Issue 1 Spring 2020

I. VISIBILITY VOLUME CXL

TUFTS OBSERVER

table of contents staff

Page 2 - Letter from the Editor

By Owen Cheung

EDITOR IN CHIEF: Owen Cheung

FEATURE Page 3 - The Invisible Burden

By Nic Salem

MANAGING EDITOR: Myisha Majumder CREATIVE DIRECTOR: Abigail Barton FEATURE EDITORS: Ethan Lipson Evan Sciancalepore NEWS EDITORS: Yumei Lin Cana Tagawa ARTS & CULTURE EDITORS: Wyoma Chudasama Josie Wagner OPINION EDITORS: Sonya Bhatia Mahika Khosla

CAMPUS Page 6 - Policing Protests

By Aroha MacKay POETRY & PROSE Page 9 - Fleeting

By Taylor Jacobs VOICES Page 10 - One Year Since Tier Town

Anonymous CREATIVE INSET Page 13 - Art and Photography POETRY & PROSE Page 17 - Winter Beach

By Sonia Richter

CAMPUS EDITORS: Ryan Kim Juliana Vega del Castillo POETRY & PROSE EDITOR: Akbota Saudabayeva VOICES EDITORS: Rachel Dong Siddhant Talwar CREATIVE INSET EDITOR: Brigid Cawley ART DIRECTOR: Laura Wolfe LEAD ARTIST: Kelly Tan LEAD COPY EDITOR: Mira Dwyer

COVER, TABLE OF CONTENTS, AND BACK IMAGES BY ABIGIAL BARTON

+ visibility driving through a peaceful, rural suburbia with reckless abandon. looming trees, heavy clouds, light heart. rain, rain, rain, out of nowhere. see—can you see? sensory deprivation, like one of those floating tanks. listen—pouring, thunder. foot on the brake, pulled over to the side. eyes open, can’t see.

NEWS Page 18 - Education Without Accusation Anonymous

STAFF WRITERS: Sevie Browne Rachel Carp Aroha Mackay Issay Matsumoto Saumya Mehta Myles Platt Lee Romaker

OPINION Page 20 - What’s in a Name

By Pat Mahaney ARTS & CULTURE Page 22 - Take a Bite

By Jun Han Huang

DESIGNERS: Evelyn Abramowitz Kate Bowers Janie Ingrassia Joanna Kleszczewski Richard Nakatsuka Brenna Trollinger Sofia Pretell

VOICES Page 24 - Hiding in Plain Sight

By Lee Romaker ARTS & CULTURE Page 26 - What We Owe To Each Other

By Yumei Lin

COPY EDITORS: Robyn Lee Melanie Litwin Addie Lovell Unnathy Nellutla Gloria Revanche Amanda Westlake

OPINION Page 28 - Reclaiming Indian Democracy

By Mahika Khosla and Siddhant Talwar

PUBLICITY DIRECTOR: Nasrin Lin MULTIMEDIA DIRECTORS: Madeline Oh Esther Tzau PODCAST DIRECTORS: Ethan Lipson Arely Mancia EDITOR EMERITUS: Lena Novins-Montague CONTRIBUTORS: Kate Bidgood Vera Dai Megan Kang Michelle Li Emmeline Meyers Iris Woo Juliette Wu

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR I was reeling from a grave crisis when I wrote the first version of this letter. I seemed to think writing 600 words about how I had reserved a room for the Observer’s staff retreat for the wrong day was a good idea.

I lamented how disastrous the oversight was, how I had nowhere to host our staff of 50 for an afternoon of journalistic discussion, and that I was scared to ruin an organization that feels sacred to me.

Why had I cared so much about where our retreat would be? I was anxious. I was irate. I was rude to my boyfriend for an hour. I ghosted my friends for two hours. I marched around my kitchen and loudly emptied the dishwasher. I sulked. I dramatized (ongoing). Then, I cried a little bit, and moved on.

The next morning, as I reread what I had written, I felt ridiculous. And yet I have still decided that this scheduling snafu matters enough for me to write about, again. I acknowledge my irrationality in a situation that was objectively no big deal. However, I am also proud of my reaction in a revisionist sort of way. I love the Observer, and I suddenly feel so responsible for this magazine.

In my mind, I had deduced that because we did not have a room for our retreat, our articles would fall apart for the entire semester, we would lose sight of our core values, and there would be no way to avoid some impending scandal that would be all my fault. I was scared to let down Lena, my predecessor; Myisha, our managing editor; Abigail, our creative director; and our entire team in one blow.

But in my deeply manic state, I had forgotten a few things. First of all, not a single one of our valuedriven, truth-seeking, compassionate staff members would let me do that. Second, this was a small problem easily amenable to a variety of solutions. I was stuck in a hole in which I was so nervous to mess up that I lost sight of the Observer’s resilience, our community, and the innate nature of our shared values. It is far too important—to us, to our readers, and to our community—to let any one person think they can ruin the Observer with a simple scheduling mistake. So, I would like to use this letter to announce that I am no longer stuck in that hole.

Lena, I cannot imagine how you came into this role with no experience on managing board, and did not fall into this trap. I cannot believe I would (occasionally) ghost you for hours during crises, and you would still text me back a meme when I finally responded. And you’ve somehow become one of my closest friends, ever. You poured your energy into making me understand that this magazine was mine, just as it was everyone’s on staff. To Myisha, Abigail, and every single individual who is a part of the Observer now, I promise to make this magazine yours, too. Our strength is that the Observer is ours together.

To you, the reader, I hope you can feel that the Observer is full of people who care about it just as much as I do. Our pages, podcasts, and projects are the product of all of us.

Many hugs,

Owen Cheung Editor in Chief

2 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 10, 2020

ART BY LAURA WOLFE

FEATURE

THE INVISIBLE BURDEN ADDRESSING THE SILENCE AROUND STUDENT DEBT

By Nic Salem

FEBRUARY 10, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 3

FEATURE

“A

s someone who has been on financial aid since high school and regularly fills out her own FAFSA documents, student debt is never too far from my mind,” said senior Isabel Valdelomar.

But, student debt is rarely talked about on campus. Valdelomar continues, “I think most Tufts students have the luxury of ignorance, not because they are totally and purposefully unaware, but because they cannot understand the weight that student debt has on many low and average income students, who are the minority at Tufts.”

One in three Tufts students will take out a loan, 70 percent of which comes from federal loan and grant programs. All in all, the average student who receives any aid pays about $32,000 per year in total cost, and the typical student will graduate with $28,000 in student debt, with $17,500 of that coming from federal loans. Yet, on campus, the conversation around student debt is relatively nonexistent. “I feel like everyone is really passive about it and doesn’t talk about it… It’s kind of a difficult thing to talk about,” said an anonymous Tufts student.

The total student debt in America has reached $1.7 trillion, more than auto loan and credit card debt combined. This crisis has been a hot button issue among presidential candidates, but it is quite difficult to comprehend the level and scope of the crisis. The average student borrower comes out of college with $30,000 in debt, and many graduates owe several times more than that.

The story of our broken lending system begins in the 1960s. In the ‘60s and ‘70s, the government sought to make higher education accessible to middle and low-

4 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 10, 2020

income families by guaranteeing private student loans and issuing grants to college students. These steps led to a dramatic increase in college admission levels and a flow of largely unregulated loans issued to students. This trend, coupled with a reduction in state spending on colleges, led to the crisis we observe today. Tuition costs rose steadily, as did the levels of unpaid debt. Students who expected to quickly pay off their loans once they entered the job market routinely struggled under the crushing burden of their debt.

Now, student debt has become the defining issue for young people in America, with the

intense debate surrounding how best to solve the problem dividing many within the Democratic party.

