regarding accessibility on campus and advocacy for disabled students. Basil’s interests and creative expression were very interdisciplinary. He declared majors in art and anthropology and explored many different mediums and modes of creation. We will be dedicating Issue XIII to Basil and are very proud to say that we believe the works chosen for this issue speak to Basil’s interests and passions very well. We encourage you all to lead your life as Basil led his: continue supporting your friends, standing up for what you believe in, pursue your passions, and be true to yourself.

In Sylvia Woodbury’s “The Confines of Paradise: Failures of the Utopia in Woman on the Edge of Time,” we examine the limitations and possibilities of a utopian society, and in her “Awe and Emotion: The Body in Pre-Modern Art,” we explore the comparisons and contrasts in artwork from all around the world. In Annie Kennedy’s “Mumia Apothecary Jars: A Dissection of Past Funerary Practices,” we analyze the funerary practices of an ancient civilization for a greater understanding of the past. In Katie Cristiano’s “The Sacred Disease: A Case Study of the Hippocratic Corpus,” we delve into ancient written works that have influenced the growth of humanity and the foundation of modern society. In Henry Gooding’s “Disproportionate Diagnosis of Learning Disabilities within Racial Minorities,” we investigate the lingering presence of prejudice and bias in our education systems and overall communities, revealing the problems so that they can be resolved. And now we invite you to join us on this written journey.

Please enjoy.

– Henry & Katie

The Confines of Paradise: Failures of the Utopia in Woman on the Edge of Time

SYLVIA WOODBURY

In 1516, Sir Thomas More coined the term ‘utopia’ as a bit of superb word-play. In Greek, ou-topos translates to “no place” and eu-topos “good place.” Meant to convey the idea of an unattainable ideal society, the term connotes the impossibility of man-made heaven. Utopias, societies which answer all human needs, obliterating inequalities and suffering, are elusive in their perfection. There are queer utopias, feminist utopias, classless utopias, utopias that return society to the pre-industrial harmony of nature, and utopias that envision a technologically rich world of gleaming convenience and speed. Yet the concept of utopia, as of with heaven, is impactful for its unreachability. We cannot imagine utopias except as a reflection of the present’s flaws. Thus, the well-written utopia presents a compelling and complex future whose primary purpose is not to concretely manifest a human heaven, but to interrogate the systemic subjugation of current society. The unsuccessful utopian novel attempts to do the same, but circumscribes its utopia by diametrically opposing it to a present whose multivalent intricacy is not meaningfully investigated nor paralleled. The future is reduced to a flimsy glamor, didactic as a parable; the utopia is an explanation, an “info dump,” rather than an exploration. Marge Piercy’s Woman on the Edge of Time cannot meaningfully interpret the utopian paradox; its gauzy, insubstantial future is a “no-place.” Because the novel cannot admit nor explore contradiction in its envisioned utopia, it evades its duty to supply characters with both choice and voice, even as it maintains the reclamation of agency as one of its central themes. This is not an intentional sophistry, but an unwillingness to contend with the consequences of the invented future’s divergences, a negligent blindness that seems especially

Suture 3 crude in a novel intended to reveal our societal ignorance — the abuse we turn our gaze from, the eyes we cannot meet. Connie is a convenient main character. The novel frequently positions her as an representation of social injustice, rather than an agentic individual who can affect not only her reality, but the utopia as well. Besieged by myriad abusers (doctors, pimps, her family), Connie’s experiences as a poor Hispanic woman — whose intersectional identities are constantly disrespected and oppressed — contrast brutally with the myriad improvements of the utopia to which she time-travels. As the denizens of the utopia offer explanations, Connie drifts mutely in their wake, never straying far from the direction of Luciente, her spiritual guide and guardian. Piercy is careful to articulate that Connie’s initial anger and distrust of the future are failures of imagination, reflections of our present society’s propagandized rigidity and insularity. After being shown artificially grown embryos, Connie reflects, “How could anyone know what being a mother means who has never carried a child nine months heavy under her heart, who has never borne a baby in blood and pain, who has never suckled a child. . . . What do they know of motherhood?” (Piercy 106). For the denizens of the utopia, decoupling the female body from motherhood generates freedom and equality; for Connie, the act is a horror, robbing women of the connection, strengthened and honored through sacrifice, pregnancy engenders between the child and the mother. Within the novel, the body acts a symbol of agency. When inflicted with suffering, the body is a receptacle of shame, withered and stunted, yet to choose pain in service of a loved one is sweet, an act of devotion and reverence. Whether Connie’s anger is justified or not, she believes the utopia, in its pursuit of liberation, has lost something hallowed and pure. Yet Connie does not express these critiques and is later admonished for believing that “‘because we do not bear live, we cannot love our children’” (133). Connie is left voiceless, her anger rendered impotent and fruitless. Near the end of the novel, Connie hears a voice, perhaps Luciente’s, but perhaps her inner

conscience: “‘Everyone raises the kids, haven’t you noticed? Romance, sex, birth, children — that’s what you fasten on. Yet that isn’t women’s business anymore. It’s everybody’s’” (251). Connie’s judgment is regarded as an unfortunate emphasis on individuality over the spiritual wealth and material sustainability of the collective — and Connie acquiesces to this rebuke despite its erasure of her particular desires. There are other uncomfortable, unconscious parallels in which the utopia robs Connie of agency just as the present does. The utopian society is horrified when Connie, imprisoned in a mental institution, becomes an unwilling subject of experimentation. Yet the utopia also conducts an experiment — a ‘time travel project’ — summoning Connie to the future without explanation or consent. Her initial fear and revulsion are brushed away. Within the utopia itself, Connie is a pupil, passive and receptive, seemingly with nothing to offer or teach. This is an unsettling contradiction, as the utopia has ostensibly cured the oppressions of the past by honoring and incorporating the knowledge of subjugated peoples — women, indigenous and queer communities, enslaved people — into their systems of belief and governance. Yet the future society has no interest in Connie’s testimony, refusing to participate in or observe her world. The confused representation of Connie’s agency inhibits Piercy’s polemic; individuality is posed in opposition to collectivity, and pain in opposition to liberation. There is no dialogue between these facets, only contrast. There is no complexity, only binaries.

