COUNTERPOINT the wellesley college journal of campus life september 2015 volume 44 issue 1
LETTER FROM THE EDITORS
Dearest Reader, Welcome back to another year of Counterpoint! We’re excited for the upcoming academic year and we hope to continuously expand the public forum we strive to create on campus. A big goal of ours is to diversify our writership overall, in order to better reflect the voices that make our campus what it is. We’ve always worked to publish every submission that we receive, regardless of whether or not we personally agree with the viewpoints expressed.
We’ve reviewed and appreciated the feedback we received from the survey we sent out over the summer, and are working to incorporate your suggestions wherever possible. One of the most central requests we received was to publish more work by People of Color, Queer folks, Davis scholars, and individuals who hail from lower socioeconomic backgrounds. During our time as co-Editors-in-Chief, we’ve noticed that the vast majority of the submissions we receive on a month-to-month basis center around a white, straight, cis, upper-middle-class perspective, and oftentimes suffer from a general lack of diversity. Our hope for our senior year as editors for Counterpoint is to establish a space that actively works to decenter these narratives in favor of creating a more (Q)POC- and lower SES-friendly space. We are seeking out submissions from a more diverse pool of writers, and we will publish anything and everything you have feelings, thoughts, or opinions about. We hope that our sisters and siblings of all backgrounds feel comfortable making use of Counterpoint as a widelycirculated vehicle by which to start important dialogues on campus. If interested, you can send submissions (or even half-formed ideas) to hdaytene@wellesley.edu and cnowell@wellesley.edu. We accomodate anonymous publication at the author’s request. We hope to hear from you soon! Fondly yours, Hanna Day-Tenerowicz ’16 and Cecilia Nowell ’16
Cover image: Samantha English ’19 (senglis2@wellesley.edu)
When Counterpoint was founded in 1991, its original purpose was to act as the conservative “counterpoint” to the atmosphere of a predominantly liberal campus. Though we still welcome all perspectives, liberal and conservative and in between, we’ve morphed a lot as a publication and we feel that a more fitting goal for our magazine today is to act as a counterpoint to the homogenous perspectives that already occupy so much space in the world around us, as well as on our campus. Not only is our recent lack of diverse counterpoints unintentional, but we also feel that it contradicts our very mission.
E D I TO R I A L S TA F F Hanna DayTenerowicz ’16 Cecilia Nowell ’16
Editors-in-Chief
Staff Editors
New Editors
Chloe Williamson ’16 Olivia Funderburg ’18 Kathryn Sweatman ’17 Anne Meyers ’17 Gabrielle Van Tassel ’16
Ali Saueressig ’19 Alyssa Li ’19 Mary Meisenzhal ’19 Lara Brennan ’19 Parul Koul ’19
Hope Kim ’19 Jasmine Koduthodil ’19 Urvashi Singh ’17 Mary DuBard ’19
D E S I G N S TA F F Art Director Layout Editors
Jayne yan ’16 Alice E. Lee ’18 Midori Yang ’19 Maggie Rivers ’19
B U S I N E S S S TA F F Treasurers
Hannah Davelman ’16
COUNTERPOINT THE WELLESLEY COLLEGE JOURNAL OF CAMPUS LIFE SEPTEMBER 2015 Volume 44 / Issue 1
POLITICS KATELYN CAMPBELL
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THERE IS NO MORAL CASE FOR FOSSIL FUELS
M E N TA L H E A LT H ANONYMOUS
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SOLVING THE PUZZLE
A R T S & C U LT U R E MAYA MARLETTE
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KARATE 4 CHRIST
Cynthia Chen ’18
C O N T R I BU TO R S Katelyn Campbell ’17, Maya Marlette ’16, Samantha English ’19, Megan Locatis ’16, Juliette Sander ’19, jennifer chien ’19
TRUSTEES
Oset Babur ’15, Alison Lanier ’15, Matt Burns MIT ’05, Kristina Costa ’09, Brian Dunagan MIT ’03, Kara Hadge WC ’08, Edward Summers MIT ’08
SUBMISSIONS Counterpoint invites all members of the Wellesley community to submit articles, letters, and art. Email submissions to cnowell@wellesley.edu and hdaytene@wellesley.edu. Counterpoint encourages cooperation between writers and editors but reserves the right to edit all submissions for length and clarity. The views expressed in Counterpoint do not necessarily reflect the views of the staff.
