The Dartmouth Mirror 5/17/17

MIR ROR 5.17.2017

HYPNOTIZED IN HANOVER | 2

WIEN: THE CASE FOR SINGLE-VISION LENSES | 4

Q&A WITH PROFESSOR HOWARD HUGHES | 6 ERIC WANG/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF

2 //MIRR OR

Editors’ Note

Hypnotized in Hanover STORY

ELIZA MCDONOUGH/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF

This week’s theme, vision, seems particularly apt in the last few nights before Green Key 2017 is upon us. All of us at the College have envisioned this weekend for an entire term now, perhaps even longer: we hoped it would bring an end to the cold weather, give us a break from midterm madness or even represent our last hurrah at the College (’17s, don’t go!)

Lauren envisions a big weekend in which she will finally make it to every single event held on Thursday, her favorite night. May’s vision is appropiately blurry: she describes it as “dance-y and sweaty.” Annette, meanwhile, wants to relax a bit and take in the dulcet strains of Sage the Gemini from the Fahey porch.

But as for now, your editors are reporting live from the newsroom, in which editor-in-chief gone rogue Ray Lu ’18 is holding them hostage and forced them to listen to the same remix for the past 46 minutes. Yes, you read that right: not the same playlist, the same single song. This is not how they envisioned their production night.

Whether you’ll be seeing double or keeping an eye on your friends this weekend, we hope our readers have a safe and fun Green Key, and enjoy this last issue before the pinnacle weekend!

By Julia O’Sullivan

It was a typical rainy May afternoon when a certain Marko the Magician and Hypnotist paid Psychology 28, “Cognition,” a special visit. After professor Bill Kelley introduced Marko, the full auditorium was visibly jittery in anticipation of the alleged hypnosis that was about to occur. Marko, whose website reads, “Book Now — Marko will blow your mind!?!,” had the students giddy with excitement.

If anyone is qualified to hypnotize, it is Marko: he is a member of the International Brotherhood of Magicians, the Society of American Magicians and the National Guild of Hypnotists. After introducing himself, Marko launched into what was clearly a well-rehearsed and familiar spiel on what would happen during his set. He was witty and quick, and everyone in the audience was scratching their heads, wondering when their 2 period class became such a treat.

His three conditions for volunteers were to be serious, be willing and be honest.

Marko continued to clarify that the volunteers would do nothing they were uncomfortable with, as this was not his “R-rated show.” A volunteer would potentially act in ways they normally would not; however, no one would do anything against their ingrained core values, no matter how hypnotized.

Students filed into the two rows of chairs at the front of the room.

Once everyone was settled in, Marko began his actual hypnosis process. He told the volunteers to close their eyes and imagine a hot wax pouring all over their bodies. His next scenarios included driving a race car, watching a horse race with shoes as binoculars,

becoming both hot and cold on a bus, forgetting their last names and taking a spaceship adventure to see and speak to aliens. Sometimes, he would call up smaller groups and have them complete other activities like incorrectly counting their fingers and writing their names with the ability of a 5 year old on the board.

After the initial wax-pouring and eye-shutting, a variety of different volunteer reactions began to emerge. For the most part, everyone began uniformly. Most students even appeared to fall asleep as he commanded them. However, as the act progressed, more students began to return to their seats, wink at their friends, giggle and otherwise demonstrate the failure of an effective hypnosis.

“It seemed to work differently for each of the volunteers,” onlooker Jordan McDuffie ’20 described.

“For those who didn’t successfully become hypnotized it was mostly apparent because their actions differed substantially from those of the other volunteers and they would later return to their seats in the audience.”

McDuffie said that he thought the hypnosis was genuine.

“The behaviors of the individuals that I know well differed greatly from their usual,” he said. “I think it worked by reducing their inhibitions.

They just became more compliant to instruction than normal.”

From the audience’s perspective, the volunteer reactions varied dramatically, from fully immersed to not impressed.

“I expected hypnosis to be this compelling force but it wasn’t like that at all,” volunteer Alain Carles ’20 said. “I saw no reason not to do

what he was telling me to do, so I did it.”

Carles returned to his seat about halfway through the act.

“I wasn’t as hypnotizable as some of the other people, and I think that was because it was hard for me to stay relaxed and focused with the large audience laughing in front of us,” he said. “I think a big part of it is just letting your guard down and being open to the hypnosis.”