Piercy’s attempts to juxtapose the vibrant, dynamic utopia against Connie’s withered present, but instead colors the future with a plastic sheen, flattening both its impression on the reader and the book’s anti-materialist themes. The readers should marvel at the utopia’s joie de vivre, but instead, the utopia unfurls like a glossy brochure. Piercy describes multitudes of physical objects — brightly-colored buildings, impressive new technology, rich food, and compostable clothing — yet skimps on sensory details, rendering the utopia sterile and unnatural. In comparison, Con-

Suture 5 nie’s present seems rich and alive. She describes her life as “crammed overflowing with aromas of coffee, of dope smoke in hallways, of refried cooking oil . . . the fragrance of freshcut grass and new buds in central park. Sidewalk vendors. Cuchifritos. The spring rhythm of conga drums through the streets” (28-29). The present bursts and teems with a complexity of aromas and sounds, and the sentence itself seems to flow along with the stream of Connie’s associated memories, underlining the present’s dynamism and fluidity. Since the reader is familiar with these sensations and memories, the description takes on a comforting, nostalgic appeal. We are intimately connected to Connie’s present but unmoored within the utopia, which does not have enough emotional association to render it dear or even beautiful. A holiday party in the utopia — “People were playing . . . games with things, like soft collapsible swords, pillows that spilled light bubbles when they broke. People were gliding on big wings off the hill by the river” (175 ) — takes on the glassy glitter of a snow globe. Piercy’s portrait of the utopia also works at cross purposes to her argument against materialism. In the future, luxury goods are collectively shared, and characters sometimes remonstrate with Connie for her attachment to worldly possessions. Yet Piercy’s attention is lavished on the utopia’s materiality to connote its wonder and vibrancy. Despite Piercy’s attempts to engender a sense of fluidity and harmony, the utopia acts as a museum intended to showcase the achievements of the future, arranged in relation to the past rather than a living, breathing organism in its own right. Her depiction focuses heavily on the fanciful new inventions of the future, imbuing the utopia with a harsh fluorescent brightness, while the present retains a sense of natural liveliness and change. The utopia’s politics, particularly its portrayal of war, similarly take on a static, reductive nature. A long war of attrition against dissenters who seek to restore the hierarchies and privileges of the past is reduced to an archetypal battle between good and evil. Luciente explains: “‘Now they have the power to exterminate us and we to extermi-

nate them. They have such a limited base — the moon, Antarctica, the space platforms — for a population mostly of androids, robots, cybernauts, partially automated humans, that the war is one of attrition and small actions in the disputed areas, raids almost anyplace. We live with it. It’s the tag end’” (267). The novel refuses to grapple with the blood and brutality of battle, or the contradictions of revolution — peace that requires war, freedom that requires imprisonment. Huddled in the remote, barren reaches of the universe, the dissenters are faceless and removed from sight, a tumorous mass of evil rather than a society of living people. Piercy chooses not to contend with the question of captives, of people living in disputed territories, of possible children or innocents residing within this adversarial group. The utopian war suggests merely the specter of oppression rather than its brutal actuality. Luciente’s use of the word “exterminate” is callous, conflating the resolution of the war with the complete elimination of their foes. Yet the gravity of the line, which points towards the terrible necessity of violence, is diluted by Piercy’s unwillingness to explore the complexity of realistic conflict. Aside from a single death, the utopian villages appear insulated against the consequences of war, and battles between the utopia and its opponents are unreal and fanciful, almost farcical. Operating a machine of war and surrounded by enemies, Luciente tells Connie, “‘Relax. Just enjoy the ride! Whee!’” (333). Again, Piercy utilizes the symbol of the body — these would-be usurpers are mostly “androids, robots, cybernauts, partially automated humans,” soulless and machinated, in stark contrast to the utopia’s living diversity of bodies and celebration of nakedness and sensuality. Piercy suggests that these husks of humanity have forgotten or disavowed the grace and power of flesh, the pleasures of the human form. Yet this symbol is confused by its parallels with Connie’s institutionalization, where devices are inserted into patients’ brains to regulate and control their emotions. The institution is compared to a “factory” where patients get sent “for repairs” (285). In this light, the mechanized humans of the utopia seem sorrowful

Suture 7 and plaintive rather than pure evil. Perhaps this is Piercy’s intent, but if so, it taints Luciente’s words with cruelty, a denial of the dissenters’ humanity. Piercy fallaciously parallels the utopian conflict with Connie’s resistance against the doctors who imprison and abuse her, suggesting the necessity of violence to both maintain harmony and resist oppression. However, in refusing to engage seriously with the bitter fruits of conflict, she does an injustice to both Connie’s plight and real revolutionary movements throughout history.

Connie’s lack of agency in the utopia is furthered by enlisting her in its war. Luciente tells her, “‘We fear [our opponents], but we’ve prevailed so far and we believe we’ll win . . . if history is not reversed. That is, the past is a disputed area’” (267). The utopian future may at any time be erased by decisions in the past, and Connie has an active role to play in determining what future materializes. Yet Piercy endows the future with a sense of destiny, positioning the utopia as authoritative, the pinnacle of progress, the end of oppression and victimization. The self-aggrandizement of the utopia’s denizens contributes to a strangely paternal feel; they regard themselves almost as shepherds urging the past towards a destined and glorified conclusion. This narrative robs Connie, and indeed society’s victimized and abused, of the ability to choose their future, shaped around their desires. The utopia delineates a single path and any other possibilities are precluded. The concept of the utopia itself is a paradox, so perhaps it is not surprising that Woman on the Edge of Time cannot contend with its inherent contradictions. The possibilities of the future are always curtailed by the insularity of the present, and the utopia must always hinge on its expression of the present’s defects. Literary critic Fredric Jameson elucidates, “Most characteristic SF does not seriously attempt to imagine the ‘real’ future of our social system. Rather, its multiple mock futures serve the quite different function of transforming our own present into the determinate part of something yet to come” (Jameson 7). The present, however, is always becoming the past, and the future is always becoming the present. The

cycle of constantly renewing dreams and hopes whose possibilities are endless precisely because we cannot imagine them. Critique of the utopia as both a concept and within specific works is not oppositional to the genre, but an integral part of this process. The failures of an imagined utopia are the soil on which new utopias are built. Yet Woman on the Edge of Time hollows its utopia by presenting it as a perfect society Connie cannot criticize, affect, or change. Connie is a repository for instruction, conveying Piercy’s vision of the future to the reader, rather than an active participant in constructing that future.

Woman on the Edge of Time fails partly because utopias are required to fail, but moreover because Piercy attempts to rationalize and explain the contradictions of her utopia instead of letting them draw blood. The problem of Connie’s agency could’ve been managed if the character herself had interrogated the constraints the utopia imposes on her — if Connie had utilized the failures of one utopia to imagine another. There is a less-technical synonym of utopia, ‘paradise,’ whose etymology traces back to the meaning “walled enclosure.” It is this contradiction the novel most clearly depicts in its portrayal of a utopia intended to be liberated and harmonious, and is instead sterile and sometimes cruel. Piercy’s vision of a futuristic society may be initially pleasing, materially full of bright, joyful contrasts with the present’s social issues. But Piercy’s attempt to constantly extol the utopia’s society and belief system unravels the necessary complexity of utopian stories, and thus the novel’s themes of social equality and individual agency. Connie’s memories of eating sugar cane best describe the utopia: “hollow, flimsy, for a moment sweet in the mouth” (Piercy 14).

WORKS CITED

Jameson, Fredric. “Progress vs. Utopia: Or, Can We Imagine the Future?” Science Fiction Studies, SF-TH Inc, 1982, pp. 147-158.

More, Thomas. Utopia, 1516. The Columbian Publishing Co, 1891.

Piercy, Marge. Woman on the Edge of Time. Fawcett Crest Books, 1976.

