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Unsure of what to expect, first years grapple with a college experience marred by the pandemic

As upperclassmen returned to a campus that felt foreign in many ways, first-year students embarked on a college experience shaped by Covid-19 — a reality that is the only one they have ever known.    During first-year move-in on Aug. 26, students heaved boxes and suitcases into their dorm rooms alone while parents waited in their vehicles and said their farewells wearing masks. A 36-hour room quarantine replaced the square-dance and the ice cream party frenzy that traditionally characterize the first days of Middlebury. Upon their release to campus quarantine, they attended socially distanced meet-and-greets and took sunset strolls to the Knoll in lieu of three-day MiddView trips.  Ella Bode ’24 had never been to Middlebury prior to move-in. After receiving her negative Covid-19 test result the morning of Aug. 28, she ventured onto campus for the first time with her roommate.  “I was just so excited to finally be outside and see everything for myself. I was surprised at how similar a lot of the buildings looked and by how much green there is. There's just grass and trees everywhere,” said Bode, who hails from North Carolina. “My favorite place on campus has to be the Knoll or by the athletic fields where you can see all the mountains.”  First-years only have second-hand knowledge of college life, acquired from movies, books and the stories of those who have come before them — all of which were conceived in a pre-pandemic world. These are their only reference points by which to compare their limited time in college. Many first-years interviewed for this story expressed “typical” first-year-of-college anxieties, but compounding these concerns is the ever-present fear that campus could be shut down, or evacuated, at any moment.  “You’re worried about making friends, you’re worried about acclimating to a new academic environment,” Sarah Miller ’24 said. “But then there’s, of course, the added worry of Covid-19. Am I going to be sent home? Am I going to have to take these classes online? And how [do I] make connections with people in classes when they’re online, and professors too?”  Other students expressed concern that the Covid-19 policies enacted by the college will restrict opportunities to foster social connections. Bode said she experienced the uneasy feeling known as “fear of missing out” (FOMO) after seeing photos on social media of her friends from home going to parties and meeting new people.  “Nobody wants to get kicked out of Middlebury, but everyone wants to make friends,” Bode said. “We just want to be able to experience as much as possible.”  In the past two weeks of orientation, first-year students had significantly more free time than during the typical week-long orientation. Several students said they wished for more scheduled opportunities to intermix with their peers.  “I feel like I never see the people on my hall,” Miller said. “It’s not the kind of environment where people have their door open and you can just wander in.”  “I wish they had more optional programming, like a socially-distanced dance party outside, or projecting a movie on the quad, just stuff where you can meet people,” Bode said. With college life colored by the limitations and general strangeness generated by Covid-19 restrictions, Matthew Fish ’24 felt that remaining on campus was not worthwhile. Fish was attracted to Middlebury’s history and its reputation as a prestigious liberal arts college, and he was excited to be part of a college community.  Fish was frustrated that he had to remain in his room for 36 hours while waiting for his Day Zero test results after completing a two-week home quarantine. He did not care for the vegan food and had never had a roommate before. Upon his release to campus quarantine, Fish was discouraged by campus limitations regarding where students could go and what they could do.  “I was having a high degree of anxiety,” Fish said. “I was having a real hard time with the situation. The isolation was certainly part of it — the fact that I was spending 90% of my time in my dorm room because there was nothing else really to do, besides the MiddView orientation group.”  After talking to family members and friends about the situation, Fish ultimately made the decision to return home to complete the semester remotely. He left campus on Sept. 2.  “I just don’t think you can treat people like caged animals,” Fish said. “That’s how I felt. I think they should have been more open. Socially distancing and all, obviously, but have buildings open. Have more events outside. Have more in-person gatherings than just orientation groups.”  Fish said he is confident in his decision to take classes remotely. He plans to take a deeper look at the college’s plan for the spring semester and to ask more specific questions before making the choice to return to campus.  “I’m not somebody who throws in the towel at the earliest moment,” Fish said. “I made what I feel was an informed decision and a tactical retreat.”  While there are restrictions regarding the size of group gatherings and what activities are permissible, many first-years have contented themselves with smaller group gatherings or online Zoom meetings. First-year students have been convening in dorm lounges as well as through activities such as frisbee or Spikeball.  “At least for me personally, I find the social scene to be very fitting,” Edwin Fan ’24 said. “ I think [President] Laurie Patton herself said at convocation yesterday that an introverted student came up to her yesterday and said that the social scene for introverts has been better.”  Fan watched convocation, an event that normally takes place in Mead Chapel, with his hallmates on the fourth floor of Stewart Hall. The group viewed the ceremony in their hallway on a T.V., and everyone wore masks and was socially distanced. To older students and alumni, an online convocation might seem strange. Fan, however, described the strong sense of community during the occasion as one of those “cliché college moments.”  “We were just chowing down on ramen upstairs while watching convocation, cheering with our [Middlebury] mugs,” Fan said. “I guess I don’t know what a normal convocation would look like, but from the atmosphere that was up there, I definitely do feel formally welcomed to Middlebury.”