This was not Nikita Shaiva ’18’s first hypnosis rodeo, however, and she said she felt the full effects of the hypnosis. Shaiva said that she had been hypnotized twice before, once on graduation night in high school and another time at a Collis Commonground event when she was a freshman. However, neither experience was with Marko.

“The feeling is trance-like,” she said. “It’s not like you’re completely unconscious and you have no idea what’s going on. You’re aware of everything that’s happening. The only difference is that everything you’re doing feels like the natural state of things. Like that’s the way things are supposed to be.”

She described some of her more specific experiences with Marko.

“He said, ‘Okay. Now you can open your eyes,’ and I was literally incapable of opening my eyes,” she said. “They were glued shut. He said, ‘Now you’re cool,’ and I got goosebumps.”

Shaiva accepted that some of the other volunteers were playing along in good humor but swears this was not the case with her. The only time she feels the hypnosis did not reach her was at a point when Marko told the volunteers to use their shoes as binoculars.

follow @thedmirror 5.17.17 VOL. CLXXIV NO. 83 MIRROR EDITORS LAUREN BUDD ANNETTE DENEKAS MAY MANSOUR EDITOR-IN-CHIEF RAY LU

PUBLISHER PHILIP RASANSKY EXECUTIVE EDITORS ERIN LEE KOURTNEY KAWANO PHOTO EDITORS ELIZA MCDONOUGH HOLLYE SWINEHART TIFFANY ZHAI

Psychology 28 students take in Marko the Magician.

TIFFANY ZHAI/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF

Through the Looking Glass: Voices in Film COLUMN

MIRROR //3

By Cecilia Torres

This past winter term I interned at Ambulante, an annual nonprofit, documentary film festival held in Mexico City. Mexican actors Gael García Bernal and Diego Luna founded the organization in 2005 as a way to showcase documentary film and feature documentaries from across Mexico. Every year the festival accepts over 100 films from around the world that focus on the theme of the festival.

This year the festival’s theme was justice, and the accepted documentaries spoke to the complexities of what justice means and how it manifests itself through films that aim to document the lives of people, a moment or a memory. One of Ambulante’s main goals is to make documentary film accessible to everyone without economic, geographic or educational restraints. This is why most of their screenings are free and take place in community centers and national landmarks around the country.

My journey to this internship was not very straightforward. I am a studio art major with a focus on photography, and my initial plan for my off-term was to live in Mexico City and embark on an independent photography project focusing on my grandmother. I was born in Mexico City and immigrated to the U.S. when I was 5 years old. My childhood memories always take me back to my grandmother’s home, but

I have never returned to live in Mexico for any long period of time since I left as a child. This was supposed to be a time for me to rediscover my roots and fill in the gap in my identity that displacement often leaves behind. So, when I was presented with the opportunity to work with an art nonprofit in Mexico City, I took it. I would get to work in the sector of the art world that I believe bridges the gap between art and community while still being able to work on my own art.

Having a personal connection to Mexico and having the ability to fluently speak, write and read Spanish allowed me a myriad of opportunities while working at Ambulante. While at Ambulante, I mainly worked on pre-screening and reviewing the films that were to be presented in the festival.

My reviews worked as advertising and informational materials for the films for our website or Ambulante’s printed magazine editions.

During my time at Ambulante, I came to the conclusion that we are constantly sharing stories, but we never ask ourselves who gets the power to tell them. I was exposed to an industry I knew from afar but did not quite know from the inside: the world of documentary filmmaking. While reviewing these films, researching the directors and witnessing the administrative processes

of distribution, I became keenly aware of the incongruences revolving the documentation of an event, a community, a movement and more.

Through the short time that I was exposed to this industry, I learned that documentation often can turn into exploitation if the people that hold the privilege to tell the stories are not of the community or have not had a first-hand experience with that which they are documenting. For this reason, the communities that often serve as nothing more than the subjects must be given the tools to have agency over their own stories and share them through their own voices and perspectives.

The opportunity to work with an art non-profit has further inspired me to advocate for art making in underrepresented communities. I believe that art has the power to inspire change in individuals and in communities when we create spaces where all voices have the ability to tell their stories. This power that art holds comes from the messages that are transmitted through it. Especially in the current political climate, when the government funding for the arts is threatened by the presidential administration, art serves an even greater role, given that the way we present and share a work of art can work to mold and carry on the cultural and social identity we choose to embrace.