Mumia Apothecary Jars: A Dissection of Past Funerary Practices

ANNIE KENNEDY

Once the soul leaves the body, where should it be placed, in the depths of the Earth or deep within the bowels of a person? Today, cannibalism is less widely practiced and burial is the predominant method of funerary ritual around the world. The consumption of loved ones has not always been considered an act of violence but once seen as one of devotion. The consumption enables the deceased relative to better enter the spirit world and the recipients can obtain some of the essence of their loved one for the Fore people of Papua New Guinea and Wari people of Brazil (Burley, “Eating Human Beings”). In early modern Europe, people would taste a stranger’s flesh not to mourn this unknown person’s passing but under the assumption that such an act had curative powers. Although the body can function as a symbol of society, each culture treats the bodies, and the cessation of life, differently. Rituals are used to separate death and life (Douglas). In comparison to funerary cannibalism of these isolated groups, the European practice of medical cannibalism, becomes more abrasive and barbaric. As the apothecary system developed into the Western medical system, the body became the site of bioprospecting.

As strange as apothecary jars look, with colorful script in abbreviated Latin, to the modern eye, any apothecary from across Europe in the early modern period would have been able to recognize the names and uses of each compound. Besides the sweet flowers and exotic spices in the apothecary shop, some unfortunate souls are trapped in these very containers although not for long. Once a peasant or king came in with a headache or perhaps anxiety, the mummy would find a new home once more. Although authentic Mumia, those ancient bits of body, wrappings, and spices from the tombs of Egypt, received a premium price

compared to the local, embalmed bodies of someone taken from the gallows or battlefield, both were consumed to provide a bit of the soul to whoever was suffering from ailments (Dunea). Mumia was used from antiquity to the early modern era but most popular from the 16th to 18th centuries (Scholz-Böttcher et al.). Despite medical cannibalism existing as a long-standing European-tradition, this act of consumption is often associated with places far from Western society.

The Fore of Papua New Guinea practiced eating dead kinfolk up until the twentieth-century. The incorporation of the body of a dead person into living relatives is an act of transumption as it is part of the process for rebirth as ancestors. The Fore believe that the kwela, the pollutant part of the body, will haunt the family if it is not taken care of properly. To avoid such a fate, the kwela must be buried or eaten. Once eaten, the kwela will reside in the wombs of female relatives where it is not able to harm people that share the deceased’s blood. Yesegi, a person’s occult power, is eventually passed onto one of the deceased’s children during this ritual. Although bodies could be buried, transumption was the most common method as the Fore would rather see their loved ones eaten by people than by worms, insects, and other creatures of the dirt. The act was one of devotion, loyalty, and grief. The kwela would attack any woman whose family had any involvement in the death. The Yesegi was recycled within the family and the deceased was reborn as an ancestor. Jaw and collar bones were kept and worn but the rest of the body and any utensil or leaves that touch the body, were also cooked and consumed (Whitfield et al.). Although the Fore engaged in this ritual for completely different reasons than Europeans consuming strangers for health, European witnesses to such acts were horrified in both the pacific islands and across the Atlantic. Before the early 1960s, cannibalism was common in Wari’ society of Brazil. The consumption, when against an enemy group, was an expression of supremacy and revenge, but could also be one of compassion and duty. No part of the corpse was allowed to touch the Earth. The act of eating allows move-

ments between the worlds of people and animals. The disposal of the corpse by ingestion, and only by non-blood relatives due to a taboo against auto-cannibalism, is a performance more dramatic than the routine consumption of animal flesh as food. The refusal and evident consumption of the putrid condition of the body is an act of paying homage to eaten loved-ones. The ritual ends with the body gone and the possessions, including the house, burned, thus the Wari able to relinquish emotional attachments to the deceased (Burley “Eating Human Beings”).

While cannibalism is uncommon in the Western medical system today, the consumption of the body is the basis of this medical knowledge. Medicine is built on the manipulations of the physiological body whether living or dead (Bishop “Embracing Death”). The lifeless human allows the medical doctor to be trained in anatomy. The dead body became the fetish of medical students by the 1790s as students searched for truth buried in the body and raced against decay. The dead body was the static ideal in which to measure the dynamic nature of life against. Dead material is foundational to the study of life because it was the only method to understand life. The practice of vivisection allowed for the understanding of life as the physicians controlled the mechanisms of life and death (Bishop “On Medical Corpses and Resurrected Bodies”). This knowledge was collected by motivations of obtaining immortality as physicians, apothecaries, and alchemists alike all searched for the elixir of life which would repel death (De Vos). Here is the birth of the false promise that life can be sustained indefinitely if enough “spare parts’’ are sacrificed. In the predominant Christian traditions of Western society, hospice care is where the resurrection of Christ is enacted (Bishop, “On Medical Corpses and Resurrected Bodies”). In hope of the resurrection of the body, Christianity argues that death is abominable and unnatural (Cunningham). Here, Christian ideals of everlasting life are completely opposed with the transcendent nature of the Fore and Wari’s beliefs on the afterlife.

Once Mumia fell out of fashion in the 19th century, people sought cures that are still tried on and tested on oth-

er’s bodies (Barber). The modern hospital is a type of laboratory where experimental knowledge is gained by exploration of the body (Bishop “The Machinations of Life”). Doctors did not believe the body could function without the brain until the organ transplants of the 1960s. This aligns with the concept of brain death in which, for the first time, it is imagined that parts of the body can live while others die. This redefinition of death coincidentally, or maybe not, appears around the start of organ donation or simply a coincidence. Regardless, there is the oxymoronic invention of “living cadavers” to name the source of organs. This term is imported into the clinical area from anatomy and physiology laboratory (Bishop, “Commissioning Death: From Living Cadavers to Dead Brains”). In reference to the corpse, the patient becomes less than human, similarly to the people centuries ago whose flesh filled apothecary jars. This comparison is not to criticize voluntary organ donation but show the tension between whether to care for humans or to utilize their remains. Although the deceased would not need their bodies anymore, the same cannot be sent for their families and communities (Graham). Under a new framework, organ donation is a sacred gift where families can witness a small part of their loved ones stay in this world. There is power in funerary arrangements. Contemporary Western society has no shared social contexts and few cultural practices to prepare for death in contrast to earlier society. When death becomes a private matter, increasingly medicalized, society loses the knowledge of how to respond to death. Before the 18th century, death was the difference between present and past states but then became focused on the separation between living related and dead individuals (Tomaini). Rituals enacted on the human body are matters of both personal and private (Douglas). By leaning into the social element, the grief of death, the dearly departed are integrated back into the community in the way that cannibalistic funerary rites intended, instead of consumed as sources of knowledge like bits of Mumia inside a jar. In the end, funerals are for the living and not the dead.

WORKS CITED

Baber, “Ancient Corpses as Curiosities: Mummymania in the Age of Early Travel,” Journal of ancient Egyptian interconnections 8, no. 1 (2016): 60.

Bishop, Jeffery. “Embracing Death,” in The Anticipatory Corpse, eds. John Behr and Conor Cunningham. (Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2011), 119-140.