While talking about student debt on campus is still avoided, some students are using the Democratic primary race to try to spur conversation. Tufts for Warren and Tufts for Bernie, two clubs formed at the beginning of the school year, cite the candidates’ student loan plans as key reasons why members have joined their clubs.

Senator Warren’s extensive proposal to ease the burden of student loans has focused on forgiving up to $50,000 in debt

for most students, while also guaranteeing free public college for all. Notably, Warren’s plan provides debt relief to households earning less than $250,000, resulting in about 42 million Americans eligible for debt forgiveness. Senator Warren also calls for a substantial increase in federal funding for colleges as part of her proposal, hoping to completely eliminate tuition costs at public institutions. However, at a private university such as Tufts, the potential impact of this policy is not so clear. While Warren does call for also forgiving loans towards private schools, her policy does not contain any specific measures to aid students currently attending private schools.

The comprehensive nature of Senator Warren’s proposal has been a key aspect in drawing support among the student body at Tufts. In an interview, Hannah Kahn, a senior and one of the co-presidents of Tufts for Warren, said, “[Warren’s] plans for quality and affordable education are what I think draws a lot of young people toward her.” Senator Warren, known for her detailed policy proposals across all Wissues, is hoping her vision for “big, structural change” will appeal to the younger, more diverse progressive wing of the party. And while Warren’s support on campus appears to remain strong, national polls show that young voters lean strongly towards Senator Sanders, who is also competing for the support of leftist and liberal voters.

Senator Sanders’s plan calls for complete erasure of student debt while also dramatically increasing funding towards public colleges, particularly historically Black colleges and universities. This large

FEATURE

scale debt forgiveness and funding increase would be paid for by implementing a .5 percent tax on all stock trades, as well as a tax on bond and derivative trades.

Sanders’s plan intends to lower tuition costs, rather than supply federal loans. The impact on private institutions like Tufts would be smaller than public colleges.

Sanders has proposed to cap the interest rate on federal loans at 1.88 percent; it is currently at 4.53 percent. Critics of Sanders’ plan question the feasibility of raising $1.7 trillion.

Sanders calls for a fundamental reversal in government policy towards higher education. Rabiya Ismail, one of the founders of Tufts for Bernie, explained, “The dynamics in Tufts for Bernie are basically anti-capitalist, pro-democratic socialist. Those ideals relate to cancelling all student debt because it means a blank slate for everyone.”

Ismail urged her fellow Tufts students to consider the leftist ideology which underlies Sanders’s push to completely eliminate all outstanding debt: “This is a very liberal institution still, but I wouldn’t say it’s leftist, I would just say it’s liberal.” The key distinction between the two is that liberals support a regulated market economy, while leftists favor a command economy.

While students active in campus political organizations may be highly knowledgeable on the topic, the conversation on campus is minimal, if not nonexistent.

An anonymous Tufts student commented, “I think that people don’t feel comfortable talking about their aid packages with people that don’t understand them… a minority of the campus receives aid and then typically it’s not a situation where you feel like you can be super clear or honest about it.” Valdelomar echoed this sentiment, noting that “it’s no secret that the Tufts student body is extremely wealthy.”

The fact remains that Tufts students are overwhelmingly wealthy, with approximately one in five students coming from the top one percent of families, and half of the student body belonging to the top five percent. Furthermore, Tufts has the 10th highest median parent income amongst

all colleges. Because Tufts’s student body consists of many families wealthy enough to benefit from conservative fiscal policies, student debt may be a particularly unpopular topic for discussion on this campus.

The anonymous student emphasized the importance of acknowledging how wealth affects the conversation on student debt, as well as the campus culture at large: “I think that we would benefit from having an active conversation and making it a priority to recognize our privilege because this is the perfect time to learn.” They also pointed to the appearance of students as an indicator of the difference in students’ experiences, saying, “a lot of people have $900 jackets when they’re walking around campus, and some people are getting them from the garbage bin at Goodwill.”

Statistics and public appearance aside, the attitude towards money within the Tufts student body is far from ubiquitous.

“People have different relationships with money regardless of their actual access to money,” said the anonymous student. Every student has their own relationship to the money that supports their education whether that money comes from loans or from their family. “I have a peer who is not on any financial aid but every single week she is stressed about spending money on groceries,” said the anonymous student. Some students may not qualify for aid despite substantial financial insecurity. These hidden disparities add a tension and stress similar to that of students taking loans, yet simultaneously isolate these students from both the affluent and those on aid.

“I don’t think that anybody’s actively trying to do anything wrong,”

ART BY VERA DAI AND KELLY TAN / DESIGN BY JOANNA KLESZCZEWSKI

said the anonymous student, implying that the silence does not stem from a place of cruelty. The silence comes from a place of ease—the same place of ease that makes financial inequality across America a taboo subject. As the student debt crisis takes center stage on the national level, Tufts’s history of silence will be tested.

FEBRUARY 10, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 5

CAMPUS

POLICING PROTESTS POLICING The New Dean’s Response to Student Activism

By Aroha MacKay

6 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 10, 2020

ART BY EMMA MEYERS, DESIGN BY EVELYN ABRAMOWITZ

CAMPUS

S

tudent activism is an integral part of life at Tufts, which is why Camille Lizarríbar’s appointment as the new dean of student affairs is particularly relevant. Lizarríbar’s hiring sheds light on controversy surrounding her response to student protests as dean of student affairs at Yale.

During Lizarríbar’s time at Yale, campus police was brought into the mix during these protests, making students feel uncomfortable and undervalued. When questioned about these incidents, the Tufts administration said they have the “utmost confidence in Dean Lizarríbar’s support of free expression, which she made abundantly clear in [the] interview process,” expressing little concern about the use of law enforcement on student protests. On the other hand, student activist groups on campus have expressed discomfort regarding her use of campus police. As the new dean of student affairs, Lizarríbar inherits a rich history of student activism and protest at Tufts, and with that, the administration’s history of involving the Tufts University Police Department.

Tufts began its search process for the new dean last July when former Dean Mary Pat McMahon left the position. This January, Tufts announced that Lizarríbar, former dean of student affairs and senior associate dean at Yale College, will be assuming the role of Tufts’ new dean of student affairs and chief student affairs officer for the Schools of Arts and Sciences and Engineering.

Lizarríbar, originally from Puerto Rico, received a B.A. from Brandeis and a law degree and P.h.D in comparative literature from Harvard. She will come to Tufts with a decade of experience as a dean at Yale, including four years as the dean of student affairs.

However, Lizarríbar’s appointment has called attention to past controversy regarding two protests in 2019 that occured during her time as dean of student affairs at Yale. The first incident occurred last spring when students set up an encampment to protest a portion of Yale’s financial aid policy called ‘student effort’—the university’s expectation of students to contribute back to the university through summer employment and work study as part of their financial aid package. Protesters argued that student effort had a negative effect on the student experience and that the measure was particularly harmful for students of color and lowincome students. The administration be-

came involved once the protesters moved their encampment indoors. Lizarríbar told protesters that if they did not vacate the building, campus police would cite them for trespassing. The protesters reluctantly left but expressed their unhappiness with the administration’s response to the Yale Daily News. One protester specifically mentioned their outrage with the administration, “sending [Dean Lizarríbar] to threaten [them] with the police.” Another added that the response conveyed the “lack of regard Yale has for the concerns of…low-income students of color.”

In November 2019, students staged a protest against a Yale professor outside of her classroom, where they accused the professor of being a war criminal due to her military involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan. Initially planning to enter into the professor’s classroom and distribute pamphlets voicing their opposition, the student protesters were barred from entering the classroom by Lizarríbar, who cited university policy allowing professors to decide who can and cannot enter their classroom. Instead, the group “chanted, sang, stomped, and yelled through the classroom’s windows” in an attempt to get the professor’s attention. Lizarríbar, accompanied by a Yale police officer, repeatedly told the protesters to lower their voices.