COURTESY OF CECILIA TORRES

4// MIRROR

The Case for Single-Vision Lenses COLUMN

By Elise Wien

Ironically enough, I woke up this morning and pulled a Velma. You know that moment in every “Scooby Doo” episode when Velma loses her glasses and feels around for them on the ground? That was me.

I’m in a writing class that has Midnight Madness assignments: the professor gives us a topic, we spend 20 minutes doing a freewrite on it and whatever we’ve written we blitz in at 12 a.m. Though I am thankful for the creative opportunity and the intimacy of the form (we write in the body of the email), I find myself falling asleep soon after the class. Last night it was 8 p.m. That’s why I woke up this morning half-clothed, phone: ?, glasses: ??, lacking vision and a point of reference.

A couple of weeks ago I fell asleep on the couch, shoes on.

The class is emotionally exhausting.

We share personal stories, topics that we care deeply about. There is collective healing and there are almost always tears.

Yesterday, a community organizer came to the class. She worked in Montana, where she brought together the ranchers, the Northern Cheyenne and the Amish community to fight (and win) against a coal mine and railway.

One of her tips for successful organizing: be kind. “People are more complicated than we think they are,” she says. She tells us to ask ourselves what we can learn from the other party, how we can come to understand their way of thinking, even a little bit. This isn’t particularly new advice but it bears repeating; it can be damn hard to follow.

An example: I once went to a meeting of the Coalition for Israel and Palestine where this student — who must’ve had a difficult time gauging the volume level of the room since he spoke considerably louder than everyone else in it — advocated a one-state solution, in which Palestinians could ostensibly live in both a Jewish and democratic state and could just deal with it. Just, like, assimilate or whatever. When another student asked him to explain himself further and the “pro-assimilation” student came up short for words, I asked him: “Is ‘genocide’ the word you’re looking for?”

After the meeting I went up to him and apologized. I invited him to coffee, so we could sit down and talk it out. I was working on quieter modes of political debate. He said I should blitz him. I did. And did. Then did a third time and he didn’t respond. The genocide remark was alienating, probably.

Another example: Once I sat down with a member of the College Republicans after they reserved a corkboard in Collis to make a “Blue Lives Matter” display for National Police Week. We had a conversation in a Berry study room — quiet, measured, oneon-one. I understood some of his points, I tried to convey to him the problems of the Blue Lives Matter slogan and the corkboard and then we left. I don’t know that it was effective; I don’t know that it was more effective than student outrage — a completely valid form of expression, but one often portrayed as invalid, especially for students of color. I don’t know how effective the follow-up article was. I don’t know that

TIFFANY ZHAI/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF

facts change people’s minds (as I wrote in to bomb Syria, he drew our attention to the my column for the “Facts” edition of the victims of chemical warfare. And in both of Mirror, there’s plenty of evidence against the Iraq wars, politicians said, ‘Look at the it), and I don’t know that taking on another horrific things that are happening.’ I’m not person’s point of view — empathizing with a pacifist. I think the suffering of innocent them — does either. people can be a catalyst for moral action.

In an interview with online magazine But empathy puts too much weight on the Guernica, Paul Bloom, author of “Against scale in favor of war. Empathy can really Empathy,” says: “In some experiments lead to violence.”

I’ve done with a graduate student, Nick He is careful with his distinctions. He Stagnaro, we tell people about an atrocity continues: “By ‘empathy,’ some people mean — something that everything that is has hypothetically good — compassion, o c c u r r e d i n t h e “Do I want to empathize kindness, warmth, Middle East with with someone who has a love, being a mensch, people being changing the world different scale of measuring kidnapped, people — and I’m for all of being tortured — human worth? Someone those things. I’m not and then we ask, how who ‘measures’ human a monster.” should the American He means g o v e r n m e n t worth at all? The most specifically respond? We give moral good comes not from putting yourself in people a continuum someone’s shoes, empathy, but from the cold of responses, from feeling what they d o i n g n o t h i n g , detachment of cost-benefit feel. We talked about t o s o m e s o r t analysis. It doesn’t feel the this in class a bit, of embargo, to too: if we’re feeling airstrikes, all the best, it doesn’t have a face, for the animals, the way to a full-blown but it does the most good.” people, the trees, we g round invasion. can drive ourselves We also give them to bur nout, or a standard empathy -ELISE WIEN ’17 t h e o p p o s i t e, t o test; you could paralysis. take one online. It Do I want to turns out just as we empathize with predict: the more empathic you are, the more someone who has a different scale of you want to retaliate and hurt these people. measuring human worth? Someone who And so when people want to inspire you to “measures” human worth at all? turn against some group of people, they’ll The most moral good comes not from often use empathy. When Obama wanted empathy, but from the cold detachment of