SUBSCRIPTIONS One year’s subscription: $25. Send checks and mailing address to:
Counterpoint, Wellesley College 106 Central Street Wellesley, MA. 02481
GENDER & SEXUALITY ANONYMOUS
10
BREAKING THE BINARY
CAMPUS LIFE MEGAN LOCATIS
12
ON CIVILITY
COUNTERPOINT STAFF
15
ITEMS FOUND DURING THE COUNTERPOINT STAFF RETREAT AT KBOT’S DUMPSTER
MS. COUNTERPOINT
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ADVICE COLUMN
F E AT U R E S COUNTERPOINT STAFF
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CROSSWORD: PAWSITIVELY FELINE
COUNTERPOINT STAFF
20
POLL: SHY POOPERS
POLITICS
There Is No Moral Case for Fossil Fuels
W
hen I returned to campus this fall after a summer at home in West Virginia, I was surprised to be greeted by an all-too-familiar vista. A miniature version of a mountaintop removal site has taken the place of the once-hilly path between the Academic Quad and the Lulu Chow Wang Campus Center, marking the landscape with what can only be branded as an eyesore. At first, I joked morbidly about the resemblance between the two subjects with friends before moving on. Although my initial jokes have gone out of vogue from overuse, I still think about my friends and family back home whenever I walk past the scene. I thought of that spot on campus a week into my junior year when I read the advertisement for a program put on by Wellesley’s Freedom Project. According to its website, the “Freedom” Project is “dedicated to the exploration of the idea of freedom in all of its manifestations, but especially in the tradition of Western classical liberalism.” A markedly conservative organization, the “Freedom” page 4
Project has in the past pitted intellectuals against each other in public fora, asking questions like, “Are liberals making it harder for African Americans to succeed?” and, most recently, “Are sweat shops defensible?” Continues the website, “In its broadest sense, [the program] emphasizes the sanctity of individual rights, freedom of contract, constitutional democracy, and the rule of law. It includes, as well, an appreciation of the spirit of individualism and the struggle against arbitrary power, both in the form of political domination and the stultifying influence of ideological dogmas—cultural, political, or religious—and social conformity.” This year, the “Freedom” Project has used its funds to pay for the visit of one Alex Epstein. Epstein is the president of the Center for Industrial Progress, a forprofit think tank with ties to the coal mining and fracking industries. Epstein is also the author of The Moral Case for Fossil Fuels, about which he gave a talk on campus in mid-September. According to promotional material
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for Epstein’s book, “You’ve heard that our addiction to fossil fuels is destroying our planet and our lives. Yet by every measure of human well-being, life has been getting better and better. This book explains why humanity’s use of fossil fuels is actually a healthy, moral choice.” Epstein’s book goes on to claim that our environment is “better than it’s ever been,” and that, in order to achieve progress, sacrifices must be made in the name of the greater good. While I am by no means an advocate for censorship resulting from differences of political opinion, I am most certainly a champion of data-driven arguments within the scope of academia (if not in public discourse, as one would hope). In this respect, Epstein’s “case” for fossil fuels fails the facts test, ignoring the hard science behind climate change, as well as a legacy of oppression in favor of blind, inconsiderate progress. Shielded by privilege, Epstein fails to recognize the plight of generations of workers in extractive industry who have suffered at the hands of outside profiteers
Images: switchboard.nrdc.org, chesapeakeclimate.org
B Y K AT E LY N C A M P B E L L
while toiling for a day’s pay. From his home in Orange County, California, Epstein is shaded from the harsh realities of life in the coalfields, where black lung runs rampant and environmental pollution has left places like McDowell County, West Virginia without potable water for upwards of fifty years. Lest we forget, extractive industry is not just an American blight. Miners in China and South and Central America have been subjected to similar takeovers by extractive industry at equal, if not greater, costs. In developing rural areas of China, extractive industry is set on a path to replicate the systematic oppression experienced in my home in Appalachia. Meanwhile, cities like Shanghai are so choked with smog from coal burning power plants and industrial waste that residents can very literally barely breathe. While Epstein argues that our environment is “better than it’s ever been,” it is clear that the reality is otherwise. In cases of extreme environmental strife, though, there is room for relief— if you can pay for it. Epstein asserts that progress must occur as a result of sacrifice, implying that the sacrifice is experienced by all but then eventually resolved for the benefit of the greater good. However, this is often not the case. In Appalachia, for example, those with enough money to travel leave in search of healthier living arrangements in less-polluted areas with
higher rates of employment, whereas the poor are left to live with the legacy of careless industrial expansion. With access to few other options (if any), the remaining workers become steadily more reliant on extractive industry, decreasing their collective bargaining power and increasing the likelihood that any economic shift could result in massive layoffs. Epstein’s idea of the possibility of escape leaves no room for the systematically impoverished. By suggesting that progress involves leaving those unable to leave behind, Epstein invokes the genocidal undertones of the forced sterilization movement of the early twentieth century, which sought to rid the United States of its poor and mentally handicapped in the name of the “greater good.” Meanwhile, those made poor are left to struggle in resourceless food deserts with little hope for the future in rural areas, out of sight and out of mind, far from wealthy corporate executives who decide their fate. While conservatism certainly has its place on Wellesley’s campus, I would prefer that organizations like the Freedom Project spend their money on bringing facts rather than sensationalized bigotry to the center stage. If there’s one thing I know about Wellesley students, it’s that we love a good argument, so if conservative viewpoints brought to campus engaged students with stronger data, they would
likely merit deeper student engagement. To that end, the truthless dogma that Epstein brings to the table is contrary to the Freedom Project’s very mission—if we are to believe that their organization is based in the ideals of personal freedom and abhorrence of political dogma, how can their leadership allow such a presenter face time at the expense of the oppressed from whom his organization and pertinent industries profit? From where I stand, so long as extractive industry profits from environmental irresponsibility and the labor of the oppressed, there is not, nor will there ever be, a moral case for fossil fuels. And until corporate extractive industry begins to fully consider the needs to the communities and habitats it inhabits, their un-facts have no place on Wellesley’s campus. The “Freedom” Project likes to ask hard questions, but perhaps now is the time for those questions to reflect a greater sensitivity to their implications, lest they further alienate themselves from a larger audience that is already skeptical of their political leanings.
Katelyn Campbell ’17 (kcampbe2@wellesley.edu) is unnerved.