—. “On Medical Corpses and Resurrected Bodies,” in The Role of Death in Life, eds. John Behr and Conor Cunningham. (Cambridge, England: The Lutterworth Press, James Clarke & Co Ltd., 2015), 164-178.

—. “The Machinations of Life,” in (Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2011b), 96-118.

—. “Commissioning Death: From Living Cadavers to Dead Brains,” in The Anticipatory Corpse (Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2011a), 141167.

Burley, Mikel. “Eating Human Beings: Varieties of Cannibalism and the Heterogeneity of Human Life,” Philosophy (London) 91, no. 4 (2016): 483-501.; Jerome T. Whitfield et al., “Mortuary rites of the South Fore and kuru,” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences 363, no. 1510 (2008): 37213724.

—. “Eating Human Beings: Varieties of Cannibalism and the Heterogeneity of Human Life,”: 483-501.

Cunningham, Conor. “Is There Life before Death? ,” in The Role of Death in Life: A Multidisciplinary Examination of the Relationship between Life and Death, eds. John Behr and Conor Cunningham. (Cambridge: The Lutterworth Press James Clarke & Co Ltd, 2015),

De Vos, Paula. Compound Remedies: Galenic Pharmacy from the Ancient Mediterranean to New Spain , Firsted. (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2020)

Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concept of Pollution and Taboo, 1ed. (London: Routledge Classicals, 1966)

Dunea, George. “Theodore de Mayerne: prince of all doctors ,” Hektoen International: A Journal of Medical Humanities 6, no. 3

Graham, Emma-Jayne. “Introduction: Embodying Death in Archaeology,” in Death embodied Book: Archaeological approaches to the treatment of the corpse, eds. Zoë Devlin and Emma-Jayne Graham. (Oxford, England: Oxbow Books, 2015), 1-17.

Scholz-Böttcher, Barbara, Nissenbaum, Arie, and Rullkötter, Jürgen. “An 18th century medication “Mumia vera aegyptica” –Fake or authentic?” Organic geochemistry 65 (2013): 1-18.

Tomaini, Thea. “Introduction: The Corpse as Text,” in The Corpse as Text: Disinterment and Antiquarian Enquiry, 1700-1900 (Martlesham, Suffolk: Boydell & Brewer; Boydell Press, 2018), 1-22.

Whitfield et al., “Mortuary rites of the South Fore and kuru,”: 37213724.

Awe and Emotion: The Body in Pre-Modern Art

SYLVIA WOODBURY

In ancient art, representations of the body in statues or images were not mere copies, but actual incarnations that could affect the physical and spiritual health of the creator or viewer. There was no distance, or directionality, between the viewer and the viewed; these objects acted as intermediaries between the worlds of the living and the dead, the divine and the mortal, the teacher and the pupil. Later artistic genres, such as Gothic art in Late Medieval Europe, would drift away from this concept, enforcing a greater distance between the artwork and the interpreter, yet, through the utilization of emotional resonance, would still suggest the all-encompassing importance of divinity. The intersections between numerous representations of the body in the pre-modern world, seen across three millennia in ancient Egyptian, Neo-Sumerian, Peruvian, and Medieval art, testify to the power of depiction to evoke cultures’ variable, yet converging, ideologies of interpretation — that is, what was believed about the world as portrayed and created by artwork. Egypt was the kingdom of eternity, lasting roughly 3000 years. Embodied by ma’at, the principle of harmony and order based on the cyclical flooding of the Nile, ancient Egyptian artistic culture expresses eternity, stability, and unity, an ideology depicted as underwritten and preserved by divinity — and thus guided by the pharaohs, who were revered as manifestations of the divine on the mortal plane. This principle of balanced stability is incarnated in the Statue of Menkaure and Queen, from Old Kingdom Egypt circa 2532 - 2503 BCE. Found in the valley temple connected to the pyramid of Menkaure, the pharaoh’s tomb and a monument to his grandeur, the slightly smaller than life-size funerary statue is carved from black slate and depicts a striding Menkaure

Suture 17 with his fists clenched at his sides, as well as his queen with her arms around his torso. Menkaure wears a nemes, or cloth headpiece, and a facsimile beard, both symbols of power and kingship. Menkaure’s muscles and stance emphasize the relatively more submissive posture of his queen at his side. The frontal aspect of the statue confers legibility, with faces and bodies extremely visible. Rigid and simplified, Menkaure and his queen are represented with symmetrical, balanced bodies, smooth skin, and inexpressive faces. Their shoulders are level and they gaze directly ahead; Menkaure holds his arms straight by his sides, while the queen’s right arm is sharply bent at the elbow. The idealized, stiff aspect of the statue suggests both the immortality of the pharaoh in the afterlife and the eternity of his kingdom. The statue’s frontality and solid, forceful presence communicates a sense of immovability and further underlines the pharaoh’s power and kingship. Here, the human body is stylized and abstracted in order to imbue it with the qualities of godhood. Not only did funerary statues such as these embody the pharaoh’s spirit and life, but they contained it as well. Ka, or life-force, inhabited the funerary statues, and family members would leave offerings whose essence would be consumed by the spirit. Therefore, these statues were not only reproductions of the pharoah’s likeness, but acted as their immortal, unchanging, and forever youthful body after death, a proper receptacle for the king’s quasi-divine life-essence. Depictions of rulers in the Neo-Sumerian Period of Mesopotamia adopted some of the same themes of Egyptian funerary statues. The statue of Gudea from Lagash, from 2150 BCE, is depicted with much of the same rigidity as Egyptian art. Wearing a curled wool cap and drapery covering his torso, the ruler is depicted with muscled arms and symmetrical features but no idiosyncratic identifiers. Carved in a sitting position, he clasps his hands in a pose of veneration, ready to hold a libation cup. His large eyes are especially accentuated and stare straight ahead. This votive statue was created as an offering in the temple of a god, the patron protector of the city-state who was worshiped and honored in order to pre-

serve the sovereign and state. Depicted as worshipful and reverent, this statue of Gudea would perpetuate the act of prayer, gazing forever at the temple god. Gudea’s value as a ruler is derived from his piety, suggested by his pose and expression of serenity; his idealized power is further underscored by the blueprint of a temple he holds in his lap. Gudea’s ability to both build infrastructure and honor the gods testifies to his paternal guiding role as the leader of Lagash. Both the statue of Gudea of Lagash and the statue of Menkaure and Queen serve to portray and perpetuate the strength and leadership role of their respective rulers, yet the statue of Gudea is much humbler, honoring not the ruler specifically, but the patron deity of the city. While the powerful, imposing statue of Menkaure and Queen serves to act as both a representation of, and a repository for, the eternal divinity of the pharaoh, the small statue of Gudea subtly suggests his wisdom and faith, depicted through his reverential posture and large eyes. While the statue of Menkaure was carved in slate, a stone common in Egypt, the statue of Gudea is made of diorite, a precious material that had to be imported to Lagash and thus would communicate the reach of Gudea’s rule and influence. However, both the schist and diorite statues are hard, smooth, and bright, portraying the eternal presence of both statues and leaders. Menkaure’s forward step, symbolizing him crushing evil beneath his foot, indicates his protective, guiding role as ruler; similarly, the temple plan Gudea of Lagash holds depicts his ability to provide safety and divine resources to his subjects by building infrastructure. Both statues display similar formal appearances and symbolic meanings, yet their characterizations differentiate, with Menkaure upright and immutable, and Gudea small and deferential to the temple god. Both Egyptian and Mesopotamian statues’ figurative rigidity would be destabilized by the Chavín artistic culture of Peru. The Chavín artistic culture developed around a religious cult that built a large temple in the Andean hills to attract believers. Inside, pilgrims would pass through a dark, twisting maze, eventually finding the Lanzón, a stele built