cost-benefit analysis. It doesn’t feel the best, it doesn’t have a face, but it does the most good. In cases like these, “trusting the gut” might be an immoral decision. I might feel more deeply for a charity that promotes women’s education or feeding the homeless, but this, quantitatively speaking, might not do as much good as donating to charities bent on preventing malaria. (This is one of the recommendations effective altruists make: the most effective short-term one, I learned at a recent Effective Altruism meeting, is donating to raise awareness about E.A.; that this, quantitatively, does the most good.) It also probably feels the worst; in the direct flow of resources, I am helping no one. I suppose this column counts as publicity: LOOK INTO EFFECTIVE ALTRUISM; LOOK INTO GIVING WHAT WE CAN. I digress. If I decide to give my money to a charity that makes me feel better because I can empathize with its beneficiaries, as opposed to one that has quantitative evidence proving that it does the most good, is this not an immoral decision?

Maybe I can try harder. Maybe if I go the nice, quiet, civil discourse route again, and again, and again, something will come of it. Though I do still hold it important to remain skeptical of mere “niceness,” to be wary of the person who won’t yell when there are plenty of things to be shouting about.

A quote sticks with me. While traveling last fall and discussing what happens when you describe a person as “nice,” my friend Eamon turned to the group and said, “Have you ever seen a group of ‘nice’ people try to decide where to get dinner?”

It’s infuriating.

MIRROR //5

When I Grow Up COLUMN

By Clara Guo

Spring 2005: I am 10 years old. It’s 2 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon, and I’m sitting in a classroom. My blue and red Chinese dictionary is opened to “Jing” in “Jing Ji Xue Jia.” I’m a sixth grader at Hope Chinese School.

Today, we’re writing an essay about our future selves.

My essay is titled, “Me in 20 years.”

“When I grow up, I want to be an economist.

I really like math, and an economist does a lot of math. Also, economists do research on the economy. Plus, economists make money.”

In 10 years, I want to be an economics major.

Autumn 2008: I am 15 years old, standing with my English teacher outside of her trailer.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” she asks.

I do not hesitate before I answer. “I want to be a doctor and lawyer.”

“Good for you,” she responds.

Mrs. Bello tells me that sadness is acceptable, that stress can be motivating. She trusts me. She believes in me.

Autumn 2012: I am 17 years old, and I am scrolling through the Common Application.

I am painstakingly evaluating the pros and cons of my answer to “intended major.”

I must choose between engineering, computer science, neuroscience, pre-health and pre-law. I want to stand out as an applicant, and statistics advise me to answer “(Asian female) mechanical engineer,” instead of “(Asian female) future doctor.”

I complain to my parents as only a teenager can do. “Why do we even have to put our majors? It’s idiotic. And stupid. And unfair.

We’re not even 18. How the hell are we supposed to know what we want to be when we grow up?”

My parents hesitate. They attended high school in China and completed higher education in the States. The American college application process is as new for them as it is for me.

“You’re not boxed in, though,” they answer in Chinese. “You can change your major if you want to when you get to college.”

“But I have to answer all these silly questions about why I want to major in what I want to major in,” I grumble. “I don’t know why I want to major in ‘mechanical engineering.’”

“So don’t put mechanical engineering,” they respond. A maddeningly simple solution.

A few days later, I decide on “neuroscience, pre-health.”

I do not know what I want to be in 10 years.

January 2014: I am a neuroscience major on the pre-med track. I’m supposed to take Chemistry 5, Chemistry 6 and Psychology 6 as a freshman so I don’t “fall behind.”

I don’t consider the reference group of “fall behind”; I don’t question the rigidity of my D-Plan.

When I walk into Chem 5 on my first day of freshman winter, I am greeted by over 100 other pre-med students — all eager, competitive and intimidatingly certain of their success. Hands fly up during the lecture. Most of their questions are thoughtless at best. Easy questions with easy answers. Some, though, are rather intelligent. Hard questions with no

answers. I am intimidated by the intelligent could pinpoint exactly when it happened, but ones.

I can’t.”

I doubt my ability to graduate medical Summer orgo, my mind screams. I fell out of school within 10 years. love with science during summer orgo.