counterpoint / september 2015
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MENTAL HEALTH
SOLVING THE PUZZLE
I
’ve always loved jigsaw puzzles. I had a collection when I was younger of 36”x12” puzzles from everywhere my family went on vacation. I used to spread out all the pieces on my family’s formal dining room table—the one that we never used and that no one would be bothered with me taking over—and spend weeks solving them. I loved methodically approaching each and every one of them, starting with the borders and then working through the interior by sorting colors and textures. It always felt so fulfilling to find answers. I’ve always tried to solve life-puzzles in a similar way. Whenever someone confronted me with a problem, I’d try to take in as much information as possible to find the right answer. When faced with a personal problem, I’d think it over for days, trying to fit the pieces together to find the perfect answer. Even when facing minor problems—a stomachache or stubbed toe, nerves about a first date or moving somewhere new—I’d ruminate on the idea, search the Internet for answers, and replay scenes in my head, just looking for solutions. It took me years of denial to finally recognize that this fixation on finding answers wasn’t just a sign of curiosity, but rather a signal that I had inherited my family’s predisposition towards anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorders. I was in my mid-teens when I started to realize that not being able to sleep or eat from the nausea and nerves of trying to puzzle together a series of “whatifs” wasn’t healthy. That crying for two page 6
weeks before leaving on a trip, feeling my pulse race to 150 at a doctor’s office, and incessantly Googling minor health symptoms weren’t normal behaviors for other people. And so, I decided to do something about it. At the age of fifteen, I started seeing a therapist under the pretext of stress from my parents’ divorce, but also to start learning techniques to help me deal with my overwhelming anxiety. During the months that I spent learning cognitivebehavioral breathing and relaxation skills—which helped me understand my anxiety, but just never seemed to fully control it—I also discovered that this wasn’t actually my first time seeing a counselor. During one of my weeks with him, my dad took me to see his psychiatrist— in hopes that the medication that had changed his life might help mine. I had vague memories of the doctor’s office— of playing Gargoyles board games and coloring with vibrant markers—and when I met the psychiatrist she explained that she had seen me when I was a toddler. It turned out that the symptoms I had picked up on—difficulty adjusting to change, separation anxiety, fear of doctors—were symptoms that my parents had picked up on, too. The doctor went on to explain that she had prescribed me the selective seratonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI) Paxil when I was about five years old, and I just barely remembered a few months in my childhood when my anxiety had eased up—specifically, when I had been able to watch the Magic School Bus episode where
counterpoint / september 2015
the class travels through Arnold’s digestive tract. For some reason though, I hadn’t stayed on the medication. The doctor seemed to know why I hadn’t continued taking Paxil, but she didn’t say anything and instead went ahead and explained that she could give me a new prescription if I was interested. Absolutely enthralled by the idea that there might be a medication that would make the twisting and turning in my gut go away for good, I nodded an enthusiastic yes and she handed me a brand new prescription for Zoloft. Walking out of the appointment, I handed the prescription to my father, and he smiled, but then explained that we would have to talk with my mother before filling the prescription. That night, I didn’t quite know what was happening, but I could tell my parents weren’t happy with each other. I don’t remember exactly when the shit hit the fan, but I do remember going over to my grandparents’ house on Monday morning (they had been helping take care of my siblings and me over the summer—making sure we got to our summer classes and activities while our parents were at work) and standing in a corner while my grandparents screamed at me. Over the course of the next hour, they took turns hollering about how mental health disorders weren’t real things, how my dad’s side of the family relied too much on medication and how I should just buck up and deal with my problems, and how I couldn’t really need medication
Images: Jennifer Chien ’19 (jchien3@wellesley.edu), tumblr.com
BY ANONYMOUS
Trigger warning: anxiety, verbal abuse, emotional abuse
because if I was so depressed (forget that I was actually anxious), why wasn’t I crying all the time. And then they dropped the big bomb. They yelled on and on about how I had taken “those damn pills” when I was younger and how the medication had destroyed my perfect memory and “made me stupid.” They went on to describe in detail how intelligent I had been as a child—how I had remembered all of the words from my favorite books with ease and solved math problems in a snap—but how taking anti-anxiety medications had just destroyed my brain. They explained that the only reason I had any semblance of intelligence left was because they had saved the day and had me taken off Paxil. And not only had they saved my brain, they argued, but they had also saved my life. My grandmother went on to describe in detail how I had “suicidally” tried to tie a broom to her tree like I was a witch from Kiki’s Delivery Service and swing down her staircase like Tarzan. She said I had been out of control, that I would have killed myself if she hadn’t stopped me. Scared, angry, and unaware that my grandparents were capable of yelling so loudly, I pushed through the rest of that morning at their house in silence, ever so grateful when it was time for me to leave for my summer class. That afternoon though, when my mother picked me up, she explained that she didn’t think I should take this new prescription that my new psychiatrist had prescribed. She had been speaking with my grandparents and it was very clear that in the war that is divorce, she had
taken their side rather than my father’s. I asked her then whether Paxil had really made me “stupid,” and she could only manage a brief remark about how she had been raising toddlers and didn’t really remember much from those years. And so, scared that this prescription might really make me stupid, but more scared of what wrath I might face from my grandparents, I tossed aside my prescription of Zoloft and stopped seeing
therapists. I made it through the next few years without incident; still suffering from anxiety, but simply trying to ignore it. But then I came to Wellesley. At once I noticed that there was tenfold more openness to discussing mental health on campus than there had ever been in my childhood home. Brief references
to the Stone Center and conversations about mental health during Let Me Speak hinted that this was a community where it might be okay for me to talk about anxiety, medication, and struggling. The real moment, though, that I remember realizing I didn’t have to be ashamed of myself, was during Orientation. I was visiting a new friend’s room and she made an offhand and very casual reference to calling her therapist for advice during move-in. I fell very silent for a moment in the middle of the conversation, absolutely shocked that someone had just talked about their personal mental health without fear or shame. Though that moment of realization was instantaneous, it still took me years to work through the shame I had been taught. I spent countless evenings talking to friends openly about their depression and OCD, reading through articles in Counterpoint about mental health over and over, and asked friends and family again and again whether they took medication and if it actually worked for them. Even though everyone was very reassuring, and even though I finally got to a point where I was able to serve as a mental health advocate for others, it took me even longer to reach a point where I could be a mental health advocate for myself. This past year though, finally, I got to that point. After a rough semester of difficult travel, failed dating attempts, and twistyturny-stomach-feelings, I decided that I was going to do something about it. At the end of the year, I made the conscious
