Fall 2016 Issue 5

Tufts Observer

VOLUME CXXXI, ISSUE 5

November 19, 2016

Post-Election Issue

Tufts Observer The Tufts Observer has been Tufts’ student publication of record since 1895. Our dedication to indepth reporting, journalistic innovation, and honest dialogue has remained intact for over a century.

Today, we offer insightful news analysis, cogent and diverse opinion pieces, creative writing, and lively reviews of current arts, entertainment, and culture. Through poignant writing and artistic elegance, we aim to entertain, inform, and above all challenge the Tufts community to affect positive change.

@tuftsobserver www.tuftsobserver.org

November 19, 2016 Volume CXXXI, Issue 5 Tufts Observer, SInce 1895 Tufts’ Student Magazine

Staff Editor-In-Chief // Carly Olson Managing Editor // Eve Feldberg Creative Director // Chase Conley

Section Editors

Web Columns // Jordan Lauf Features // Sahar Roodehchi News // Will Norris & Claire Selvin Opinion // Julia Doyle & Ben Kesslen Campus // Greta Jochem & Emma Pinsky Web // Susan Kaufman & Misha Linnehan Poetry & Prose // MT Snyder & Liza Leonard Arts & Culture // Carissa Fleury & Jamie Moore Tech & Innovation // Lily Hartzell & Lauren Samuel

Art, Photo, & Design

Art Directors // Nina Hofkosh-Hulbert & Rachel Cunningham Lead Artists // Jake Rochford & Annie Roome Photo Director // Lily Herzan - Photo Editor // Kyle Scott Designers // Abigail Barton, Alexandra Benjamin, Benson Cheng, Josh Goodman, Hannah Vigran & Conrad Young

Multimedia

Publicity // Yumi Casagrande & Ashley Miller Video // Anastasia Antonova, Evie Bellew, Aaron Watts & Luke Zhao Interactive // Gabby Bonfiglio, Jade Chan, Danielle Kong & Kayden Mimmack

Writing & Copy

Staff Writer // Katie Saviano Lead Copy Editor // Dana Guth Copy Editors // Matt Beckshaw, Henry Jani, Julia Press & Sivi Satchithanandan

Contributors Madeline Lee, Emily Van Milligen, Bahar Ostadan, Jordan DeLawder, Eliza Kaufman, Riva Dhamala, Bruno Olmedo, Cam Mbayo, Nikita Shukla, Ethan Laverack, Liam Brady, Becca Leviss, Jacob BresciaWeiler, Nathan Foster, Jack Kessler, Mishla Baz, Jon Adams, Doo-yun Her, Jessica Mar, Jay Gray, Joseph Caplan, Allie Merola, Lizzie Boston, Justine Marie Aquino, Anique Barch, Sara Bass Nasrin Lin, Amanda Ng Yann Chwen, Megan Mooney, Joseph Tsuboi, Saba Kohli Davé, Jonathan Jacob Moore, Manal Cheema, Ashley Shen COVER BY BRUNO OLMEDO // EDITOR ILLUSTRATIONS BY NINA HOFKOSH-HULBERT

Carly Olson

Eve Feldberg

Editor-In-Chief

Managing Editor

Last week, the Observer put out a call for submissions with one simple prompt: how are you processing the results of the presidential election?

I got an email from someone expressing confusion as to why the Observer wasn’t choosing to produce journalism as usual. He cited the importance of offering reporting to inspire action in light of the election results.

Though I agree with the sentiments (and agree with the value of journalism, especially in times that hold so much importance) I am excited at the chance to showcase a snapshot of Tufts.

As a student publication, we are in a unique position—we have the rare and amazing opportunity to capture how our campus is feeling in a way that is deeply personal.

Within these pages you will find art, prose, poetry, reflections—all created by members of our community. And this is something spectacular. I truly believe that in times of crisis and strife, creativity flourishes.

Leaf through this issue at your leisure, save it for a rainy day, throw it in a time capsule—this is what Tufts looks like today.

I’m glad this issue is coming out nearly two weeks after the election—perhaps it can serve as a necessary jolt for anyone who was beginning to feel complacent, beginning to normalize the election of a bigot who was endorsed by the KKK and who has already appointed a White supremacist to his cabinet. Echoing many people more eloquent than myself, I don’t think that this is a time to “wait and see,” but rather a time to act. For White people in particular, we need to be thinking about what it really looks like to put our bodies and our resources on the line in a society that is, and always has been, deeply rooted in racism, anti-Blackness, and White supremacy. The results of this election are about race, and we need to act accordingly.

To everyone who took the time to offer their words and their art, thank you. This issue represents a necessary intervention into a politics of “business as usual,” so please take the time to read and reflect.

I hope this issue can catalyze future action in a time when we can no longer afford stagnancy.

Letters From the Editors

Post-Election Ghost

By Jessica Mar

I

’ve never been one to care much about the Tufts cannon (I remember going on the Tufts tour and the guides making it such a big selling point—I’m sorry, but I never have time to look at it sometimes), but last night, as I was walking back from my lab, I saw that the cannon was painted with “Love Trumps Hate”—the first smidgen of hope that I felt all day yesterday, immediately following the election. A reminder that I was definitely not alone in my feelings of anger, of devastation. A reminder that I am part of multiple communities here on campus that will stick together to fight against the bullshit that comes our way.