February 2015: The F train is delayed 20 “I thought I would go into publishing minutes, and I am late for coffee with Monika. directly, work at a publishing company.”

I walk past bustling New Yorkers in suits Monika pauses. “Do you know what the and heels and push career difference through the crowd “I am painstakingly evaluating is between a of tourists already publishing gathered in Bryant the pros and cons of my company and an Park. Monika greets answer to ‘intended major.’ agency?” me at the door of Her tone is I must choose between the coffee shop and humble, not buys me a pour-over, engineering, computer science, condescending. I black. shake my head. neuroscience, pre-health and We sit in the “Publishing is corner, and I ask her, pre-law. I want to stand out very hierarchical.

“Why publishing?” as an applicant, and statistics There’s a set career I believe it to be an path, so you know advise me to answer ‘(Asian innocuous question. that you won’t be an U n c r e a t i v e , female) mechanical engineer,’ editor immediately, p e r h a p s , b u t instead of ‘(Asian female) but you know that essential. you can if you’re S h e t e l l s m e future doctor.’” willing to wait a she wanted to be few years and work a doctor up until your ass off. Agents -CLARA GUO ’17 college. “Everyone are often blessed told me I would be with more variety. a good physician, Editing, outreach, and I believed them. It’s so easy to internalize marketing, cover design, negotiations.” compliments, to allow others to shape your I wonder if my next question is too direct, self-image as an adolescent.” too corrosive and unprofessional. “Would you I’m surprised by her eloquence, and ever consider working at a publishing house?” then I am ashamed by my surprise. She’s a Monika pauses. “Maybe if I were younger.” literary agent — of course she’s eloquent. In 10 years, I fear regret.

She probably majored in English, and she December 2015: It’s my second to last interacts with clients constantly. day shadowing a neurosurgeon. This morning, “I don’t really know why I fell out of love he performed another anterior cervical with science,” Monika continues. “I wish I discectomy with fusion. We’re eating tacos

for lunch.

“I’m worried about entering the field of neurosurgery as a female,” I say.

The doctor is an Asian male. He received his bachelor of arts from Dartmouth.

“Well, I’m pretty sure one top residency program accepted a female this year!” he responds. “I hear she’s excellent.”

He proceeds to list the female neurosurgeons he knows.

He lists four.

In 10 years, I will face a neurosurgery residency.

August 2018: I’ve been at Clarion Medical Technologies for nearly a year now. A few of the consultants and managers ask me if I’m applying to medical school this cycle. I say yes.

No one asks me what I want to be when I grow up, and I find the absence of this question disconcerting.

Sometimes, I am asked, “What are your plans for the future?” as if I have already grown up and stagnation is not an option.

I refuse to believe that titles like “former healthcare consultant” and “medical school graduate” will define me.

In 10 years, I would like to know who I am as a “grown-up.”

2028: I am exhausted all the time as a resident. I haven’t seen my husband since Tuesday or worked out since Sunday.

In 10 years, I will be a physician. I would like to be a mother.

2038: In 10 years, I hope to own a private practice.

2050: In 10 years, I hope to be a grandmother.

2063: One day, I hope to be someone else’s Mrs. Bello.

MORGAN MOINAN/THE DARTMOUTH STAFF

6// MIRROR

In Full Color: Q&A with professor Howard Hughes STORY

By Jaden Young

Psychology professor Howard Hughes teaches Psychology 21, “Perception,” as well as Psychology 51.05, “The History of Psychology and Neuroscience.” His awardwinning book, “Sensory Exotica: A World beyond Human Experience,” explores the fascinating sensory systems found in the animal kingdom.

For our “Vision” issue, the Mirror spoke with Hughes — who has spent his career learning about vision, both in human and in the animal kingdom — about honeybee dances, mantis shrimp and the capabilities and limitations of human vision.

You mentioned Psychology 21 covers vision, hearing and touch, with the greatest emphasis on vision. Why is vision so important?

HH: As much as half of your cerebral cortex is in some way devoted to vision. I think that’s one indication of how important vision is to us. That’s the reason why Psychology 21 is half vision and half everything else. We consider these sensory systems as devices that have been amazingly well engineered and honed by our evolution, in different ways than other animals.

How does color vision work?

