Narrative - ISSUE NO. 17

the narrative issue

spring 2016 | issue 17

on faith

Editor’s Note

April, 2016

Since I became Editor-in-Chief in Fall ’15, I have envisioned so much for this publication, for students who are passionate about writing, art, and capturing the nuances of experience. Our mission at The Liberator has always been to amplify the voices of Liberal Arts students and to provide a platform for the work of a diverse student body. In order to move forward in this mission, however, I wanted to first connect with our roots.

The Narrative Issue is our engagement with the discourse surrounding media representation, manipulation of information, and the ways in which independent publications can either contribute to or subvert the status quo. I don’t claim that these 16 pages will rock the foundation of contemporary media, but they will invite you think, to engage, and to celebrate different perspectives.

The work that has gone into this publication, and this print issue in particular, has been phenomenal, and without the patience and diligence of our staff, you would not be holding this slice of our selves in your hands.

I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Annyston Pennington, Editor-in-Chief

Contents 3 Who are you? 140 Characters or Less Sarah Lynn Neal

6 Annihilation 7

Samantha Bolf White Resumes Juliรกn Castillo Alvarez

10 A Culture of Silence 11

Rebekah Edwards Idea-ology Elizabeth Teare

14 Endnotes

L

ong gone are the times when an awkward grimace or a frazzled handshake were the be-all end-all first impressions we made on a stranger. Now, like a punchy, click-worthy headline, we are: dog lover, Walking Dead aficionado, 22.

Our identities are short, snappy and carefully crafted into 140 characters or less.

When you’re straddling the digital world and the physical world, it can be easy to conflate the two. About-me’s appear like pop up bubbles over peoples’ heads when you drag your mouse over—I mean—look at another person. Your eyes scan the lecture hall, and you see a girl who you know you’re friends with on Facebook, and maybe she’s also in your introductory anthropology course, but you’ve never been introduced in person. To you, she’s the sum of her cover photo and ‘likes.’

It makes sense that we’re inclined to craft the best versions of ourselves to present to others, even if that means curating out all the messy things that make us distinct. In a survey I conducted, 49.33% of 75 anonymous respondents said they cared “a little” about how their social media profiles represent them in person, while 37.33% reported caring “a lot.” In alignment with those findings, 45.33% of respondents valued representing their true self via social media as the most important factor when creating a social media “about m me.”

It seems like a contradiction, then, that of the margin of respondents who merited how their Internet profiles reflected their true selves, 57.33% reported sometimes feeling pressured to present themselves as more funny, attractive, or interesting when developing an online persona. 25.33% said they felt these pressures a lot of the time.

The self-crafted, editable, and detractable nature of a social media profile lends itself to a new realm of possible perfection. When you can spend an hour developing a catchy about me but freeze up during a job interview when you’re asked to describe yourself in three words, what might that say about self-reflection? What might that say about which persona we value more? We spend most of our lives molding ourselves into who we will be, who we want to be, and who we come to discover we inevitably are.

Social media has given us another platform to figure ourselves out. One might say there isn’t much difference between these two experiences, that social media is merely a digitized vessel for representing ourselves. I would argue that the Internet’s metaphysical capacity has forged a new portal by which we experience life, thus doubling our experiences of peer pressure. We either resist or succumb to these urges in our digital and physical lives.

Though this emerging, virtual peer pressure is in its in fancy, it has immediate real life implications. The same group of people who care a little about how their social media profiles reflect their true nature sometimes feel pressure to bolster themselves up to impress or attract others, and that reflects the strength of the digital medium. It’s hard to gauge whether the digital world merely reflects the social constructions and pressures of the real world or whether it creates new ones.

One thing is for sure: 65.6% of respondents say they have met someone on the Internet before meeting them in person, so our double personas are already more intertwined than we may know

I first experienced Islamophobia in the seventh grade. At that point in my life, questions about my religion had never been directed to me personally, but to others around me: my father (“You know you’re going to Hell, right?”), my mother (“Did he force you to convert?”), even my best friend. I remember going to her house after school one day. It was at the far corner of a cul de sac in notoriously rich and white Mansfield, Texas. There was a piano just to the right of co the doorway. But most noticeably, there were crosses of different shape, size, and color everywhere.

The first thing that comes to mind when I think of that day is my friend telling me I could “go ahead and go upstairs,” a pleading glance in her glassy blue eyes. The next? An overheard whisper of why are you friends with that Muslim girl, like I was a bad taste in her mother’s old mouth, an eleven year old little demon screaming, I’m different. I’m a bad influence on your daughter who of course you named Faith.

Faith would later apologize profusely, and I would think nothing of it because I liked her a lot. But even at eleven, I knew it was an encounter I would not be telling my parents about—just like I wouldn’t tell them about how a boy in my eighth grade advisory called my dad a camel jockey, or how I later “dated” a boy for less than a week in college before he severed ties with me upon discovering that I wasn’t Christian. No, there were simply some things I knew I had to keep to myself.