Wednesdays are particularly difficult for me because I am in class for nearly 12 hours, so I try to save my energy throughout the day so I can stay focused throughout the night. Of course, Wednesday, November 9 after Election Day was different. I felt more ghostly on campus than I ever did before, like I wasn’t actually walking around on my own anymore. I woke up on Wednesday morning to such awful news, and the world looked really scary to me. Even in my room, in a space I’ve molded into “home” for myself, I felt so terrified and unable to move when I woke up. Walking by the painted cannon helped to restore some of my depleted energy. I returned to my room, happy I took a different route. Happy—a little less ghost-like.

However, the following morning, I walked by the cannon again and saw that it was now painted with “Go Trump.”

If you are familiar with the cannon tradition, you’ll know that part of the tradition is that when you paint it at night, you’re supposed to guard it all night to make sure no one else paints over it. The fact that I saw the latter message plastered on the cannon within 12 hours of seeing “Love Trumps Hate” on it makes my heart sink because I know that people had to actively put so much energy to make sure this message would be the one that survives throughout the daylight, for everyone to see. It makes me so angry to know that people are so willing to put so much energy into projecting such violence in unspeakable ways that they have no way of recognizing or feeling themselves.

I walked away, couldn’t stop thinking of how destructive the whole situation seemed to be in my head—wait, no, I don’t want to talk myself out of this; it is so messed up in every way.

Replacing a message of solidarity with one that carries so much weight and fear for many people on this campus…just reminds me that the sinking feeling I had when I heard the result of the election is linked to how much fear my body holds for itself.

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ICON BY LASTSPARK VIA THE NOUN PROJECT

Art By Emily Van Milligen

Feature

Twenty Eighty-Four

By Jay Gray & Joseph Caplan Robot uprising, they analyzing, which humans are dying so if you’re a human you best be complying, they know if you're lying got sensors that tell if yo heart beat is rising No point in crying, or hiding, or fighting.

Just do what they say if your plan is surviving.

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PHOTO BY MT SNYDER

Home Sickness

By Allie Merola

ART BY CONRAD YOUNG

On Wednesday I babysat a little girl named Delia for a family who moved to Malden after ten years living in Davis Square. We watched Sesame Street and part of Kung Fu Panda together and at 8 p.m. I helped her climb upstairs and brush her teeth with organic paste and change into a onesie dotted with tractors and bulldozers. She loves trucks, she knows how to say the word “excavator,” she’s two so it sounds like “essavader” but I know what she means. After I tuck her in I get a call from my mother, she wants to know how I am and I tell her not so good and she asks why and I tell her because yesterday my housemate told me there’s no reason to abolish the institutions we can fix and then Ohio went red and every other state around it went too because Ohio is the historic predictor of these things and patterns don’t end as often as we think they do. My mother knows this, divorced in her fifty-fourth year, hard and quick to anger, a lifetime as a fourfoot-eleven inch woman with swollen red cuticles and waist-length blond hair that is not the least of her rebellions in an industry that still doesn’t expect to see her when she steps off the plane, my mother who mistrusts government and doesn’t have to vote for a woman just because she’s been one her whole life and hates the condescension of the liberal media and defends herself to me for two hours on the phone. It’s the longest conversation we’ve had in weeks and at the end before she goes to bed she softens and asks if I am going to walk home from Delia’s alone, she doesn’t want me outside alone at night and if I want to take a cab she’ll pay so I don’t have to.

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Art By Madeline Lee My work centers on people of color on the Tufts campus.

Painting has been an important outlet for me leading up to and through this election, as well as a way for me to connect to others and give voice to the power and beauty of the often silenced.

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Not Your Shoulder to Cry On Anonymous

T

uesday was another world. A world where I expected Hillary Clinton to be our next president. A world where I talked to my friend who is undocumented. I listened to her and was there for her.

In my mind, I believed everything would turn out alright. Truly, I did. So on Wednesday I asked people how they were doing, gave out a lot of hugs, and whatever. I went about my day. As it dragged on, I got angrier and angrier. I was boiling inside. I didn’t talk about it; I probably would’ve gotten a lot of flack and I was so tired.

So I’m writing because a lot of my thoughts don’t coincide with most of Tufts students, privileged White students really. Now, the news of our next president is painful, terrible, but I’m not that surprised.

Racism, sexism, homophobia, all the hate that Trump represents…has always been around. It seems more overt now, but it is inherent to America’s history.

This presidency is going to affect America but you need to understand something; you are White and affluent. You are going to be fine and your life will go on. You will be allowed your privileges like always.

Perhaps you’ll be granted more privileges with Trump in power. Your skin has always protected you, fought for you without you even trying.

As a privileged POC woman who has the means to go to Tufts University, I felt that the most worthwhile thing I did on Wednesday was checking in on my friends that are people of color. Our bodies have always been ignored, stomped on, spat upon. Our skin has always distinguished our experience.

Every POC experience is different and we each have our own burdens to bear. Our struggles began before we were even born and guess what, we’re still here. We are still surviving in White America.

I am worried for the lives that have always been at stake. I am scared for the bodies America has cemented into the pavements. I am afraid of the silent complicity that offers up bodies to save themselves, to hide behind.

I’m surviving in White America. I haven’t shed any tears this week. There’s been no space for me with so many White people swallowing it up. I’ve got my life to live and fight for. I’ve got friends to support and be supported by.

If you’re White, privileged enough to know that you won’t be deported, secure in your financial standings—and you’re upset, don’t ask me for sympathy. Send your feelings elsewhere. Use them for something useful.