Environmentalism at Middlebury has roots in exclusion

Back in Los Angeles, my Latino working-class background didn’t turn heads at weekly meetings with Extinction Rebellion, a grassroots organization that uses nonviolent civil disobedience tactics to draw attention to government inaction in addressing climate change. It was the norm to find a diverse group of folks meeting to plan the next freeway blockade or die-in or other art-centered action — folks from different racial, socioeconomic and religious backgrounds actively engaged with all comrades. It was a space where I felt incredibly comfortable and ready to advocate for climate justice that truly included all people, because I knew all people were included in the process.  So when I arrived at this institution, I was shocked. I quickly came to see that there was a sort of problematic, yet normalized, expectation for environmentalists at Middlebury College. They are assumed to be straight, white and male, hailing from wealth and a suburb, able-bodied and with tremendous experience in the outdoors. They are vegan and deplore your inability to be vegan, paying no attention to the barriers to and gentrification of such a diet. They walk around in fancy clothing from outdoor brands and incessantly talk about their extravagant NOLS trips in a developing country. They focus on solar power but don’t ask if the lithium mined for those panels was acquired ethically. They weep at the sight of a precious animal poisoned by polluted water but do not fight for the communities of color downstream.  There is nothing wrong if you see yourself in parts of this description; identifying as or advocating for one or all of these things isn’t inherently wrong. However, advocating and affirming this singular conception of environmentalism, and creating space for nothing else, is dangerously exclusive.  Why is Middlebury’s environmentalist culture exclusive? For starters, not all environmentalists are white, straight, male, wealthy or able-bodied. By creating campus culture and spaces that cater to this ideal, we exclude so many crucial individuals who care for the environment and humankind’s future. By excluding BIPOC, poor, disabled, queer, female-identifying and city folks, we not only lose essential comrades to fight for the movement but also fail our community in advocating for real climate justice. I believe this exclusion is a mode of environmentalism inherited from problematic environmentalists in the past, from John Muir to Gifford Pinchot and Teddy Roosevelt, three foundational influences on America’s conservation movement and the advancement of America’s eugenics movement and racist ideologies. We can no longer ignore the significant influence these histories have had on our environmentalism at Middlebury.  It’s time Middlebury’s idea of environmentalism changes. Environmentalists on this campus should take a bold stance in denouncing their organizations’ hurtful words and actions and mobilize to fight for real climate justice. We need to center Indigenous, Black and POC voices and make an effort to include them in our actions, events and processes. It isn’t enough to “stand in solidarity” with #BlackLivesMatter, or any other movement, solely when it is trending.  Real climate justice has to fight for racial justice, migrant justice, disability justice and class justice. So it is imperative that Middlebury environmentalists create inclusive spaces that prioritize the voices and needs of BIPOC and marginalized neighbors. As artist and activist Johanna Toruño says, “If your environmental advocacy doesn’t include folks of color, you refuse to acknowledge the impact of environmental racism on communities of color.” We cannot turn a blind eye to this ever-growing reality that low-income communities of color are subject to the disastrous (and disproportionate) effects of climate change.  So I ask my predominantly white, wealthy, able-bodied and male environmentalists and outdoor organization members reading this right now: What are you doing to make sure your membership doesn’t look just like you? What are you and your organizations doing to serve as allies to BIPOC communities regarding racial and climate justice? As for my fellow BIPOC environmentalists who have yet to find a safe space: I invite you to “BIPOC Sunrise” on Thursday, September 24 @ 7 pm EDT. The Justice, Equity, and Anti-Oppression working group at Sunrise Middlebury will be starting these monthly meetings to create a safe space for BIPOC persons with love for the outdoors, the environment, a healthy future for all and a desire to fight for racial and climate justice. A Zoom link and collaborative agenda can be found on Sunrise’s Instagram in the coming week.  May this brief critique of Middlebury’s environmentalist culture not bring anger or disdain but instead inspire folks to start prioritizing this movement for our marginalized communities.  Andrés Oyaga is a member of the class of 2023.

“Screw your teammate” parties often packed with pressure for dates

“Screw your teammate” parties, colloquially known as “SYTs” or “screws,” are a staple of weekend nightlife at Middlebury. Envisioned as a fun, exciting way to meet someone new and get dressed up on a Saturday night, SYTs are popular among sports teams, social houses and other extracurricular groups. But a closer look at the SYT tradition reveals an underlying culture that can be coercive and filled with pressures, especially for younger female students. SYT guidelines dictate that each team member chooses a date for their teammate. Sometimes teammates set each other up with dates they’ve never met before, but match makers will often coordinate with their assigned teammates, who might already have a “Proc crush” or desired significant other in mind. When guests arrive at an SYT — which usually takes place in a social house basement, or a teammate’s townhouse or Atwater suite — they are attached at the wrist to their dates by layers of duct tape. Each pair is also usually taped to a bottle of champagne, and is encouraged to finish the bottle before being separated. Part of the appeal of an SYT is meeting new people. But students say entering a team, club or social house’s space as an outsider often adds a stressful side to these events. “I felt a bit out of place,” said Nate MacDonald ’23, who was recently someone’s date at a sports team’s SYT. “I didn’t know anyone on the team, and teammates all appeared to have their well established friend circles.” Past that initial uneasiness, however, MacDonald said he enjoyed connecting with the members of the team. “Once I settled into this setting and began socializing with people, I felt more comfortable being there,” MacDonald said. “My date and her friends who I interacted with were very open and welcoming … The vibe revolved around dancing, playing drinking games, and socializing.” Ruhi Kamdar ’22, a member of the women’s tennis team, agreed that the SYT party environment poses an exciting opportunity to interact with new students. But she said the process of attending SYTs with strangers and subsequently being duct-taped to them can feel like a double-edged sword. “It’s fun and different because it gives you a chance to interact with a person you may be too shy to get to know,” she said. “However, it puts a lot of pressure on you to hook up with a date, as it’s like a special event of some sort.” According to Julia Fairbank ’23, a member of Middlebury’s club sailing team, one key to a successful, safe SYT is knowing where you stand with your date before the party begins. Fairbank said that in the past she has declined SYT invitations from anonymous athletes because she did not know her date. “The screws and formals I went to were with guys I was either really close to, or was seeing,” she said. Though Fairbank and her friends were invited to several SYTs throughout their first years, she expects they will receive fewer invitations in the future. Why? Because, she suggested, older athletes seem to target younger female students when choosing dates for formals. “I think there are going to be a lot fewer random invites for me and my friends in the coming years,” Fairbank noted. “Most screws and formals feel definitely very aimed at freshman girls as dates.” The question of ethics of pairing upperclassmen guys with younger freshmen girls for date parties was raised in the Opinions pages in The Campus three years ago, by Esme Valette ’16. In her op-ed, “Leave Your Attitudes at Home,” Valette wrote about her disgust at receiving a lewd invitation from senior men in the class of 2014, informing younger female invitees that they had been “selected” as dates for a “Hunter and the Hunted Party.” Men were to be dressed as hunters, while women were asked to dress like wild animals and “leave [their] attitudes at home.” But some suggest that the disproportionate number of invites extended to first-year women might be an accident. Cole Crider ’23, a member of both the baseball and football teams, said this dynamic may instead result from the spectrum of class years on the team. “This comes from the underclassmen sometimes choosing dates for the people older than them, and also vice versa,” Crider explained. Crider — who has experienced both the choose-your-own date and “blind invite” models of SYT invitation — said that most male athletes who select younger female dates for their teammates are not ill-intentioned. When asked about the hook-up culture at team SYTs, Crider said that the only pressure he perceived was that he be a fun date. “I feel like the only pressure I experienced was from having a date who came to the SYT with you, because you liked something about them and you enjoy spending time around them,” Crider said. Catherine Blazye ’20, a member of the women’s tennis team, said she thinks the culture of the team or group hosting a gathering can often determine how women are treated at these parties. She also said Middlebury’s hook-up culture is to blame for expectations that dates will hook up with the team members who invited them.  “When I was a freshman I remember being really sad that my date didn’t like me,” Blazye said. “I was like, ‘What’s wrong with me,’ which I think is the toxic culture surrounding SYTs. I think people sometimes big it up a lot as an event to get with someone you think is super cute.” Instead, she said, we should consider the SYT an opportunity to connect with new people and to bond with teammates.  “I still think it’s a great chance to meet someone different or just have fun with someone for a night playing pong and socializing,” she said. “It should be portrayed as a fun date party with all of your teammates — as I have got older this is what I have realized.”

