Issue 1 Spring 2022

TUFTS OBSERVER E TH LOVE GES LANGUA ISSUE ISSUE 1 VOL CXXXIX

TABLE OF CONTENTS 2 LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

16 A TASTE OF HOME

LEDITOR • BY AROHA MACKAY

CAMPUS • BY RUBY GOODMAN

4 VISIONS OF TRANSFORMATIVE JUSTICE

18 FEELING OUT EUPHORIA

FEATURE • BY MELANIE LITWIN

8 HEIGHT AS A HAVEN

ARTS & CULTURE • BY CLARA DAVIS

20 HATE THE TASTE OF FOOD WASTE

VOICES • BY ANONYMOUS

NEWS • BY AKBOTA SAUDABAYEVA

10 IN DEFENSE OF ROM-COMS

22 REFLECTING REALITY

ARTS & CULTURE • AUDREY LEDBETTER

OPINION • BY BRENNA TROLLINGER

12 WHEN YOU WERE HELD

24 CHAOS AND UNCERTAINTY

POETRY • BY ADEN MALONE

13 POSSESSION

POETRY • BY LAYLA KENNINGTON

14 CREATIVE INSET

CREATIVE INSET •

BY BRENNA TROLLINGER

2 TUFTS OBSERVER SEPTEMBER 28, 2020

NEWS • BY LAYLA KENNINGTON & ELIZABETH ZACKS

26 RUINS TO REDEMPTION VOICES • BY EUGENE IVEY

29 CROSSWORD

BY TARA STECKLER

EDITOR IN CHIEF: Aroha Mackay MANAGING EDITOR: Sabah Lokhandwala EDITOR EMERITUS: Josie Wagner

POETRY & PROSE EDITOR: Michelle Seitawan William Zhuang CAMPUS EDITORS: Hanna Bregman Shira Ben-Ami

CREATIVE DIRECTORS: VOICES EDITORS: Julia Steiner Emara Saez Bao Lu Eden Weissman FEATURE EDITORS: Edith Philip Melanie Litwin

CREATIVE INSET EDITOR: Brenna Trollinger

NEWS EDITORS: ART DIRECTORS: Gracie Theobald-Williams Kate Bowers Silvia Wang Misha Mehta ARTS & CULTURE EDITORS: Sabrina Cabarcos Juanita Asapokhai OPINION EDITORS: Meghan Smith Rabiya Ismail

LEAD COPY EDITOR: Marco Pretell MULTIMEDIA DIRECTOR: Unnathy Neltulla PODCAST DIRECTOR: Caitlin Duffy

PUBLICITY DIRECTOR: Janie Ingrassia STAFF WRITERS: Audrey Ledbetter Anica Zulch Chloe Malley Akbota Saudabayeva Leah Cohen Aden Malone Clara Davis Layla Kennington Seun Adekunle Eloise Vaughan Williams Ruby Goodman PUBLICITY TEAM: Millie Todd Sophie Fishman Paola Ruiz STAFF ARTISTS: Anna Cornish D Gateño Emmeline Meyers Aidan Chang Brigid Cawley Carina Lo Amanda Lipari Maxson

DESGINERS: Miriam Vodosek Emma Davis Tara Steckler Ines Wang Michael Wu Uma Edulbehram Meguna Okawa

Gayatri Kalra Julio Dominguez CONTRIBUTORS: Elizabeth Zacks Eugene Ivey

COPY EDITORS: Millie Todd Linda Kebichi Sophie Fishman Alexandra Ward Eli Marcus Emilia Nathan Jack Rogen MULTIMEDIA TEAM: Jasmine Chang Miela Efraim Pam Melgar Karina Malm PODCAST TEAM: Jaden Shemesh Jillian Yum Alexis Enderle Grace Masiello Browyn Legg Noah DeYoung

Feeling loved and giving love are very different things. Some may want to hear your words reverberate while others may want to sit in silence, sifting their fingers through your hair, limbs intertwined. Some may prop up the little trinkets you’ve gifted them, nestled in the corner of their desk. Others may just need you to pick up their morning coffee on a busy morning. Some will simply want to go on adventures with you, spending time loving you. Others may not subscribe to traditional love languages. They may define what it means to be loved and to give love in their own niche ways. Regardless, our love languages remain intimate to us and the way we weave through relationships in this life.

LOVE LANGUAGES

DESIGN BY JOHN DOE, ART BY JANE DOE

SEPTEMBER 28, 2020 TUFTS OBSERVER 3

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

R

Dear Reader, I love this magazine. I love everything about it. I love seeing my name in it. I remember running my fingers across the byline when the first article I ever published came out. Over the years, my name has become a resident of the byline and has nestled itself under different sections as an editor. Now, mine is the first name on the masthead, under Editor-in-Chief. My heart skips a beat every time I see the cloister O and turn the glossy pages.

I suppose it is only fitting that my first issue as editor-in-chief is published on Valentine’s Day, a love letter to this magazine.

I love making this magazine. I even love the MAB LAB, for all its off-grey, sparsely furnished, windowless glory. I love the button that I get to press every time a staff member arrives, even though it just broke. I love the weird little attic above Curtis Hall because every other Monday and Tuesday, the staff of the O lives here. And more than anything, I love the people sitting around me, crouched in corners and lying on their jackets.

The people that are packed into this space make me proud with every pitch that they send, every grammatical error they catch, and every tab that they format. Even into the early hours of the morning, sounds of laughter, typing, and cheers fill the space. The love lingers, even when almost everyone has left.

Whenever I pick up a copy of the Observer neatly stacked in the Campus Center, I see everyone who has put a piece of themselves into this magazine. All 127 years of staff members that came before us and all of the ones that have yet to come make this magazine a loving home.

This is also a letter from me to you, dear reader. A valentine, if you will. Without you, our words would just be ink. The stories we work so hard to uncover would just be a shout into the void. All the art we’ve made would just be pretty colors. So I love you too, dear reader, for listening.

Before I end my love letter, I want to say thank you to a couple of very dear readers in particular: To Katelyn and Sarrah, my dear housemates and best friends, for being patient with me, supporting me in everything, and for always opening our home to the staff of this magazine.

To Mira, for being my layout buddy, co-editor, social chair, and best friend. Come back soon.

To my friends in Amsterdam, for growing up with me, always welcoming me back with love, and reminding me to not become too ‘Americanized’ (ik doe mijn best!).

To my parents, for always telling me I could accomplish whatever I set my mind to, passing down your love of letters, and for your love, always.

To the staff of this magazine, for trusting me with your words and your art, for your creativity and talent, for making this magazine with me. To Owen, Myisha, Bota, and Josie, only now do I feel like I can truly appreciate all you’ve done. Lastly, to Sabah, Julia, and Bao, for figuring it out with me.

I love you all.

Happy Valentines Day! With love and in power, Aroha Mackay.

FEATURE

VISIONS OF TRANSFORMATIVE JUSTICE Reimagining Community Care and Accountability on Campus

By Melanie Litwin

Disclaimer: The author is a member of Tufts Action for Sexual Assault Prevention’s Executive Board. Her views do not represent those of the organization.

“W

hat would it look like to respond to harm in a way that doesn’t create more trauma, more pain, more

harm?”

I sit on the couch during the Tufts Women’s Center’s “Exploring Transformative Justice” event, reflecting on this question posed by community organizer Mia Mingus. She isn’t in the room with us, but rather on screen while the Barnard Center for Research on Women’s video “What is Transformative Justice?” plays. I jot down notes in my journal, wondering what would it mean to respond to harm in a different way? And what would this mean for Tufts?

Harm between students is a reality that shapes the broader Tufts community. Its effects ripple out, affecting students’ feelings of safety, support, and relationships with each other. Institutional and student responses to harm similarly shape campus culture. With this in mind, conversations about transformative and restorative justice practices offer some alternatives to current justice systems on campus.

Lilian Mengesha, Professor of Performance Studies and Race, Colonialism, and Diaspora, explained that restorative justice is “about restoring folks back into the com-

4 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 14, 2022

munities that they come from” when harm happens. One way this can happen is by creating space for open dialogues between all affected in conflict, generally through a facilitator, while centering the harmed person.

Transformative justice, on the other hand, can encompass restorative practices, but also seeks to change the very conditions that led to harm happening in the first place without generating further violence. This happens particularly through community support and accountability.

Both are alternatives to the standard of punitive justice embedded in American society.

Suppose someone steals someone else’s purse. A traditional punitive approach would result in some form of punishment for the “thief ”—such as jail time or a fine. A restorative justice approach might facilitate the purse being returned and an apology being given. However, transformative justice goes further and looks at why the harm happened in the first place. If the person stealing the purse has no money and no food, then those conditions will still persist even after they return the purse. Writer and activist adrienne maree brown offered this explanation of transformative justice in a video by the Barnard Center for Research on Women. In the video, brown explained, “If the original conditions were unjust, then

FEATURE

“STUDENTS FACE ALL KINDS OF BARRIERS WITHIN THE UNIVERSITY, AND THEY RELY ON ONE ANOTHER TO RESIST THESE BARRIERS AND TRANSFORM THE LANDSCAPE OF TUFTS.” returning to those original conditions is not actually justice.”

The framework of punishment in response to harm operates most visibly in the US criminal legal system. Sociology Professor Daanika Gordon said, “It’s a punitive and alienating and punishing system that creates stigma and shame, rather than reintegrating people back into the communities that they’ve harmed and giving them the opportunity to repair the damage.”