Art By Cam Mbayo

November 19, 2016

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By Lizzie Boston

I

was considerably torn up at the outcome of the election. I had really thought we were going to make history with a woman president. I cried my share of bitter and confused tears. I woke up the next day feeling like someone had taken a crowbar to my heart.

Also my head. Because I was hungover. Anyway, the worst part of it was that my mother, who voted for the candidate I did not support, never called. I’m from the South, and many people I know and love did not vote for Clinton like me. And I was never rude to them about it. They knew I was going to vote for her, and I knew they would vote for him.

And they ultimately won, and we did not. So, I wondered yesterday on November 9th, why hasn’t she called? After all, she’s my mother. She and I have been through so much together. We have a strong and loving relationship. And, additionally, her party came out of this maelstrom victorious, and mine did not. I’m her daughter and she knew I would be heartbroken, but still no call. I didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. I wanted her to call me and have to listen to me cry to her about how the most disappointing thing— for me at that given moment—was not that a monster is our president but that my own mother, someone who is supposed to love me and support me and comfort me in times of adversity and great pain, didn’t care enough to do it. Still no calls. I waited up last night.

I cracked; I called her three times and she didn’t answer me. This morning I texted her, “Did you forget about something?” and she immediately called me back. She had many excuses. She was hungover yesterday, she had this and that to do, she was tired, she’d only gotten three hours of sleep. These are all things that I was experiencing yesterday as well (I was hungover, had this and that to do, was tired because I got two hours of sleep) and yet I found it possible to swallow my pride and call her—to have her not even answer me.

We hashed it out. The world keeps spinning. She apologizes, cries, says she’s disappointed and embarrassed about what she did. I say okay, I forgive you, I’ve always been awful at grudges because I’m a spineless people pleaser and can’t stand when anyone is upset with me or upset because I’m upset with them. But I’m ruminating over it now. About how unfair it is, about how I’m alone up here while my entire family—eight other people—all live within a one mile radius of each other. And I was isolated from them geographically yesterday and politically, too. And emotionally. I wasn’t celebrating, I was numb. And my mother didn’t care to warm me up with words to give life back to my numb body and mind. What does that say about our relationship? What does that say about her? I love her. That doesn’t change. But has this election already driven a wedge between us that our familial bond can’t loosen? What does it say about the party she supports (and the party that is now in power) that she couldn’t find it in her heart to comfort the loser—the loser who happened to be her own blood? I don’t know the answer to that. I just started typing this because I thought it was right.

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CW: sexual assault

To my rapist: When you denied that you raped me, I lost all foundation, all words, all conviction. I knew it was rape but somehow your words twisted into my brain and strangled the facts.

They still had more power than mine And now I see the leader of our country having the same affect on women. So many speak out, and yet his words still drown theirs out.

Was it my fault?

Did I ask for it?

These are questions I don’t want anyone else to have to ask. But these are questions that are forced into everyone’s heads as we see this man become the leader of our country.

As his disrespect for women, his silencing of women, his assault of women becomes accepted, normalized.

It took me nine months to realize I was raped. How long would it have taken in Trump’s America?

Anonymous

November 19, 2016

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the morning after

By Justine Marie Aquino This is it, guys. A few months from now, President Obama will hand over the book of Presidential Secrets in an ominously lit basement in the White House as a bunch of white men in burlap sack masks chant Quaker hymns and strip Donald of his clothes, painting him in the blood that the men and women of this country have shed to fight for our rights. Then probably the next morning some white country singer will serenade Trump as he moseys down Pennsylvania Ave to take his rightful throne. A lot of people will tweet about it.

We, the American farmers, blue-collars workers, private university double major-ers, immigrants, illegals, old moneys, new moneys, prostitutes, Catholics, we the Muslims, postal office workers, dog-walkers, professors of political science, lawn mowers, 7/11 owners, we the little guys and the big guys, we the beggars and choosers, we the young and the old, and we the children and the death-bed mourners, chose Trump.

I called my dad, who is legally unable to vote, to make sure that he was feeling safe and hear his words of reassurance. I somehow forgot, in this naive bubble I’m living in, that I’m from a red state. Picture me with my mouth hanging open, eyes upward to the cloudy, shrouded skies, hoping that the Lord somehow drop some words into my mouth so I could at least explain to my dad how disappointed and oddly scared I felt. He expressed his joy to me that his candidate had won, and I expressed to him that he is not his candidate, he doesn’t care for you. He says, someone needs to put this country back into shape, and Hillary cannot do that. My dad says, they all have to wait in line like the rest of us. They have to pay their taxes.

I commented on statuses from my red friends back home. I wrote, fuck you, and then I erased it. The sanctity of life must be protected, they said. Hillary is only a feminist for rich white women, they said. (This one I mulled over.) Some of them laughed at the north and said, hey down here we’re all chill. One of them said something about how he was hurt that all these liberals were calling him a bigot and a racist, and I said, you’re right I guess, as I posted a snapchat about how much I hate bigots and racists. Mind you, this wasn’t a rich white guy’s status, either. I considered unfriending these people, but then I thought, that wouldn’t really change anything, would it?

That would’ve just left me even more blinded.

I talked to a friend who feared for her uncle’s deportation. I said, me too, for you and for yours, and for some other members of my family, and some of the friends I left behind in Texas. I feared for all of the names that I know are on the DACA list, and then I ate General Gau’s chicken.

Then I wandered through google, looking for pictures of Obama and Michelle hugging and looking each other in the eyes, or forehead against forehead, or just laughing together.