HH: We have what is called “trichromatic vision.” With three primary colors — red, green and blue — you can mix them in various proportions and produce any color you want. All the light that enters your eyes has some proportion of red, green or blue light, and you have these red, green or blue cones that tell you what proportion of red, green and blue is in this little patch of your visual field, and that’s how you recognize the color.

Color vision is based on, in our case, having three different kinds of photoreceptors, and each of the photoreceptors has a kind of a pigment molecule that absorbs light.

That’s like the secret of light — if you want to detect it, you have to absorb some of it.

And that’s what those pigment molecules do. They vary in peak sensitivity to different wavelengths. So, we have a long-wavelength cone, and those are really sensitive to red light, and then we have a middle-wavelength cone, that’s most sensitive to green light, and then the step-child in this color system is the blue-sensitive cones, which are not very sensitive and very rare. So, we’re actually not very sensitive to blue light.

Every single object in the world gets illuminated by light, and then, depending on the nature of the material, it absorbs light in different wavelengths. That green sofa reflects primarily green light, and it absorbs primarily red and blue. The sky on a sunny day looks blue because the molecules in the atmosphere reflect primarily blue light. Of course, we can only see part of the electromagnetic spectrum. We don’t have the receptors for it, so we can’t see ultraviolet light. But it turns out that lots of animals can see ultraviolet light. A lot of insects and some birds can see ultraviolet light, as well as some fish, because ultraviolet light is translated better in water than red light.

So, the sky would look different to the animals that can see ultraviolet light?

HH: Yes, for example, honeybees can see ultraviolet light. A honeybee can tell where the sun is even if the sun isn’t directly visible.

The ultraviolet sky light is polarized, and the pattern is symmetric around the sun, so the honeybee only needs to have two patches of blue sky to tell where the sun is. It uses this to communicate with other members of the hive where the good sources of nectar are.

So, if you’ve ever heard about the waggle dance of honeybees, that dance is telling the other bees there’s really good nectar 30 degrees from the sun. The vigorousness of the waggle indicates how good the source is.

The direction relative to vertical is the way they’d fly relative to the sun, so when they come out of the hive they can say, “Well, the sun’s over there, so I need to go that way.” The amazing thing is that the flowers have co-evolved with the bees. Flowers have evolved ultraviolet markers to direct bees to pollinate them. I believe that if you talk to a botanist, you’d find that not all flowers depend on bees for pollination, but those that do have these ultraviolet flower markers. We can’t see those markers, but the bees can.

What is it like to be colorblind?

HH: Really, people who are colorblind are not incapable of seeing colors; they do not see the world like a black and white movie.

Colorblind people can see colors. There’s just certain mixtures of colors that look the same to them but look different to us.

So that’s why people who have, specifically, red-green colorblindness can see some colors, but have trouble distinguishing between those two?

HH: Right. There’s really three different variants of colorblindness, because you can be missing either the red, the green or the blue cone. That’s why they can use those little colored plates where if you can’t see the number inside — Ishihara tests — to diagnose which type of colorblindness you have. Now here’s the really wild thing: there’s a type of person that’s called an anomalous trichromat, which is someone that has three different color cones, but one of them is a little different than the others. You still have three, but the peak of what wavelength of light that pigment can absorb is not in the same place as it is for most of us. You will not be considered colorblind, but you are considered an anomalous trichromat because your color matching is a little different than the rest of us.

Trichromatic vision is actually very rare in the primate class of mammals. Almost all the New World monkeys are dichromatic, missing the blue cone. Now, in certain primate species that are usually dichromats, within their gene pool there are a population of trichromats. Because all this color vision stuff is sex-linked (it’s very rare for females to be colorblind), trichromats are always females.

So, it’s possible that we could have tetrachromatic [human] females. There is a search going on for tetrachromatic females, and it

would be a very subtle thing, because they would have to be the offspring of an anomalous trichromat and a regular trichromat and then they could, conceivably, get both versions of the gene — for the anomalous pigment and the other pigment — and they could both be expressed in the photopigments in the cones. If that happened, they would be females with better color vision.

Is there a specific advantage to having trichromatic vision?

HH: You know, the first thing in the evolution of color vision may have been the development of the red and green first. The idea there would be that if we are descended from arboreal animals, fruit eating animals, and we used to spend time in trees, we’d want to be able to pick out the red fruit from the green leaves. For food and foraging, that was a big advantage.

Color vision is wild in the animal kingdom. Look at tropical fish. DayGlo blue with yellow spots? I’d think they have color vision — there’d be no point if they looked grey to the other fish. Have you ever seen the mating dances of a bird of paradise?