Suture 19 circa 500 BCE featuring an abstract god-figure composed of both human and animalistic features, at the center. With tusks, talons, snakes for hair, a belt of fangs, and a snout, the god grins, filling the space of the stele. The curves of his tusks and grin, as well as the coils of his snake-hair, contribute a sense of motion that is mostly lacking in the rigid Egyptian and Mesopotamian statues. Together, the Lanzón’s elements contribute a sense of the wild and uncanny, capturing the inhumanity and feral power of the god. However, the image is still mostly symmetrical, conferring unearthly grace onto the deity. The Chavìn cult used contour rivalry, in which animalistic traits substitute for other characteristics, both to communicate transformation and make the stele hard to decipher. Since the image’s contour lines could be interpreted differently, only believers in the cult could understand the image, differentiating the Lanzón from the purposeful legibility of Egyptian and Mesopotamian statuary. The figure also suggests the importance of hallucinogenic drugs in Andean culture. Mimicking the experience of hallucinating, the figure is difficult to read, combines multiple interpretations, and evokes metamorphosis and duality of being. By substituting some aspects of the human body with bestial features, the Lanzòn depicts a being that transcends humanity. Similar to the statue of Menkaure and Queen, the Lanzòn seems to reference humanity melded with godhood. This artistic duality is also encapsulated in Peruvian geography, which is divided into jungle, desert, mountainous terrain, and coastline. Corresponding artwork often reflects the multivalence and diversity of the Andean environment; the Lanzón, for instance, is formed in the shape of a plow, signifying both the food production on which Andean society relied and the abundance of nature. Similarly, Egyptian art is based on its environment, with the regular cycle of the Nile river suggesting organization and eternity, and the contrast between the fertile river banks and the desert supplying a sense of dualism and balance to Egyptian art, which can be seen in the symmetrical, solid funerary statue. Furthermore, both the statue of Menkaure and

the Lanzón display power through their gestures. With one foot forward, Menkaure trods on evil, while the Lanzón deity’s hands, one pointing towards the sky and one towards the earth, signifies the vast extent of the god’s domain. Within the dark, echoing, dripping maze traversed by pilgrims in search of spiritual enlightenment, the Lanzón would loom out of the darkness, contributing a dramatic, portentous aspect to the experience of deciphering its patterns. Even across different cultures, landscapes, and thousands of years, similar symbolic meanings are evoked by the three statues.

The Medieval period transformed the purpose of religious imagery and symbolism. Gothic devotional representations induce a sense of emotion, rather than undiluted awe. The Roettgen Pièta depicts, in wood, the scene when Mary, overcome with grief, clutches the dead Christ, a powerful lament that captures both the ravages inflicted on Christ and Mary’s corresponding intense sorrow. Perched on Mary’s lap, Jesus is emaciated, his head and right arm falling back limply. Gaping wounds on his side and hands weep carved blood down his limbs, while his forehead is covered in blood from his crown of thorns. Christ’s eyelids are closed and his brow knit, suggesting that this is no peaceful death. The red blood contrasts starkly with Jesus’ white body. While not completely naturalistic — the heads are somewhat enlarged, similar to the statue of Gudea of Lagash — Jesus’ draping limbs and realistic face hold a compelling pathos, underlining the sacrifice he made to save humanity and eliciting pity and compassion from the viewer. The composition of the sculpture, with Mary leaning over a twisted Christ, contrasts profoundly with the three previous statues. The artist realistically delineates fabric, which spills in shades of green and white over Mary’s lap, and makes use of negative space, with gaps between Christ’s limbs and Mary’s body. Menkaure, Gudea, and the Lanzòn deity are all carved from stone, and retain a compact blockiness, with no gaps between their limbs and very limited use of negative space. Menkaure and Queen occupy the same position, and assume the same posture, portraying the

21 and their slightly-incised garments are minimal. The statue of Gudea is similarly boxy, with his limbs closely folded and his feet tucked under his robe. His head sits close to his shoulders, which approximate the width of his torso and lap. Both statues seem solid, and even slightly compressed, testifying to the rulers’ symbolic attributes of stability, strength, and balance. The Roettgen Pietà, however, is far from symmetrical, with Mary and Christ assuming different positions. There is a clear separation between Christ and Mary’s forms, and details such as clothing or blood have different textures and depths. Mary’s headdress, for instance, is not closely attached to her body, but seems like a realistic article of clothing that would move and shift. Idiosyncratic features, such as Christ’s beard and emaciated form, are applied as well. The relative elongation of the forms and the use of negative space contributes an airiness and atmosphere to the statue that is not displayed in the others. Along with Mary’s gentle embrace of Christ, depicted in the way her hands lightly rest on his body, these attributes contribute grace and fluidity to the figures. Though the Lanzón’s incised details imbue its represented deity with a wild, animalistic quality, the confined composition limits the deity’s expression of movement, so that it is immovable, confronting, and larger-than life, yet constrained. The wood Pièta is less substantial, but indicates more motion. Its slightness relative to the other statues contributes to its ethereality, and also would draw the viewer in closer in order to understand the sculpture’s details, allowing a focused communion to occur between the viewer and the statue. All four representations of the body express religious symbolism in diverging ways, using different compositions, forms, styles, and materials to delineate the different roles and traits of the different figures. While statues from the premodern world, such as the statue of Menkaure and Queen, are built to impress the viewer and suggest the figures’ divinity, this pièta scene drives home Christ’s mortality through depicting the suffering inflicted on his human body, alluding to one of the major themes of Catholicism — sacrifice. Mary’s

Suture 22

face is quiet but intense. With a partly opened mouth and a knit brow, her eyes focused on the face of her dead son, Mary seems caught a moment before fully realizing his death. The relative stillness of the scene contributes to its effect, drawing attention to the focal point of the dead Christ and underlining the loss of death, which, after all, is the eternal absence of emotion and activity. The scene draws the viewer in close, compelling them to identify with both Mary and Christ in their humanity.