Will O'Neal '20 in Westford, Massachusetts

I do not like the town I’m from. Yesterday, I overheard a neighbor announce that he wasn’t selling off his stocks, because, and I quote, “I only invest in companies I believe in, like ExxonMobil.” I don’t know his name, because all of the neighbors I did know got divorced and moved away. My only plans for post-grad seemed attainable, if not specific: to never, ever, ever move back to Westford, Massachusetts. Well. Here I am. In the grand scheme of things, I am fine. I have a stable home and a loving family and good health. For me, in my position of privilege, this pandemic is more of an inconvenience than a life-shattering catastrophe. Still, during my morning pout, or my afternoon grumpies, or my evening sulk, or my bedtime brooding, it’s hard not to let things grow out of proportion. All I wanted from this life was to live somewhere interesting, where I didn’t have to define the word “queer,” where I could remake myself free from the religion of hyper-corporate normativity. (That place may exist nowhere, but that won’t stop me from looking.) But since I find myself here in Westford, and not cool queer dreamland, I have to make the best of it. I’ve tried some different coping strategies during this time of exceptional angst — saying I’ll bake bread, masturbating, not baking bread, masturbating again, and getting annoyed at my parents for no reason, to name a few — but one thing, more than most others, has helped me stay sane: birdwatching. Now I’m no expert birder. I can identify a few common bird calls, and a normal amount of birds by sight, but I’d never really tried to thoroughly learn the names and calls of all the birds around me. I can tell a robin’s chirp from a crow’s caw, but a dark-eyed junco from a song sparrow? I’m lucky if I can even call myself an amateur birdwatcher. So last week I went on to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s website and began to peruse their massive bird guide. I learned that there’s a difference between a swift and a swallow, that there are more warblers than I ever could have imagined, and that I only recognized a tiny fraction of North American birds. I decided to memorize the calls of every bird native to Massachusetts, but soon realized that that would be no easier achieved than reopening the U.S. economy on Easter. There are so many birds in Massachusetts, more than I ever could have imagined. This would be a long-term project, I realized; luckily for me, all I have is time. Out walking the other day, binoculars in hand, I heard three bird calls in a row that I couldn’t identify. The birds were too far away to see, or hiding among the branches, and I felt totally in over my head. In this dark night of the birder’s soul, I thought to myself: what’s the point of all this, beyond maybe distracting myself from the slow-motion global apocalypse? As a literature major, I love filling my head with interesting and impractical information, so learning about birds is perhaps not a surprising hobby. The less it prepares me for the corporate world, the better. But that’s not quite it. The last few weeks have shaken my already-fragile sense of direction, throwing me way off course; watching chickadees hop-chirp around in a thicket of young pines makes me feel grounded and purposeful, in a way that masturbating too much or not making bread never have. Something more than filling time and gray matter draws me to birdwatching. Nature writer Robin Wall Kimmerer says that modern American society is afflicted with a condition she dubs “species loneliness.” In this state of alienation, she says, “as our human dominance of the world has grown, we have become more isolated, more lonely when we can no longer call out to our neighbors.” She does not mean only ignorance of our human neighbors (though I am certainly guilty of that, too); there is another kind of loneliness, a quieter one, that stems from only knowing our human neighbors. When we don’t know the name of the bird at our window, is that any less awkward, less isolating, than not knowing the name of a neighbor? The very first thing that Adam does in the Bible, directly after God creates nature, is give names to the things around him: “to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field.” This is how we find a home within the place we live. Without names, the world around us is shapes, sounds, and smells. But when we name it — whether it’s the birds or the trees or the mountains — it becomes a word, and words are a part of us. If I don’t know the birds’ names, I’m as lost in the shallow woods of suburban Massachusetts as I am in the labyrinth streets of New York. Slowly but surely, I am learning who lives in the woods around me. When I go for a walk, I hear a red-bellied woodpecker and black-capped chickadees, where before I heard vague pretty bird songs. The world around me is falling apart, but I’m finding a home where my home has always been. Call it escapism, or call it embracing the world we live in. It’s both, and it’s helping me to stay sane. I still don’t know my new neighbors’ names. That’s my loss and I should probably change that (although I’ve never known a bird to invest in ExxonMobil). Besides, I won’t be stuck here forever … right? Submitted April 7, 2020.

Forgotten Farms at the Marquis highlights cracking US dairy industry

“Forgotten Farms” opens with a panoramic view of a green, picturesque landscape — the charming scenery that defines Vermont. Shown at The Marquis on Wednesday, March 8, the film then turns its spotlight to the dairy farmers who own and manage the majority of this land, juxtaposing these beautiful rolling plains with the challenges those farmers face in today’s food system. The film was followed by a discussion with local dairy farmers.  Directed by Dave Simonds and produced by Sarah Gardner, “Forgotten Farms” glimpses into the lives of several hardworking dairy farming families in New England, showing how the confluence of cultural and economic factors introduces hardship and insecurity in their lives. For centuries, farming families served as the backbone of New England agriculture. In recent years, changes in the agroindustry have allowed some agriculturalists to thrive, obscuring the fact that most of New England’s agriculture is under threat. Since the industrialization of agriculture, New England has lost over ten thousand dairy farms. Many of these farms had been maintained in families, passed down through generations. “You lose more than farms, you lose the history of who they have been, how they got there, what they have,” said one dairy farmer who was interviewed for the film. The farmer referred to his great grandfather, who pioneered his way into the dairy farming industry 75 years prior. At that time, local farmers brought the community together, fostering connection between food producers and consumers. In this symbiotic relationship, the community respected its farmers. Today, two percent of the total population produces food, and not even their next door neighbors understand their work. As communities become gentrified and small-scale farms disappear, stigmas about dairy farming emerge. According to those interviewed in the film, residents frequently approach them to complain about the smell of manure or to tell them that their work is environmentally harmful. These residents do not know that manure is beneficial for soil, or that dairy farms compose a substantial portion of New England’s agriculture. The film also touched upon the economic challenges of the industry. Agricultural goods are never adjusted to inflation: in a vicious cycle, the more that farmers produce, the cheaper their milk prices become. “It’s always been sort of a ‘break even’ operation. Grain costs 20 thousand dollars a month, and we spend a million dollars on everything we touch,” a dairy farmer testified in the film. There are times when farmers roll out of bed and know that they can’t make money. And the work never stops. Harold Giard, former member of the Vermont State Senate (D-Addison) and retired dairy farmer, chronicled the plight of how low milk prices hurt local dairy farmers after the screening. “Every time a dairy farmer wants something, he needs to milk more cows, because the cost of the piece of equipment is so much money. So we get on this treadmill and continue to run,” he told the audience. Rob Hunt, local dairy farmer who was also at the screening, recalled his life in the past, before small dairy farmers endured financial insecurity. “The first year I shipped milk was in 1979, and in that year, the average price of milk paid to me was $17.25 per gallon, and that’s what we got paid last year,” Hunt said, noting that in 1979 he could also buy five gallons of Diesel fuel, coffee and a donut for five dollars.  Now, he said, those prices would be unheard of. “As the margin per hundred pounds gets smaller and smaller, it takes more and more hundred pounds to make a living,” he added. He speculated that these dropping milk prices are why farms industrialize and merge — including his own farm, the property of which he is selling to a larger farm. Traditionally, dairy farming families hired a few extra helping hands, especially over the summer when teens and adolescents lined up for work. Middlebury’s local dairy farmers recalled how, in the 1970s, there were dozens of dairy farms in their towns that freely hired students. Now there are a few at best, and their mechanized work is unfit for young workers.  “Ten years ago, you could count on one hand the number of dairy farms in Addison County that employed migrant workers. Today, you could count on one hand the number of dairy farmers that do not employ migrant workers,” he said, though the film did not touch on migrant workers.  Marc Cesario, a first-generation farmer in Cornwall, Vermont, whose 1200-acre cattle farm provides beef to Middlebury College, supported the presence of large farms in the dairy industry. “I actually find that I can do a better job of grazing, and it has a better impact on the land, as animal numbers have grown,” he said. “As my herds have grown, it has had a positive impact on soil health and ecology. Growth has been beneficial to me.” For more information about the film, visit ForgottenFarms.org.