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decision to go home for the summer and set up an appointment with a psychiatrist for my first week in town. I mentioned casually to both of my parents that I would be seeing a doctor, but made it very clear that they were not to tell my grandparents and that I was not asking for their permission. My dad, of course, drove me to the appointment—glad to see that I was finally addressing this issue—and my mother, surprisingly, was completely supportive. She had stopped talking to her parents much in recent years, realizing the abusive influence that they had had on her childhood, and hoped to protect me better this time around. My first appointment with the psychiatrist was, well, rough. Thanks to my fear of doctors and of talking openly about my anxiety, I basically cried for the entire hour and a half. But at the end of the session, I emerged with a prescription for Luvox and went straight to the pharmacy to fill it. My first week on Luvox went pretty well, but when we increased my dosage to a therapeutic amount, I started having uncontrollable diarrhea. It was pretty nasty. But I had decided to try out this whole medication thing, so I pushed through it—knowing that stomach upset was a pretty common side effect of SSRIs and that it often went away. But then I noticed another side effect that was much more uncool. I couldn’t orgasm for the life of me. I knew that this, too, was a common side effect, and had crossed my fingers and toes that it wouldn’t happen to me, but as I lay in bed one night trying to get off, it became very, very clear that I wasn’t going to. I had two weeks until my next appointment with my psychiatrist, page 8
so I set that as a deadline and decided that I was going to try my absolute hardest to cum before that week. Let’s just say it was a rough couple of weeks. At long last, after a lot of hard work, I finally managed to get some release, but since my diarrhea had never let up, my psychiatrist told me I would have to switch prescriptions. So, there I was: halfway through the summer and no closer to having conquered my anxiety. It was a little frustrating—more than a little frustrating—but I accepted the new prescription that my doctor wrote out to me. The next day, I happily reported that my diarrhea had completely stopped, but over the course of the next two weeks I didn’t notice any difference in my anxiety. That was, actually, to be expected—I was still taking a low level of the medication and working my way up to a therapeutic dose. So, after two weeks I saw my doctor again and he bumped me up to the dosage that I would stay at. As I left his office that day, he explained that the medication would start working in about three weeks, and that I probably wouldn’t notice it suddenly, but that I would pick up on when it started working. That third week rolled around during the last week of the summer—the week that I’m usually the most anxious: concerned about whether I’ll catch all of my flights back to Wellesley, whether I’ll miss my family once I’m gone, whether I’ll get moved in without a hitch, all of my typical “what-ifs.” And, just like that, it rolled right on by. The week before move-in—when I’m usually a teary-eyed mess of overthinking—I binge-watched Agent
counterpoint / september 2015
Carter with my siblings. The night before my flight back to Boston—when I’m usually up all night tossing and turning with nerves—I slept soundly, waking up only once or twice to readjust or use the bathroom. And the morning before heading to the airport—when I usually struggle to force a few bites of toast into my somersaulting stomach—I ate a full breakfast without thinking twice. It was almost like giving my brain the chemicals that it needed had actually made it work better. I’m still new to this whole world of psychiatrists and antidepressants, of selfcare and don’t-you-dare-shame-yourself, but I’ve got to say, I like it a whole hell of a lot better than the world I was in before. I’m not sure how well my medication will work long-term or what other mental health issues I might still have to face, but I can’t describe how absolutely overjoyed I was when I got on my plane back to Wellesley and felt my anxiety crushed by excitement. It looks like there might be a whole host of feelings and experiences that I’ll get to have now that I’m not drowning in my thoughts. With my brain on the path towards healing, those jigsaw puzzles of overwhelming worries that once haunted me are starting to disappear, and it turns out that this whole path towards taking care of myself might be the best puzzle I’ve ever solved.
For information about articles published anonymously, contact the Editors-in-Chief (hdaytene@wellesley.edu or cnowell@ wellesley.edu).
Images: s3.amazonaws.com, wiki.guildwars.com
MENTAL HEALTH
ARTS & CULTURE
KARATE 4 CHRIST
BY MAYA MARLETTE
I
t was hard not to notice the sign. It was a huge vinyl thing, proudly emblazoned with the slogan “Karate 4 Christ” and a phone number, in case you or your child wanted to inquire about learning a martial art as a form of worship. The sun was setting, and my friend, Isaac, the gentlest of giants, was driving. I think I set things in motion when I said his name. “Isaac, check it out.” “Wow,” he responded. In my memory, it was suddenly just happening, without much actual planning or predetermination—Isaac pulled the car over on the edge of the highway and we clambered over the grass, car doors left open. Isaac cut the zipties, and I folded the vinyl, and then the two of us peeled off in the Subaru hatchback serving as
our deeply suburban getaway car. Our hearts beat so fast and the inside of the car was all noise. The sign was in the back and I kept reaching back to touch it and then screaming with strange rebellious pride because in my whole life I had never really done anything wrong. I recognize that petty theft is generally not a big deal, but it felt like a milestone to me. I was a partner in pathetic crime. Immediately afterward, we stopped by Kroger to buy soda. Before we went in, we hid the sign under a bunch of the stuff that accumulates in backseats. We were worried about the off-chance that the Christian owners of the Karate dojo might spot our sin through the window. It was unlikely, but stranger things had already happened that very hour, so we weren’t taking any chances. It didn’t take long for the guilt to set in. Even now, I am not yet a fully formed badass, and I couldn’t live with myself. I don’t even stream movies or music illegally. We spent a little time showing the sign off to our friends and taking
silly pictures, but late that night, we quietly drove off the property of the camp where we worked, and I threw the sign out the window onto the little knoll where it belonged. At the end of the summer, to commemorate our little crime, Isaac made me a shirt with the Karate 4 Christ logo on it: a souvenir of the mistakes we made and unmade. Even though it was a minor transgression, easily and quickly remedied as if it had never happened, it left me wondering what else I’m capable of. I surprised people. I surprised myself, and I liked it.