Before my dad hung up he said to me this, something that he has never, never, never said before (and if you look close enough, this is exactly what all the other colored parents are saying): Keep your head down. Control your emotions, because you can hurt somebody with the things you say, and people will hurt you back. We do not belong here. Do your work, get ahead, and support your family. But keep your head down, we do not belong here.

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ART BY NINA HOFKOSH-HULBERT

Photos By Jordan DeLawder

“

So, now what? As a half-White, half-Jamaican, American-but-not-really-proud-to-be-anAmerican woman, what now? Day one, I took for myself. I got sleep, I healed with friends and family, and I reminded myself that women have always been fighting and Blacks have always been fighting. Gay and Trans* people have always been fighting. Latinx and Muslim people have always been fighting for equality, for fair treatment—we’ve always been fighting to be treated like full and actual human beings. This is not new, and we are strong. While it’s not fair, we are survivors. I will be okay. We will be okay.

What I now ask from everyone is that they spread love. Not just today, not just this week, but always. Love and watch over people of color—realize that things you don’t even think about affect them daily. Love and watch over Trans* people in your community—with the current state of things, they can use all the support they can get. Love and watch over immigrants in your community—know that they are trying their best to make an honest life for themselves. Love and watch over the women in your life—remind them that you value them as human beings, not objects, and respect their voices. Love and watch over Muslims in your community—too often they are only given shady looks and hatred when all they put into this world is love. Today, be sad, or frustrated, or upset—whatever you’re feeling is valid. But tomorrow and every day after that, we must actively combat the hatred that Trump has perpetuated throughout his entire campaign.

–Anique Barch

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”

“

For many, a more disheartening realization than an imminent Trump presidency was that of the massive hate culture we never thought existed but that has been brewing long enough to serendipitously overtake the government. This nauseating exposure has shaken gross amounts of families who feel personally attacked, yet the widespread responses of love that swiftly amassed throughout the nation carry with them a wave of hope even more powerful. This love culture that so readily and stoutly stood up against the discrimination is a side of America that I had no idea existed either. Humanity is the force that links each individual and is what allows us to mentally straddle social divides when we physically can’t stand alongside the other person to assure him or her we know exactly how it feels to experience the discriminations associated with belonging to a LGBTQ+, immigrant, non-Christian, or minority group, or even to a different political party. In sympathizing, through our common thread as people, we can react most meaningfully, helping combat the bigotry trying to squander them while shrinking the divide between alienated parties. Bridging divides with this most resilient force, imagine the impact a growing community of determined voices could make on this spreading culture of love.

–Sara Bass

”

Photos By Bahar Ostadan

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Feature

Mental Health & the Election

By Carly Olson

O

n the night of November 8, a palpable discomfort hung in the air at the Mayer Campus Center.

Packed tightly into Hotung Café, Tufts students watched the election results pour in, as state after state turned red on the CNN screen. For the majority of Tufts students, who supported Hillary Clinton, this night was expected to be a celebration. Instead, as the clock turned to midnight, it became clear that Donald Trump would be the next President-Elect of the US. Howard Woolf, director of the Experimental College, who hosted the Campus Center screening, sat on the Hotung staircase contemplating his closing comments.

After midnight, Woolf walked to the center of the Hotung floor, the TVs muted behind him. His remarks attempted to restore some sense of power to students who felt shocked and frightened by the results.

“How do you go about trying to make new things happen?” he said. “You don’t have to wait four years for another election, you can start to create social change now.”

“One of the clear things about this election is that America is a very fractured

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country and we don’t understand each other very much,” he continued. “This may not be the end of anything, it may be the beginning of something,” he said. “All right. Go home.”

On November 9, Tufts students received a variety of emails containing postelection resources. From the Chaplaincy to Counseling and Mental Health Services, several departments on campus recognized the feelings of anxiety that the election results produced for many students.

At an institution that is overwhelmingly liberal and concerned with issues of social justice, many faculty, staff, and administrators recognized that Trump’s win would have an immediate and profound impact on Tufts’ campus. As a result, in the week following the election, the university has created numerous spaces for students to cope with their reactions, express their pain, and come together.

Tufts Counseling Service sent out a campus-wide message after the election regarding students’ mental health. Signed

by Julie Ross, Director of Counseling and Mental Health Services, and Michelle Bowdler, Senior Director of Health and Wellness, the email contained suggestions for students who were struggling with the implications of the election results. Titled, “Post-Election Community Message,” the message contained “some suggestions for practicing self–care if you are experiencing stress.” These suggestions included “permit and accept what you are feeling,” “limit media consumption,” and “practice gratitude and hopefulness.”

Mental Health Services is especially responding to the ways in which the rhetoric used on the campaign trail has impacted students. “We are seeing a strong reaction campus wide,” Bowdler said. “I would say that this election had some pretty strong rhetoric and a lot of policies

were put forth that impact large groups of people….a lot of students are reporting being upset, scared, and anxious. We want to respond to that.” It is natural that many students feel marginalized or targeted as a result—circumstances which often require seeking mental help to cope.

Mental Health Services also wants to respond to the needs of those who favored the election results, many of whom feel marginalized on Tufts’ liberal campus.

“What we’re hearing from some of them is they feel concerned about people judging them or being upset with them in an environment where they may not be the majority,” Bowdler said. “They’re feeling vulnerable as well.”