Midd missed the mark: Calling for a humane sustainability

Imagine this: a local farm uses food waste and manure from 900 cows to produce renewable natural gas. This gas is funneled through a 5.6 mile-long pipeline from the farm to Middlebury College. The school then uses the gas to produce 500kW of renewable electricity that powers 50% of the campus. College community members turn on their lights and feel content believing the energy powering them is not draining resources from the aching earth, but is instead sustainable, ethical. This vision is part of Middlebury’s Energy2028 plan, which involves a transition to 100% renewable energy, 25% consumption reduction, fossil fuel divestment and engagement in education and research. The project depends on a partnership between Middlebury and Goodrich Family Farm to construct an anaerobic digester on the farm. Vanguard Renewables owns and will operate the plant. Vermont Gas is connecting the system to its pipeline, from which Middlebury pledged to purchase gas. In return, Goodrich will receive free heat, byproduct bedding and fertilizer, as well as annual lease payments. This partnership has been described as an “innovative approach to the climate crisis.” However, this plan is neither sustainable nor ethical.  Several weeks ago, the Goodrich family allegedly denied José Ramos, a migrant farmworker, his paycheck and physically assaulted him when he asked for his earned wages. A few days later, a Migrant Justice organizer accompanied José back to the farm to ask for his wages. Yet again, they were met with physical and verbal violence at the hands of his boss and supervisor.  On Feb. 29, Migrant Justice organizers and community members rallied in front of Goodrich Farm. Over 60 protesters (including 20 Middlebury students) stood in solidarity with José, demanding justice. Protestors said the farm owners met them with aggression: charging at the marchers, pushing people and yelling obscenities. José is not the only worker at Goodrich Farm to have experienced abuse. Following the rally, several farm workers previously employed on the farm came forward to speak about similar violence they endured during their time at Goodrich. The partnership between Middlebury College and Goodrich Farm has been framed as mutually beneficial, helping the college achieve its energy goals and the Goodriches to diversify income. However, this mutual beneficiality is only surface level. As it stands now, the partnership perpetuates deep harm. If Middlebury proceeds with this partnership without demanding the Goodriches afford their farmworkers dignified working and living conditions, we will be directly implicated in violence towards our neighbors.  We must face the reality that 100% renewable does not equate 100% sustainable. “Sustainability,” narrowly conceived, aims to reduce carbon consumption and prevent depletion of natural resources. However, this understanding separates humans from the environment by framing them exclusively as consumers rather than inextricable parts of the environment. These ideas of sustainability perpetuate transactional systems devoid of justice. People and energy sources are not separate. Generating renewable energy must be grounded in reciprocal care. Reimagined, sustainability can support ecosystems and promote equitable social systems. Middlebury must hold the Goodriches accountable for their actions if this partnership is to be sustainable. José’s case and similar cases show the irrefutable need for the expansion of Migrant Justice’s Milk with Dignity program. The Milk with Dignity Standards Council enforces legally binding standards of living and working conditions. If farmworkers at Goodrich were protected under Milk with Dignity, the violence José experienced would not be tolerated. The farm would benefit as well, receiving a premium for their milk as well as other supports.  Middlebury has the leverage and power to demand that Goodrich Farm pay José Ramos his wages and apologize. We must also support the Milk with Dignity Campaign, currently targeting the Hannaford supermarket chain.  If Middlebury wishes to be a national leader in sustainability, we cannot pursue our energy goals through unjust means. Middlebury faces two choices: use our position of power to be an instrument for change, or continue to remain tolerant of deeply troubling labor practices.  At the end of the day, the energy produced by this project is not just coming from food and agricultural waste. It is also coming from human beings who expend their own energy laboring in extremely difficult conditions to care for the animals producing the waste that is turned into power. If farmworkers’ energy is not valued, the very root of Energy2028 will be corrupt.  We are calling on the Middlebury community and the Energy2028 team to entertain a broader definition of sustainability, one that does not continue to perpetuate violence and dehumanization. Sustainability cannot be surface level. Instead, it must be deeply rooted in respect, justice and humanity.  Signed by Alex Cobb ’20, Hannah Ennis ’22.5, Olivia Pintair ’22.5, Jaden Hill ’22 and Connor Wertz ’22

Reel Critic: 'Bojack Horseman'