Maya Marlette ’16 (mmarlett@wellesley. edu) got her black belt in the Bible Belt.
counterpoint / september 2015
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GENDER & SEXUALITY
THE
BREAKING BINARY BY ANONYMOUS
I
thought I was prepared. I really, really did. I knew what it was like to have your identity invalidated—being bisexual, I’ve been told for years that I’m just confused. But coming out as nonbinary was a whole new breed of shitshow: one without the glitter and rainbows I’ve used to make my sexual orientation as palatable as possible to those around me. College is an adjustment for anyone, but there was a solid month my first year when I went to bed nauseous, tossing and turning and hating myself for something I’ve never had control over, filled with more shame than I’d had when I realized I’m bisexual. In a way, things were easier when I was younger. Before I knew there were options other than “girl” and “boy,” I simply discounted any painful gender feelings I had. I’d never felt particularly masculine, so of course I couldn’t be transgender, right? I clearly only wanted a flatter chest for convenience’s sake. Still, this couldn’t explain the guilt I felt the few times I’d double up on sports
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bras and sneak a look in the mirror. I’m convinced my dysphoria, especially the social dysphoria that comes with knowing you’re being perceived as something that’s in direct conflict with your identity, at least partially contributed to my depression. The older I became, the more my family’s expectations that I perform traditional femininity caused a physical ache in me. I’ve settled upon demigirl to describe my gender, a nonbinary identity meaning partially girl, partially something else. My something else is, well, something else entirely—simply nonbinary in and of itself. As time goes on I feel more and more comfortable shedding layers of womanhood, so I don’t rule out the possibility that I may one day feel no connection to it. But for now, I’m a mix of the two, and that’s finally alright with me. Though I consider my gender to be very personal, pronouns pose a public problem. I started using singular they
counterpoint / september 2015
pronouns (they/them/theirs) exclusively towards the end of last semester, but it’s only just beginning to catch on. I was completely unable to sleep the night before the first day of classes due to anxiety about introductions. Could I give my correct pronouns? Would professors hold it against me? Would other students comment? I’d naively assumed that everyone would introduce themselves with their pronouns, maybe even at professor’s request, but in all six of the classes I sat in on during the add/drop period, not a single other person did so. In fact, the one time pronouns came up was a disaster. In a class I took with another nonbinary student, the professor referred to them using she pronouns. One of their friends corrected the professor with a meaningful look and a whispered “they,” a strategy that would have been immediately understood by anyone with a shred of knowledge about nonbinary genders and could have saved the student in question lots of stress
Images: tumblr.com
Trigger warning: gender dysphoria, descriptions of misgendering
and embarrassment. Instead, the professor was terribly confused and asked aloud if he’d done something wrong. Needless to say, I’d allowed myself to be misgendered in his class because it was simply too exhausting to ruminate over the potential academic and emotional consequences of explaining my gender during office hours. In the end, I only introduced myself with my pronouns in one class, when I had been the first one in order around the room. It was the last class in which I’d have the opportunity to do so, and I only took the chance because being continuously misgendered in the other five was supremely distressing and distracted me from really focusing in class. I optimistically started a count of how many days I could go without being referred to as “she,” and the highest it’s reached all month is two. If you think pronouns aren’t that big of a deal, especially for nonbinary people, think again. Being misgendered feels like someone uprooting your very existence, at least in my experience. If you are a cisgender woman, please just imagine someone referring to you as “he” on a daily basis. Sometimes you’ll correct them, and you’ll somehow end up being the one who apologizes as you’re told you really look like a “he.” I present in a very feminine way because I cannot risk being outed to my family, and I’m aware that most view my style of dress as connecting me to womanhood. I’ll never fault anyone for using she pronouns with me if I believe they truly haven’t been informed that I use they pronouns, but I am sick and tired of being told how difficult it is for people to remember I am not a woman. With all due respect, that is not my problem. As a community, we need to normalize including pronouns in introductions. This
goes for cisgender people more so than anyone else: by offering your pronouns, you give me and other nonbinary students confirmation that you are aware of the importance of using someone’s correct pronouns and will not invalidate our identities. This doesn’t mean there won’t be situations where I’ll still feel unsafe disclosing my pronouns to others; in the classroom situation I mentioned above, my heart dropped and I immediately knew that even if all of my peers included pronouns in their introductions I would still be uneasy saying I don’t use “she.” But you’ll be signaling that it’s safe for us to be ourselves around you, and that is a basic sign of respect and support that we don’t experience very often. Human beings like to think that everything can be broken up into these neat boxes, circles to fill in on demographic forms without an “other” option. It turns out that, for many of us, life is more complex than that. I urge my cisgender Wellesley peers to be thoughtful and deliberate in their words and actions regarding all transgender people, but especially nonbinary students at Wellesley. Work towards creating an accepting future. Use your place of privilege to make our days a little bit easier. In the end, we all just want to be who we are.
For information about articles published anonymously, contact the Editors-in-Chief (hdaytene@wellesley.edu or cnowell@ wellesley.edu).
counterpoint / september 2015
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CAMPUS LIFE
On
Civility
T
his year, Kim Bottomly’s speech at Convocation was met with lukewarm applause. The tension between the face of the college’s administration and the student body saturated the air, cutting through what had been a moment of nostalgic joy and emotion for seniors such as myself. The chosen topic? Civility. But when you address a group of highly intelligent, capable students on the importance of controlled debate and the willingness to entertain and consider all ideas, regardless of how ill-conceived or outright offensive they may be at face value, your words come off as a rebuke more than anything. And I believe that it is only human nature that, feeling rebuked, we close our ears and tell ourselves that these words are poorly-chosen and irrelevant, that we are being dismissed as temperamental children who have yet to learn to control ourselves and engage in adult conversations. The topic of civility resonated deeply with me. Given the political climate in this country and the increasing polarization that often ends in empty shouting matches filled with insults rather than serious consideration of the issues at hand, I thought civility was an extremely relevant topic to raise, especially heading into the election season. We could all stand a small refresher on how to treat each other with respect and dignity, how to cope with our clashing passions and
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points of view, how to treat ignorance not with scorn and derision, but rather with patience and compassion. I nodded along at the line, “We have all come from a place of ignorance.” Imagine my surprise when, preparing to join a standing ovation at the end of this speech that I found so pertinent and wellworded, the air resounded instead with unenthusiastic and scattered applause. I am not unaware of the tensions between the student body and the president over so many critical issues. But surely, I thought to myself, we can take these words at face value and divorce them from the speaker. After all, did Bottomly not explicitly refer to that too-prevalent fallacy of ad hominem attacks used to undermine arguments or positions? Was this whole speech not designed to remind us to engage and refute ideas, not dismiss speakers? I’m certain our juniors and seniors remember the heated climate of the entire campus following the installation of a certain lifelike statue of a man in his underwear. Yes, the Sleepwalker incited vigorous debate when many, driven by the concern that such a piece of art was a trigger to Wellesley siblings having experienced trauma, petitioned to have this piece removed from its highly-visible location just outside the campus center. A dichotomy arose: which was more important, protection of our students
counterpoint / september 2015