The organizers said to the Yale Daily News, “I’m appalled and horrified at how no one will talk to us engage with us and instead perceive us as a threat.” In an email to the Tufts Observer, Lizarríbar referred to these incidents as “institutional matters.”

As Lizarríbar prepares to make the transition to Tufts, questions may arise of her aforementioned controversies at Yale will affect Tufts’s culture of student activism.

Tufts has a long history of a student body active in social justice. In 1969, Tufts students organized a day long boycott to protest the Vietnam War. In 1977, the cannon was painted for the first time to protest the visit of a Philippines government official. More recently, in 2015, Tufts students made national headlines after a five day long hunger strike to protest the administration’s plan to fire over 30 janitors.

The Yale encampment protest poses striking similarities to Tufts’ response to a 2015 sit-in, where a large group of students—primarily members of Tufts Cli-

mate Action—occupied Ballou Hall to demand divestment from fossil fuels. The Tufts Daily reported that students were warned by the administration not to violate campus policies regarding “unauthorized entry into a non-public area [or] a private office.”

In contrast to the threat of police action during the Yale protests, Tufts threatened protesters with disciplinary action. Dean of Student Affairs Mary Pat McMahon asked protesters to report their student ID numbers and names. Protesters refused “under the impression that this could result in targeting [them] after or before the sit-in.”

In response to Lizarríbar’s handling of student protests at Yale, Tufts Climate Action told the Tufts Observer that they welcomed Dean Lizarríbar to campus and hoped that she would be an ally to all student activists. However, they added, “the incidents that occurred at Yale University should be concerning to all student activists and members of the Tufts community as they indicate a reliance on law enforcement to quash protests.”

Krithi Ram-Junnarkar, the Community Outreach Director of Tufts’ South Asian Political Action Community, stated that “student activism is an important part of student life at Tufts, and peaceful protest should not be outright shut down by administrators.”

Additionally, Ram-Junnarkar expressed particular concern about the safety of students of color as they are featured in protests “in numbers disproportionate to their presence in the school,” adding that she is “worried about the impact that Lizarríbar’s actions will have on the Tufts student body.”

Tufts Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP), a Tufts student activist organization, also expressed their concern with Lizarríbar’s actions. They pointed out that by involving law enforcement, Lizarríbar did not prioritize the safety and well-being of students. Further, SJP echoed South Asian Political Action Community’s concern for students of color, commenting “when the students protesting were students of color, Lizarríbar’s choice to respond with the threat of police shows her disregard for ensuring students feel genuinely safe on campus.” They noted that this is particularly important in light of the TUPD’s history of “acting with undue force.”

FEBRUARY 10, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 7

CAMPUS

“[THE] HOPE [IS] THAT DEAN LIZZARÍBAR WILL RESPECT AND UPHOLD TUFTS’ VIBRANT CULTURE OF STUDENT ACTIVISM.” When asked to comment on these incidents, Chris Swan, the dean of undergraduate education, who chaired the search committee for the new dean along with Samuel Thomas, the dean of academic affairs for Arts and Sciences, commented that they “haven’t heard about [the incidents],” while other members of the administration and the search committee declined to comment.

Shannon Lee, president of Tufts Community Union Senate and a member of the search committee, explained why she could not speak to Lizarríbar’s involvement in the controversy: “I do not know what role she took on during that time. However, many, if not all, higher ed[ucation] institutions have had some controversial issues come up in the past, and it would be impossible to find a candidate who has only worked at a perfect college or universities.” Similarly, Deans Swan and Thomas commented that “based on our interactions, we gather that she’s very committed to listening to students and making them feel heard.”

Even though the Tufts Administration declined to comment specifically on the Yale protests, the administration did stress their

8 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 10, 2020

confidence in Lizarríbar’s commitment to freedom of expression. In a joint statement, Dean Jianmin Qu of the School of Engineering and Dean James Glaser of Arts and Sciences said that they “have utmost confidence in Dean Lizarríbar’s support of free expression, which she made abundantly clear in our interview process.”

They added that the dean is “committed to the freedom of community members to express themselves fully while respecting the rights of others and maintaining a climate conducive to learning in which all community members, regardless of background, are free from behavior that interferes with their ability to study, grow, and attain their full potential.”

The administration primarily focused on freedom of expression and did not touch on the involvement of law enforcement—the original impetus of controversy that angered Yale students.

While Lizarríbar is set to join the Tufts community in late July, her appointment has already prompted reflection on Tufts’s history as an activist’s campus and the administration’s role

in that legacy. Tufts student activism has a pivotal role in the history of the university and has cultivated a strong reputation for itself. With every addition to our community, there is a new opportunity to shape the school.

How this new dean will shape Tufts is yet to be discovered. For now, all students can do, as stated by TCA, is “hope that Dean Lizarríbar will respect and uphold Tufts’ vibrant culture of student activism.”

POETRY

fleeting

By Taylor Jacobs it’s a constant flow a passing junction of elbow bends twisting and brushing one another in the crosshatches of their currents fingers laced on a luggage handle or a crumpled paper ticket a meeting place for the in-between, an artery of feet under knees pressed to platforms each wilted passerby peeling away one by one surrendering to a pull to or fro winging down with ease, settled in a vein and now we’ve left the station reeling and pulsing and pulling forward always, always forward still life scenes undo my iris with blurred contours of peaches or portraits i feel as though i’ve fashioned them all, lived them all, breathed in a memory or two and followed them to eden gardens or to tender beds of clay consecrated by chiseled stone but i’m brought back again by a cradled cup of cheap coffee and john denver in the early afternoon sun honeyed reds and rusted gold brushed in molasses slowing my gaze, pulling backwards, rarely backwards but in that slow-down, seconds become hours of fixation until suddenly the hushed tongue of the train car sighs deeply then ceases outward it’s back bay then south capped and before i know it my feet are carrying me onto the red tiles, nested with them now as i lean into the sills of another—inhale while i hold my breath and the sunset empties itself across the water and wind soaked cheeks, patching the freckles on my nose and flooding the concourse—exhale as i pull my sweater off through the underpass but now i’m taken aback by smudged windows and hurried conversations i’m going forward again, always forward with a steady flux always reeling and pulsing and pulling in a restless hum

DESIGN BY SOFIA PRETELL, ART BY KELLY TAN

FEBRUARY 2020 TUFTS OCTOBER 10, 14, 2019 TUFTSOBSERVER OBSERVER 97

VOICES

ONE YEAR SINCE TIER TOWN HOW TUFTS STUDENT-ACTIVISTS HARM SURVIVORS Anonymous

Content warning: sexual violence, victim-blaming language Note: This is a follow-up to a Tufts Daily op-ed published in December 2019, which can be read at bit.ly/tiertown.

10 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 10, 2020

VOICES

I

’ve written before about my experiences with sexual violence in Tufts studentactivism, focusing on how I was raped in Tier Town. But activists have done more harm than just the initial atrocities. There are far more dimensions to my reaction than the courage to fight back.

Not only did she rape me, she kept me isolated from the rest of the community, forcing her way past every boundary and intervention to control and coerce me. The guilt over my submissive response to her coercion has only intensified with time.

The shame over my body’s response to her touch persists just as she did in Tier Town.

A year ago when I was still in that relationship, I felt that something was wrong, but I didn’t trust myself enough to feel right telling anyone. I felt pressured to welcome her advances, not reject them, in order to prove that I deserved my place in the Tufts student-activist community. She and her friends had been incredibly effective at convincing everyone, including me, that what she did to me was not rape or abuse, but that her insistent advances were merely the natural product of her confusion over my “mixed signals,” while she “only liked [me] as a friend.”