Bowdler explained that, overall, this has been the busiest year for Mental Health Services, and not just after the election. “Mental Health Services this year is seeing a substantial uptick in volume, and that was before the election. We’re paying attention to it, really thinking through a variety of ways that we can give students the services that they need,” she said. But Bowdler was clear to reiterate that this shouldn’t deter students from seeking mental help. “That should not discourage people from reaching out because we want to talk to students who are distressed and address their concerns,” she said.

According to Mark Brimhall-Vargas, Chief Diversity Officer at Tufts, one student responded to the Mental Health Services email by saying that a similar email would not have been sent out had Hillary Clinton won. “I think this student is right, but not for the reason he insinuates,” Brimhall-Vargas said. “I think this is a problem of false equivalence. Hillary Clinton did not specifically target Trump-supporting populations with fear-producing rhetoric.

Thus, expecting a similar reaction from Trump supporters would have been sur-

Feature

prising. That said, if students who supported Trump had been so publicly traumatized at his loss, I believe the campus would still have offered support to them through similar means and resources.”

Generally, there was a movement among the Tufts administration to approach the post-election climate from a more community-centric perspective, opening up space for students to come together. The day after the election, a Post-Election Dialogue was held in the Rabb Room at Tisch College. Sponsored by the Office of the Provost, Tisch College, the University Chaplaincy, the Experimental College, and the Office of Student Affairs, the event was designed to host the Paper Project—an opportunity for students to express themselves through writing or art. The Rabb Room was covered in paper, offering a canvas for students to voice their thoughts.

Brimhall-Vargas explained how this event came to fruition. “The origins of the election-time dialogue programs sprang from a facilitator training I conducted with Nancy Thomas from Tisch College over the summer. In that training experience, there was widespread recognition that the campus was not really ready for the impact of THIS election, regardless of who won,” he said in an email.

Brimhall-Vargas acknowledged that this election held particular weight for many students on Tufts’ campus. Thus, his programming was based less on issuebased education and more on student selfexpression. “Specifically, we realized that the traditional election programs focused on educating voters would be insufficient to address the worry, anger, fear and vitriol raised by the election.”

After the election results came in, the Post Election Dialogue was extended to allow more students to participate. “It was originally scheduled from 5:00 p.m. to 8:00

p.m.,” said Brimhall-Vargas. “Because of the obvious need, we started at 1:30 p.m. that afternoon.”

Students seemed to appreciate that this space was made available after the election.

“Students who came were generally in a very somber mood,” said Brimhall-Vargas.

“They engaged the Paper Project with sincerity and respect.” Rev. Greg McGonigle, University Chaplain, said that students want to continue the dialogue that the Paper Project began. “Some students are thinking about making more chart paper available for continuing opportunities for expression and engagement over the coming days and weeks,” he said.

Independently, the Tufts Chaplaincy offered additional spaces for students to feel supported. “Given the divisions in American society that have become increasingly apparent over the course of the presidential campaigns, it was felt that opportunities for conversation and engagement following the election would be needed whatever the results were,” McGonigle said in an email. In response to student requests, Goddard Chapel was opened for prayer, meditation, reflection, and pastoral conversation on the day following the election.

Some of the Chaplaincy’s events were planned prior to the election while others were created as a reaction to the results.

“Several campus religious and philosophical communities began adding programs or refocusing existing programs to address the results of the election, including the Muslim Students Association, the Humanist Community at Tufts, and the CAFÉ interfaith discussion group,” McGonigle explained. “The Tufts Mindfulness Buddhist Sangha was already planning to develop a healing mural for the first week of December, and it is likely that project will be shaped in part by the national climate.”

McGonigle recalled an overwhelming sense of despondence from the students who attended the Chaplaincy’s events.

“Many students who came expressed disappointment with the results of the election,” he said.

Rev. McGonigle emphasized that the role of the Chaplaincy and the role of Mental Health Services is different. “Counseling and Mental Health Services responds to student mental health concerns that might arise, while the University Chaplaincy seeks to respond to spiritual, ethical, and existential dimensions,” he said. He explained that the Chaplaincy focuses on providing space for reflection, discussion, and support—resources that are different, and can be used in tandem with, those of Mental Health Services.

Some see acknowledging the emotional, mental, and spiritual state on campus as necessary for progress to be made.

Howard Woolf hopes that spaces for reflection will be breeding grounds for future action. “It’s great that students feel like the potential for these spaces to become available is real,” he said. “The emotional response is going to be with us for a long time and needs to be addressed.”

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the cost of a liberal arts education

By Nasrin Lin

you were up since seven and the apron, smudged—hid the strain, the story, the strain behind the story, your story, hidden behind a ribbon, perfectly-tied. but I saw the strands of silver, draping your cheekbones as you sliced the cabbage, kneaded the pork pots and pans facing you, papers and pens facing me, I was looking at you and you were looking out at the snow, at how it shone, it’s beautiful you said yet all I saw was the silver, so bright it hurts as I bullet-pointed the history of Asian immigrants for an hour long test but the real test, no expiration date no excuses came in pots and pans and in cabbage and pork bought at eight a.m. by the early bird who never took and only gave. question number one: Define the “model minority.”