From Mesopotamian to Medieval art, the body was represented in art not as a simulacrum, but an animate entity infused with, and perpetuating, the ideology of its origins. Pre-modern art is deeply transformative, imbuing bodies with the presence of stone, the fierce wildness of animals and plants, and the powerful grace of the divine. These four statues engage with complex symbolic meanings, reflecting the belief systems, values, and identities of their respective cultures as understood by the denizens of those cultures. They profoundly capture the spiritual and ephemeral qualities of the body, depicting it in life and death, in kingship and humility, in divinity and mortality, in triumph and in grief. Visual and contextual intersections between various representations of the body portray an essential unity of belief systems across time and place — ideologies that are not just depicted by the artworks, but continue to reside within them. Menkaure did live after death, his body never decaying. Gudea is forever a worshiper, humble in his strength. The Lanzòn deity still draws pilgrims who seek to decipher its patterns, and the arcane knowledge of the Chavìn cult is forever protected. Mary’s grief and Christ’s sacrifice are still profoundly felt when gazing at the statue. Pre-modern representations of the body fulfill their titular promise of embodiment, justifying ancient ideologies into eternity.

WORKS CITED

Robertson, Jean, and Deborah S. Hutton. The History of Art: A Global View. Thames & Hudson, 2021. WWNorton, https:// nerd.wwnorton.com/nerd/200720/r/goto/cfi/8!/4?control=control-toc. Accessed 14 December 2023.

The Sacred Diease: A Case Study of the Hippocratic Corpus

KATIE CRISTIANO

It is simple to picture supplications to healing gods and spiritual rituals as the go-to method of ancient medicine. Yet, when analyzing the writings of the Hippocratic Corpus, it is clear that the study of medicine was defined by rationality and precision. Even without the aid of modern technology, physicians were able to gain a great understanding of the human body. One key idea agreed upon by most Hippocratic writers was that every disease had a natural cause, a concept that is exemplified in the Hippocratic writing, The Sacred Disease. In clarifying and defining epilepsy as something other than a ‘sacred’ disease, this work epitomizes many commonplace beliefs about the natural causes of disease, such as environmental factors, age, and a balance of bodily elements, while also arguing for its own anatomical theories, demonstrating the widely used methods of persuasion employed by medical theorists at the time. The author of The Sacred Disease pushes back against popular superstitions about epilepsy, giving his own account of the cause and process of the disease throughout the body. He begins by giving detailed descriptions of his previous cases and of both human and animal anatomy, demonstrating his advanced medical training and credibility in this field, a stratagem utilized by multiple Hippocratic writers. From section five onward, the writer begins to define epilepsy in terms of its symptoms and likely causes. First, that “it is hereditary” (The Sacred Disease 5). He clarifies,“The seed comes from all parts of the body; it is healthy when it comes from healthy parts [and] diseased when it comes from diseased parts” (The Sacred Disease 5). This opinion reveals that ancient doctors had an understanding of genetics and heredity even without advanced technology, like microscopes. The second argument

Suture 25 is that “the brain is the seat of this disease,” labeling the brain as not only “the organ of comprehension,” which manages all executive functioning and reasoning, but also as the “most potent organ in the body” (The Sacred Disease 6, 19). Because of this, the author classifies a disease of the brain as the most complex and the most fatal. The author’s third argument is that “this disease attacks the phlegmatic but not the bilious,” making phlegm the main element impacting the onset of epilepsy. He explains that the spread of phlegm to the heart causes “palpitations or asthma” and when it enters the blood vessels, it could cause “loss of voice, choking, foaming at the mouth… and convulsive movements” (The Sacred Disease 9, 10). His position ties into the greater theory about an imbalance of elements within the body being a cause of disease—epilepsy is caused by an overabundance of phlegm that spreads through the body and upsets the natural balance. Additionally, the author discusses how the mixing of hot and cold elements is another cause of imbalance. In the case of epilepsy, “all [the] symptoms are produced when cold phlegm is discharged into the blood which is warm, so chilling the blood and obstructing its flow” (The Sacred Disease 10). In this way, the author endorses the widespread theory of multiple humors throughout the body, which is often discussed in the Hippocratic Corpus.

Besides bolstering his own credibility, the writer also persuades his audience by discrediting opponents of his theory, especially those who support the idea that epilepsy is a ‘sacred’ or divine disease. He states definitively that “this disease is not in the least more divine than any other but has the same nature as other diseases and a similar cause” (The Sacred Disease 5). He goes on to say that “those who first called this disease ‘sacred’ were the sort of people we now call witch-doctors, faith-healers, quacks and charlatans” (The Sacred Disease 2). Other Hippocratic writers would agree with him and often begin their works by describing the ideal practitioner as a scholarly and knowledgeable person, not someone who blindly follows their faith or merely hypothesizes about medical theory without actually practicing it themself.

It is important to note that the author is not disagreeing with these superstitious beliefs because he does not have faith or does not believe in the gods. In fact, he writes, “Personally I believe that human bodies cannot be polluted by a god” and that “the presence of a god would be more likely to purify and sanctify [the body] than pollute it” (The Sacred Disease 4). Thus, the author is not against healing gods because he is unfaithful, but because he does not see the merit of mixing faith and medicine when medicine should be an empirical and logical science, as many other Hippocratic writers also believe. In addition, although the author argues that an imbalance of phlegm exacerbates epilepsy, he does not fully acknowledge the popular ‘four humors’ theory, as seen in The Nature of Man. Indeed, he believes that “consciousness is caused by air,” meaning that the flow of air is one of the most important functions in the body (The Sacred Disease 19). Blood-vessels “allow the body to breathe by absorbing air,” so the excess amount of phlegm is critical because it clogs the blood-vessels which humans need to breathe (The Sacred Disease 7). The insertion of original hypotheses alongside general beliefs could indicate that this essay is meant to be viewed by other scholars and specifically doctors, who could learn from and verify his claims, rather than an unsuspecting member of society who would not entirely understand.

Much of the ideas and writing devices in The Sacred Disease can be broadened to the other Hippocratic writers and the medical community as a whole. For instance, the author asserts that epilepsy “can be cured no less than other diseases so long as it has not become inveterate and too powerful for the drugs which are given” (The Sacred Disease 5). This claim reflects the widespread belief that diseases are naturally generated and that they can be treated by a doctor with the proper knowledge. However, the final words state that an illness can be cured if it is not too “inveterate” or “powerful” (The Sacred Disease 5). This caveat reveals the importance of giving a prognosis in ancient medicine, which reinforces the physician’s reputation if their predictions are accurate and protects

the doctor from blame if they fail. The author of The Sacred Disease also cites the impact of climate and seasonal factors as both a way to treat the disease and to aggravate it. This view is strongly agreed upon by other Hippocratic works, such as Airs, Waters, Places, which expresses clearly that “whoever would study medicine aright…must study the warm and the cold winds…” (Airs, Waters, Places 1). Both the direction and temperature of the wind were believed to impact the course of disease. Furthermore, The Sacred Disease discusses how age can be another influential factor in one’s health. It explains, “Infants who suffer from this disease usually die if the phlegm is copious,” but also that “adults neither die from an attack of [epilepsy], nor does it leave them with palsy” (The Sacred Disease 11, 12). This judgment is corroborated by the author of Prognosis, who notes, “Just as people under thirty are specially liable to abscession, so those above that age are specially liable to quartan fevers” (Prognosis 24). Therefore, while many of the Hippocratic works introduce their own ideas, many corroborate and build on one another to form a greater understanding of medicine as a complete science during this period.