A

pplying for jobs is a delicate process. Who we are as potential employees is carefully compiled from class experience, internships, and the people around us. This compilation becomes the narrative we project out into the job market. A lot hinges on that personal portrait. We conflate it, embellishing details, and for some, these flourishes mean changing who you are. Many people of color, women, and queer people choose to change, whiten, and conform themselves in order to appeal to potential employers.

Unlike much of the working world, the University of Texas at Austin is a place where one’s identities are often empowered and reaffirmed. Students can major in Women and Gender Studies, take classes on the Black Power movement, join the Asian Business Student Association, walk in Latino Graduation, or join the LGBTQ-inclusive Delta Lambda Phi or Gamma Rho Lambda Greek organizations.

This inclusive environment, however, often conflicts with a corporate culture that is largely heteronormative, male, and white. Numerous studies have revealed racial, gendered, and sexual biases in employers’ selections during the hiring process.

A March 2016 University of Toronto study showed that hiring processes still show favor for more white-presenting resumes over those of people of color. White presenting resumes, marked by having a typical white associated name or professional experiences, receive twice the number of callbacks, even for companies with espoused diversity initiatives.

Brandelyn Franks Flunder, director of the Multicultural Engagement Center, believes many of these initiatives are not fully implemented because of the lack of funding and drive that fosters a diverse work environment. “Diversity is a buzzword,” Flunder said. “Diversity is something that companies and organizations can say without giving any resources, time, or talent to making it happen…a lot of companies do not have mechanisms in place to support that diversity.”

People of color, women, and queer people often change themselves when writing their resumes, CVs, cover letters, and presentations. In the same University of Toronto study, interviews with Black and Asian students revealed 36% of those students reported “whitening” their resumes, with a further two-thirds responding they know other people who have done so. “Whitening” involves things like changing a name to sound “whiter;” omitting racial identifiers, such as religious or professional organizations; or even including interests that they considered stereotypically white.

People of color, women, and queer people have specific—and often intersecting—ways in which they change their presentation for job applications and interviews. These alterations include shortening gendered names to initials on resumes for women, straightening hair for black women, or even queer people changing the sound of their voices.

The Liberal Arts Career Services is one of the resources that UT students turn to when constructing their professional narratives in a way that is both representative and professionally successful. Tatem Oldham, Assistant Director of LACS, says the office does not encourage students to change their name nor other personal identifiers, instead encouraging them to ““evaluate the corporate culture of an organization as part of their job search process and to evaluate if the organization is a good fit for them.”

Director Franks Flunder understands that some students may choose to change their identity in such a way. Rather than blame those students, she suggests that the pattern of applicants obscuring their identities reflects a wider system of prejudice. She believes, however, that once marginalized people attain these jobs, even when initially changing their narratives, they begin to change the system from the na inside.

I answer with “next year” and a smile every time.

A Culture of Silence Silence Silence Silence Slut shaming, victim blaming, and blatant dismissal have created a culture of silence and shame regarding sexual violence on college campuses. Recently, schools across the country have been called out on rampant sexual violence, including UT where a reported 18.5% of female undergraduates experience sexual assault. The rising awareness around sexual violence has prompted several initiatives on the UT campus in particular that are finally challenging the status quo in favor of survivors’ stories Caitlin Sulley is a Research Project Director for the on-campus Institute for Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault, a research organization housed at the School of Social Work partnered with the School of Law, the School of Nursing, and the Bureau for Business Research. After attending UT for her graduate work, she dedicated her career to supporting and emp empowering survivors of sexual violence as they navigate the criminal justice system.

In an interview, Sulley said that UT’s expansive resources and nationwide connections provide her the chance “to build knowledge around interpersonal violence” and, as she added with a sly chuckle, “to use what starts here to change the world.” With this goal in mind, Sulley co-created the Blueprint for Campus Police over a two-year period, which was published at the end of February.

The near-200 page document details a plan to revamp how campus law enforcement interacts with students who have been sexually assaulted. Sulley observed, “Historically, law enforcement have somewhat universal responses to crimes,” interested only in the hard facts. This approach, however, does not account for the memory fragmentation that often accompanies trauma.

Blueprint remedies this by posing questions that focus on sensory details, allowing the survivor to tell their own version of the instance without the pressure to recall memories that are unclear, distressing, or simply nonexistent. This restores “choice and control” to the survivor, a crucial step in ensuring that their voice is heard, starting “the path to healing.”