Just before the show’s final fade-to-black, Bojack Horseman (Will Arnett) recites a story to his longtime friend Diane Nguyen (Allison Brie). In the story, the pseudo leader of his prison block, Big Andy, forces the block to watch the same rom-com every week during movie night. After weeks of watching the same movie, Bojack hatches a scheme to destroy the DVD and, after his plan’s success, suggests a new one. Instead of fixing the problem, Big Andy falls in love with the new flick and the cycle begins anew.  In one concisely written, only “kind of funny” anecdote, as Bojack says, the show’s entire message pours out of the screen: though the appearance of life changes, shifting circumstances and situations, the essence of it is constant. There is no grand moment of rebirth when the baggage of a past self is left behind and forgotten; we carry our entire past, every decision we’ve ever made, with us every step of the way. We can never escape our faults, or be wholly free from them; we just have to accept ourselves and strive towards betterment. Life is what it is, and nothing more.  “Bojack Horseman” is a show of supreme collaborative effort between Raphael Bob-Waksberg, the show’s creator, and the actors and actresses he employs to great effect. This show could only have been made as an animation because the bounds of reality would only serve to restrict creative potential. Each character, whether they be a Persian cat agent, an asexual rabbit or a horse actor, is entirely unique and unforgettable, creating a world unlike any other. They seem to defy the trappings of archetype and stereotype.  Season 6 Pt. 2 finds Bojack in a period of reinvention; he has been sober for some time and has taken a teaching job at Wesleyan as a professor of acting; yet, his past is inescapable. From the opening credits, which focus on Bojack’s face center-screen as he is confronted by the consequences of his past actions, the final season prompts Bojack and the viewer alike to grapple with the atrocities they have committed and witnessed. He is constantly telling people — and himself — that this is the “new Bojack,” someone who has entirely moved on from his past self, but is this truly possible?  At points, it seems as though he has changed — he seems fulfilled and successful in his profession and cares about his students — but time and again, he reverts back to his old self. After scandalous allegations of his involvement in the death of his “Horsin’ Around” co-star Sarah Lynn (Kristen Schaal), Bojack conducts an interview with Biscuits Braxby (Daniele Gaither) to tell the truth on live TV, yet even the interview is shot on a replica soundstage set of his home hours before it airs. Fueled by the reviews of a “successful” first interview, Bojack pushes for a second against the wishes of his longtime agent and former girlfriend Princess Carolyn (Amy Sedaris), believing that he has “won.” When he is in the steady structure of routine, Bojack can maintain his new self, yet under pressure, he folds and reverts back, erasing years of character reconstruction.  “Bojack Horseman” is at its filmic zenith when it recognizes and reverses the expectations of its viewership. Its self-awareness is unparalleled. This season sees Diane in her attempts to simultaneously battle depression and write her book of memoirs, her agent selling her on the idea that “sad is the new fun.” Instead, she writes — in her own words — a “middle-grade detective fiction series,” starring spunky protagonist Ivy Tran. For years, Diane has considered writing her memoirs, believing she must publish her book in order for the trauma, abuse and neglect of her youth to be “good damage,” but ultimately finds herself altogether questioning the notion of good damage. Life isn’t a perfectly written narrative that succinctly resolves all our problems in a single season, and the irony of this is not lost on “Bojack Horseman.” It is entirely unique in its refusal to resolve its characters’ problems, forcing them to carry the weight of their failures with them just as they would in real life.  The final season of “Bojack Horseman” is the most artistically adventurous of the series. It creates a completely new style of animation for Diane’s internal conversations with her book’s protagonist and depicts a talent show of friends and family for Bojack as quite literally faces his past. These episodes are not artistic feats that draw attention solely to the talent of the show’s creators; they are purposeful alterations of style that present information the most clearly and effectively.  “Bojack Horseman” has quickly become my favorite TV show for its constant reinvention, its seemingly limitless artistic imagination and its unflinching capacity to sucker punch me with a beautiful line of devastating monologue when I least expect it. The greatest compliment I can offer this show is that it is the only one that I watch both the intro and end credits for every time. “Bojack Horseman” remains a pillar of animation that draws its strength from its ability to make the nonsensical more grounded than any other television reality I’ve seen. I cannot recommend a show more highly than this. Please go out and watch it so that I can stop bringing it up at every party I attend. 

Studying in a bushfire

When I stepped out of the Sydney International Airport, the smell of ash immediately entered my nose. After a few minutes of walking, I could already feel the phlegm building up in my throat. A gray haze covered the city, and my heart dropped as I realized I was just going to have to get used to it. There are some days where the air quality is so bad, you can see the ash in the air and are advised to not go outside. The next day, the air quality will be good, and the skies will be clear. It all depends on the day and which way the wind is blowing (literally). It is part of my daily routine now to look up the air quality index to decide whether or not I will be going to the beach that day.  Thankfully, I go to the University of New South Wales, which is right by Sydney, so there are no threats of bushfires. However, many people living in Sydney (like my professor) have family members that had to evacuate their homes. Every day, people here hope for rain — whether it’s for their families, koalas, kangaroos, or billions of other animals. Recently, there was a thunderstorm that provided some relief for the bushfires, but Australia still desperately needs our help. It has some of the most diverse ecosystems in the world, and sadly lots of it has died due to the fires. Australian relief organizations have been raising money through various tactics. For example, after grocery shopping, the cashiers always ask me if I would like to donate to bushfire fighting organizations. However, with two more months of dry season to go, Australia is going to need all the help it can get.  A Jan. 6 New York Times Article, entitled “How to Help Victims of Australia’s Fires,” lists some organizations that are accepting donations for Australia’s victims. Consider making a donation today. Emily Chu is a member of Middlebury class of '21.

An invitation from the Scott Center

While the turn of the calendar year is often a time for optimism, it is hard to ignore the threat of war with Iran we faced earlier this month, along with the devastating bushfires in Australia that have wreaked havoc on people, animals and their homes. These are the consequences of the neglect we show the planet and the devastating power of modern weaponry. These world events, as well as the struggles of building a society free from hate, can weigh heavily on us.  We at the Scott Center for Spiritual and Religious Life find ourselves as speechless as any in the wake of these reports that fill our media outlets lately. We also know that this is the time to appeal to the deepest wisdom of our traditions for insight, inspiration to action and hope.  Our traditions and worldviews vary widely, and so too will our actions and responses. We all hope and pray that our world leaders will find restraint in matters of war, action in matters of the climate crisis, and wisdom and compassion in both.   We are holding those personally affected by events around the world close in our thoughts, while offering our friendship and solidarity. To this end, we invite anyone wanting to share these concerns to gather with us at Wisdom Wednesday on Jan. 29 at 1:30–2 p.m. in Mead Chapel. Wisdom Wednesdays happen every week in Mead, and provide a place for the college community to gather for reflection and shared strength.  May the opening of this new decade be a call to all of us to pursue wisdom from all quarters in order to build a future of love, peace and care. The Scott Center for Spiritual & Religious Life team includes Saifa Hussain, Muslim Advisor/Associate Chaplain; Ellen McKay, Program Coordinator; Mark R. Orten, Dean of Spiritual & Religious Life; and Danielle Stillman, Rabbi/Associate Chaplain