She claimed to know me more intimately than I could ever know myself.

She said I was “not an open book, but a different book every time.” I felt obligated to unlearn my own discomfort in order to validate her expert opinion. She made me question whether my memories were real. Her dominance over me compelled me to unequivocally value her desire over my needs.

I fought so hard to unlearn the gaslighting and the lies that she nearly drowned me in. It took incredible amounts of emotional labor from others for me to finally understand that it wasn’t my fault.

I am deeply grateful to the comrades, some of whom were survivors battling similar thoughts themselves, who held me through my darkest moments. They guided me toward understanding that it was not my fault for letting it happen, but that she was to blame for assaulting me.

ART BY KELLY TAN / DESIGN BY RICHARD NAKATSUKA

I was certain that the rest of the community would overwhelmingly disagree with me. I was surprised to receive an outpouring of support after I left her, and again after the first op-ed. But in the end, I was right to expect much worse. Influential community members with only their own interests in mind seized control of accountability processes meant to help people in vulnerable positions like mine, cutting me off from the resources I needed to thrive as a person and make this community a better place.

Do these activists understand the impact of their actions?

Do you?

You require that I assume good faith in everything that you have done to harm me and refrain from holding you accountable in any way, no matter how much harm your actions caused to me. This insistence

I feel that your own denial takes up so much space that you have no room left to acknowledge my humanity and my pain. forced me into silence and out of your spaces. I avoid entire Tufts buildings and organizations where I once belonged but can no longer enter because I fear further harm. The toll that your deeply harmful actions have taken on me has been immense regardless of whether you meant well or not.

I know now that your vision of community that you hold so dear never made room for me. I feel less than human in your eyes, since you chose to discard the false pretense of caring for me in order to support those who harmed me instead. You demanded my silence in order to maintain your own comfort and obliviousness. You paint me as the wrongdoer because my difficult truth offends you. You bar me from believing that it is wrong to have harm inflicted upon me, to the point that I feel I

do not deserve to trust myself when I sense that something is not right.

Your unfailing insistence that I constantly take care of those who have harmed me has taught me that it is immoral for me to seek safety because that would be unfair to you. You denied me the most basic forms of stability and security in order to avoid confronting the possibility that you might have made a mistake. I feel that your denial takes up so much space that you have no room left to acknowledge my humanity and my pain.

You have pushed me to learn that it is better for me to fail alone rather than be spectacularly betrayed. I would much rather walk home half an hour by myself at night than accept a ride from someone else driving back to campus. You pushed me out of spaces intended for people like me. I hesitate to seek out resources that exist for survivors. I have become wary of accepting help from activists, no matter how well-meaning they appear to be. I feel unwelcome and unsafe at Tufts. It is too dangerous for me to trust this community any longer.

I cannot exist on this campus without feeling an all-consuming sense of fear endlessly wrack my body. The anxious chills running through my veins feel all too similar to the cold night in the tent city. Your vicious words become indistinguishable from hers. I wish the secondary assault of your withering glares and whitewashing lies would end, but it has only escalated with time.

I was once a strong and powerful survivor. But the way you frame me as causing harm and yourself as the victim has thrust into my mind the thought that I am to blame for the violence done to me. Is it immoral of me to think that I have been wronged? Am I unworthy of your compassion? Have I deceived this entire community into presuming that I am a victim?

You act as though I should be known as the offender instead.

Even in the midst of a rape flashback or panic attack, I wonder if it is wrong of me to feel victimized. I feel as though this FEBRUARY 10, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 11

VOICES

is the deserved result of my personal shortcomings. I should have just stayed silent and never said anything about Tier Town.

I should never have claimed that what she did to me was rape. I don’t deserve the platforms this community has given my story.

After all, she did this because I “[sent] mixed signals.” My accusation caused her “repercussive social trauma,” “forced [other survivors] to relive their trauma,” and created an unnecessary situation “that has caused irreparable harm.” These spaces are far more important to this community than I could ever hope to be, so how could I have the audacity to tear them apart by bringing my story into the public eye? I have internalized your aggression towards me, a feat that even she could not achieve.

I hope that no one else will ever have to endure what I have.

Imagine a world where bystanders act to intervene in situations of sexual violence. Where you do not normalize or defend abuse. Where you do not victimblame, gaslight, or attack survivors. Where you believe in my humanity.

When this article is published and circulated within your community, you will undoubtedly deny having engaged in any of these actions or broadcast any of the beliefs I have internalized from you. I expect nothing less from those who repeatedly have denied my truth.

You might validate my feelings but refute the charges. You might admit to behavior that caused me to believe I was harmed, but not display real understanding that you harmed me. I will no longer accept the smallest shreds of acknowledgment as sufficient amends.

I ask for accountability. I ask to be believed. I ask to not be vilified for speaking up.

I ask to feel once more that I am deserving of humanity and compassion.

12 TUFTS OBSERVER OCTOBER 14, 2019

(top right) Untitled. By Megan Kang. Photography. (bottom left) Untitled. By Megan Kang. Digital camera. (bottom right) Out of Luck. By Emmeline Meyers. Oil paint.

(top left) Self. By Iris Wo. Photography. (top right) You Better Watch It. By Juliette Wu. Pen and ink. (bottom right) Wuze. By Iris Wo. Photography.

(top center) Untitled. By Michelle Li. Photography. (bottom left) Desire. By Iris Wo. Photography. (bottom right) Untitled. By Michelle Li. Photography.

POETRY

WINTER BEACH

By Sonia Richter I tried living near the temperate ocean and learned all the forms waves can take. In December, they roll like gelatinous masses, a deep burgundy hue dipping and receding. I recalled the bluer, warmer times and jagged pebbles left over after those smooth white ones were gathered by rowdy children. Memories of sand embracing our family tents and frozen lemonade trucks swarming to steaming asphalt graced my mind. The beach takes my image of idealism and whips it across my face. Gusts of painful sand lodge themselves between my notebook pages and set up camp. The shore is reveling in its solitary time. Nowadays, most people forget its existence. I choose to bundle up and confuse onlooking gulls. They won’t come over this season. My presence and layers of clothing are artificial, unexplainable. I am allowed a seat here, but only to watch the dance of seagull wingspans and monstrous winds. They are a rare vision of Earth and life competing, leaving the birds paralyzed in the air like statues of flight. I, the museum goer, shield my flushed cheeks. I try to rejoice in that which is wild and untouched. This is pleasant, isn’t it? The horizon scoffs and whirls on.

DESIGN BY SOFIA PRETELL, ART BY KATE BIDGOOD

FEBRUARY 10, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 17

NEWS

EDUCATION WITHOUT ACCUSATION:

NAVIGATING the STUDENT SILENCE BEHIND the UYGHUR CRISIS

Anonymous CW: brief mentions of sexual assault, death, and other violence Authors’ Note: The authors of this piece have chosen to remain anonymous due to the Chinese Government’s actions towards citizens who are critical of the events in XinJiang. The names of those interviewed have been changed as well.

“T

he market places were so empty for the time of day. But I was more invested in the idea of the multi-ethnic nature of the community of people to spend too much time thinking about how strange it was that a main bazaar was filled with only a few female shop owners.”

Elaf, a second-year Tufts student who identifies as Muslim Asian American, retraces her memory of a trip to China’s XinJiang Uyghur Autonomous Region in 2016, less than a year before the implementation of re-education camps for the Uyghurs. At that point, these government-built camps run in order to sinicize the Uyghur people, were beginning to be filled up, though newspapers and stations had yet to report the increased security and detentions.

XinJiang is home to about 8 million Uyghurs, the largest Turkic ethnic group in the region, who have long struggled for their independence after the region was taken over by China in 1949 and established as an autonomous region in 1955.