Punishment practices of the criminal legal system permeate college campuses as well. Julian Ward is a volunteer facilitator with The Ahimsa Collective, an organization dedicated to community healing through restorative justice practices.

He said, “The logic of the criminal legal system gets reproduced in the university which can make it difficult to actually pursue healing, justice, and accountability.” Under the current system, people are encouraged to lie or not say anything at all when they’ve caused harm; there is no motivation to take accountability, according to Ward.

Part of the flawed nature of Tufts’ resources is that there are students who have faced unjust consequences, even if they were the ones harmed. Last semester, the Observer published an anonymous article detailing a student’s experience not being believed by medical staff and administrators after being drugged at a party. Instead, she was required to attend a series of meetings through the Amnesty Through Responsible Action policy for her “own use of alcohol or drugs.” This process did not center her needs, healing, or address the root issue of a student drugging another student on campus.

Another institutional resource that students have reported as ineffective is the Office of Equal Opportunity, which harmed students are often directed toward.

DESIGN BY MEGUNA OKAWA, ART BY KATE BOWERS

Last fall, an anonymous junior was allegedly the victim of hate speech by another student during a class on the basis of her disability. However, in her efforts to file a formal complaint with the OEO, she described the conversations as “pretty much just a series of gaslighting me about how it wasn’t actually that bad.” The investigation is still open, but four months have passed without the administration taking any visible action. The junior said, “There was no effort provided by the OEO to promote any kind of true, in my opinion, growth and accountability.” Other students reached out to her as well, sharing their similar experiences of the OEO not adequately meeting their needs or helping hold people who harmed them accountable. “The system is not put in place to protect students. It’s put in place to protect the institution,” she said.

Due to precedent and privacy concerns for the involved individuals, the OEO could not speak to specific cases. In an emailed statement, Tufts Executive Director of Media Relations Patrick Collins said, “​​[Restorative justice] can be very

powerful in the right context and when all parties are interested in participating, but it is not appropriate in all situations. Because those who are party to a complaint sometimes are understandably unwilling to participate in that sort of meeting, and because a collaborative approach is inappropriate when certain types of harm occur, opportunities to resolve complaints using a formal restorative justice process can be limited.”

Collins did not comment or address transformative justice practices beyond restorative justice, such as community care and deconstructing damaging systems that allow for harm to occur.

While not the only type of harm, sexual violence is a very common form of harm on college campuses. Despite the university often not actually implementing punishment, the long process of reporting

FEBRUARY 14, 2022 TUFTS OBSERVER 5

FEATURE

the incident, confronting their perpetrator, and having to discuss the harm with the OEO can be retraumatizing or deeply upsetting for some survivors. This mirrors the harm many survivors face when seeking “justice” through the criminal legal system’s processes.

Even in the face of flawed campus justice systems, academics and activists alike are envisioning how a different future of just ice cou ld lo ok at universit ies and b e yond.

For approximately a year and a half, Gordon and Mengesha have been leading a research and teaching project called “Building Transformative Justice at Tufts,” which has focused on methods of repair, harm reduction, and justice—particularly for historically oppressed and marginalized groups. The project has included research on transformative justice, as well as interviews with organizations and resources at Tufts—including the Division of Student Diversity and Inclusion centers— and other universities. Another piece of the “Building Transformative Justice at Tufts” project is the course taught by Gordon and Mengesha: “Theories and Practices of Justice.” This new class aims to take an academic approach to exposing more students to transformative justice values.

Paula Gil-Ordoñez Gomez (A’21) worked as a research assistant to Gordon and Mengesha on this project during her senior year and post-graduation.

She echoed the sentiment that Tufts’ resources do not adequately meet students’ 6 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 14, 2022

needs. “[Tufts’ resources] are not sufficient because they are all modeled after punitive measures. And I think that is really tough because I think a lot of people are no longer interested in that sort of accountability,” Gil-Ordoñez Gomez said.

The anonymous junior who filed a complaint with the OEO spoke on the relationship between consequences and accountability. She explained that seeking consequences for the other student wasn’t about revenge or punishment. Instead, it was about accountability and making sure he would not be able to harm other people, since she felt that he was harboring deep biases against disabled people. However, he remained in the class despite the junior’s feelings of unsafety, and the incident has not been recorded on his permanent record. The anonymous student said, “I think personal growth is definitely possible. But I think some people are unwilling to truly engage with that to better themselves.”

Gil-Ordoñez Gomez suggested one form of institutionalized transformative justice could be a center where students would be able to report harm and receive direct support. However, both she and Gordon agreed formal institutionalization of such processes may not be possible. “I think that that would require more infrastructure,” Gordon said. “And we have to think about how we might build that up, and how we could operate that in a way that is cognizant of where these practices come from and that doesn’t appropriate them at the university level.”

Transformative justice practices originate in Black and Indigenous communities. These communities have been repairing harm and creating community accountability outside of the state for a long time, largely due to the state’s historical oppression and systemic violence against marginalized groups.

Black Americans are incarcerated at nearly five times the rate of white Americans.

The criminal legal system has grave consequences for Black and brown communities, who are most often on the receiving end of unjust targeting and state violence.

An example of transformative justice operating in other contexts includes personal and direct redistribution of food, resources, and wealth to those without access. Transformative justice functions as an umbrella term, encompassing a range of community practices divorced from the state.

Senior Katherine Wang, an intern at the Tufts Women’s Center, also raised doubts as to whether it is possible for the administration to align with transformative justice. She said, “I feel like if we intentionally involve administrators it’ll kind of get co-opted or turn out to not be what we want it to actually look like.” According to Wang, transformative justice at the university level needs to be student-led.

Furthermore, in a statement via email, LGBT Center Assistant Director joel gutierrez said, “I believe that only students can truly understand what students need. No matter how much staff, faculty, or administrators try to address student needs, it can’t be done without the active participation and leadership of students, particularly those who hold multiple marginalized identities.”

There are examples within the Tufts community of students and professors building and utilizing these practices in their own smaller communities while working to push the administration in a more progressive direction when applicable.

One way transformative justice takes form in student communities is through the work of Tufts

FEATURE

Action for Sexual Assault Prevention— which is student-run and separate from institutional resources. Senior and current ASAP President Curry Brinson said in a written statement to the Observer, “Punitive justice can often not offer survivors, perpetrators, or their support systems the proper justice they are entitled to. Instead, transformative justice allows ASAP to devote our sexual violence prevention and support work to provide education and care for those involved, rather than harsh punishment and retraumatization.”

ASAP’s education and care focused work includes educational events and guest speakers, biweekly survivor spaces for peer support, and workshops on topics such as consent, bystander intervention, and responding to disclosures. None of these efforts are focused on punishment or view punishment as an effective means of preventing sexual violence on campus.

According to ASAP, transformative justice recognizes that there is not a singular solution that works for all survivors, as different individuals want different outcomes and support.

The DSDI centers also serve as an example of where community accountability and care practices have the potential to— and in some cases do—flourish. According to Wang, the resources provided by

DESIGN BY MEGUNA OKAWA, ART BY KATE BOWERS

the Women’s Center, and other DSDI centers are part of community care, including their events, kitchens, menstrual supplies, food, and the presence of the physical spaces for gathering.

Wang has a particular interest in bringing transformative justice to student community spaces. Last semester, she hosted a discussion and journaling event at the Women’s Center—the first in a series of transformative justice events aimed at educating, inspiring discussions, and making the topic accessible. Her hope is that the series will encourage tangible action.

“A lot of the time, conversation stops after we talk about the issue and after we talk about what could be done,” she said. “We don’t really put that into practice, I think, or learn about tangible examples where it’s been done, and so I think that’s really important to feel invested in it and to feel personally connected to it.”

Wang explained the ways students already incorporate these values into their everyday lives, with care-work in how they check in on and help their friends. A core aspect of transformative justice is community care. The anonymous junior cited the support and validation from her peers as

the driving force in her even feeling confident in what happened and comfortable enough to approach the OEO. “Students face all kinds of barriers within the university, and they rely on one another to resist these barriers and transform the landscape of Tufts,” gutierrez said. To Gil-Ordoñez Gomez, at the end of the day, reimagining justice means becoming in tune with our sense of humanity. She said, “I think we are too creative [as] humans to think that the best way to deal with harm is to treat people with further harm. I really think we are far more creative than that. I think we are far more empathetic.”

FEBRUARY 14, 2022 TUFTS OBSERVER 7

VOICES

HEIGHT AS A HAVEN

By Anonymous Content Warning: Sexual Assault and Bulimia I have a complicated relationship with height. Growing up, my father’s side of the family towered over me. My grandfather and grandmother topped out at 6-foot-4 and 6-foot respectively. They passed their genes onto my father, who continuously perplexed my classmates. One day, in kindergarten, I remember my classmate Peter’s widened eyes and slacked jaw as he watched my father enter the building.

“Wow! Your dad is so tall.” He looked at me in awe.

“He’s 6-foot-3,” I replied, somewhat in wonder myself. He did not seem that tall to me, but Peter was the tallest kid in my class. And if the tallest kid in my class thought my dad was tall, he must have been a borderline giant.

I have always associated tallness with safety. After a scary dream, my dad would wrap his long arms around me and bury me in his chest. After our yearly apple picking trip, while making applesauce from scratch, my grandma could gracefully reach around behind me to grab the cinnamon. Afterward, while the applesauce cooled, I would steal my grandpa’s 8 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 14, 2022

chair and drown within its cushions—only for him to give a disapproving nod and sit in the smaller chair next to me.