How we eat: Feeding 2,500 students

The complexities of dining preparations don’t usually cross our minds as we try to squeeze in meals between the hustle and bustle of classes, jobs and other commitments. Since most of the work is already done for us, we rarely consider the behind-the-scenes operations that allow for students to have a maximally comfortable dining experience.  Middlebury Dining Services employs 106 people, including student employees, who assist with basic prep, run The Grille and manage the overall operations. Each dining hall has a head chef, a secondary group of chefs, dishwashing staff and a receiver in charge of handling food deliveries.  “Many of our employees have been here for more than 20, sometimes even 30 years,” said Executive Director of Food Services Dan Detora. The college’s three dining halls operate, for the most part, independently of each other, according to Detora. Although Atwater boasts the largest kitchen, food is prepared separately at each dining hall. This excludes the baked goods prepared at the bake shop, which is centralized at Proctor and provides all the bread and desserts for Proctor, Ross, Atwater, The Grille and Wilson Café.  The bake shop is staffed with three professional bakers and a host of student workers responsible for making dessert bars and other sweet delicacies. Detora said that the shop is also home to MiddCakes and the headquarters of the “granola gang,” the group of students tasked with making granola for the entire campus.  Ingredients for meals are typically ordered in bulk, meaning that the dining halls will order 1,000 pounds of squash at a time, for example. Because the dining facilities are rather small, materials are delivered to all three locations, plus The Grille, daily. This inventory is monitored through a system called E.A. Tech, which allows staff to keep track of what food needs to be ordered and informs dining halls from where they can borrow if one site runs out of something.  Each dining hall receives the same materials, but each operates on an independent menu cycle that repeats itself every five weeks. Detora said that these menus are curated at the beginning of the semester, based on existing information about what students are eating and what they are not. In terms of how much food is made for each meal, production in each dining hall is determined by the previous experience of long-time employees. Ross, for example, will typically prepare an average of 1,000 portions of whatever is on the menu, Detora said.  A significant amount of the food is also locally sourced. While the dining halls do have a contract with a national company called Reinhardt Foods, a lot of produce is purchased from nearby farms or from a company called Black River Produce, which Detora said “works as a middleman between us and the farms.”  Coffee is purchased from Vermont Coffee, cheese from Cabot Creamery and milk from Monument Farms in Weybridge. In addition, beef is purchased from two Vermont beef farms, one in Cornwall and one in Essex. Instead of purchasing actual pieces of meat, the college will purchase whole animals, which are later slaughtered and packed at Vermont Packing.  “If we can get it locally, we do,” Detora said. “We put over $1.2 million back into the economy last year in terms of local sourcing.”  For a campus that is a national leader in sustainability, however, the focus of environmental and economic sustainability in the college’s purchasing practices is not widely broadcast.   “I don’t think we do a good job, to be honest, with advertising what our purchasing practices are and how we are different than most schools,” Detora said.  Detora said that a lot of schools use pasteurized carton eggs, whereas Middlebury “uses cracked, shelled eggs from just down the road.” Middlebury also uses real maple syrup in all of its dining halls, whereas UVM only has one dining hall that has real maple syrup, according to Detora.   To ensure maximum freshness, food is typically prepared one day before it is served, unless frozen meats are being used, in which case the meals are prepared several days in advance. If chefs at a dining hall are cooking a Recipe from Home — a family recipe that a student has submitted — Detora said staff will conduct research in advance. Chefs will sometimes call the parents of students who submitted a recipe and ask for advice, and often invite the student into the kitchen to supervise the preparation process.  One change the dining halls have had to contend with recently is the increase in the size of the student body over the past couple of years, and the out-the-door lines that coincide with it.  According to Detora, Ross is built “for four- to five-hundred people tops,” but now serves around 1,000 people in one meal. The same goes for Atwater, where it is common to see students eating on the floor during lunch after all of the tables fill up.  “On a typical Tuesday in Atwater, from 12:15–12:35 we swipe in anywhere between 1,600 to 1,800 students,” Detora said. Detora said that the influx of students has proven to be particularly challenging given the small size of the Ross kitchen.  “On a busy morning there will be six to eight chefs in there, and they’re all bumping into each other,” he said.  Thankfully, the swipe system has helped staff gauge how many students are coming in, and what preparation adjustments need to be made. Still, this method is not always one hundred percent reliable.  “I’d be lying to you if I said we haven’t run out of an entrée before,” Detora said.  Despite these challenges, Detora believes the dining system has done rather well, considering it has to cater to all but the few students who aren’t on a meal plan. Dining is also currently working to incorporate a system in which recipes can be converted into their nutritional value. This will allow each dining hall to post the nutritional information of each dish and not just the ingredients. 

Column: The economic case for going vegan

Veganism — perhaps the biggest thing in 2019 after the movement to storm Area 51 and the Keanu Reeves Renaissance. Fast food chains are producing vegan burgers with meat-free patties, and a recent Economist article showed that sales of vegan food “rose ten times faster than food sales as a whole.” Today, about 3% of the U.S. population identify as vegan, and this number is growing, especially among Millennials and Gen Z’s, according to a Gallup poll in 2018. Does this mean that all of us should go vegan? We can turn to economics for an answer. In deciding whether to eat vegan, we should first consider whether it is what we want. As consumers, we make decisions to buy based on our individual preferences. Choosing to switch our diets depends on our preferences defined by a number of factors: our taste for vegan food, the extent of our value for our health and the environment, etc. The utility — or pleasure — we get from leading a vegan life will determine whether we ultimately decide to lead this lifestyle.  Of course, this assumes that we are perfectly aware of our preferences, which is not always the case. Martin Abel,Professor of Economics said: “People may not have tried vegan food, or have misconceptions. [This is] the ‘status quo bias’ - a tendency to stick with the familiar.” Preferences can also fluctuate depending on tastes and opinions, and perhaps more subtly, exogenous factors, such as advertising, the media, norms and exposure. We know our preferences; still, whatever our preferences are, we are limited by scarcity. Thus, our decision to become vegan also depends on whether it is possible for us. Typically, economists identify cost as a constraint. According to a study by Diana Cassady, Professor of Public Health Sciences at the University of California, Davis, low-income Americans would have to spend 43% to 70% of their food budget on fruits and vegetables. A large part of this is because the locations where many low-income Americans shop are convenience stores rather than supermarkets and grocery stores. Not only do convenience stores tend not to provide fresh produce, constraining access, but those that do tend to charge more. [pullquote speaker="Jackson Evans '22" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]I didn’t like the taste of meat and that killing animals wasn’t really something I wanted to support[/pullquote] At the same time, a large reason why stores can afford to overcharge or simply not supply vegan options is due to the lack of demand for these products. Economic theory suggests, however, that if more people begin demanding vegan food, the price of these products will increase. However, producers — farmers, restaurants and stores — will see this as an opportunity to profit and enter the market. As a result, the supply of vegan food would increase, offsetting the price and making vegan options more affordable. This also addresses the unemployment argument, where veganism will lead to a huge surge of unemployment in the meat industry; while this is true, it is also important to understand the jobs that may open up in place. Then, the question becomes whether we should go vegan. Jackson Evans ’22 states that animal treatment was a large motivator his decision to go vegan four years ago. “I didn’t like the taste of meat and that killing animals wasn’t really something I wanted to support,” Evans said. In economics, these moral and environmental costs are referred to as externalities.  Recent research from the University of Oxford has shown that veganism is “the single biggest way to reduce your impact on planet Earth.” Using a “vegan calculator” to figure out the marginal effect of going vegan, one year of veganism could save 7,436 pounds of CO2 from being released, and 401,766 gallons of water. There is also the humanitarian factor, which Evans cited earlier to be industrial farming. Industrial farming reflects the inhumane conditions of the farms, including overcrowding, abuse of antibiotics for stress and illness and breeding for fast growth or high yield of meat. Technology has made farming all-too-efficient, which can be illustrated through a U.S. Department of Agriculture report, citing total commercial red meat production in September 2019 alone at 4.44 billion pounds. While animal welfare is not included in the traditional economic welfare framework, there should be lots of thought given to how living beings are treated, and how this could reflect our own wellbeing and welfare.  So should we go vegan? It really depends on our preferences, constraints and how we will affect those around us if we don’t. Then, how about Midd’s dining halls? We’ve already seen Meatless Mondays take over Proctor and Ross, and word is going around that Atwater will be increasing vegan food production in J-Term (see News, Page 2). First, let’s start thinking about the preferences of the dining halls. Dining Services’ preferences are likely most focused on foot traffic. Granted, a dining hall that is all vegan would likely lose a significant number of student diners; however, if the kitchen were able to build a menu that appeals to students regardless of being vegan, this could alleviate the loss of non-vegans. Next, we turn to constraint. Finally, we can look at how becoming vegan will affect others. Environmentally, it will have a significant impact, saving hundreds of thousands of gallons of water and pounds of CO2 gas. By going vegan, the dining halls could change the dining habits of Middlebury students. Remember the status quo bias from before? Abel suggests that this change could transform students’ preferences: “[People can] discover their preferences… by being forced to experiment and try and develop new habits.” As a result, more students could decide to go vegan. Evans described this to be the case when he first got to Middlebury: “[H]ere when all the options are there, it’s simple and is congruous with my thoughts on not hurting animals, and attempting to mitigate our climate disaster.