Using The Sacred Disease as a case study, it’s clear that ancient physicians understood much about the nature and causes of disease. While they could not track the spread of microorganisms, medical practitioners understood that expanses of air or water could become contaminated, that certain diseases thrived in specific climates or regions, and that diseases have individual and general characteristics. Age, gender, diet, region, and climate were all factors that influenced the course of disease and one’s chances of recovery. By defining medicine, outlining the ideal physician, and defending the study of medicine, Hippocratic writers were able to establish the foundation of medical theory as it is known today.

WORKS CITED

Chadwick, J. and W.N. Mann, trans. “The Sacred Disease.” In Hippocratic Writings, ed. G.E.R. Lloyd, New York: Penguin Classics (1983), 237-251.

Chadwick, J. and W.N. Mann, trans. “Airs, Waters, Places.” In Hippocratic Writings, ed. G.E.R. Lloyd, New York: Penguin Classics (1983), 148-169.

Chadwick, J. and W.N. Mann, trans. “Prognosis.” In Hippocratic Writings, ed. G.E.R. Lloyd, New York: Penguin Classics (1983), 170-185.

Disproportionate Diagnosis of Learning Disabilites within Racial Minorities

HENRY GOODING

Struggling in school and not knowing why, getting placed in a separate class, and being marked as disabled can have a deep and lasting impact on a student. Schools in the United States employ biases and misconceptions about learning disabilities, even though they are the very places in which these notions should be non-existent. These biases and misconceptions become specifically salient when examining the intersection between race and the diagnosis of a learning disability. Students of color are disproportionately represented in having a learning disability. Learning disabilities have become a racial project used to stigmatize minority students. This is not to say that learning disabilities and neurodivergency do not exist in a neuroscientific context; however, their construction in the American school system is not contingent on neuroscience, but on one’s ability to perform in a white supremacist neoliberal environment. This paper strives to answer why this happens and how race impacts the diagnosis of a learning disability. This disproportionality can be attributed to cultural and linguistic factors that differ from white norms and values being misconstrued by white teachers, pedagogical failures, and correlating low achievement with learning disabilities. Moreover, examining the intersection of race, gender, and class is necessary; males of color and low-income students of color are particularly vulnerable to stereotyping from teachers.

Learning Disabilities (LD) are a social construct that were created to normalize a single learning style and to demarcate anyone who does not fit in. School systems often conceptualize LD as a biologically reified developmental failure in children that hinders them from succeeding in school. McDermott (2001) instead contends that it is a social category that exists in American culture. He says that “without social arrangements for making something of

differential rates of learning, there is no such thing as LD” (272). Thus, American school systems have established a right and wrong way of learning in the classroom such that students are either able-minded or disabled. Moreover, a student’s value is ascribed to their ability to fit into this system, not what they are learning or their improvement over time. It is important to discover not just what the system is, but who created this system and why. The creation of LD was a racial and political project constructed by white middle-class parents and educators to promote the well-being of their children only and protect them from being labeled the harmful stereotypes that were being applied to Black and Brown students. Sleeter (2010) attributes the rise of LD to the pressures to revamp the American education system during the Cold War to compete better with Russia in the mid-1960s-1970s. The recommendation for American schools was to strengthen their reading instruction, group students based on their ability, and have a better teacher teach the top students. The desegregation of schools in the United States was occurring simultaneously. Black and Brown students were seen as a hindrance to the improvement of America’s education system. Thus, four “syndromes” were created to classify lower class and minority students: “mentally r*tarded, slow learner, emotionally disturbed, and culturally deprived” (222-223). However, when there happened to be some white middle-class students in the below-average classes diagnosed with one of these syndromes, their parents were infuriated. They recruited doctors to say that their child had suffered a mild brain injury because they could not fathom having their children being demarcated in the same way as Black and Brown students. This association of LD with exclusively Black and Brown students reified LD into “a category that was used politically by concerned parents and educators who believed white middle class failing children should not be failing or at least should suffer the consequences of school failure as little as possible” (234). However, these parents had no qualms about employing racist and classist stereotypes to further degrade and mark Black and Brown students.

Since the conception of LD, students of color are overrepresented in the category of LD than their white peers. The following

Suture 31 percentages of students at public schools that are served under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act from 2019-to 2020: “White students – 14.7%, Black students – 16.6%, Hispanic students – 13.8%, Asian students – 7.1% Pacific Islander students –11.2%, American Indian/Alaska Native students – 18.3%, and Two or more race students – 15.4%” (EducationWeek). The following are demographics of students at public high schools in the United States from the 2019-2020 school year: “White students – 45.8%, Black students – 15%, Hispanic students – 28%, Asian – 5.4%, Pacific Islander students –.4%, American Indian students – .9%, and Two or more races – 4.5% (Statista).” As evidenced in these statistics, students of color are disproportionately represented, especially Native American and Black students.

Educators’ and school systems’ biases which cause them to misunderstand different cultural and linguistic backgrounds are one of the reasons that Black and Brown students are disproportionately represented as having LD. These biases are extremely dangerous when considering the racial demographics of teachers and students. Studies show that the student diversity is rapidly increasing, while teachers are predominantly white. A prominent example of this is when educators misinterpret limited English language proficiency in Hispanic or Latinx students as them having a LD. In Santa Barbara, Latino students are significantly disproportionately represented as having a learning disability: “Children from Latinx families are 3.43 times more likely to be identified as having learning disabilities than their white peers in the Santa Barbara Unified School District” (Weis 2020). This disproportionality is occurring because educators do not distinguish between LD and issues with learning, comprehending, and analyzing the English language due to the monolingual culture in the United States. However, diagnostic criteria for LD neglects the fact that many students are forced to work in their second or third language, something extremely difficult. The result is a lack of understanding from school systems resulting in racialized bodies being stigmatized.

Pedagogical and implementation failures impact why minority students get overrepresented in receiving an LD diagnosis. Both the pedagogy of American schools as a whole and the

pedagogy of the LD diagnosis process are flawed and problematic. American pedagogy thrives on the American ideal of individuality. Diagnosis of LD obscures the racist standardized way of learning praised in the American school system and makes students believe that there is something wrong with them as opposed to something being wrong with the system. There are also biases and shortcomings in the pedagogy of both the referral and the diagnosis process for an LD. The Santa Barbara school system found that there are no “clear and consistent systems to intervene when multilingual students are struggling” (Weis 2020). Educators do not focus on making or implementing policies because it is more convenient to map LD onto Hispanic students. They do not bother to engage in the research to unlearn the biased idea that everyone is on the same playing field and learn that judging multilingual students with monolingual standards is unacademic. Teachers merely refer to these students for services even that are not needed. When proper protocols for a diverse student body are not made and teachers are not trained adequately to combat their inherent biases, Black and Brown students get misdiagnosed.