or the absolute freedom of expression? Thoughts on this matter exploded, filling public posters, class discussions, Facebook statuses, and dinnertime debates. How do we, as a student body of intellectuals, artists, thinkers, and activists negotiate this important space between the wellbeing of our fellow students and that which we cherish most: our ability to express our innermost thoughts, dreams, desires, and criticisms without fear of censorship and silence? And where does civility fit into this crucial debate? Let me return to ignorance. Some of us are fortunate enough to live in communities that cultivate a deep understanding of what lies beyond ourselves—the experiences of underrepresented groups, the importance of understanding ethnocentrism and not allowing ourselves to be blinded by our cultural preconceptions Many of us are fortunate to have parents and mentors in our liberal communities that have guided us on this journey from our youth. But I cannot count myself in that group. I am a First Generation college student from what is politically a very red patch of rural Michigan. Wellesley was a place of discovery for me, a place where my peers could educate me simply by speaking of their experiences. My teachers were good friends who not only expressed their own thoughts and opinions, but engaged me when my ignorance came through and,
Images: graphics8.nytimes.com
B Y M E G A N LO C AT I S
rather than chastising me or scorning me for what I said, patiently considered my thoughts, pointed to weaknesses, and offered alternatives, not as absolute answers but as compelling arguments that I, as a peer, could choose to accept or reject. I never had to worry about humiliation; with these friends my ignorance was not a fatal flaw but simply a gap that could be filled. Blunt, poorly-chosen words were never contemptible; they were just a part of the learning process. We often speak of privilege and the manifold forms that it takes in our society: whiteness, heterosexuality, being cisgender, being able-bodied, and so on. But a point of privilege that Bottomly highlighted in her speech, and that we as an intellectual community often forget, is the privilege of education, not just in general but in our specific areas of expertise. Bottomly argued that with any form of privilege, education and knowledge, comes responsibility. We are charged with aiding those less privileged; our duty is not to ridicule or shun those who do not know or understand, but rather to engage them in robust intellectual discussion. Ignorance and the expression of poorly-informed, distasteful ideas are not met with censorship and invalidation but discussion and consideration. This is the essence of civility, Bottomly asserted. It is the simple belief that our peers are intelligent beings capable of rational discourse, reflection, and above all are amenable to the possibility of changing their original position in any debate. It is the assumption that our opponents in any intellectual discussion are not children in need of lecturing, that we are not the bringers of Light and Truth and guardians of the lofty realm of what is Right, but rather imperfect humans sorting through a tricky world of diverging ideas, twisting logic, and the ever-present danger of fallacy. This world of debate is dark and
full of terrors, and the only way we can hope to navigate it is by pulling each other through and pointing out perilous traps along the way. We may not all take the same path or arrive at the same destination, but we, as thinking human beings, all cross through this world, and our only hope to navigate it successfully is if we rely on each other to steer us out of places of ignorance and error. So let us return to the great debate of safety and free speech. I took a first year
the opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if wrong, they lose … the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error.” The underlying assumption is that we, as a society, are capable of distinguishing truth from error, and that truth will prevail. The danger is that error may overcome the uneducated masses, thereby promulgating an oppressive and harmful ideology. But here at Wellesley we are not speaking of the uneducated masses
seminar on free speech, and in studying the theory guiding our laws and Supreme Court decisions, we discussed in great detail the principle of a free marketplace of ideas and its necessary place in a healthy society. In his work On Liberty, John Stuart Mill postulates, “The peculiar evil of silencing the expression of an opinion is, that it is robbing the human race … those who dissent from the opinion, still more than those who hold it. If the opinion is right, they are deprived of
prone to the aforementioned pitfalls, liable to be trapped or to willingly remain in their shadowed places of ignorance; we are speaking of a community of bright, promising thinkers gathered here for the purposes of exchange and education. Each time that we silence what some of us arbitrarily view as harmful, we deprive the members of our community of the chance to, as Mill puts it, “[exchange] error for truth.” This is true each time we resort to mocking, derision, or chastisement rather
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than a constructive retort to even the most painfully ill-informed and poorlyworded expressions of thought. My first year here, as I sat in the common area of my dorm working on a psychology reading, one of the girls in our group interrupted our intense, studious silence to pose a question for her sociology class: did we think it was important to allocate funds for recruiting students from lower socioeconomic status? Her position was that it was important to ensure that minorities were represented on campus, but that favoring students from lowincome families and making allowances for them in the application process was not fair, since it deprived hard-working students from middle or upper income families of the opportunity to go to top tier schools. Her example was two of her friends, one who had been rejected, though her activities and admissions essay were impeccable, and the other, who had not participated in nearly as many activities but had been offered admission to several of her top choices. She made it sound as if she believed that other underrepresented groups faced undeserved challenges, but low-income students, whose challenges were tied to money, were not worthy of the same consideration. I am a lower-income first generation student, an identity that I still struggle to claim publicly, and having this insensitive argument presented to me when I was just beginning to realize how many resources I had not had—tutors, money for application-enhancing activities, effective admissions counseling I was just beginning to confront that constant anxiety of passing when in the presence of my non-first gen friends, of wondering if my professors were secretly giving me pity boosts in my grades because I
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couldn’t be expected to handle the full rigors of Wellesley. When I heard this students’ words and her absolute lack of understanding, I wanted to rail against her. I wanted her to feel ashamed of how wrong she was. I am so glad that I did not start that rant. I wish, of course, that I had been able to present a coherent counterargument, but my anger and need to prove her wrong would not have been conducive to the kind of conversation that is needed on this campus. We cannot continue to treat ignorance as a sin. On occasion I see the frustrations of those most hurt and most silenced by this very ignorance, and the final declaration that culminates as a result of too many insensitive comments and dismissals: it is not my job to educate you. But these are alienating words, words that place blame, words that create resentment. These are words that do not acknowledge that ignorance is rarely a choice but the result of a lack of opportunities; ignorance is the flipside of the privilege of knowledge. Civility is the capacity to graciously acknowledge this and to keep it at the forefront of our thoughts whenever we confront opposing viewpoints; it is the ability to admit that, as convinced as we may be of our own argument, we too may still be ignorant. This is not an apology for tone-policing. Civility is neither a plea for moderation of tone or passion nor an exigence for thoughts to follow an arbitrary form or certain measures of decorum. It is nothing so superficial. It is an entreaty to recognize our opposition and engage not their person, not their history, but their ideas above all else; it is the immediate and unequivocal forgiveness of ignorance and the ever-present goodwill that allow for true exchange, education, and
counterpoint / september 2015
transformation to take place. A call for civility is not a reproach, though the word carries with it that implication. It is an appeal for the recognition of fallibility in both ourselves and in others; it is the openness of mind that allows us to admit that even our most deeply-held beliefs are subject to scrutiny. Such a mindset, such a surety of forgiveness for ignorance, allow for us to voice opinions without fear, to test our nascent thoughts, to call for help in that mire of debate as we search for our own truths. And most importantly, civility is the element that allows us to favor free speech over silence; it is the necessary goodwill that we all must carry to keep our ideas from becoming forces of oppression. As Mill puts it, “Every [person] who says frankly and fully what he thinks is so far doing a public service. We should be grateful to him for attacking most unsparingly our most cherished opinions.” Debate is not war, and civility is what keeps it from becoming such; argument is a service to our community that, when guided by this principle of civility, is a force that erases ignorance and brings us closer to that great goal of all education: understanding.