Between 2009 and 2014, violent riots

broke out in the region as a result of conflict between the government and Uyghur separatist groups. Tensions continued to rise, eventually leading to an increase in surveillance, prohibitions, and regulations, along with the building of the re-education facilities. A Reuters report estimated that at least 1 million Uyghurs and Muslims from other minority ethnic groups are being detained in these concentration camps, though the number could be as high as 3 million people.

Within the camps, the detained Uyghurs experience indoctrination with forced denounciations of Islam and swearing loyalty to the Chinese government, along with torture, unsanitary and inhumane living conditions, rape, forced abortions, and even death, as reported by The Epoch Times. For reporters and locals alike, the isolation and heavy surveillance of these camps make them difficult to access. Generally, it has been Western media publications that have detailed the personal testimonies from the few Uyghurs who have escaped from these internment camps. Their accounts of their experience have brought to light that the “re-education” has come at the cost of human rights.

According to Al Jazeera, Uyghurs could be detained without good cause or trial for having a connection to Islam, such as choosing to wear a beard, studying Arabic, refusing to drink, or praying outside of the mosques. Furthermore, any pro-Uyghur sentiment expressed or doubt abouts in loyalty to the government could lead to arrests. Save Uighur, a non-profit working to bring justice to the Uyghur people, has found that the policies have since then intensified. Arrest and detention are now possible for, among other things, publicly mourning the death of one’s parents, wearing a hijab in front of the Chinese flag, praying, fasting, having WhatsApp, not letting officials take your DNA, leaving the

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NEWS

country, or knowing anyone who participated in any of the above.

The Chinese government claims that the purpose of these facilities is to counter the perceived extremism and terrorism of the Uyghurs that has become ingrained in the public Chinese narrative of XinJiang. Party leaders attributed the regional tensions to the lack of economic development. The fight for independence stemming from separatist groups’ influence, was unthinkable for the government due to XinJiang’s rich natural resources, including cotton, coal, oil, and tomatoes.

However, the New York Times’ report on The XinJiang Papers revealed that leaders of the 2017 crackdown cited religious radicalism as the major reason for the development of the re-education centers.

Despite the scale of oppression in XinJiang, many students at Tufts are unaware of the details of the event. However, the silence on campus surrounding the Uyghur concentration camps, especially from those with a connection to the region, is not unfounded. Julie, a second-year international student at Tufts, speaks to her experience growing up in China and the culture of silence facilitated by the Chinese government’s actions: “[T]he Chinese government is always monitoring everything.

Growing up, being told that you are not allowed to talk about a lot of things… really carries on with you even in college and in the future.”

Elaf shares personal reasons for her silence on this issue:, “I have family who, as punishment for speaking out against the policies in the past, have already suffered imprisonment and torture at the hands of the Chinese government… I don’t know if I could bring myself to publicly speak about the issue with the knowledge of the potential harm that I am putting them through.”

In addition to the personal obstacles of discussing China’s treatment of the Uyghurs publicly, comments about the lack of space on campus for open and safe discussion continues to illustrate the complexity of the silence surrounding the situation.

Harry, a third-year student, questions the responsibility of cultural clubs on campus, such as the Chinese Student Association, in providing a platform for conversation and education on the Uyghur concentration camps: “CSA should change their

policy of being apolitical… I think it’s an intentional choice to say, I will not participate in politics and discussions of it when there are very clear dynamics in the world.”

He also highlights the demographic of CSA, consisting of mostly Han Chinese students (80% of the Chinese population is Han) which can be “a very homogeneous space of people who are effectively on the oppressor’s side.” He suggests for Han students, having ties with the largest ethnic population in China, to consider “the impacts of the ways they live their lives” in relation to ethnic minorities in China, such as the Uyghurs.

Elaf takes a different look into the responsibility of identity groups in addressing the Uyghur concentration camps. “[The] role [of] an identity club is to support the needs of the Tufts student population by providing a community of people with a shared background… That doesn’t necessarily mean that they need to be educating the general public on the matter, nor does it mean that their members need to be experts on every global issue affecting their identity groups.”

As a second-year student who identifies as American and has lived in China before, Lily acknowledges the lack of conversations on the wider campus. “People always talk about it more when some news about it breaks, but other than that, it’s not really talked about like it should be… I haven’t seen any organized discussion around this issue originating from people who don’t identify as Chinese-American or Muslim.”

Despite the outward silence on this issue, there is a consensus amongst students about the importance of learning about the Uyghur population and their conditions in China. Students recognize that public discourse about this event can affect many people’s lives, both in positive and negative ways. But, they continue to emphasize the need for students to educate themselves, if not outright raising awareness amongst their close circles, about the atrocity against Uyghurs in XinJiang. O

Growing up, being told that you are not allowed to talk about a lot of things… really carries on with you even in college and in the future.

FEBRUARY 10, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 19

OPINION W

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

By Pat Mahaney

T

he Rez Cafe is a staple of Tufts campus culture: a hubspot for student activity, from musicians and poets, to environmental activists, to uncaffeinated students in need of a steaming hot cup of coffee. But chances are most patrons of the Rez—a seemingly benign name for a quaint coffee shop—have spent little time contemplating the meaning of such a peculiar name.

Frankly, when I first started working at the Rez, I didn’t think much of the name either. I thought it was short for “residential,” like Tufts ResLife or the Res Quad.

Names are an acknowledgement of honor, history, and remembrance. At Tufts, buildings and programs are named after important donors or alumni to recognize their contributions to the university.

Changing a name, however, can prove difficult, even in the wake of new information. Last year, it took months of student activism and community involvement before Tufts finally removed the Sackler name from its medical school to condemn 20 Tufts Observer february 10, 2020

the family’s role in the opioid crisis. In 2016, South Hall was officially renamed Harleston Hall, after Bernard Harleston, Tufts’ first African-American tenure-track faculty member. And yet—three years later—students still struggle to use the new name.

Tufts University was named after Charles Tufts in 1856, the businessman who donated the land to establish “the first college on the hill.” But before the existence of Tufts and European settlers, there was the once-thriving Native town of Mistic, the namesake of the Mystic River and the surrounding areas. Mystic is derived from the Alquonian word muhs-uhtuq meaning “a great river whose waters are driven by the waves,” alluding to the original tidal nature of the Mystic River.

In 1986, the Rez Cafe was relocated from Eaton Hall to its current residence in the Elizabeth Mayer Campus Center. Previously titled the Eaton Newsstand, Tufts Student Resources (TSR) rebranded the coffee shop as the Rez, as an homage to

the Mystic Reservoir, built in 1864 as a water source for the Greater Boston Area. The reservoir was a popular site for the community—serving as a picnic spot, swimming hole, ice rink, and center for numerous campus traditions. Hence, it was affectionately nicknamed the “Rez.” TSR hoped the cafe’s new name would harken back to “simpler times” of romance and fraternity.

But the name of the “Rez” invokes another meaning—a slang term used for US Indian reservations. Indian reservations are areas of land designated to federallyrecognized Native American tribes by the US government. In 1851, Congress passed the Indian Appropriations Act which created the Indian reservation system. The main goals of Indian reservations were to bring Native Americans under US government control, minimize conflict between Indians and settlers, and encourage Native Americans to assimilate into white culture. White settlers forcibly removed Native American people from their anART BY KATE BOWERS AND KATE BIDGOOD

D

OPINION

cestral homes and relocated them onto lands to which they had no historical connection. Native Americans were forced to wear non-Indian clothes, to read and write in English, to convert to Christianity, and were not allowed to leave the reservations without permission.