I never came close to my family’s height, somewhat due to a cruel trick of genes and a separate health issue. Although, in hindsight, maybe that was for the best.

The man who assaulted me made even my own family feel small. Due to Tufts’ lack of extraordinarily tall men, I will not share his actual height, but envision him taller than 6-foot-5. Like many men who defy the laws of nature, his height seemed entwined with his personality. Initially, it drew me to him and reminded me of home. His hugs grounded me when everything felt foreign freshman year, and tipping my chin up to make eye contact felt familiar. However, as our relationship progressed, he could not settle for just friendship.

Come sophomore year, his demeanor changed. His desire for more became unavoidable and he only wanted to see me after I had something to drink. Desperate to salvage what I failed to realize as an already failed relationship, I obliged. But I

still tried to maintain some semblance of a boundary.

I told him “No.” I told him to leave, that I wanted to go to sleep. Instead, he waited. He watched me get ready for bed and then crawled into the space between me and the wall. Then he started to undress. His presence, his height, smothered me. For what felt like an eternity—while simultaneously an instant—my life plummeted into darkness.

My entire body powered down, and I felt frozen while my brain just clicked off. So much for the fight, in flight or fight.

I cried myself to sleep for weeks.

Overwhelmed by my own pain, my disordered eating habits, which I had kept a precarious lid on for most of my childhood, began to boil over. I hyper-fixated my newfound disgust for my body on my outward appearance and, less than two weeks later, plunged into the dark hole of bulimia.

Sure, I wanted to become skinnier, but, on a more twisted level, I just wanted to hurt myself. Wasn’t I to blame for what happened to me? Did I lead him on? Technically, we kissed before I said no. I was

VOICES drunk and stupid. I should have known better. I should have fought. I mean, come on, I could have done something other than shut down. Anything.

One night, after forcing myself to puke until my head became dizzy, I passed out on the floor of my dorm bathroom. Waking up an unknown amount of time later in a fog on the cold, but surprisingly not sticky, tile floor, I felt completely and utterly alone.

Roughly a month after my assault, I began therapy for bulimia. I still felt too much shame to share the root cause of my issues with my parents. Right as the clock struck the hour mark—signifying the end of our first therapy session—I unloaded everything I had held in. Mostly because I needed someone to know.

We talked for another hour about my assault. In a calming but vehement way, she helped me recognize that the blame fell solely on him and shut down every feeble attempt to blame myself.

Slowly, she picked apart the tornado of emotions that had ripped apart my ability to think logically and validated my agony. For the first time in a long time, I felt heard. I felt safe again.

Slowly, I relearned how to love myself. Movie nights by myself, oneon-one time with the people who mattered most, and finding dumb reasons to laugh helped. Taking therapy seriously, learning intuitive eating, and gradually forgiving myself for my own self-hate helped more. Setbacks riddled my recovery, but eventually I graduated from seeing my therapist twice a week to once a week. My friends also gave me strength and indulged me in my daydreams of pounding his head in with a baseball bat. Not that I actually would, but everyone loves a good revenge fantasy.

The COVID-19 pandemic helped in its own way. I did not have to see him.

As restrictions loosened and I started to bump into him around campus, it took a toll. My paranoia came back and I found myself always on edge. Deciding whether to avoid him became a splitsecond decision based on my own emotions that day. I had to reframe avoiding him as self-care instead of viewing my-

self as weak—like I initially did when I shut down that night.

In addition, and this took over a year to admit to myself, a part of me still mourned the friendship I lost that day.

Our movie nights, time spent mindlessly in the common room, and staircase chats played on replay in the back of my mind whenever I tried to convince myself he was the bad guy. I was not assaulted by a stranger, but by someone I thought I could trust with my life. Once, he even told me he would protect me from gross men. Too bad he failed to consider himself.

But even his own failings prevented me from completely despising him.

While hating him in the direct aftermath of my assault felt right, with time, allowing myself to view him as an imperfect but not wholly horrible human helped more.

Sometimes I still wonder if he carries the fallout from that night like I do.

I never reported him. Watching Tufts’ OEO system fail others discouraged me. I remember freshman year, a girl warned me not to use the service—it would just retraumatize and alienate me.

Two years have passed since the incident. Most days go by just fine. I sit in a somewhat imperfect, but improving, version of eating disorder recovery. Seeing him on campus has turned from a burning desire to flee to a dull desire to flip him off.

One thing that still sticks with me is his height. If I see a tall person in my peripheral vision, I wince. People who tower over me intimidate me in a way I never felt before. On bad days, seeing someone tall on the street out of the corner of my eye suffocates me. On good days, it reminds me of a time I’d rather wish to forget.

I wish I could say I found a lesson in all of this—that this horrible situation had some twisted message buried below. Some people have told me this

DESIGN BY INES WANG, ART BY KATE BOWERS

experience made me stronger, but I was strong before that night. In fact, the assault made me feel absolutely petrified.

But I eventually realized I could either wither away into self hatred or make the choice every day to keep going.

However, saved in a file on my computer sits a copy of all the texts from him admitting to assaulting me, begging me for forgiveness, then suggesting I delete his messages. I never look at it, but on days when I want to shift the blame back on myself, that little blue folder reminds me of the truth of what I have overcome.

I will probably carry this kneejerk fear of tall men with me forever, a constant reminder of that night. Yet, I find safety in my family. My physics teacher used to always talk about how “an exception proves the rule.”

I guess my family is mine. Even as I have grown to associate height with danger, they still remind me to take a deep breath and take that next step forward.

P.S. Please do not use this piece to question the extraordinarily tall men in your life.

If I wanted people to know, I would have said his name. If this piece really caused you to wonder if your friend assaulted me, then you might want to reevaluate that friendship anyways.

FEBRUARY 14, 2022 TUFTS OBSERVER 9

ARTS & CULTURE

in defense of rom-coms

By Audrey Ledbetter

P

icture this: on your tiny little laptop screen, two strangers meet and engage in some flirty (often antagonistic) banter. By some happenstance, they are forced to remain in each other’s lives: a new job turns them into begrudging coworkers, a fake relationship keeps someone’s parents from commenting on their devastating singlehood, etc. They become great friends. Finally they get together, or come close, but then, for lack of better words, shit hits the fan: someone messes up or fate intervenes with a misunderstanding.

Just when it seems like it might not work out, someone apologizes with a sincere or grand gesture, and the film ends as the camera zooms out on a dramatic kiss.

This thrillingly predictable formula is at the heart of romantic comedies (from now on referred to by the world’s greatest abbreviation, rom-coms). Rom-coms tend to garner no critical acclaim and frequently get called “cheesy,” “predictable,” or “chick flicks,” as if these labels are where good movies go to die. But in them we find both the most delectable escapism and the most hopeful messages about love. For these two qualities to shine, however, the writing and the journey between each predictable milestone matters; the chemistry and romance must be believable.

As much as rom-coms get a bad rap for simply offering happy endings without 10 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 14, 2022

any other substance, the best ones offer a compelling journey that makes the viewer feel invested. Izzy Essman is a senior writing her thesis on Nora Ephron, the American journalist and screenwriter who wrote the 1989 rom-com classic When Harry Met Sally. In her paper, Essman argues that “modern rom-coms need Nora Ephron because she [knows] how to tell a story and not just give you an ending that would make you happy.”

In the best rom-coms, the real joy is not the happy ending, but the road towards it. Essman continued, “When Harry Met Sally is a 13 year journey of two annoying people who find out who they’re going to be and then find out that a person they thought they hated is the person who they want to spend their lives with. It’s funny, it’s interesting, it’s weird, and it’s really well written.” The movie follows the pair from when they first meet and spend an entire drive from Chicago to New York talking and finding out they hate each other to reconnecting ten years later and attempting to be platonic best friends, all while falling in love.

Junior Maeve McGean agreed that the writing is key to a rom-com’s success. They said that sometimes writers are “relying on the fact that you as a viewer want [the protagonists] to fall in love. You as a viewer know it’s a rom-com, so you know that

they’re going to end up together. But the writers aren’t actually doing the work to convince people that they like each other.”

For a genre rooted in chemistry and romance, the characters actually liking each other is essential.

When this chemistry and romance is believable, you can escape into rom-coms, not just use them as a distraction. You can experience what you wish you had said or what you hope to find in the future. Senior Owen Lasko said, “Movies are a really good way to recapture emotions that you had, but you don’t get to access without experiencing them [again]…you [get] to see the relationship that you want to have even if you don’t quite have that.” Essman echoed this idea. She said that rom-coms “[make] you look at the relationships in your own life and find the magic in them…[movies can] show you two people who are finding love with someone they never expected to find it with. And they drive each other crazy. And it’s beautiful.”

Rom-coms may receive criticism for being overly idealized portrayals of life and love, but idealism can inspire us to hope for better. They can prompt us to reflect on the ways that we give and receive love, and the dawn of pandemic life in 2020 called for that idealism. As the world went into lockdown, our collective college comingof-age story—a montage of late night

ARTS & CULTURE

pizza, hungover dining hall breakfasts, and library Red Bulls—came to an abrupt halt.

In lieu of living out our own adventures, we naturally turned to those on the screen.

A Wall Street Journal analysis found that overall, subscribers for streaming services were expected to skyrocket over 50% in 2020. These streaming services, Netflix in particular, release a constant stream of original rom-coms and boast a large catalog of the classics.