Megan Locatis ’16 (mlocatis@wellesley.edu) hopes that Wellesley students will continue to engage in thoughtful dialogues.
Image: trashmagination.com
CAMPUS LIFE
Items Found During the Counterpoint Staff Retreat at KBot’s Dumpster A Collaborative Satire Piece
B Y C O U N T E R P O I N T S TA F F 1. A well-loved copy of the complete works of Ayn Rand 2. Student proposals and letters of complaint, seemingly untouched 3. A $20 bill, used as a tissue 4. A lost member of an MIT frat, asking for directions to Remix 5. An alumna’s 1980 thesis on civility 6. A piece of paper bare except for the typed words “Draft 1” and “BE MORE POLITE, LADIES” 7. A pictorial instruction manual explain-
ing how to properly cross and uncross one’s legs 8. Half burnt copy of The Coddling of the American Mind 9. Discarded plastic packaging from a sixteen-pack of four-ply toilet paper 10. A heavily annotated biography of Margaret Thatcher 11. An old Polaroid photo of KBot with Hillary Clinton 12. A weathered “Women Who Will” banner
13. Blueprints for a multicultural space, annotated with “out of the budget” 14. A broken gold-rimmed plate 15. Box of discarded locks from Green Hall administrative offices 16. A battered copy of Mona Lisa Smile on VHS 17. A full roll of paper towels 18. A signed copy of Lean In
The Counterpoint Staff (counterpointmagazine@wellesley.edu) advocates subversion over civility.
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CAMPUS LIFE
Advice Column BY MS. COUNTERPOINT
“How do I find gay friends when I’m just a casual gay as opposed to a flaming homosexual?” (Yik Yak) Two words: Café. Hoop. Spend more time studying there, I guarantee you’ll find yourself engaging in some great conversations with people you don’t know (though I can’t promise you’ll get much work done). Soon enough, you might just find yourself splitting Dorito nachos with some new BFFLs (who may or may not be Queer). “How do I become both silky and contrarian?” (Yik Yak) Our best advice for you is to use more conditioner when you wash your hair. In class, be sure to search aggressively for a weak point in every argument raised (especially the professor’s!). Take the system down, Reader. And do it with silky hair.
during the Super Blood Moon this month. “What happens if u don’t finish the 50 things to do be4 u graduate...Do u not graduate” (Yik Yak) We’ve heard rumors of the few delinquent students who didn’t complete their 50 Things To Do Before You Graduate lists. They live in the tunnels and only come out when it snows in a feeble attempt to finally go sledding down Sev Green. Beware of these post-grads and be sure to make skinny dipping in Lake Waban your number one priority during your time at Wellesley. “How do I fix my first impressions?” (Yik Yak) Fixing first impressions can be a tough thing to do, and even tougher because ultimately, that’s not a matter you can control—you can’t make people
“How are you all so beautiful <3” (Yik Yak) Beauty isn’t easy! We’ve been sacrificing a virgin to the goddess Aphrodite every month during the full moon—and let’s just say that was even more interesting
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counterpoint / september 2015
feel a certain way about you. What you can do, however, is engage in thoughtful dialogues wherever possible, keep an open mind, and always listen when your peers discuss their experiences with you. If you think you came off the wrong way to someone whose opinion matters to you, talk to them about it! It may not reverse
Image: Juliette Sander ’19
“What should I do if I’m feeling vaguely subversive?” (Yik Yak) Why, submit to Counterpoint, of course!