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ART BY BRUNO OLMEDO

Art by Bruno Olmedo

the day after the election

By Amanda Ng Yann Chwen today, an orange racist rapist became the president of the loudest country in the world and i woke up before my alarm went off. body tense, heart exploding, head spinning. i woke up and remembered the plan i’d written to survive today, written for myself, for us. i read the plan. i read the results. i read my professors’ tweets that explained and condemned and raged and hurt and built. i read the love that filled my facebook newsfeed. when i felt like it was too much, i managed to put my phone down. i stretched my body—out of sequence, according to my plan, but at least i did it. my plan also said to go on a run because this stolen land is gorgeous in the fall, but i was too fucking tired to move. so instead, i took a shower, wore my favourite top with flying pigs and put on thick eyeliner for the second time this semester. i made a smoothie and ate half an avocado with soy sauce—which all tasted like nothing. sent loving messages to the friends on campus who make me feel safe. emailed professors that today was not a homework day and i would not be turning in any essays soon. crossed the road, went to dance class where we (ironically) voted to achieve “consensus” to take today as a stretch day instead of a ballet class. my friend sat on her blanket next to me and told me that she was still in shock, and i awkwardly reached my hand across the cold floor to hold hers. the late fall sunshine streamed in through the high windows, illuminating the floating dust, the colourful blocks and blankets on the black dance floor. everything was quiet and beautiful. we put the blankets back into the closet, and a classmate i’d never talked to before told me the blog post i’d written the previous night was beautiful. in class, we watched a video about wanting a black woman, a trans person, someone who’s been to prison, had an abortion, stood in line in clinics ... for president. wearing a black T-shirt that read, “CAN I LIVE?,” my professor wrote on the board: “WHITE SUPREMACY. TOXIC MASCULINITY” and began class with tears streaming down his face and we sat in silence and held space and cried. a classmate stood up, asked for the keys to our professor’s office and got him/us his box of tissues—my favourite moment of the day. cheery classical music in rigid 4/4 count flowed in through the open door from the practice rooms nearby, and i jumped up from my seat to slam the door shut. i said i felt angry that i did not have control over my body’s tension, angry that the previous night, my SMFA teacher, who is a mexican man, was so patient with a trump supporter classmate. afterwards when i asked him why he was so patient, he told me it’s because we all have to respect each other. some people have to hurt so much more though. i asked everyone what it meant to keep going, why we spend our lifetimes doing this work, what justice feels like and was told my questions sounded like white liberals on facebook who think having trump as president is different from the way things have always been. i stood on the sidewalk outside of crafts house and thought of all the children who will grow up in the world with yet another explicitly hateful political leader (like my country’s prime minister, just much more influential) and cried and wondered whether my eyeliner would run. stepping in to a compulsory meeting, i sat in my chair, ate a vegan burrito, talked about an essay that’s due that i don’t plan to submit, heard about the debrief event poli sci wants to host that i would never feel safe at, wrapped a cookie in a napkin and slipped out, telling them i had to take care of myself. in the same building, i tried to reserve a room but the woman in charge was staring at her computer holding a tissue to her face and crying, so i walked downhill, cancelled my chiropractor appointment and took the joey to davis.

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“hi, i called about getting my hair shaved? yeah, zero cut, wait what does that mean? oh yeah, that. thanks.” shaving my head bald was the one thing i felt i had control of today. my family’s comments of “you’ll never find a husband!” over the next skype call could wait. the hairdresser asked me if i’m from mass, and i slurred my “malaysia” of a response as top 40 music played in the background and an old white man waiting in line stared at me. back on campus, i asked my professor if i could join the dance class happening in 15 minutes, and she said of course. i changed back into my dance gear, walked downstairs to ask if a professor if he wanted a cookie. “it’s clean, i promise!” he said no cos he’d been eating a lot of granola, but saw my hair and exclaimed, “you did it!” i told him maybe my hair just all fell out from the election stress. i walked back upstairs, took off my shoes and entered the dance studio. someone told me she loved the dance film i’d made weeks ago. this was the first dance class i took at tufts three semesters ago. i realised how much my dance vocabulary has expanded since then, how easy it is now to weight share, jiggle, spiral, fly, slide across the floor. i loved seeing friends wiggle and roll across the floor like children playing, instead of where i usually see them—sitting in classes, planning in organising meetings, marching at protests. i also realised how nasty it is to sweat and have no hair to hold the sweat. after class, i thanked folks for letting me join, but they instead thanked me for joining them—which was strange because it had felt like a very consumptive thing to do, but they told me they appreciated the different, new energy i brought into the space. after a hot shower and reapplying my eyeliner, i sat in the campus centre with a friend and bought mozzarella sticks for $4.50 with that tomato dipping sauce that tastes worse than the free ketchup and talked about the shock, the hurt, the confusion. she had to go to singing class so i headed uphill to the RCD suite in the basement of eaton, and lay on my stomach on the table and tried to read a short story for class tomorrow. nothing really registered, but i’d read it for another class two years ago so maybe it’s okay. i talked to a professor who showed up in an old black pantsuit, and overheard a conversation about how a muslim woman in a hijab in denver was told by a white man to her face that he will come back and kill her tomorrow. the person i consider closest to a mentor on campus told me i looked great with the shaved head especially since i have an awesome round head. i told her chinese beauty standards are just as terrible as white western ones—“they’re colourist, double eyelids and all that!” “well, in this case maybe it’s shapist.” she asked me how i’m holding up, whether the shaved head was a sign of grieving. i showed her my google doc of courses next semester, telling her i’m almost done, i just have to do a science and a math class. we talked about the loops of history, the reverberations across space, how we have to keep resisting or else it means we let them take everything from us. i felt so glad to be in her presence, so glad for these angry, frustrated, loving interactions that make me feel like maybe i can plant my feet on the ground, and maybe i know why i keep going even when the shit will not be dismantled in our lifetimes. with a close friend i’d texted for company, i lay back on the big RCD table and talked, laughed, reflected on our day so far, learnt about why having no hair feels extra cold (centre of curvature, bernoulli’s equation, #science). we hugged goodbye—clumsily knocking heads in the process—and i told her she makes me feel happy and grounded in this scary place. on the second floor of the econ building, i ate an eggplant sandwich from dave’s and we sat in a circle and noticed our breathing, noticed our weight on the ground, planted our feet on the floor and sat like mountains. we walked slowly in a circle, shifting weight from left to right, inching forward—“is it okay if we don’t move forward at all?” asked our professor, and the room erupted into laughter, given the irony of the situation. we faced each other in pairs, sharing responses to the question, “when you look inside of you, what are the fears that you see?” and i thought about intentional space—space, space, taking up space—the body’s wisdom, the no-bullshit honesty of body language … i felt listened to without judgment, held, loved. i left the room feeling slightly closer to being able to sit like a mountain, although walking ever so slowly in a circle did feel like 愚公移山—a chinese proverb i’d learnt years ago in primary school about a stupid old man who tried to move a mountain. at work, i sat in a quiet dance building and wrote about my day. a dancer walked past and took a nut from the box with the sign “HELP YOURSELVES! PLEASE USE THE SPOON.” realising too late that she didn’t use the spoon, she commented, “oh well, anarchy,” before walking out of jackson into the night.