In all their happy ending glory, rom-coms offer sunny messages for dark times. They are simple fantasies that take us out of our lives where we mask up everyday and can no longer fixate on a stranger’s smile across the lecture hall. “There’s a lot of uncertainty not just right now but just in general when you’re growing up,” said McGean, “and the formulaic set up that rom-coms have is comforting.” Essman agreed, “When things aren’t going your way, like [when] your sophomore year of college has been turned online because of the global pandemic, then you just want something to feel predictable. [You want] to feel like, ‘Oh, these two people are okay, maybe I’m going to be okay too.’”

While the comforting and predictable formula defines the genre, rom-coms that play with certain elements of this formula create a different experience. “There is always a gray area.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall and When Harry Met Sally, are obviously down the middle rom-coms; they follow the formula. They’re great,” Lasko said.

“But somewhere there’s a line, and obviously it’s not a hard line… some [movies] lean further into the drama aspects, and some lean further into the comedy aspects.” We might label these movies “Romance, Comedy” rather than “Romantic Comedy.” Lasko listed 2011’s Bridesmaids as an example.

“Part of the reason that we love [Bridesmaids] is that she [Kristen Wiig’s Annie] ends up with the cop in the end and we get to feel warm inside instead of what would really happen, which is that that hilarious woman ends up incredibly sad and alone because she ruined her friend’s wedding.” The ensemble comedy is the defining feature of Bridesmaids, but the rom-com elements provide a satisfaction in the ending that would be difficult to obtain otherwise.

Other rom-coms, however, free themselves from the shackles of the systematic formula. These movies have more room to delve into the darker sides of love or make social commentary. Lasko offered Broadcast News and Drinking Buddies as examples. They might end up exactly where they started, with a non-linear and meandering plot line that is more

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thought-provoking than satisfying. Lasko categorized these as “firmly not escapist.”

This kind of darker realism is not the only thing that can interfere with the escapism of a rom-com. The vast majority, and all I have highlighted here, feature a conventionally attractive white, cisgender, heterosexual couple. Though there are exceptions, they are often unfortunately rife with misogyny—the woman’s sole purpose is to find love, characters make disparaging comments about other women’s bodies (of course, our protagonist’s is perfect, no matter how insecure she may be), and the main man and his buddies spend most of their conversations objectifying women (and we are supposed to find this endearing). If rom-coms can teach us about love, then movies like these are really only teaching us about one type of love. Essman said, “People want to see themselves represented on screen so badly that I think they’ll be asked to accept less than the best… I believe that people who are looking for more diverse and more relatable stories still need to find that love and that part that makes it more than a crappy love story.” What makes it more than a crappy love story is a wellwritten, believable romance.

As insufferably problematic as romcoms can be, wouldn’t it be nice if someone ran for several blocks across New York City because they wanted to start the rest of their life with you, as soon as possible? After all this, who wouldn’t mind their post-pandemic life resembling a rom-com? As Essman said, “It’s not that I have unrealistic standards. It’s just that I have an idea of a good way my life can turn out.”

FEBRUARY 14, 2O22 TUFTS OBSERVER 11

POETRY

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POETRY

possession

By Layla Kennington

a little box from the thrift heart-shaped velvet molded with gold antimony brought home as a treasure to be caressed by sunlight and cocooned by lazy mites. when i spotted you it was amongst a host of other trinkets each catching only an eye, while you caught space on this shelf. am i trying to own you? or is this an act of adoration? you’re exalted with the chore of staying the same forever. the heart has no name except the one that is mine. for when you drink from my lips and call it sweet, i can’t help but feel all too possessed.

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ACULTURALTASTE OF HOME REPRESENTATION IN TUFTS DINING

By Ruby Goodman

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nevay Ybáñez, a first-year at Tufts, was born and raised on the border of South Texas and Mexico. She’s used to dishes piled with Fideo (a soup eaten when it’s cold outside), heavily spiced chicken and rice, and the sound of clinking bottles of Mexican Coke around the dinner table. “Food is a massive part of our being,” Ybáñez described. “It’s everything.” In the absence of these familiar meals, Ybáñez felt disoriented when she arrived at Tufts. “Because I grew up with people who are like me,” Ybáñez stated, “I’ve never had to experience that sort of ostracization, ethnically, and socially… I haven’t had any Mexican food since I’ve been [at Tufts], so I miss it a lot.” Ybáñez’s yearn for familiar food is not only emotional, but physical as

well. After a week of dining hall food, Ybáñez began to experience intense stomach pain. Her body wasn’t used to the new ingredients she was eating, or the absence of old ones.

Faced with an unfamiliar environment in college, many students crave the feeling of home. Some students may hang their home country’s flag above their bed, join clubs brimming with people who understand their culture, or seek comfort in familiar routines and rituals they practiced in their childhood. However, students like Ybáñez feel that one of the most central aspects of one’s upbringing cannot be replicated: food. Around the world, food is a key expression of care. Home cooked meals, childhood staples, old recipes, and food-focused events are woven into the fabric of identity, strongly associated with familial love and the feeling of security. Without this comfort, Ybáñez feels

WITHOUT [THE COMFORT OF FOOD FROM HOME], YBÁÑEZ FEELS THAT SHE IS MISSING AN INTEGRAL PART OF HER CULTURE, EXPRESSING, “THERE’S A CERTAIN PART OF ME THAT’S LEFT UNTOUCHED WHEN I COME [TO TUFTS].” that she is missing an integral part of her culture, expressing, “there’s a certain part of me that’s left untouched when I come [to Tufts].”

Tufts Dining tries to provide students from various cultural backgrounds with food that tastes like home. Amy Hamilton, Manager of Strategic Communication and Marketing of Tufts Dining, wrote in a statement to the Observer that Tufts Dining has “respect for cultural diversity and the savoring and preservation of family traditions and centuries-old food cultures.” This has translated into the increase in diverse meals in the dining halls, including Mediterranean, Thai, Halal, and Indian dishes served on a weekly basis. At Hodgdon Food-on-the-Run, there is a permanent Mexican food station, “Churros Calientes,” and a PanAsian section that often prompts lines that bend around the room. However, Tufts Dining’s most concerted efforts to integrate different cultures’ foods come in the form of special food nights, such as Hanukkah Dinner or Asian Food Night.

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Tufts’ attempts to diversify its food have led to backlash from the student body. On Asian Food Night in Fall 2021, Tufts first-year Winston Hsiao noticed that Carmichael’s scallion pancakes looked far different from what he’s used to eating at home. “I had them growing up,” Hsiao said. “Anyone that knows what scallion pancakes are, if they saw that, they’d be like, yeah, no, that’s not a scallion pancake.” Hsiao decided to post a video of the pancakes on TikTok, and the clip went viral, garnering over 2.5 million views. Hundreds of thousands of people commented, referring to the incident as “racist,” or a “hate crime.” Several small news websites and Instagram accounts featured the story as well.

After the backlash, the Chef Manager of Fresh at Carm, Richard Kaupp, contacted Hsiao and explained that he was upset by the product the school had produced and that he wanted to make up for it. After talking to Kaupp, Hsiao was forgiving of the miscalculation. “I think they deserve a little more credit,” he stated. “They do work pretty hard there, especially at Carm, and they’re pretty restricted in regards to their equipment… it’s not that they don’t want to provide.”

Since the TikTok, Hsiao has gathered that the scallion pancake recipe was a bit of an improvisation, as the dining hall workers had not received a gluten-free version in time. This was corroborated by Hamilton, who stated that “there may be ingredients that we are unable to use because they come from a facility that processes gluten or nuts. These special allergy free ingredients can change the texture and even taste of a recipe.”

However, some students feel that Tufts’ mishandling of certain traditional recipes does not end with one-off cultural food nights and sloppy mistakes. Ybáñez is particularly unsettled by Hodgdon’s permanent Mexican food station, “Churros Calientes,” which means “hot churros” in Spanish. “The thing that got me the most was it claims that it’s TexMex, which is very hurtful because it is entirely not,” Ybáñez stated. “They don’t even sell churros there… in a way it does feel performative.” Ybáñez urged that her discontent is not with the workers, but with the administration, which she views as coming from a particularly white,

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American perspective that does not accurately honor the cultures it is trying to replicate.

In recent months, Tufts Dining has appeared to take note of this sentiment. In response to the controversy of Asian Food Night, according to Hamilton, Tufts Dining committed to not only discussing recipes with cultural student groups associated with the events, but also adding tastings to make sure the recipe is agreed on. Tufts Dining’s goals are evident in the menus themselves; in honor of Black History Month, both Carmichael and Dewick-Macphie Dining Halls are featuring a different famous Black chefs’ recipe each Thursday all through February. This effort is emphasized by Hamilton, who stated that “[Tufts Dining has] expanded our approach to food diversity significantly over the past few years to reflect the changing demographics of the university.”

When students can’t find familiar foods in the dining halls, there is often a place or community on campus where they can turn to. In the Latinx center, candy from Ybáñez’s childhood fills glass bowls; in Hillel, students simply have to show up on a Friday night to feast on Challah and holiday-appropriate sweets; at culinary society events, students can find culturally-rich foods from a host of countries. As the administration continues to adjust its goals to reflect the wishes of the student body, students continue to seek ways to feel fulfilled by Tufts Dining. To Ybáñez, “even something as simple as candy really matters.”