They’re crazy, and they evolved like this! It’s sexual selection. There’s a creature called the mantis shrimp, and the mantis shrimp looks like a psychedelic lobster. They are amazing looking. They live in the South Pacific. They have 11 — or 13, they’re still counting — different cones. I don’t even know how to imagine what the world looks like to them, but it goes way into the ultraviolet, because that travels well in water. These kinds of creatures can move their eyes individually.

They’re like two separate visual systems. But they still want to see in stereoscopic depth.

Stereoscopic depth?

HH: Stereoscopic depth involves, for us, a comparison between the two eyes. So, if you look at me with one eye, and then look at me with the other…

You’re in slightly different positions.

HH: And what your brain does is take those two images and combine them and recover depth information from that. So, you go and you see “Gravity” or “Avatar” in the movie theater, and you have to wear the glasses. If you take the glasses off, when things move, you see the two images seperate. I can’t imagine a Dartmouth student who hasn’t noticed when they’re trying to read — not my book or the Psychology 21 textbook, but something boring — and they’re tired, the words kind of drift apart. Through effort of will you can kind of snap them back together again. You’re not focused on the plane of the book, but you’re focused in front of it or behind it.

Put your index finger in front of you and look at my nose. How many fingers do you see?

It looks like two.

HH: If you alternately close each eye, you’ll see that the two fingers you’re seeing are from each eye. You can’t fuse that image because

the images are so different. Only within a certain zone can your brain combine these.

There are also people who are stereoblind.

How does that happen?

HH: It happens usually because you have something wrong with the alignment of the two eyes. If you’re cross-eyed when you’re born (in Psychology 21 we don’t talk about “cross-eyed,” we say “convergence strabismus”), your eyes aren’t aligned, and when that happens you would see in double vision all the time because there are two different images on your retina. Stereovision is critically important, although about 10 percent of the population has some kind of stereo anomaly, and it almost always has something to do with either a bad refractive error in one eye or misalignment of the two eyes. You go into a Psychology 1 class — and I’ve done it — that has, say, 180 students in it, and if you ask for a show of hands of people that can’t get anything out of the magic eye books or viewmaster viewers [which have 2D images that appear 3D]. There’ll be about 10 percent of the people that say, “I just don’t see that.” And if you see double all the time, there is no way that your brain can combine these radically different images into one. So, what happens in these circumstances is that during development, the one eye is going to lose its connection to the brain.

So you’d end up only seeing one of the images?

HH: You only see out of one eye. It’s amazing that they can even fix this, but if you don’t get it fixed before the critical period is up, it can be fixed for cosmetic value, but one eye will have lost access to the brain. That’s called amblyopia [or “lazy eye”]. During development there’s a competition between the two eyes. In the normal course of development, each eye is an equal competitor, and so the eyes share the cortical tissue. Each has equal access to the brain. But if one eye is at a really bad disadvantage, even if there’s nothing wrong with it optically, it will lose, and then even after restoring the proper alignment, you’ll never be able to see out of that eye.

Everyone actually has a dominant eye.

If you were to look into a microscope with only one ocular, you would want to use that eye. If you were going to shoot a bow and arrow, or look in a peephole, you’d use that eye. So, that doesn’t have major perceptual consequences because we both have normal binocular vision, but we still end up with this little preference for one eye over the other. To determine your dominant eye, sit directly across from someone. Look at their nose. Raise your hands, palms facing your partner, to either side of them. Bring your hands together until they block out the entirety of your partner’s face except for their nose. Have your partner indicate which of your eyes, right or left, they can see between your hands from their vantage point. That is your dominant eye.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.

MIRR OR //7

Mirror Asks: Vision STORY

By The Mirror Staff

What is the craziest dream you’ve driving in my SUV, about to pull up to the Guo: I am a Libra, and by definition a “stop” sign in my neighborhood. But then romantic. (Do I believe in true love? Yes. ever had?