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Disheartened, saddened, scared, determined, strength.

—Nikita Shukla

While I am sickened by the result of the election, the response of some people is also sickening. Saying that you hate America and that you want to move to Canada or burning the flag in protest just plays into the hands of the opposition and allows them to claim the American identity. I also find it very disturbing that people continue to frame Republican/Trump supporters as ‘stupid’. Trump overwhelmingly won support among people without college degrees, people who probably are acutely aware that they have been judged ‘not smart’ by education systems. Attacking intelligence is the tactic of middle schoolers, stop it and focus on the argument, not the people.

—Ethan Laverack

This is the first time in my life that I’ve genuinely felt unsafe, even in Boston.

—Liam Brady

My dad said to me yesterday: This is in no way a normal event; therefore, there is no normal reaction. Don’t feel that you are responding in a way that is wrong or abnormal; these events demand abnormal reactions.

—Becca Leviss

I am scared that my anger will wear off. I am scared that I will give in to cynicism and apathy, that I will resign myself to four years of a fascist presidency. I am scared that I will take solace in the fact that Trump will not cause any tangible change in my own life. But we can’t afford to think like this. This is a life or death matter for too many people.

—Jacob Brescia-Weiler

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The country didn’t change overnight. Trump’s racially-motivated, white supporters have been here all along—they didn’t magically appear when the votes were tallied on Tuesday, and they’re not going to disappear if Trump is voted out of office in 2020. But the people who are willing to fight for America to be a diverse and tolerant country didn’t just vanish, either.

They’re still here, they’re still strong, and they’ll keep fighting.

America has never been what it ought to be. All we can ever do is work to make it better.

—Nathan Foster

Terrified.

—Jack Kessler

I’m feeling sad. I’m feeling like I’ve lost hope in humanity and the goodness of people. As a woman and as a daughter of immigrants in this country, I’ve never felt less safe, less appreciated, less respected. Our country chose to elect a racist, sexist, hateful, sexual predator over a fully qualified woman. This sends a strong message about what and who we value in this country.

As a child development major, it’s hard for me to find the strength and optimism to explain to children how this happened, to explain to the children of color or the girls or the children questioning their gender identity that they are safe and loved in this country, that their voices are heard, that their rights are protected. But I figure it’s our job to stay strong and united and show those too young to understand that love really does trump hate.

—Mishla Baz

What upsets me most are the people who categorize themselves as social moderates or liberals but who voted for Trump for “economic reasons.” Personally, that such people consider lower tax rates or fiscal conservatism more important than equal rights and protections for all Americans regardless of differences breaks my heart.

—Jon Adams

I just want to graduate without getting deported.

—Doo-yun Her

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I'm currently studying abroad in Kyoto and I am feeling completely ungrounded, unable to focus on anything important here. I'm thinking about my family and friends at home who are living the realities of this election result first-hand. I want to hug them and be with them. I am yearning for my communities at Tufts, and while I can feel lucky not being in America right now, I would much rather be with my people—using our voices and emotions to fuel how we are going to fight. America has seen its hateful past too many times before; this election is not new and should not be shocking. I am sending every person with marginalized identities who is feeling paralyzed by this election the strength the push through.

By Joseph Tsuboi

On the Night of November 8th

By Megan Mooney I had a dream I was selling lemons at above market cost to the grocery down the street What to make of this—lemonade? No, not after I heard the group of five men and one woman that night and the boys were jostling and the girl said:

my father loves him and guns there are so many guns in our house, we have so many guns

the bags that hold the collected leaves are made of the same stuff as the leaves are and we buy them, and the lemons, and the sugar is sold out

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It’s time to take down your American flag, Stars and stripes that have always meant layers of violence in layers of colour.

Take down your flags and hide under your covers because finally you are being faced with your reality.

But first, look at it And see how it benefits you, present, past and unforgiving future, while suffocating them whom you have made Other.

Strip it down Strip down your reality.

But this is not a November 8, 2016 story…

This is a 1492 story A 1670 story This is a 1776 story.