FEBRUARY 14, 2022 TUFTS OBSERVER 17

ARTS & CULTURE FEATURE

feeling out euphoria

By Clara Davis

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ven if you haven’t seen the second season of Euphoria, you’ve probably seen the TikToks, memes, and tweets that have taken the internet by storm since its release on January 9. At Tufts, the show’s popularity has brought people together for weekly watch parties and heated debates about the show’s depiction of teenage life.

Euphoria premiered in the summer of 2019 but had to pause production in 2020 due to the pandemic. The second season picks up on New Year’s Eve, the same December that Season 1 left off on. Rue, the main character played by Zendaya, struggles with addiction throughout both seasons. Rue is also the narrator; each episode begins with her telling of another character’s backstory which gives context to the characters’ actions in the present.

Having garnered tremendous online attention, Euphoria has evolved into 18 TUFTS TUFTSOBSERVER OBSERVER SEPTEMBER FEBRUARY 14,28,2022 18 2020

a source of creative inspiration for young adults that are active on social media platforms. For example, young people have created a new TikTok trend commenting on Euphoria’s costume design. In these videos, TikTokers appear dressed in comfortable, casual clothing, until an audio featuring Spongebob’s Squidward comes in, asking: “And why aren’t you in uniform?”

Then, the person walks off camera before returning dressed in a trendy and revealing outfit in the style that Euphoria has become famous for. The trend points out the stark contrast between ordinary clothes worn in real high school versus Euphoria’s off the wall fashion. After watching enough of these TikToks, you can see that most high school students certainly do not dress like Euphoria characters.

But perhaps the goal of the costumes lies beyond realism. In an interview with Vogue, Euphoria costume designer Heidi Bivins explained how she designs each outfit to correlate with the characters’ emotional state in the episode, imagining how their feelings would influence how they get dressed in the morning. Bivins also recalled that when she was beginning to costume the pilot episode, Euphoria creator Sam Levinson told her that he doesn’t “give an eff about reality.” This gave Bivins the artistic license to dress characters in outfits that the majority of high school students wouldn’t wear to school, or have the budget for. “[The outfits are] so representative of each character… portray[ing] their arcs and explor[ing] [the characters’] identit[ies],” said freshman Hami Trinh.

By taking part in the “And Why Aren’t You in Uniform?” trend, young people are imagining what they would look like if they attended what the internet has

deemed “Euphoria High.” The styles popularized by the teenage characters on the show may not reflect everyday outfits, but they influence how young people have fun with clothing and makeup, even if just to post online. “The glitter and sparkles and jewels that defined season one really exacerbated maximalist makeup trends that we saw in 2019 – 2020, especially on sites like TikTok,” Trinh said.

Season 2 has a slightly different look.

The clothing continues to evolve with the characters, becoming even more detached from conventional high school attire, and the makeup is bold but less glittery. The most recent trend of posting Euphoria-inspired outfits online is a thematic progression of 2019’s widespread Euphoria-themed parties. The dress code at these themed events was to dress like the characters in the show, with dramatic under-eye glitter and vibrant colors.

However, today’s Tiktoks are not only concerned with celebrating Euphoria’s fashion. They also highlight the juxtaposition between “normal” clothing and Euphoria clothing in order to mock the show’s “unrealistic” depictions of teen fashion, and even behavior. Much of the internet is now saturated with jokes, jabs, and serious criticisms about Euphoria’s authenticity.

“Sometimes I’m like, ‘Mmm, is this realistic?’” said freshman Miguel Caba. “‘Is a high school really doing this?’ It’s a very entertaining show at the very least; the ridiculous stuff going on—like Cassie on the carousel—[kept] me engaged.”

There are usually several plotlines within a single Euphoria episode, leaving viewers with a sense that everything in the world of “Euphoria High” is pure chaos. The series has been criticized for the sheer amount of nudity and sexual content, especially since the characters

ARTS &FEATURE CULTURE

are mostly minors. Sydney Sweeney, who plays Cassie, revealed in an interview with The Independent that she asked Levinson to cut some of her character’s nudity, and he was receptive. Freshman Amina Meckel-Sam weighed in: “I think some of the sexual scenes are very graphic… I don’t think it’s ethical to do that even though the actors are adults.”

Meckel-Sam also questions the effect of such shocking plotlines in a show that engages with serious real-world issues. “A lot of the time, [Euphoria] exploits… real issues,” they said. “People want to be uncomfortable, so the sensationalism continues to make [these real issues] something shocking and horrifying.”

DARE, which stands for Drug Abuse Resistance Education—a program that organizes “police-led… classroom lessons” and originated in the Reagan era—recently issued a statement to TMZ, accusing Euphoria of “glorifying” substance abuse and other “destructive behavior” the show portrays. Students, however, push back on this narrative. “People say [Euphoria] glamorizes [drugs] because of the cinematography overall, but I think it does show the effects that doing drugs can have on other people in your life,” Trinh said.

Much of the online remarks and discourse surrounding Euphoria has been about whether it is realistic to portray such serious issues in a show about people so young. “It does draw from real experiences,” Trinh said. “Obviously it’s exaggerated, but I feel like if you’re from a similar place [you would relate].” For instance, Levinson, the show’s creator, based much of Euphoria on his own experience with addiction in high school.

The series also lacks relatability due to the experiences it chooses not to portray.

Despite being set in a high school, we rarely see the characters in class or doing homework. In many tweets about the show, users mention their school-related stresses as reasons they don’t relate to Euphoria. Tufts students echo these sentiments. To the question, “Where’s the homework?” Caba replied, “If I were going through all that, I would not be able to do any school.”

Although they don’t find the show to depict their own high school experience, freshman Isa Arabia related to the character Kat, who embodies many different DESIGNBY BYJOHN TARA DOE, STECKLER, BYDOE MISHA MEHTA DESIGN ART BYART JANE

selves throughout the series. “She always makes me laugh. I love her. I love her journey of self discovery,” Arabia said.

Many people also find the show relatable because they see their identity represented in the show. Euphoria is often celebrated for its LGBTQ representation. The character Jules Vaughn, who is trans and played by trans actor, model, and activist Hunter Schafer, is involved in an on-andoff relationship with the Rue. “[Having a trans girl as a main character] is groundbreaking for a show this popular,” Arabia said. Caba also noted: “It doesn’t feel very label-ly. [Jules] is just a girl and Rue just falls in love with [her] because she can actually find a connection.” Schafer herself echoed this in a recent interview with Entertainment Weekly: “I don’t think we’ve ever bothered to even try and label Jules’s sexuality because I think it is genuinely as fluid as it can be. She’s still experimenting, she’s still learning.”

At the same time, some have criticized the show, saying it lacks positive or genuine representation. In addition to the praise of the LGBTQ representation in Euphoria, there has been criticism of how the show’s queer characters’ relationships are flawed.

“I just wish they’d portray a healthy queer relationship,” Meckel-Sam said. Some argue that various Euphoria characters fall into racist, fatphobic, and homophobic stereotypes, and that creator Levinson has failed to portray diverse identities with depth and accuracy.

Euphoria’s lack of Asian American characters has become the subject of several memes, with many people on social media posting selfies and proclaiming that they are willing to be the show’s first Asian American female character.

Relatable or not, popular media deserves close scrutiny. “We know that children, adolescents, and even emerging adults are affected by the images they see and hear,” Julie Dobrow, Senior Lecturer at the Tufts Eliot-Pearson Department of Child Study and Human Development said. “Through [Tufts Children’s Television Project’s] interviews with people who create content, we know that many media creators are taking [the issue of representation] seriously and making changes in the content.” As young people consume the content TV creators serve, their takeaways are evident in their expressions, whether on TikTok or at the lunch table. It is imperative that we pay critical attention to these expressions and identify exactly what it is these young viewers absorb—the fashionable, the positive, and the harmful.

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n the conveyor belts that churn behind the scenes of the dining centers, uneaten bites of meatloaf, half a cup of pink lemonade, and a pile of left-over fries line the stacks. An average of two million meals are served every year at 10 overall dining locations on the Medford, Somerville, and SMFA campuses. If just one Tufts student leaves about 1.6 ounces of uneaten food on their plate after a single meal, this accumulates to 100 tons of food waste each year, according to an

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article published in a 2017 issue of the Tufts Nutrition Magazine.

As in any dining operation, food waste is difficult to avoid. But Tufts dining and student volunteers have made efforts that include optimizing food use in the dining kitchens, composting, and raising awareness through student-run programs.

Food loss and waste on campus is symptomatic of a larger problem in the United States. The Environmental Protection Agency released a report in November 2021 on the environmental impacts of food waste in the US to address the lack of progress made toward its goal of halving food loss and waste by 2030.

According to this report, more than a third of all food produced in the nation is never eaten, and almost a quarter of landfill and municipal waste consists of this uneaten food. Not only does this result in a waste of the resources needed to cultivate these food products, but it also leads to increased greenhouse gas emission and the loss of biodiversity and ecosystem services. For example, the amount of

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agricultural land wasted annually to produce uneaten food is equal in area to the size of California and New York combined.

As part of their Path to Carbon Neutrality Webinar series, on January 25 the Office of Sustainability at Tufts facilitated a virtual conversation between Director of Dining and Business Services Patti Klos and Nutrition Marketing Specialist Kelly Shaw. The duo discussed how their team is working toward more sustainable dining practices by reducing food waste on campus, sourcing food locally, and building plant-based menus using fair trade and organic ingredients. Klos and Shaw reiterated Tufts’ commitment to reducing their landfill waste by 3 percent annually.