the un-reversible, but at the very least true friendship while you’re settling in. Be it’ll be a conversation you can learn adventurous and you’ll find them. from. “How do you become Big Gay” (Yik Yak) “How can I be the supreme gay?” (Yik “Big Gay,” also known as one of the Yak) developmental stages that follows “Baby Own the dance floor at pub night. Queer,” is a stage one must ascend to with Possibly take some dance pointers from the utmost authenticity and grace. Only the legendary Melissa Jo. Be sure you’re you, Reader, can figure out what that means wearing at least two different kinds of for you. Go forth and be confident in who plaid at all times. you are! “How do I make friends?” (Yik Yak) Making friends at Wellesly can be tricky—especially if you’re a first-year or transfer student and are still getting used to the community. The best advice we have for you is to get out of your room as often as possible. People aren’t going to come be your friend if they can’t find you, so try studying in common spaces, inviting classmates to grab coffee in the Lulu after class, or joining a couple of orgs (notice the emphasis on “couple”—it’s not quantity, but quality! You’ll make better friends if you’re spending more time with the same groups of people). Know that you will make friends at Wellesley—in fact, you’ve probably already met them, it just takes time to get to that point of
“Y do ppl pile their dishes in bates even when the tray is full hmm what is this phenomenon” (YikYak) Right? We hear you, Reader. We hear you. It’s pretty frustrating when people don’t remember that those trays have to go on the conveyor belt to get washed. Back in the day, when we were young’uns, people knew how to take care of those trays. The best advice we have to offer you is to keep on putting your full trays on the conveyor belt, and maybe try giving people a friendly reminder to help out too. Dishes are already enough of a problem without people forgetting to pick up after themselves in the dining hall! “Tea seems to be a pretty big thing around Wellesley, but where can I buy tea in Boston if I can’t find enough at on-campus events?”
A city known for its tea parties, Boston is home to many tasty tea shops—but we recommend two of our favorites in particular! Located conveniently in Harvard Square (can you spell weekend Senate bus expedition?), TeaLuxe and the Boston Tea Stop are both excellent shops for the tea-deprived. Pop into the Boston Tea Stop while it’s still (at least sort of ) warm outside to try a refreshing bubble tea, and remember to visit TeaLuxe for a nice cuppa tea when you need something to warm yourself up. (Insider secret: it’s not on the menu, but TeaLuxe can make hot chocolate-infused tea with any flavor you choose. It’s delicious, plus you’ll get the extra bonus of looking like a seasoned Bostonian for knowing their best-kept secret.) TeaLuxe also sells loose leaf tea by the gram, so you can stock up and bring tea back to Wellesley.
Send your questions to Ms. Counterpoint (counterpointmagazine@wellesley.edu), or just respond to one of our occasional Yaks!
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CROSSWORD:
Pawsitively Feline
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counterpoint / september 2015
Image: Cecilia Nowell â&#x20AC;&#x2122;16 (cnowell@wellesley.edu), who would like you to know that this is her cat, Cat! Back image: blog.bloomsbythebox.com
CAMPUS LIFE
ACROSS 1. What is the accessory that the answer to 32 across wears to work? 3. This internet cat is known for her less-than-pleased facial expressions 6. This cat inherited $13 million when its owner passed away 7. She traveled the world with her foreign correspondent owner and became the subject of the book The Cat Who Covered the World 12. Taylor Swift’s cat’s names are Meredith and _____ 13. Zunar-J-5/9 Doric 5-7, or simply Jake, is the name of the cat in this 1978 sci-fi film 15. Puss in Boots was voiced by this Spanish actor in Shrek 2 16. He managed to claw his way out of his grave after surviving a traffic accident 21. In the Harry Potter series, this cat seems determined to devour Ron’s rat, Scabbers 22. This feline is famous for bringing fun to two kids stuck inside on a rainy day 23. This feline holds the Guinness World Record for the longest cat hair 25. Alongside Shadow and Chance, she is trying desperately to find her way home 27. These restaurants offer the company of feline friends while also serving warm beverages 29. This cat-like creature tried in vain to capture our favorite Pokémon with his friends Jessie and James 30. This small town had a cat as their mayor for over fifteen years 32. This particular cat became famous for his status as an employee at a Russian library 33. Just like a group of ants is called a colony and a group of geese is called a flock, a group of cats is called a ______ 34. What is the name of the cat from 30 across? 35. He will become king of everything the light touches 38. A feline-inspired ballet step 39. Cats were once considered sacred creatures in this country 40. This series by Erin Hunter chronicles the stories of a community of forest cats
DOWN 2. ____ ______ Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Eliot 4. The lazy cat Garfield loves this food more than life itself 5. Data’s cat, named ______, keeps him company in Star Trek: The Next Generation 8. Karl Marx would have proclaimed these felines members of the bourgeoisie 9. Determined to devour Jerry 10. According to legend, cats were created on Noah’s arc when this animal sneezed 11. Holly Golightly names her cat “Cat” in this novel by Truman Capote 14. This author was incredibly fond of polydactyl cats, and you can still find forty-five felines running around his historic home in Florida today 17. _____ and the Pussycats 18. This website is famous for inserting photos of cats into famous pieces of artwork 19. Lewis Carroll’s confusing kitten 20. The first cat to visit outer space was a French feline named ______ 24. This pop-tart-shaped internet cat is famous for riding on a rainbow and exclaiming what word? 26. _________, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging 28. Contrary to popular belief, many cats suffer from this food intolerance 31. Argus Filch keeps a cat named ________ with him at Hogwarts 36. This cat made headlines for being stationmaster of a Japanese train station 37. This Andrew Lloyd Webber musical features many furry felines
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CAMPUS LIFE No
MONTHLY POLL: Conditional SHY POOPERS
Yes
In the interest of destigmatizing pooping—(everybody poops!)—we asked you if you poop when there are other people in the dorm bathroom. Of the 361 respondents, here are the results!
OUR FAVORITE CONDITIONAL RESPONSES: “Only very recently (it’s been a goal I’m working on), and usually when I really just can’t give a fuck. Usually I use the private bathroom.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” “Depends on if it’s a short poop or a long poop. And if I have to fart.”
“I poop indiscriminately” “Only if no one knows it’s me in the stall”
“Only when desperate” “I try to time my poops with the other person flushing/doing other things. Otherwise I tend not to give a shit.”
“Only if they come in after me, but then I employ some timing tricks”
“Only if it’s a quick and easy”
“Depending on how daring I feel”
“If I am mid-poop and someone comes in, I wait as long as possible until (if ) they leave. If they don’t, I do poop when they’re there. Otherwise I avoid it.”
“Yes, but I won’t leave the stall until they’re gone” “Only if they’re at least two stalls away, and I flush right after”
“I only poop in private bathrooms”
“If u really gotta go then u gotta go”