There are approximately 565 federally recognized tribes in the US today, but only about 326 reservations. Four reservations exist in Massachusetts alone, albeit smaller than their counterparts further west, including the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe in Cape Cod and the Wampanoag Tribe of Gay Head in Aquinnah. Many reservations are stricken with economic poverty and related issues of failing education, healthcare, and violence. Native Americans have the lowest employment rate of any racial or ethnic group. The percentage of homes that are overcrowded on reservations is three to six times higher than the percentage of overcrowded homes in the US as a whole. Indian youth have the highest rate of

DESIGN BY KATE BOWERS

TO IGNORE THESE REALITIES WOULD BE A REINSCRIPTION OF COLONIAL VIOLENCE AGAINST NATIVE AMERICAN PEOPLE AND THEIR CULTURES. suicide among all ethnic groups in the US and is the second-leading cause of death for Native youth aged 15–-24. These are all symptoms of a premeditated and ongoing colonial project by the US government.

While the name of the “Rez” is not necessarily racist, it is undeniably racialized. The name of the Rez evokes the violent colonization and lived experiences of Native American people. The land the cafe occupies holds centuries of Native

American history. To ignore these realities would be a reinscription of colonial violence against Native American people and their cultures. As my friend said, “How can Tufts claim to support Native American and Indigenous students, when they still have a coffee shop named the Rez?” Author’s Note: I am pleased to announce that the Rez is officially changing their name. Many thanks to the efforts and voices of Native students and activists at Tufts. The Rez has been collecting name submissions since last semester, have chosen a new name, and hopefully will be announcing it soon. Moving forward, I hope to see students accept the new name and keep acknowledging the deep histories of this land. Native American presence is everywhere if you choose to see it, and it is important to respect these histories—even if it is as simple as changing the name of a tiny coffee shop named the Rez. february 10, 2020 Tufts Observer 21

ARTS & CULTURE

TAKE A BITE

APPLEJAM’S IMPACT ON THE TUFTS MUSIC SCENE

By Jun Han Huang

I

n most ways you could say it was your average Saturday night. Students from all years and interests had chosen to spend their evening in the cozy confines of Arts Haus. Live music blared from the speakers, and the very frames of the house quite literally seemed to shake from the noise. One of Tufts’ own jazz bands, the ever impressive Housecat, opened the night’s entertainment, before giving way to a manic, nearly violent display of punk rock, courtesy of New York based band Native Sun. Seemingly out of nowhere, students had a concert hosted in the safety and convenience of campus, all without having to pay a dime. But to whom do we have to thank?

Despite having existed for close to 50 years, the history and origins of Applejam are shrouded in mystery. While it was a film club for some of its existence, the primary function of Applejam today is to book music acts and bring them to Tufts.

A glimpse at Applejam’s archaic webpage from 2005 shows that in the past they had

22 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 10 , 2020

DESIGN BY JANIE INGRASSIA

ARTS & CULTURE

booked impressive musical acts such as Arcade Fire, Yo La Tengo, and Bombay Bicycle Club.

Speaking with senior Sasha von Didkovsky, one of Applejam’s co-presidents, he recalled that his underclassman weekend experiences typically consisted of “People standing around and bobbing their head—they stay[ed] [at the party] until there [was] no more alcohol and then they [went] home.” Most importantly, he stressed that “no one even dances,” and that Tufts students could “aspire to be so much more than that.”

In this respect, Applejam events are so much more than a concert. Cole Wennerholm, a sophomore and another one of Applejam’s co-presidents, observed that “people were coming for the show and staying in spite of a lack of alcohol. They were staying for the music, and that’s a good sign.”

While the social impact of Applejam is significant, its existence also provides Tufts students a gateway into the intimidating realm of DIY/underground music.

“A lot of people on campus want to get involved in the [underground/DIY] music scene but don’t know where to go,” said Didkovsky. He also said that even when he did find venues, he “was unable to go to shows because of over 21 policies.” By removing these barriers and bringing the bands to Tufts, Applejam is not only able to provide students with a convenient, safe, and free means to consume their music, but also provides the bands with an audience.

“I’m pretty ignorant when it comes to punk music, but I really enjoyed the chaos and energy of the concert,” said Miranda Yu, a junior who attended the Native Sun show. “I never even would have thought about watching a punk band if it wasn’t so easy, and I’d definitely consider going to another [Applejam] show in the future.”

In an industry stiff with competition and underpayment, the ability to provide bands both a gig and an audience should not be discounted. This is especially significant in the DIY/underground music scene, where most performers are still early on in their careers. Expanding more on their booking process, Eleana Tworek, a senior and one of the former co-presidents of Applejam said that “by using a Tufts

ART BY MEGAN KANG AND JANIE INGRASSIA

house [which saves on venue costs], we are able to generously pay the talent.” She went on to say that “many Allston underground music clubs have been shutting down,” an indication of the difficulty of surviving in the business of DIY/underground music.

In addition to providing music for the masses, Tworek used her position as an opportunity to increase minority representation in school and in the overarching music scene. Historically “we seemed to only book white indie bands because that’s what the DIY scene was back then.

When I was elected, I decided we’re getting women, we’re getting people of color, we’re getting queer people, we’re getting queer people of color, and so on.” Since then, Applejam has been successful in booking bands from underrepresented groups. Didkovsky went on to add that “Last semester, [the talent] was mostly people of color, people who identify as queer, or both.” For instance, Native Sun is a band of primarily Latinx origin, and in a particularly homogenous genre like punk, their work is especially refreshing.

Not overlooking Tufts’ own fledgling music scene, Applejam has a practice of always having a student band open for every event. This provides the opener the unique opportunity of performing with career musicians, hopefully giving them the connections and the experience necessary to elevate their musical progression. Going further, students should look out for Applejam’s semesterly cover show, where the night’s entertainment is provided solely by Tufts students. Wennerholm added that “The only barrier to play is to fill a Google form,” and he hopes that students will take full advantage of that.

With two successful shows already under their belt and a cover show scheduled for February 15, Applejam is showing no signs of slowing down. Corresponding to its 50th anniversary quickly approaching, this iteration of Applejam appears to be the most ambitious yet. “We have this unique opportunity to have real bands perform at school, and we want to fully utilize every aspect of it.” Wennerholm went on to say, “We want to expand our focus beyond just booking shows. We’re looking for anybody with ideas. Anyone interested in any facet of the DIY scene should join Applejam.”

FEBRUARY 10 , 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 23

VOICES

HIDING in PLAIN SIGHT

By Lee Romaker

T

he shorts fit terribly, but they would have to do. I stuffed my white blouse into my too-tight waistband and forced the clasp shut. The itchy, navy cardigan restricted my arms if I ever needed to raise them above my head, and the gold and red crest was always visible from across the room. My knee-high socks often found their way to my ankles and it was a miracle if my shoelaces stayed tied by second period. I would cram my toes into my worn-out Sperrys and not until the end of the day could I kick them off by the kitchen rug.

The ritual of donning my all girls’ school uniform was never one I looked forward to, yet it was one I completed every morning over the course of four years. The only solace I could find was the plaid shorts my mother had to order specially from the uniform store’s supplier to get a size that fit me. The fact that they hugged my hips in every wrong way couldn’t matter, because the taste of masculinity was an oasis in an endless sea of flowing skirts and swaying ponytails. Making it through an all-girls high school as a trans student meant cherishing the small victories: tucking men’s deodorant into my backpack, slipping on a pair of men’s socks, a new name scrawled across my coffee cup, or fresh haircuts that looked less and less like my mother’s.

It was hard to forget how not-a-girl I was when attending a school that marketed itself as a haven for scholarly young women. The slogan of “ALL-GIRL” was plastered across the walls of every classroom and upon the cardigans across our chests. Our head of school would open our morning announcements with a joyful “Good morning, ladies!” as she beamed at an auditorium teeming with young girls.