Eliza Jane Schaeffer ’20: My family the sign morphed into a manuscript, and I Is the number one item on my bucket list, was having a picnic on the roof of a building read the most beautiful paragraph about “Kiss in the rain on the High Line”? Most and then this massive blimp flew over us. My trees. (I was very disappointed that I forgot definitely.) parents were freaking out but I didn’t know it when I woke up.) But then the manuscript why. They rushed my brothers and me into morphed into a giant You look i nto th e our SUV (conveniently parked next to us on cockroach (à la Kafka) future. What do you see? the roof). As my dad buckled me into my car that chased me down “Do I believe in true Schaeffer: I see myself seat, the blimp zapped him and he turned the street. with a job that I love and a love? Yes. Is the into a paper doll. We took him to the doctor, very large dog. but the doctor said that there was nothing W h a t i s yo u r number one item on Budd: I see all the stocks he could do. So I kept my dad in a shoebox zodiac sign? What my bucket list, ‘Kiss in I should’ve bought. under my bed and dressed him up in cute personality trait Denekas: I see what I am the rain on the High little outfits for the rest of my life. I woke up as s oc i at e d w i t h doing with my life because crying and ran down to my parents’ room to your zodiac do you Line?’ Most definitely.” I currently do not know most identify with? make sure my dad was still alive. anything. (SOS!) Lauren Budd ’18: My craziest recurring S c h a e f f e r : Mansour: I see myself t o -CLARA GUO ’17 dream is, by far, the classic one in which I’ve A c c o r d i n g living on my turd best been registered in a math class without my A s t r o l o g y - z o d i a c friend’s couch. (She’s an econ knowledge, and it’s the day of the final exam signs.com, Gemini major with an ego the size and I have to take it despite knowing nothing. a r e “ s o c i a b l e , of Texas. I am an English Or, similarly, that I am the lead in a play and communicative and major who sometimes — have to perform despite knowing none of the ready for fun, with a and very problematically lines. The concept itself is unoriginal, but tendency to suddenly get serious, thoughtful — romanticizes poverty. You do the math.) the detail with which I dream it every time and restless.” I feel like that describes me Guo: I see certainty. (and probably like 85 percent of the world) is always absurd and convincing.

Annette Denekas ’18: I have literally pretty well.

Have you ever had your palm/tarot Budd: I am a cards read? What insight did you gain? never remembered a Pisces, and one of the Schaeffer: According to my palm, I am dream. Not kidding.

“I once had a dream that defining traits is that going to die alone.

Maybe I’m a light we are overly weepy Denekas: I’ve never done it — I actually sleeper, or it’s just I was abroad with my and emotional. This is don’t believe in palm reading, psychics, another one of my best friend’s boyfriend absolutely true. many weird quirks. superstitions, magic or anything along those D e n e k a s : I lines.

May Mansour and found out that he used to be a Sagittarius, Mansour: I have my tarot cards read ’18: I once had a was cheating on her with but the signs changed, about twice a week, every single summer dream that I was another girl. . .‘I did it for so apparently now I’m down the Jersey Shore. Each time I am given a abroad with my best an Ophiuchus. I am bag of Himalayan salts, which, upon bathing friend’s boyfriend a pair of fresh Jordans,’ he “knowledge-seeking, in them, will allegedly attract the love of my and found out that finally said. I understood. admired, envied.” I life. I am still single, and still bathing. he was cheating on asked my roommate her with another Sneaks before freaks.” to help me judge those Close your eyes. Go to your happy girl on our FSP. traits. She thought for a place. Where are you?

I confronted him -MAY MANSOUR ’18 second and said, “Well, Schaeffer: Laying on the ground at and screamed at I admire your ability to Billings Farm in Woodstock, Vermont, the top of my lungs procrastinate.” how much of a jerk leaning my head against a fence and petting M a n s o u r: I a lamb.

I thought he was. am a Taurus. Tauruses Budd: Trader Joe’s.

I demanded he explain himself. “I did it for a pair of fresh are known for their stubborness. I am Denekas: The lake house my family used Jordans,” he finally said. Suddenly all was not stubborn. I don’t care if you think to stay at every summer on Lake Michigan!

I’m stubborn — you’re wrong. I am not Mansour: The golf course alone at night, clear. I understood. Sneaks before freaks.

Clara Guo ’17: I had a dream that I was stubborn!!! laying under cover of a starred sky.

’19: “EBAs dies with Alpha Delta.”

’18: “I check the meme page more than I check Canvas.”

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’17: “What do you think is more likely, me getting with an ’11 or a ’21?”

’18: “I used to read ‘eduroam’ as “Eduardo M” and I thought it was someone’s personal WiFi network.”

Overheard: *Forrest Gump voice* “I don’t know what love is, but I know when Late Night closes.”

8// MIRROR

Which Way? Photo

B y Ishaan Jajodia