Reducing food waste does not only concern the student and their plate. During the webinar, Klos said, “One aspect of waste reduction… that goes far beyond containers or composting is the waste that comes from being energy or water inefficient.” For example, Klos led the effort to replace the Dewick-MacPhie Dining Center dishwashing machine in 2012, which halved the operation’s water usage.

Another Tufts dining initiative that Sustainability Program Director Tina Wilson mentioned during the webinar is the composting program, which Klos introduced in 1994 with the help of two Urban and Environmental Policy and Planning graduate students. According to the Office of Sustainability, Tufts sends its compost to local handlers that turn the food scraps

NEWS

into nutrient-rich soil, which serves as an alternative to artificial fertilizer and helps keep food waste out of landfills.

Klos mentioned ongoing partnerships with student groups, such as the Tufts Food Rescue Collaborative. TFRC collaborates with Tufts Dining to run the Family Meals Program, an initiative where student volunteers package edible surplus food to donate to Food for Free, a Cambridge-based non-profit that redistributes the meals to food-insecure community members in the Greater Boston area. Even though the Family Meals Program faced constraints due to COVID last semester, they still managed to pack 500 meals and save 518 pounds of food through the program according to an infographic presented at the webinar.

Sophomore Evy Miller-Nuzzo, the incoming Family Meals volunteer coordinator, said that students who do not use all of their meal swipes are “a part of why [Tufts has] so much food waste—as a result of having to feed thousands of students… there’s no way to predict how much food people will need.” MillerNuzzo said that one way that students can help TFRC’s mission is to donate their unused swipes to programs such as Swipe it Forward or Jumboswipes.

Another sustainability-focused campus group that works alongside Tufts Dining is the university’s Eco Representatives, who help facilitate “Scrape Your Plate” and “Meatless Monday” events at the dining halls to raise awareness about food, water, and energy waste. Whereas the former event directly addresses food waste, “Meatless Mondays” educates students about the waste created from water and energy inefficiency associated with meat production.

Regarding “Scrape Your Plate,” Sophomore Charu Vijay, the area leader of the food justice Eco Rep group, said that, “In dining halls, you just put your plate on the carousel and walk away. No one really thinks about what they’re wasting… [these programs] are just so people are more aware of what’s on their plate.”

As to why students should participate in programs run by the Eco Reps, Vijay said, “I think that a lot of people think of climate change as something that’s going to happen in the next 40 years, maybe it’ll impact their grandkids. But if you look at DESIGN BY MICHAEL WU, ART BY AIDAN CHANG

the data, climate change is actually hurting [us] right now.”

In addition to these educational efforts, Tufts Dining adheres to the principles set by Menus of Change, which provides food service leaders and chefs with food preparation guidance that is healthy and sustainable. According to an infographic shown at the webinar, these principles include serving less red meat, being transparent about sourcing and preparation, and rewarding better agricultural practices.

In the spring of last year, Tufts Dining upped their ante by redesigning the Monday menu at Carm to be completely meatless. According to a 2020 issue of the Tufts Nutrition Magazine, unprocessed red meat production in the United States creates about 20 times the environmental impact of eggs, nuts, and legumes, as well as 45 – 75 times higher than that of fruits, vegetables, or legumes.

Sachi Maskara is a first-year student who has been vegan for the past four years due to ethical and environmental concerns around meat consumption. She said that although the vegetarian and vegan options at Tufts can get repetitive, the decent amount of vegan food available at the dining centers was actually one of the reasons she applied to Tufts.

“A lot of times I do just end up going to the salad bar, because I feel like that would be more filling than what was available at the vegetarian bar… but compared to other universities, Tufts is making quite an effort to cater to the vegan and vegetarian population,” Maskara said.

According to Maskara, “Meatless Mondays” can lead to a divide among students. She said, “Instead of having something like a ‘Meatless Monday,’ just increasing the amount of vegetarian foods on a daily basis without having a label

to it—which creates a social separation— would be better.”

Vijay commented that certain demographics such as student athletes are particularly hard to reach with sustainability initiatives. Student athlete Kylie Metcalf commented on these barriers: “Many student athletes focus on what we were told by trainers and coaches… They’re so focused on the health and nutrients in their body that they don’t really reflect on the negative outcomes that processing meat has on the environment.”

Despite the student body’s mixed responses to these initiatives, Tufts Dining continues their sustainability initiatives in collaboration with student volunteers passionate about reducing the university’s footprint. According to Klos, to achieve Tufts Dining’s mission, “It requires a lot of people to be open to thinking differently.

If we want what we want when we want it, we’re not going to get there. Yet that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t keep striving and finding ways to collaborate.”

FEBRUARY 14, 2022 TUFTS OBSERVER 21

OPINION

REFLECTING REALITY TUFTS’ HISTORY AS A VESTIGE OF SETTLER COLONIALISM

By Brenna Trollinger

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hen asked what he would do with a “bleak hill” in Medford, Charles Tufts replied, “I will put a light on it.” This is the story of how Tufts University was founded—at least the one Tufts chooses to highlight. But Tufts’ history does not start there; it begins centuries earlier.

This hill—also known as Walnut Tree Hill and later College Hill—was not bleak or empty. It was, and still is, the site of many years of trauma and harm endured by Indigenous and enslaved peoples. While not widely known or publicized, enslavement and displacement are inextricably connected to Tufts’ past, present, and future.

Currently, the Tufts campus is marred with buildings, residence halls, and landmarks that pay tribute to problematic figures in its history. As the student body of this university, we must ask: are these the stories we want to remember? Is this the history we want to honor?

Slavery and settler colonialism created the foundation on which Tufts and many other American universities were built. However, when we think about the legacy of slavery and trauma at Tufts, it is vital to center the stories of those who endured this harm—not those who enacted it. Tufts must reconcile with its challenging past, rectify current sources of harm, and reflect the values it espouses on its campus.

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Tufts is built upon the unceded ancestral tribal lands of the Massachusett, Wampanoag, and Pokanoket Tribes. While the dispossession of Indigenous groups from their homelands occurred before its 1852 founding, Tufts, to this day, occupies and benefits from stolen land. In 2019, the Tufts Community Union Senate urged the University to “create an official land acknowledgment, increase the amount of Indigenous presence on campus, and raise awareness of Tufts history with Indigenous peoples.” Since then, Tufts, largely through student-led activism, has created a Native American and Indigenous Studies minor, celebrated Indigenous Peoples Day, and formalized a Land Acknowledgement Committee in charge of drafting a formal statement.

To grapple with its position as a vestige of settler-colonialism, Tufts must take full responsibility for the displacement of Indigenous groups and erasure of culture which occurred on our campus.

Recognizing that we are on stolen land

must go beyond empty sentiments and move towards tangible changes such as increasing support for Indigenous people on campus, student organizations like Indigenous Students’ Organization at Tufts, and national movements such as Land Back. A land acknowledgment, while a helpful first step and tool for remembrance, is not enough to rectify Tufts’ legacy of settler colonialism. Land is more than parcels to buy and control: there are communities, histories, and people connected to it. Tufts must move forward with respect for the land it occupies.

Beyond acknowledging Tufts’ presence on stolen lands, Indigenous voices and histories should be highlighted and uplifted. The names, stories, and histories of the Indigenous groups who lived on Tufts’ campus remain untold and unheard.

These unknown stories point to the larger pattern of cultural erasure which occurred as a result of colonization and the establishment of the university. This forgotten and violent history entangles Tufts within the larger narrative of slavery and dispossession in the United States.

Even the name “Tufts” creates a historical callback to the complicated history of slavery on the university’s land.

The land Tufts is located on was once

OPINION

part of the Ten Hills Plantation, a slaveholding estate of more than 500 acres.

The land was passed between the hands of numerous enslavers, and eventually a portion of the plantation was inherited

by Charles Tufts, which he donated to create Tufts University. While he did not enslave people, Charles Tufts’ wealth was built through slavery, and his land holdings were a direct result of his familial connections to slavery in the Medford area. The Tufts family owned many acres of land and multiple enslaved people.

These enslavers included Dr. Simon Tufts, Joseph Tufts, and Cotton Tufts.

Given the slaveholding connections of the Tufts family and Walnut Hill, it is clear that the land upon which Tufts University was built is imbued with the generational trauma of slavery. In its name and location, Tufts University continues the legacy of harm and trauma experienced by enslaved persons.

Beyond its founding, Tufts University contains further connections to the legacy of slavery in the United States. P.T. Barnum, a founding trustee and notable benefactor of Tufts, donated considerable funds as well as our mascot, Jumbo. However, Barnum was also the enslaver of a woman named Joice Heth, who he used as a circus exhibit in his early career. Barnum falsely claimed that she was the wet nurse of George Washington and forcibly removed her teeth to make her appear older. After her death in 1936, he held a public autopsy of her body, continuing to grossly exploit Heth even in her death. Barnum, a powerful figure in the early history of Tufts, had a direct connection to slavery despite publicly supporting abolition. Today, Barnum is memorialized on Tufts’ campus with a building carrying his namesake and the mascot he gave to the school.