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Reel Critic: 'Buñuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles'

Tackling the tumultuous life of controversial cinematic pioneer Luis Buñuel, the animated film “Buñuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles” brought a pensive side to the Hirschfield Film Series on Saturday, Nov. 9.  Director Salvador Simó Busom crafts a narrative around Buñuel filming his documentary, “Las Hurdes: Land without Bread.” In the aftermath of his fall from grace with L’Age d’Or ushering in considerable scandal, Buñuel is left with a slough of insecurities interspersed with doubts about his split from former colleague, surrealist artist Salvador Dalí. The opportunity for filming comes as a surprise when Ramón Acín, fellow artist and friend, wins a lottery and decides to invest in Buñuel’s dramatized documentary expounding on the poverty and barren state of Las Hurdes, a remote town located up in the mountains of Spain.  Busom renders the physical journey and creative process in hues of yellow and purple. Riddled with isolated guitar, piano and accordion chords to bring dimension to the film, Buñuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles is eerily atmospheric. In its essence, it strangely captures the surrealist world as we  see an exaggerated take on the frustrations Buñuel undergoes. The gorgeous color palette highlights every warm sunset and melancholic rainstorm as the crew trek through the shell-studded cliffside and explore the depths of destitution.  The film’s stunning palette and simple, flattened animation capture the abstraction and surrealism behind Buñuel’s process, but the emphasis proves to be a double-edged sword. On one hand, it fully reflects the deliberation behind capturing Buñuel’s underlying vulnerability through dreams,  particularly in the scenes that dive into his psyche. Busom doesn’t shy away from incorporating provocative scenes displaying murder or vulnerability and, in that, builds towards a complex sketch of Buñuel. The film opens up with a flashback as a young Buñuel fears disappointing his father and tiptoes around him, granting audiences a tender rendering of his childhood isolation.  With the emphasis on capturing Buñuel’s surreal blend of thoughts and emotions interspersed with each other, the film grows rather difficult to understand and leaves room for questions. To this effect, watching Buñuel may prove to be rather frustrating in its purposeful ambiguity. Especially when portraying an artist of his nature, Luis Buñuel isn’t the easiest, most predictable subject. The push for authenticity is refreshing, however — and, in that, linear storytelling is compromised for beauty and depth. Buñuel is a film that requires you to care about the artist: not just what he creates, but why he does it all.  To his credit, Busom ultimately lightens the heavy introspection by dispersing humor throughout the film. Additionally, the film’s show-stopping cinematography lightens its weighty subject matter. Viewers are almost tempted to forget about undercurrents of political and emotional grief as they take in the beauty of every frame. The film deftly incorporates elements of the documentary as well, seamlessly blending in snapshots of the past and present to draw viewers directly in.  Dramatization through Luis’ eyes shows through almost inceptively — take animal murder, for example. In the transition, humor first comes through as characters poke at one another, refusing to murder a rooster on a string. The vendor unintentionally jests as well — “Which one?” he asks, in response to being offered payment to kill “it,” directing his query to the people rather than the animal. Right as the audience almost forgets the presence of death in the lighthearted jest, however, the film fuses into black and white, plunging us dramatically in a transition to violently emphasized slaughter.  It is not easy to capture the complexities underlying severed relationships between oneself and others. Frankly, an hour and a half is far too short to do so, especially when dealing with subject matter of unresolved trauma and self-doubt. There will indubitably be questions unanswered, emotional volatility felt and an overarching cloud of frustration left behind as viewers, previously immersed in Buñuel’s world just a minute ago, are left to comprehend. Nevertheless, the exposition of emotion and suffering is a commendable effort and the film is thoughtful in its unapologetic curiosity.

Memorable Dishes’ series at Bundle connects community with food and story

Students, professors, and local residents gathered in ​​Bundle​ — a pop-up event space in downtown Middlebury — to kick off a new storytelling series hosted by Middlebury Underground last Friday, Nov. 1. This storytelling series, aptly titled “Memorable Dishes,” offered hours of stories and free “local bites” sourced from nearby farms and organizations. “[Midd Underground] has long wanted to host a moth-style storytelling event of this kind,” said Lisa Mitchell, fine dining chef, culinary event producer and one of the program’s organizers. She had been envisioning the appeal of a storytelling evening about the various lives of people in Middlebury. The goal of these events, according to Mitchell, is bringing the community together around storytelling, which is “an intimate kind of connection.”  A brainstorming group, consisting of Bundle manager and creator Kelly Hickey, community member Matt Laux, and Mitchell herself, chose food as the topic of the stories. The challenge? Participants were tasked with sharing their “best five-minute tale” about food. In a note to the storytellers, Midd Underground described food as “fuel, culture, religion and customs.” Food was chosen as the topic because it can forge connections among people, the ultimate purpose of the storytelling series.  “[Food] connects us all and evokes so many sense memories, traditions, and stories of origin,” Mitchell said. Becky Strum and her husband, parents of a Middlebury graduate, heard about the event both in a local newspaper and through word of mouth in the nearby community. According to Strum, the idea of food and stories seemed “extremely appealing” to both of them. This sentiment was shared by over 100 other guests, whose energetic conversations filled the room as they swarmed the table filled with organic vegetables, cheese and even a selection of homemade breads and sauces. Nearby residents weren’t the only attendees. Natalie Figueroa ’18 currently works in Middlebury’s admissions office and enjoys interacting with this close-knit community in which she lives. She arrived at the event in order to hear her co-worker speak, but stayed for the food and conversation. Students of the college, families, and even professors attended this storytelling series emphasizing the importance of community at Middlebury and how the connections that exist between these people can be strengthened by food —both of the physical and the written variety. The stories shared were “evocative and powerful,” Mitchell said. Themes of forging connections with others through cooking, embarking on culinary adventures and embracing the comfort of a familiar dish emerged throughout the night. Storyteller Laura Thomas spoke of the day she worked with an elderly alzheimer’s patient to make pickles — and how, although the finished product was nearly inedible, the experience cheered and motivated the patient. Annette Franklin revealed that she learned to cook Ethiopian cuisine to welcome an adopted member of her family who hailed from the country. Doug Engell recalled a “lobster feast to remember,” the final, beautiful meal he shared with his family following his wife’s diagnosis with liver cancer. Other speakers shared tales of adventure and risk. Gretchen Ayer talked about a coworker’s comical battle with a seemingly-unswallowable piece of octopus sashimi. Becky Kincaid spoke of a delicious meal she shared with members of a friendly Kurdish village, which incidentally landed her, gravely ill, in a Turkish hospital. Andy Mitchell gave detailed accounts of the outlandish foods he has consumed from chipmunks to insects. He also described a particularly memorable banquet of excess research specimens in Greenland that included priceless caviar and narwhal steaks. Some storytellers spoke fondly of a favorite food. Jesse Gilette praised the special “doner kebab” that can only be found in Berlin and whose flavors are unreplicatable in any other location — even the esteemed Great Bazaar. Anna Sun spoke of her love-hate relationship with her father’s special salt-duck recipe that required the dead animal to dry, hanging, for three months alongside the family’s laundry. And Jess Danyow gushed about popcorn, the perfect bitesize snack that she enjoys as she reads novels and escapes from reality. Mitchell’s story was a particularly special one. As a young woman living in Boston, she decided to seize an opportunity to pursue her dreams of becoming a professional chef. Soon, the excruciating training and “hazing” from other chefs began to take their toll, but she refused to give up. With the unexpected help of a seasoned, tough-as-nails ex-con, she improved her knife skills and cooking techniques. She even threw “dinner parties” with her new friend. Mitchell noted that this man used cooking as an escape from his difficult past. Although she doesn’t keep in contact with him today, she wishes him well and will always be grateful for his aid and support. Mitchell’s story was the perfect culmination to the night, including elements of connection, risk-taking and true love for food. Midd Underground is looking forward to offering this series on a quarterly basis. They have many ideas “in the works,” according to Mitchell. News regarding the theme of the winter installment is expected soon.