This is for all your stories of life you haven’t acknowledged are ongoing, And the stories of death you do not see yourself a part of.

For all the times white has used colour country and culture to preach (American) progress.

It’s queer you watch from your peripheral gaze, so vigilant of others in your straight-laced corsets.

Is it so hard to see others breaking your well-formed boxes of self-denial?

Your New World Order started only through your chaos.

Chaos you continue when you make. them. compromise. for you. in the name of equality, rather than military. so much so it is harder to recognise, than to revolt.

Take down your flag and strip down your reality.

Because this IS your story. as it has always been ours.

By Saba Kohli Davé

Be not proud of a flag that is red and white red for the blood of your War, white for the preordained victors.

And blue - caustic blue, a joining of water and sky.. marred by the murkiness of oil running through your veins. … like pipelines.

November 19, 2016

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Art By Bruno Olmedo

Somebody Made Love to America After Amiri Baraka never my president never my country how many bullets shot the ballot out my hands how many hands they chopped they chop they save how many times i have to save my dead body how many times how many times i have to save their dead souls you know soul soul make you move like you owe the world nothing nothing is what i owe the world the world runs on Dunkin' do you remember Tallahatchie do you remember Lampedusa do you remember Zong you can't denounce from underwater

who you screaming at

whose bones you want to see you human and smiling

you not smiling but you all teeth you all flesh

you get riled up and quiet that shake in your stomach every time

every time fire seems nice you think of water

so what are you really dreaming of i wonder they did this to me we sink honorable deaths they did this to me do you remember honor what that is what blood is if not mine i owe my self fire and every time i think of it i think of water who did this to me who did me who did me again who did me and said it was a rescue mission

who holds your hand while splayed on the operation table

who gutless

who gut you who want me who want me all the right ways the right way the sinking

whose right is it to ask you not to sink i woke up this morning and refuse refuse

refuse to float

pretty.

By Jonathan Jacob Moore

November 19, 2016

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Art By Riva Dhamala

As the reactions to the events of November 8 have been inundated with sentiments of shock and grief I will leave you this. A reach to optimism. I cannot express the fear and anguish that I feel as a targeted, visible minority and Muslim.

That for a skin color that was picked from a color palette I could not decide, that for a religion of my ancestors, and that for a gender of chromosomal and societal design I now have a President and a country (in half) that not only seems to turn its back on 26

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November 19, 2016

me but might very well condemn me. Yet, I will assure you this. Despite the outcome and its corresponding reality, you will not see me vanquishing my dreams of serving the US, abandoning a commitment to work to build its legacy, or demolishing my love of the land that raised me. The Trump Presidency is the last dying breath of the racist, xenophobic, toxic generation.

Inevitable and a product of our politics and people. It is what has been building up for decades, from misunderstanding

and superiority complexes that refuse to understand and listen and instead divides and alienates within the parties and from the American people as well. I do not blame those who support Trump, but know that their vote is a backlash to a changing society.

Yet, our backlash will not bring about the injustice theirs may very will. No, ours will fuel our vengeance as we rebuild America.

This is not the end, but our catalyst. We are the generation of social progress, political movement, and revolution. We will reclaim

our America and stagnant the damage of our oppressive history’s elected. This reality as realities of our childhoods instead should compel our pursuit of fomenting the progress America needs. I, for one, will not forgo my dreams of public service and office. I will not relent to the voices that have constantly told me that my creed and race condemn me, that our qualities condemn us. No, we cannot and will not stop until the America we believe in, dream of, and know of finally bears its fruit.

That is my promise and our future.

By Manal Cheema

November 19, 2016

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I was door knocking in Chinatown on Election Day with a woman who lived in the housing block we were in. She had white hair, cancer scars, and a tongue that could bend at least three languages to her will.

She stopped every single person we passed, asking people if they voted, telling them to vote for Hillary and No on 2 and Yes on 5, asking about their kids and grandkids and shooing them down to the poll station across the street. In the end, we got Trump, but we kept the cap on charter schools and got another source of funding for affordable housing in Boston. Maybe more importantly, we got folks who are organizing and turning up for each other.

Whatever happens, we’ve got to show up for each other. The monster may have shifted shape, but now we can see it for what it is—White supremacy in full force, wanting to reclaim Whiteness as a prerequisite to personhood and scapegoating queer, trans, Muslim, undocumented, immigrant, disabled, Black, & Native lives for the brokenness of capitalism.

Let’s also see the grandmothers who walk around, aching legs and all, getting their neighbors to vote.

Let’s see DRUM (Desis Rising Up and Moving), an organization of undocumented, working class, Muslim & South Asian folks fighting detentions, deportations, and the police state in NYC since before 9/11.

Let’s see PrYSM (Providence Youth Student Movement), queer Southeast Asian youth organizing against state, street, and interpersonal violence in their communities.

Let’s see Freedom Inc., an organization of working class Black and Southeast Asian folks building the leadership of queer, trans and gender non-conforming people against violence in Madison, Wisconsin.

Let’s see the Water Protectors at Standing Rock.

Let’s see the folks who have been in the streets for three years under the banner of Black Lives Matter, and resisting for 400 as Black people.

Let’s see the poets, the dancers, and the artists.

Let’s see the people creating memes.

Let’s see the people eating ice cream and crying together.

Let’s see us have each other’s backs.

By Ashley Shen

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Art By Eliza Kaufman

Tufts Observer Since 1895 www.tuftsobserver.org observer@tufts.edu @tuftsobserver

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