The low achievement model is another reason for which minority students are disproportionately represented in getting an LD diagnosis. The low achievement model refers to the justification for an LD when there is either a discrepancy between one’s IQ and performance at school or when a student performs poorly in school or on an IQ test. However, this disproportionately impacts students of color for multiple reasons. Firstly, IQ tests are notoriously culturally biased to favor white middle-class students. In the case Larry P v. Rillies (1979), the court ruled that the IQ tests were the reason that African American students were overrepresented in special education classes. Despite this legal precedent, IQ tests are still used today to diagnose LD and there are accusations that it is still culturally biased. This model assumes that underperforming always implies a LD. Shrifer et. al (2011) examines the problems with the low achievement model and they find that it does “not identify whether a child’s low achievement is commensurate with his or her ability” (247). Shrifer is pointing to the misconception that low achievement must imply disability, without accounting for

extenuating circumstances that affect performance such as struggles with mental health, stressors at home, and poverty, all of which disproportionately affect Black and Brown students.

The intersection of race and gender has an impact on how students are diagnosed with LD. Males are more likely to be diagnosed with a LD than females (there are little to no statistics or studies about this including nonbinary students). According to the OSEP, males are 2.7 times more likely to be identified as having an LD. Banks (2017) did an ethnography on the experience of Black high school students who were diagnosed with LD. Through centering the voices and the lived experiences of these students, she brought to light the interdependence of racism and ableism. Black students are faced with a double bind in that they must prove themselves and break the resounding stereotypes and labels imposed on them, but cannot do so without self-advocacy as it will likely be misinterpreted for aggression. Gregory, one of the students interviewed, said that “they always saw me as aggressive…these teachers are never going to stop labeling me, stop judging me no matter what I do.” The intersection of Gregory’s identity as a Black male with an LD makes him particularly vulnerable to stereotyping and labeling. Gregory’s experience speaks to the fact that school systems and educators inherently have unconscious biases causing them to constantly label and stigmatize students different from them, which inevitably end up being Black men.

Low-income students of color get doubly stigmatized which increases their susceptibility to being diagnosed with an LD. The low-achievement model and the labels of a “slow learner” and being “culturally deprived” are entrenched in harmful stereotypes. The criteria for “slow learner” and “culturally deprived” assume that low-income students of color have inherent deficiencies because they “did not value intellectual work and lacked values necessary for success in school and society, such as delayed gratification, individuality, and the belief that hard work brings success” (Sleeter 223). These values are of individuality and the belief that hard work brings success is explicitly American values. People in poverty and people of color are often seen as not being American. This rationale specifically harms low-income students and students of color

and contributes to the disproportionality of LD diagnoses because schools are entrenched in neoliberalism and white supremacy. There have been attempts by white education scholars to discredit the fact that minority students are overrepresented in LD diagnoses. However, when examining both the historical context and the current American school system, it is evident that these attempts are baseless. Black and brown students have been, are, and likely will be overrepresented in students who have an LD. The reasons for this include misunderstanding and misinterpreting cultural and language differences, using the low-achievement model, and pedological failures. Ultimately, American school systems were designed for and continue to operate such that white middle-class students are favored. LD started as and continues to exist as a racial project: Black and Brown students are made to believe there is something inherently wrong with them, but in reality, they are ostracized for not phenotypically or behaviorally fitting into the homogenous, Euro-centric, neoliberal standard of learning established in American schools. As seen time and time again in American history, educational institutions are inexplicable from white supremacy leading to non-white students being seen as the problem for not succeeding.

WORKS CITED

Banks, J. (2017). “These People Are Never Going to Stop Labeling Me”: Educational Experiences of African American Male Students Labeled with Learning Disabilities. Taylor & Francis Online, 50(1), 96-107.

Bruce, S. M., & Venkatesh, K. (2014). Special education disproportionality in the United States, Germany, Kenya, and India. Disability and Society, 29(6), 908-921.

Coutinho, M. J., Oswald, D. P., & Best, A. M. (2002). The Influence of Sociodemographics and Gender on the Disproportionate Identification of Minority Students as Having Learning Disabilities. Remedial and Special Education, 23(1), 49-59.

Duffin, E. (2022, February 21). • Share of students enrolled in US public schools, by ethnicity and state 2020. Statista. Retrieved May 13, 2022, from https://www.statista.com/statistics/236244/enrollment-in-public-schools-by-ethnicity-andus-state/.

Freedman, J., & Ferri, B. A. (2017). Locating the Problem Within: Race, Learning Disabilities, and Science. Teachers College Round, 119.

McDermott, R. P. (2001). The acquisition of a child by learning disability. In S. Chaiklin & J. Lave, Understanding Practice: Perspectives on Activity and Context (pp. 269-305). Cambridge University Press.

Riser-Kositsky, M. (2019, December 19). Special Education: Definition, Statistics, and Trends. EducationWeek. https://www. edweek.org/teaching-learning/special-education-definition-statistics-and-trends/2019/12?utm_source=goog&utm_ medium=cpc&utm_campaign=ew+specific+content&ccid=ew+specific+content&ccag=special+education+statistics&cckw=learning%20disabilities%20st.

Samuels, C. A. (2019, May 28). Are Black and Hispanic Students Identified for Special Education Too Often or Not Enough? Maybe It's Both. Education Week. Retrieved May 13, 2022, from https://www.edweek.org/teaching-learning/are-blackand-hispanic-students-identified-for-special-education-toooften-or-not-enough-maybe-its-both/2019/05.

Shrifer, D., Muller, C., & Callahan, R. (2011). Disproportionality and Learning Disabilities: Parsing Apart Race, Socioeconomic Status, and Language. Hammill Institute on Disabilities: Journal of Learning Disabilities, 44(3), 246-257.

Significant Disproportionality in Special Education: Current Trends and Actions for Impact. National Center for Learning Disabilities. Retrieved May 13, 2022, from https://www.ncld.org/ wp-content/uploads/2020/10/2020-NCLD-Disproportionality_Trends-and-Actions-for-Impact_FINAL-1.pdf.

Sleeter, C. E. (2010). Why Is There Learning Disabilities? A Critical Analysis of the Birth of the Field in Its Social Context. Disability Studies Quarterly, 30(2), 210-237.

Weis, J. (2020, November 25). Latino Students Misdiagnosed with Learning Disabilities Raises Questions about Discrimination, Bias - Salud America. Salud America! Retrieved May 13, 2022, from https://salud-america.org/latino-students-misdiagnosed-with-learning-disabilities-raises-questions-about-discrimination-bias/.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We the editors would like to thank the Hamilton College Print Shop for their work in printing this issue and for their advice and expertise. We would also like to thank the Dunham Letterpress Studio, particularly Seth Gottlieb and Tina Hall, for their assistance in designing, typesetting, and printing the cover of this edition. As always, thank you to the writers for submitting their work and collaborating with our editors throughout the editorial process and thanks to you, dear reader, for sticking through with us to the end.