Barnum Hall is not the only building on campus where problematic figures have been memorialized. The third Tufts president, Elmer Capen, is accredited with building a relationship with P.T. Barnum to secure financial contributions to the school. Capen’s presidency is memorialized through Capen House, his personal residence which was later donated to the school, and now functions as the Africana Center. Cousens Gymnasium is named after the sixth president of the

IN ITS NAME AND LOCATION, TUFTS UNIVERSITY CONTINUES THE LEGACY OF HARM AND TRAUMA EXPERIENCED

BY ENSLAVED PERSONS. university, John Albert Cousens. During his tenure, Cousens instituted ethnic quotas from 1930-1940 to quell concerns that newly-arrived European immigrants would not over-enroll. Wren Hall is named after Dean Frank G. Wren who held xenophobic views. In reference to an influx of immigrants to the area, he stated in 1918 “the foreign element is creeping in.” Members of the Tufts community at all levels are complicit in this history.

Examples of white supremacy, xenophobia, and the trauma endured by enslaved people can be seen on every corner of the campus, but have yet to be reckoned with on a university-wide level.

Although the past cannot be undone, Tufts can learn from its mistakes, atone for its transgressions, and recognize the trauma it has caused. The legacy of slavery, Indigenous genocide, and displacement should not be hidden in the annals of old history books and archives, as this legacy is a part of the foundation of this university. Generations of trauma endured on this landscape cannot and should not be

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forgotten, and to do so perpetuates cycles of harm.

Recently, Tufts has made several efforts to become more antiracist and acknowledge some of its past harms. The university published an internal audit report on antiracism at Tufts in February of 2021. The report concluded that to move forward as an antiracist institution, and understand the complexity of its racist past, Tufts should create a task force dedicated to analyzing the history of racism at Tufts. While understanding the history of trauma and slavery at Tufts is a crucial first step, it cannot be the only step. The university as a whole needs to develop a greater capacity for equity, awareness, and action.

One path forward is to rename buildings that pay tribute to Tufts’ racist history. Several colleges and universities have made attempts to remove names of racist figures from their campuses, and it is time for Tufts to do the same. For example, Clemson University removed John C. Calhoun from their Honors College, and Princeton University removed Woodrow Wilson from the name of one of their residential colleges. In 2016, South Hall was renamed Harleston Hall to honor Bernard Harleston, a former dean, and the first African American tenured Tufts professor.

Barnum Hall, the Cousens Gymnasium, Wren Hall, and Capen House could all be renamed to reflect the legacies and contributions of Black members of the Tufts community. Bernard Harleston was also honored through the Tufts Leading While Black Project, which seeks to highlight influential Black leaders at all levels of the university. While not an exhaustive list, the honorees of this project represent leaders and visionaries on our campus that could be considered in renaming these buildings.

As an institution with enormous resources at its disposal, Tufts has the power to make a significant impact on racial justice and create a new legacy. Does it have the will to make a difference? Tufts has benefitted and profited from the exploitation of enslaved and Indigenous peoples; it is now time to ask how Tufts can repair the damages and repay these groups. If Tufts truly wants to embody a “light on a hill,” our campus must reflect the voices and stories that have been silenced, forgotten, or have yet to be told.

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NEWS -

CHAOS AND UNCERTAINTY THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE PANDEMIC ON CAMPUS

By Layla Kennington and Elizabeth Zacks

A

s of Feb. 4, 2022, there have been an estimated 76 million COVID-19 cases in the United States alone. Omicron, the newest COVID-19 variant first discovered last year, has contributed substantially to this staggering number. Due to its high transmissibility, the variant has played a large part in heightening widespread sentiments of uncertainty regarding life during a pandemic. Despite the surge in new cases, a significant number of individuals returned to work and school. Omicron’s existence, paired with this pursuit of normalcy, has resulted in everchanging protocols at Tufts and other universities.

Since the pandemic started, COVID-19 related policies have been in flux.

Governments and institutions have implemented an array of evolving mask mandates, vaccine requirements, and isolation and quarantine proce- dures. In particular, universities have grappled with the

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question of how to ensure public safety while meeting students’ academic and social needs.

Like other universities across the country, Tufts has responded with varying answers to this question. In March 2020, Tufts reacted by immediately closing campus and holding classes virtually, a decision in line with actions taken by other universities. However, since Fall 2020, students have been back on campus under regulations such as routine testing, mask mandates, and vaccination requirements.

Dr. Michael Jordan, the University’s Infection Control Health Director, explained that Tufts’ COVID policies have been characterized by their adaptability and focus on community health. In an email to the Tufts Observer, Jordan wrote, “Throughout the pandemic, we have taken a data-driven approach to our decision making and have focused on flexibly adjusting our policies accordingly, with our top priority being the health and safety of our university community and our neighbors.”

W h e n c a m p u s opened in the Fall of 2020, students were met with policies

that limited in-person contact and severely regulated social gatherings. Junior Abby Donaghue said, “I know a lot of students really suffered socially last year because the policies were really damaging to a lot of people’s social development.”

In August 2021, Tufts fully opened its campuses, allowing students and faculty to enjoy both in-person and virtual classes, as well as amenities like its gyms, libraries, and common spaces. This reopening came with a set of safety requirements, including vaccination and mask mandates. If students tested positive, they were made to isolate in on-campus modular residential units (MODs) for isolation and health monitoring.

With Omicron, these protocols have evolved once more. On Dec. 16, 2021, just days before the end of the semester, Student Life announced over email that all finals were to be moved online and that students should immediately leave campus.

In Spring 2022, Tufts introduced more stringent COVID-19 policies, including a virtual first week of classes, a vaccine booster requirement, the banning of cloth face coverings in favor of 3-ply medical and KN95 masks, and an increased testing schedule of three times a week. Despite these heavier restrictions, the number of days that COVID-positive students had to isolate was reduced from ten to five days, due to direct advice from the Center for Disease Control (CDC).

NEWS

According to the CDC, this change is the result of an evolving yet still incomplete understanding of COVID-19. However, on Dec. 21, 2021, Delta Airlines’ CEO Ed Bastian sent a letter asking the CDC to reassess the longer isolation period as it “significantly impact[ed]” the company’s operations, with other airlines making similar requests. This development has caused some experts to doubt the safety of the new guidelines, exemplifying the anxieties many endure in the face of evolving policies.

Although there are benefits to having flexible policies, these changing policies can also create confusion. Sophomore Margo Costigan said, “It can be difficult as a student because [Tufts] make[s] changes very quickly. Sometimes they don’t give you information right away. Especially last year, there were some changes with the COVID-19 policies and that can be very confusing as a student.” She added that, “I think they’ve probably done the best they can.”

The latest change came on February 7, 2022, when COVID Testing Support announced over email that the Tufts testing schedule would be changing from three times per week to two in response to a decrease in COVID-19 cases in the community. In addition to the change in testing, Tufts relaxed other oncampus COVID-19 policies. Most notably, these changes included a return to in-person dining and the reopening of the fitness center.

Dr. Jordan discussed Tufts’ recent changes to COVID-19 policies in an email to the Observer. “Our most recent changes which relaxed some of our guidelines are a reflection of the encouraging data we are seeing, which indicate that the surge is waning. It still is vitally important for our community members to

adhere to our testing, masking, and vaccination policies,” Jordan wrote.

Reflecting on her experience with Tufts’ current policies, Donaghue said, “I think that Tufts is at a place with policies right now [where] we can go about life pretty much as normal, with masks on, and that to me feels like a safe and fair policy.”

Matthew Winkler, a first-year student at Tufts, said that he thinks Tufts is doing a good job mitigating and implementing COVID-19 procedures. “I’m impressed by how much [Tufts is] testing and how vigilant people are about following the

Other universities have implemented relaxed COVID-19 policies even amidst the recent Omicron spike. A New York Times article titled, “Some Colleges Loosen Rules for a Virus That Won’t Go Away,” elaborates upon the contrasting COVID-19 regulations found at educational institutions across the country. The article cited the example of Harvard, who in Spring 2022 relaxed their rules for quarantine and isolation. “Harvard is instituting what it calls an ‘isolate-in-place policy,’ meaning that students who test positive would, with some exceptions, stay in their

mask mandates.” Winkler added that he has felt very safe both in and out of class at Tufts. Comparing his first semester to now, Winkler said that one of the biggest changes in COVID-19 policies he has noticed is the change in the testing schedule.

“I’m glad that we test more when it gets worse. I think that [an increase in testing] makes sense and it’s good to monitor [cases on campus].”

Winkler then went on to compare Tufts’ COVID-19 precautions with those of other universities. “I have a lot of friends at UT Austin, Texas State, and A&M, and COVID-19’s a big problem there. I know a big frustration for them is a lot of their schools aren’t requiring vaccines [and] are never testing. A lot of kids in class aren’t wearing masks and that makes them very nervous about coming to class and [makes it] difficult to learn.

I’m appreciative that I don’t have to deal with any of that [at Tufts].”

Uncertainty and ever-changing guidance from health officials has resulted in differing university protocols across the country. Some universities, similarly to Tufts, have implemented tightened COVID-19 policies and restrictions in response to the Omicron wave. According to Amherst’s COVID-19 website, Amherst students must wear only KN95 masks, are required to get tested three times a week, and must receive a booster shot if eligible.

dorm rooms, even with roommates,” the New York Times wrote.

According to the New York Times article, some universities have even changed the way they are thinking about COVID. “Universities from Northeastern in Boston to the University of California-Davis have begun to discuss COVID in “endemic” terms—a shift from reacting to each spike of cases as a crisis to the reality of living with it daily.” This shows that universities are not only shifting their policies, but their conception of what the current COVID situation means.