Through her years of working directly with survivors, Sulley became aware of how challenging it is to report traumatic experiences, due not only to the complicated legal process that follows but also to the cultural reception of those now-public stories. Blueprint is an effort to “dispel the myths” and “educate about the realities” surrounding campus sexual as sault so that “survivors are believed.” As an academic institution, UT has “particular responsibilities” for student survivors, who “come with the goal to learn, to thrive, and to grow.” A campus community that can “rally around and support those survivors who have made that difficult decision” to speak out is imperative to their success.

From Blueprint and other UT organizations, such as Voices Against Violence, to high-profile cases like those of Bill Cosby and Ke$ha, visibility and awareness of survivors’ experiences is rapidly increasing.

Every restorative response and act of prevention is “a sign of a culture shift,” Sulley says, toward a more accepting and receptive society. Each shared sto story is a survivor reclaiming their agency, “saying ‘I have the right to hold others accountable for what they did.’ ”

On March 27th, Easter morning for those who follow the Christian set of ideals, I callously checked the world happenings. There it was again. Dominating my news feed, the inevitable presence of ideology. In response to the terrorist attacks of March 22nd, when a group donning an Islamist ideology bombed the Brussels Airport; another group ex pressed their own counter ideological concerns.

Young, white men disrupted a peace vigil to holler anti-immigrant rhetoric, calling for the purity of Belgium. This response to such a horrific event demonstrates the divisive and destructive powers of ideology.

The United States has triumphed it’s own narrative since the declaration in 1776. “In God we trust.” Religious freedom claims to mark our society.

We wage wars in the name of a free market economy, freedom and democracy. We are a nation of idealism, as described by BBC, “US foreign policy has often mixed the idealism of its "mission" to spread democracy with the pursuit of national self-interest.” The 2016 presidential campaign has proven to be an ideological romping ground. Candidates using ideological discourse to convince voters of their allegiance, their potential and their vision. The most concerning aspect of this election is exactly this; following leaders based on whether or not their nar tive of what the United States should be matches with your own.

Seen though the filter of their ideological lenses, UT students are faced daily with political campaigns, street sermons, and persuasive efforts. Recently, Planned Parenthood has been lobbying for support and donations, fighting to survive in an infamously red state. Two UT students, both women identifying as conservative Republicans differed in

in their stance on abortion.

“I am a Christian, a Conservative, and a Republican,” says Madison Albrecht, “I believe that life begins at conception. Because all life is sacred, we have an obligation to protect all life, including the babies who don’t have yet have a voice to speak for themselves.”

While Clarissa Ureste explained “I hold my political beliefs most strongly. Though I was really religious at one point, I now consider myself to be agnostic. I do not have very strong opinions on abortion. However, I absolutely do not agree in late term abortions. I believe that once a baby is capable of surviving, they should no longer be aborted.” These two women, on a surface level hold identical political ideologies, yet it is their religious narratives that take precedence in shaping certain beliefs.

Ideologies flourish at UT organization fairs. The International Socialist Organization or The Young Libertarians, University Democrats or the College Republicans provide young, malleable minds with political theories. Young Life and Ignite provide students with community based on religious ideals.

Greek life offers a more elitist set of ideologies. Students in search of belonging, a passion or an explanation, might find solutions within such communities.

These organizations fill a social void that is common for incoming college students; the ideologies build a common thread and understanding. Yet, such a transition could provide an opportunistic moment to see the ideological world we live in; to first remove our glasses before we put on another guiding, blinding pair.

M

erriam-Webster Dictionary defines “outlier” as something that is situated away from or classed

differently from a main or related body—which is, incidentally, exactly how I feel about my faith. On some days, I am more sure than others, but the answer to the posited question is always yes. I may think of myself as non-practicing, but I still feel very Muslim, and I find comfort in knowing that I am not the only one. There are others like me, perhaps a whole generation of outliers, outsiders on the comparative gradient of “other” Muslims. Despite this feeling of not belonging, I am not burdened by questions of certainty. I have practiced my own personal version of Islam for nineteen years, praying once a day instead of five and adhering to a lenient fast that is more similar to Christians during Lent than to my Muslim brothers and sisters during Ramadan. Like my fellow outliers, I do not believe in an inflexible Islam. Instead, I practice my faith with the knowledge that, if others aren’t sure that I am Muslim, it does not matter—because, in the end, I am.

Endnotes Start with a map.

What do you see?

A screen.

Walk back walk back, Venture into the unknown.

The void, universe.

A unique uni An oceanic abyss appears.

Assaulted and destroyed We know where to go from here.

Swimming through the void We find the surface of things, Where there are ladders to climb Towards our ideal.

What does that mean?

Up we climb.

To sound white is to step right.

Where do we go from here?

Confused yet empowered, Distraught yet affirmed.

Here is the story we tell we tell ourselves.

He Sometimes we tell each other.

By Cole Watson

CONTRIBUTORS

FEATURING WORK FROM NOOSHIN GHANBARI

Sometimes we tell each other.