24 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 10, 2020

Teachers would never neglect to stress that we, a community of young women, had a duty to take up space in male-dominated fields such as engineering or politics. Messages of women empowerment were ingrained into the school’s culture, from our humanities curriculum to graduation speeches to school assemblies. To take up space in a community that I knew, secretly, was not intended for people like me, made me feel like a fraud amongst my peers. There was no doubt that I attended a school of brilliant young women, and not a day went by where I did not feel like an imposter.

Discovering my transness after slipping away to an all-girls school initially felt like a sick joke. Ohio’s lack of discrimination protections for the LGBTQ+ community and the Catholic Diocese of Columbus schools’ readiness to fire and expel queer people meant that I spent my middle school years firmly in the closet, terrified that I’d be expelled if my school found out that I liked girls. To walk away from my Catholic community and attend a secular, all-girl high school meant abandoning my childhood friends, the church I attended, the sports teams I played on, my Sundays at youth group—the only community I had known my whole life. I took the plunge to attend an all-girl high school half an hour away for the chance to spend my teenage years a little more authentically, only to unearth another identity that had to be hidden away.

I knew I was in trouble when I found myself becoming a little too happy wearing boys’ clothing, or being called “sir” by accident in the Starbucks line. My classmates were fairly homogenous in their

gender expressions—I could count on one hand the number of students who regularly opted out of the uniform skirt.

To wear the boys’ uniform was a completely different challenge when there virtually was no boys’ uniform. The joy I felt squeezing myself into my new shorts after weeks in the mail was coupled with the knowledge that I would stick out in the halls on my way to class. Although there was a certain grace I was allowed in how masculine I presented at school, I constantly had to balance a tightrope between acceptable queer presentation and an unacceptable transness.

Being a queer woman at my high school wasn’t the worst thing you could be, and it was an easy excuse to wear men’s clothes and cut my hair like a boy.

Sometimes PRIDE Club wouldn’t meet for a few months on end or a sheltered classmate would make an ignorant but not ill-intentioned remark, but there were worse things you could be at a school that was primarily for white, wealthy students.

I just felt lucky that I could say the words “my girlfriend” out loud without fear of total social isolation.

I became accustomed to passing my transness as off as being a butch lesbian because being a queer woman was generally tolerated. Hiding in plain sight became an acquired skill, as I wouldn’t flinch at wearing men’s clothing but shied away from outright stating my gender identity.

It wasn’t as if I was the only trans student at my school, but I was certainly the worst at hiding it. While we obviously weren’t a large group, other masculine students and I were generally allowed to exist in our own way, often resulting

VOICES

in a designated lunch table for primarily short-haired, pants-wearing students, where we could talk about our girl crushes and the newest Panic! At The Disco song.

Because other queer students and myself were able to find each other, I had been able to experiment with a new name and pronouns as early as sophomore year, but only in hushed lunchroom conversations and group-chats. I toyed with the possibility of coming out in the back of my mind throughout senior year, as I contemplated whether or not it was worth entering a game of chicken with my school’s administration. It was a long-accepted convention for decades that trans students would simply bite their tongue. They would not come out until after graduation for fear of discrimination from other students, or being “kindly asked to leave” by the administration, due to the sheer threat they posed to the school’s image.

But when I got to know the underclassmen of my robotics team, and one-byone they cut their hair short and asked me where I’d gotten my uniform shorts, it became a real possibility. Overhearing them ask each other a little too earnestly “If I was a boy, what name do you think I look the most like?” made my heart ache a little too much to not say anything.

I came out publicly on social media during spring break of my senior year, past the point where it became inconvenient for my private school to “ask me to leave.”

For the most part it was either little surprise or largely ignored by my school community, but getting to answer underclassmen’s questions or see the newfound hope in their faces made everything I had been through—the anxiety, the feelings of otherness, and the ill-fitting shorts—all feel that much worth it.

Over a semester into college and I still get a rush whenever I openly share my pronouns in a circle of new people. Being able to share my whole identity, as a queer trans man, still feels incredibly raw and foreign. Nowadays, I’ve swapped my blouse for a patterned button-down and my Sperry’s for men’s tennis shoes. I am no longer constrained to a form of neutered self-expression that fits into a neat, “allgirl” slogan. Now, rather than hiding in plain sight, others can see all of my truth.

PHOTOS COURTESY OF LEE ROMAKER / DESIGN BY RICHARD NAKATSUKA

FEBRUARY 10, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 25

ARTS & CULTURE

WHAT WE OWE TO EACH OTHER

By Yumei Lin

26 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 10 , 2020

DESIGN BY JANIE INGRASSIA

ARTS & CULTURE

What happens after you die?

“The Good Place”, developed by “Parks and Recreation” creator Michael Schur, has one of the strangest explorations of this question that any show, much less sitcom, has yet to offer. It follows Eleanor Shellstrop (Kristen Bell) right after her death and her entrance into “The Good Place”, an eternal paradise for those who have been exceptionally good during their time on earth. However, it quickly becomes apparent that she does not belong there, and neither does ethics professor Chidi Anagonye (William Jackson Harper), socialite and philanthropist Tahani Al-Jamil (Jameela Jamil), and Jacksonville Jaguars fan Jason Mendoza (Manny Jacinto).

Eleanor must figure out how to keep her identity secret while under the watchful eyes of the neighborhood’s resident architect, Michael (Ted Danson) and Janet (D’Arcy Carden), a Siri-like robot with all the knowledge in the universe. Sophomore Izzy Essman said over email that the Good Place is “warm, it’s chaotic, it’s clever, and it never loses hope.” It’s through this endless optimism that the Soul Squad (Eleanor’s nickname for the group) begins to navigate questions about what it means to be a good person, how to be ethical (especially in the modern world), and grapple with philosophical concepts that thinkers have been contemplating for centuries.

In “The Good Place” universe, every action you have ever taken has a positive or negative point value. If you reach a certain point count, you get into the Good Place when you die. Otherwise, you are relegated to eternal doom in the Bad Place. As a result, one of the major themes of “The Good Place” is what it means to be a good person—and what we owe to each other. In a panel at San Diego Comic-Con in 2018, Marc Evan Jackson, who plays a supporting role on the show, said to Schur that he’s “created the smartest, dumbest show on television.” Regularly invoking names such

ART BY BRIGID CAWLEY

as Kierkegard, Aristotle, and Locke, the show builds on concepts rarely found outside academia while simultaneously combining them with the absurdity of a sitcom.

For sophomore Annie Yin, taking Intro to Philosophy while watching the first season was a particularly fascinating experience. She found that the episodes often lined up with what she was learning in class, and “the humor did make the philosophy more accessible,” while putting daunting questions such as the “crisis about what life means into perspective.”

“The Good Place” presents ethics and philosophy in a way that doesn’t feel educational, but makes you introspect and laugh simultaneously. Malia Kiang, a sophomore Film and Media Studies major and Philosophy minor said over text that the show “presented many different opinions and arguments about ethics and value theory, which definitely got me thinking about my own ideas and opinions.” During an interview earlier this year, Jacinto said that the importance of the show lies in how “the questions that come up are toward yourself and what you’re doing with your own life. We provide a final picture, and that causes people to ask more questions.”

Essman goes on to say “that some of the best episodes have been the ones that focus more heavily on philosophical concepts, like [the Season 2 episode] “The Trolley Problem”. A common question in philosophy, “The Trolley Problem” describes a scenario in which there is an uncontrollable trolley running down a track, which will inevitably kill five people unless you pull a lever, which would transfer the trolley down a different track that will only kill one person. Do you pull the lever or not? In this episode, Chidi, who is known for his indecisiveness, is forced to live multiple variations of this problem in a simulation generated by

Michael. Despite the weight of the choices, the show manages to pull it off with a laugh while also deconstructing a complicated philosophical concept.