The evolving state of COVID-19 has greatly informed the safety guidelines of Tufts and other universities across the country. As of late January, the most recent peak is on a decline, a development that has directly influenced the loosening of recent protocols. While universities have been quick to adapt throughout the past three years, it is the lack of cohesion of universities’ responses that marks the uncertainty and chaotic nature surrounding the virus. The fluctuating nature of case surges and virus variants is one that leaves students at the mercy of everchanging guidelines unique to their individual institutions. These ongoing changes are a reality that will continue to exist as long as the virus does.

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FEBRUARY 14, 2022 TUFTS OBSERVER 25

VOICES

RUINS TO REDEMPTION: FROM THE BEGINNING “Eugene is a student in the Tufts Education Reentry Program (MyTERN), which is run by the Tufts University Prison Initiative of Tisch College (TUPIT). After his release from prison, where he was a student in Tufts’ college-in-prison program, Eugene joined MyTERN, the Civic Studies certificate program that offers reentry support for returning citizens. MyTERN also provides the opportunity for students from the Medford campus to take classes with formerly incarcerated MyTERN students on Tufts’ Boston campus. This is the first part in a three-part series written by Eugene.”

I was born in Los Angeles, California in 1977. Shortly after, my mother moved my brothers and me back to Boston. I am the only child from my parents’ union, the youngest of my mother’s three children, and the middle of my father’s three children.

My father was absent my entire life until the day he passed away from AIDS. The few times I met him, he was either high or pissy drunk, which added to the anger I felt for him not playing a role in my life.

My stepfather was not with my mom, but he was present in my brothers’ lives. He would take me, my brothers, and their siblings on

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fishing, bowling, roller-skating, and swimming excursions. These are some of the happiest moments of my ephemeral childhood.

My mother, tasked with taking care of three boys on her own, raised me. We endured many hardships from being poor. Some days were longer from hunger pains and some nights colder from not having enough heat. Despite the adversities, we made it through as best we could.

My mother was a fighter. All 130 pounds of her. She worked numerous jobs, legal and illegal, to take care of me and my brothers. We moved around a lot, but Roxbury is where everything originates. I remember getting picked on because I was small in stature, had crooked teeth, and was “too black.”

One time, I had gotten into a fight with a kid from the neighborhood when I was eight years old. When my mother came home from work, I immediately began crying trying to explain what had occurred. She told me to stop crying and that the next day after school she would be waiting for me at the bus stop.

As soon as the boy and I got off the bus, I was to whoop his ass or get my ass whooped by her. She told me to “never allow anyone to

By Eugene Ivey put their hands on you” and “do whatever you have to do to protect yourself.”

Knowing I couldn’t come home and express my true feelings, I began to bottle them up along with the frustration I felt towards my mother. Her lessons, beatings with switches (small tree branches) and belts, caused me to become aggressive which affected my schooling tremendously and resulted in two expulsions in the third and fourth grades. I was sent to see a psychiatrist, but I was recalcitrant. The only thing I learned from the doctor was how to play dominoes.

Despite my anger at my mother, I loved her dearly. She was everything and more to me. I trusted her with my life. I was her “road dawg” (sidekick); she took me everywhere with her. In my eight-year-old eyes, my mother could do no wrong.

Then came the move to Trenton, New Jersey in ’86. We lived there until the end of ’89.

It was there that I stepped off the front porch and began to venture into street life. I began hanging out with the older kids, skipping school, smoking cigarettes and weed, drinking, and learning about the drug trade. My mother allowed me to hang out

VOICES

with older guys, as long as they brought me home unscathed. She didn’t have a problem with them keeping me out late or overnight.

When I think about it now, I can’t help but feel appalled. What was my mother thinking?

Before I knew it, we moved back to Massachusetts. The chaos and dysfunction that enveloped our family ripped us apart. We were constantly fighting amongst ourselves; my mother began using drugs and drinking alcohol to cope with having AIDS (unbeknownst to me), and I fell into the street life.

Then I learned that my mother was dying of AIDS. Walking home from school one day, I had an uneasy feeling; something in the air seemed different. I continued to trudge along until I made it to the lip of our driveway. The house was a lime green, two-story home that was converted into two apartments. I opened the door to utter silence.

I found my grandmother and oldest brother, Chris, sitting in the living room. The far-out expression on their faces alarmed me. I asked my Nana what was wrong. She told me to sit down.

My Nana said, “It’s your mother, she has AIDS!” To me, hearing that my mother had AIDS meant that my own life was over and that my mother would die. A part of me was in denial that any of this was true. I asked what hospital my mother was in and immediately left to see her. I climbed on my dirt bike and cried on my way to the hospital. My tears flowed and blew into the air as the cold crisp

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wind hit my face. The pain and hurt were unbearable.

I made it to the hospital as fast as I could. When I walked in her room, I saw the woman I loved so dearly and believed was indestructible lying there, looking weak and fragile. I made a beeline to her and we hugged each other tightly and cried for a while.

It was extremely hard for me to accept the fact that my mother was dying. I did what I always did with my feelings: bottled them up and immersed myself further into the streets. I had a warped sense of manhood. I thought being a “man” was being tough, having a lot of money, sleeping with many women, not snitching, and being able to do a bid. Those were the “Rites of Passage” I naively subscribed to and believed would make me a man.

I executed those Rites of Passage with robotic precision, devoid of all emotions. I sold drugs without considering how or who they may harm. My only concern was generating money to benefit me, my family, and my friends.

However, I didn’t last long in the drug game.

I was cast into the Department of Youth Services. My initial stay in DYS did nothing to change my behavior; it was merely a notch under my belt, boosting my status in the “Hood.” When I was released, I dived right back into the same dysfunction. A few days after my release, my oldest brother Chris was arrested on murder charges.

For me, this was a

very traumatic experience. Chris was the second most important person to me and now he was also being taken away.

After my brother’s arrest, I was arrested several months later and committed to DYS again. My mother came to visit me and did not look good. I remember hugging and crying together before she left. It would be the last time I would see her alive; she died a few months later on Feb. 9, 1992.

I was 14 years old and still in DYS. I was allowed to attend her funeral. Seeing her lying in the casket, I was embarrassed and ashamed because I had to attend her funeral in waist chains and shackles. Sitting there, I felt like a leper.

My mother’s death rocked me to the core. I carried around a lot of anger about her death for a long time. I felt hollow inside, like a scooped-out pumpkin. In response, I did what I always did with my primary emotions when confronted with a traumatic situation: I masked them with anger. I found myself easily agitated, which led to more altercations with other residents and more restraints by staff.

I was emotionally immature and believed that by

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VOICES

being rebellious I was staying true to myself and my distorted morals.

Not long after my mother died, my girlfriend Alexandra was supposed to visit me at DYS. Unbeknownst to me, her mother, Joanne, wanted to know who her daughter was so adamant about going to see, so she accompanied Alexandra to the visit. As I made my way into the visiting room, I noticed Alexandra sitting there with an older lady.

I said hello to Alexandra, then introduced myself to Joanne.

Her first question was, “What are you locked up for?” I proceeded to answer her question, then went on to tell her everything about myself and my life. Surprisingly, she took my hand and held it the entire visit. Reminding me of my mother, she made me feel loved.

Eventually, I was released from DYS into my grandmother’s custody. She lived in a senior citizens residence. While there, I enrolled in Brockton High School. I momentarily tried to do better for myself, but after a month or two of living with my grandmother, she told me I couldn’t stay with her. I felt like she didn’t love me like she loved my brothers. I was uprooted again; it was the story of my life.

Homeless, I slept on friends’ couches and went back to selling drugs to feed myself. One day, while speaking on the phone with Alexandra, her mother told her to ask me if I wanted to go to dinner.

I accepted the invitation.

At dinner, Joanne explicitly told me that if I got rearrested, I wouldn’t be able to have a rela-

tionship with Alexandra any longer. I completely understood her concern for her daughter.

I was arrested two days later on drug charges. I wrote Joanne a lengthy letter thanking her for dinner and apologizing for disappointing her. Without my knowledge, she called DYS to find out my whereabouts. From that point on, she became a mainstay in my life, ultimately adopting me when I was 16 years old.

I went to live with Joanne, Jack, and Alexandra after my release from DYS in August 1994.

I was excited by the prospect of a new beginning. I enrolled in Weymouth High School at the 11thgrade level. I made some friends and got a job. On the weekdays, I would go to school, work, and hang out with my new friends playing video games, basketball, and attending football games. And on the weekends, I would travel to Brockton to see my grandmother and some old friends.

Here I was in a loving home and peaceful, stable environment, but I was struggling internally. I was so accustomed to chaos that I felt out of place.

A battle began to rage in me of whether I should stay with my new life or return to my old life. In the end, I chose my former life: the life that I always knew.

I sat down with Joanne and had a long talk about things. She asked me why I wanted to go back to the streets.

She didn’t want that for me, but wouldn’t

stop me from leaving. My only reasoning was that I had to be out in the streets. Joanne told me that if I left, I would get locked up. Her intuition came to fruition a day and a half later. I was rearrested again, indicted on a murder charge.

As I have reflected on my illogical decision to leave, I can’t help but think that there was some mental health element in play like Stockholm Syndrome. The streets were my captor and I their victim.

[The following two parts of Eugene’s story will be released in the following two issues of the Tufts Observer.]

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DESIGN BY INES WANG, ART BY KATE BOWERS

FEATURE

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

By Tara Steckler

Answer key available at tuftsobserver.org DESIGN BY TARA STECKLER

FEBRUARY 14, 2022 TUFTS OBSERVER 29

XOXO