At its core, this show is about trying to be a better person. To quote Michael, “What matters isn’t if people are good or bad, what matters is if they’re trying to be better today than they were yesterday.”

Although idealistic, it is a beautiful sentiment that roots this hilarious and whimsy show into ideas that the viewer can take into their everyday life. “To be honest, I don’t really care whether or not there’s an afterlife or what it might be like. I think I’m going to do my best in this lifetime and try not to worry about what comes next,” Essman said over email.

In an interview with the Tufts Observer, Kate Gersten, a former writer on the show, says that “The Good Place is super relevant in today’s world… we’re all on this planet for a small amount of time, and… it’s important to take action on behalf of one another and on behalf of what is good.” Kiang echoes this same sentiment, saying that “The Good Place” critically examines “human relationships and what we mean and owe to each other.”

And on a personal note, this show has taken me on an adventure, allowing me to examine my own life, all with a sense of humor. After the final season wrapped up on January 30, it has become even more clear that this show is one of hope, love, care for one another, and doing it all with a laugh. Here’s the beautiful thing about comedy—it can take something as difficult as our crazy, messy world and turn it into a laugh, make my soul feel a little lighter, and even on my bad days remind me that there is good. It reminds me that I’m not alone, and I have the ability to love my community, my friends, and my family.

My deepest gratitude to the entire Soul Squad, everyone who worked on the show, and the friends who let me obsess day in and day out. Thursday nights will be a little less fun without you.

So what happens after you die?

The true joy is, and will always be, in the mystery.

FEBRUARY 10., 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 27

opinion

Reclaiming Indian Democracy : STUDENTS AT THE FOREFRONT OF PROTEST

O

n December 15, the students of Jamia Millia Islamia, a university in New Delhi, held a peaceful protest against the passing of the Citizenship Amendment Act—an act that effectively disenfranchises 2 million Muslims.

A peaceful protest on a university campus is quite normal for Delhi; it is almost an everyday affair in the capital.

However, the Bharatiya Janata Party , the right-wing government in power, has created a new normal—one where peaceful student protests are met with violent police brutality, mass arrests, and tear gas thrown in university libraries. As the situation escalated, brutal mobs attacked students in their dorms with iron rods, and a radicalized Hindutva extremist shot a gun at students marching on Gandhi’s death anniversary. However, the government didn’t realize that they were trying to silence a storm; their efforts have only fuelled a rev-

28 Tufts Observer february 10, 2020

By Siddhant Talwar and Mahika Khosla olution in the country, the largest since the struggle for independence in 1947.

Students are often seen at the forefront of political movements, with university campuses as safe spaces for political dissent. We saw the University of Paris in 1968, we saw the All Assam Students Union called for an Assam Agitation in 1979, and we saw Tiananmen Square in 1989. In 2019, we are seeing Hong Kong and India following the same patterns.

While some pass it off as aloof idealism, there is something stronger at play here. As Faye D’Souza, an independent journalist said, students seem to have nothing to lose and everything to lose at the same time.

The state-sponsored attacks against Muslim universities do not come as a surprise. The BJP’s long-held Hindutva ideology, which claims that India is a Hindu state, has been foundational to its political campaign. In the world’s largest democracy, one with the third largest Muslim pop-

ulation in the world, the forces of Hindu nationalism are especially dangerous. Following Prime Minister Modi’s re-election in May 2019, the country has been plagued by a series of blatantly anti-Muslim policies, each more outrageous than the last.

From the stripping of Kashmir’s special status (the only Muslim-majority state in India), to the Ayodhya verdict, which pardoned the vicious destruction of a mosque

by Hindutva extremists, the BJP’s populist and sectarian bravado is not only a threat to secularism, but to the very idea of democracy itself. The BJP’s most recent stunt, the passing of the National Register of Citizens and the Citizenship Amendment Bill, is the straw that broke the camel’s back, as the country finally woke up to the rising wave of covert authoritarianism.

The BJP, since its election in 2014, has consistently silenced, detained, and threatened journalists, activists, and politicians who speak out against their draconian policies. The most outrageous means of silencing has been the infamous communication shutdown in Kashmir. The region was denied internet access for more than three months, following the abrogation of its special status by the centre in August.

Police brutality during the CAA/NRC protests in university campuses across the country signals a dangerous paradigm shift: one in which any means to quash dissent, including through state-backed violence, is welcomed. The normalization of violence against minorities and those seeking to fight for their rights is evident through the support the BJP has ensured from other influential institutions, such as mainstream corporate media, and even the Bollywood industry.

The National Register of Citizens (NRC) asks all Indians to show proof of their citizenship through documentation, a requirement that is impossible to meet in a country where a majority of the population lives in rural areas without access to basic needs. However, the CAA is an amendment which claims that undocumented citizens of all other religious minorities besides Islam can apply for fast-tracked citi-

PHOTOGRAPHY BY PTI (LEFT) AND SIDDHANT TALWAR (RIGHT)

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zenship. The CAA also offers citizenship to “persecuted minorities” of all religions besides Islam, from Pakistan, Afghanistan and Bangladesh. Both amendments were initially only to be implemented in Assam, a northeastern state with a large migrant population. However, they were never meant to be religiously motivated. When Home Minister Amit Shah claimed that NRC would be implemented nation-wide, the people took to the streets.

The sheer immensity of student solidarity in this movement has been particularly striking. Students from universities around India—across lines of class, caste, gender, and most importantly, religion—are standing together to protest against the CAA and NRC, the police brutality, and the BJP’s attempt to dismantle Indian democracy.

Students have shown immense solidarity to the women of Shaheen Bagh— one of the longest 24-hour protests in India. They have shown up daily, fed people, provided medical services, ensured that protesters know their rights, shared alerts on social media, and helped maintain a peaceful and productive environment.

There has been immense international support for the student movement too; Tufts, Harvard, Yale, Dartmouth, and a plethora of other institutions poured in support and solidarity statements. There have also been ongoing protests in state capitals and university campuses across the world, the most recent one in Boston

DESIGN BY KATE BOWERS

being the 24-hour sit-in in Harvard Square on India’s Republic Day, organized by the Harvard Indian Students Association.

The increasing moral policing, the presence of paramilitary forces on university campuses, and the public condemnation of dissenting students curb the intellectual freedoms that are the foundations of educational institutions. Public universities in India, such as JNU and Jamia, act as undercommons and their success relies on their social, cultural, and political subversions. The fact that students have nothing to lose, yet everything to lose at the same time, is a perceived threat to the BJP’s Hindutva agenda. The BJP’s violent reaction to student protests not only aims to strip these universities of their exceptionalism, but also has grave implications on the future of democracy. It is in times like this where one recalls Ambedkar’s eminent call to, “educate, agitate, organise.”

Hum Dekhenge—a poem by famous Muslim protest poet Faiz—was “under review” after being called “anti-Hindu” in IIT Kanpur. University campuses have long served as places where freedom of speech thrives in its truest form—where the Constitution comes to life and democracy tries to exist in its idyllic form. As part of the academic community, it is our duty to stand in support with Jamia, AMU, JNU, and all our fellow protesting students in India, to show our support, to take to the streets, and increase pressure on the

Modi government from abroad. Given the sizeable South Asian population at Tufts, it is a sad reality that only a handful of Tufts undergrads attended the recent protest at Harvard on India’s Republic Day. Our community failed to show up. It’s time to walk the talk. It’s time to show up.

Wo din ke jis ka wada hai Jo lauh-e-azl mein likha hai Jab zulm-o-sitam ke koh-e-garan Rooi ki tarah ur jaenge …. ...Hum dekhenge Lazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge When these high mountains Of tyranny and oppression turn to fluff and evaporate... ...We shall see Certainly we, too, shall see that day that has been promised to us

february 10, 2020 Tufts Observer 29

spill coffee on me :)