Reel Critic: 'Bojack Horseman' Season VI

“Bojack Horseman” is a show so wholly unlike anything else being made today that it demands immediate viewership. The wacky, zany and often nonsensical show, birthed from the insatiably creative mind of Raphael Bob-Waksber, uses the boundless medium of animation to discuss what is not often discussed honestly: ourselves. The human condition is constantly commented upon, yet somehow this show about an animated horse seems to be the closest to capturing the spirit of life of any show currently airing. The final season of the show has been split into two parts, each containing eight episodes.  “Bojack Horseman” season six part II will be released January 2020. Season six picks up right where it left off, reflecting on Bojack’s (Will Arnett) lowest moment, when the destructiveness of his alcoholism and drug-abuse spilt over to those he held closest. Bojack built his fame in a Full House-esque sitcom called “Horsin’ Around” wherein he played parent to a daughter played by actress Sarah Lynn (Kristen Schaal). As a child actress, Sarah Lynn fell victim to abuse like Bojack turned to a life of drug-abuse. While dealing with his own various self-abuse and drug-abuse problems, Bojack led Sarah Lynn on a wild bender that left her wordlessly passing away in a planetarium. In a show of constant chatter, where it is common to find characters speaking in precisely intricate rhyming sentences, this moment of silence stands apart. Bojack and viewers alike sat in stunned silence at the visual manifestation of his harmful ways, fully internalizing the pain of the moment. Sarah Lynn’s death runs vividly throughout the season, imbuing each and every moment with the weight of this trauma. At the end of season five, Bojack checked himself into a rehab clinic for his alcoholism and drug-abuse, and though he finds himself flourishing in the clinic community, after six months of treatment he finds himself fearful of  re-entering the world he once knew, where the strength of his will would be the only thing keeping him from returning to his self-destructive ways. Unlike previous seasons, which looked back on the past with reminiscent idealism, season six looks at the present as a manifestation of the past, and uses it to try to reconcile with the enormity of Bojack’s’ prior mistakes. In many ways, season six follows Bojack on his ascension of the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, first trying to understand the locus of his alcoholism, last trying to make amends with himself and with those around him. With every new episode, viewers are greeted with some earlier rendition of Bojack’s first drink, attempting to find the moment that propelled him in his downward spiral. First, it was after catching his father cheating on his mother with the secretary, then we are told his first drink occurred even earlier, after finding both of his parents passed out after a party, and finally it falling on a later date, when he drinks to cope with the stress of being the face of a popular sitcom. Yet it doesn’t matter which scenario is in fact his first drink, because it is precisely the fact that each drink was precipitated by trauma that is understood to be the problem. Alcohol is often used to treat one’s inner trauma, yet it often results in a myriad of more troubling and destructive situations. In order to pass step eight of Alcoholics Anonymous, one must make amends to all the persons harmed through the course of alcoholism, and during the course of the season Bojack attempts to seek out all the people in his life who have been affected by his illness. Bojack has always blamed his illness on those around him, using the generous spirits of those who care for him as stilts to keep his head above water, yet now he understands that, in raising himself up, he was also pushing them down. By blaming his alcoholism on others, Bojack continually denied himself change, for substantive change can only come from within. Change is difficult and real change harder still. In seeking out the objects of his abuse, Bojack is constantly greeted by woe and regret. Season six reminds Bojack that the past cannot be rewritten and one simply cannot change what has already happened. He can only beg for forgiveness and hope to retain some of what he once had. Part I of season six strikes at the epicenter of Bojack’s alcoholism, treating both himself and the viewer through therapy and rehab. “Bojack Horseman” remains one of the few shows that can find its characters delivering a 30 second lyrical rhyming summary one moment and a deeply heartfelt and pathetic monologue the next. There simply isn’t any show quite as outlandish in its methodology, yet it challenges even the best dramas to match is empathetic appeal. “Bojack Horseman” season six finds Bojack struggling for genuineness in his remorse and forgiveness in his friends. Sobering up, both literally and spiritually, is extraordinarily difficult and no show allows its character to fail quite like “Bojack Horseman” does. With part II around the corner, fans of the show, much like the characters within it, sit in a state of gleeful anticipation and sorrowful dread for what the future holds for Bojack and his friends.

Milk with Dignity pushes for "leche justa"

“Hannaford, escucha. Estamos en la lucha. Leche justa, a mi me gusta.” Protesters chanted this  phrase — which loosely translates to “Hannaford, listen, we are fighting for fair trade milk” — as they gathered outside of the Middlebury branch of the Hannaford supermarket. Through their protests on Saturday, Nov. 2, they demanded that the chain only buy its milk from dairy farms that respect the human rights of their workers. Eighty to 100 farmworkers, organizers, Middlebury community members and Middlebury students attended the protest, which was organized by Middlebury students Olivia Pintair ’22.5 and Hannah Ennis ’22.5 and hosted by student organizations Juntos and Middlebury Refugee Outreach Club (MiddROC).  The protest was part of the Milk with Dignity Day of Action. Migrant Justice, a solidarity collective aimed at improving the economic and human rights of farmworkers in the northeast, organized the campaign with similar events at 21 Hannaford’s locations in Vermont, Maine, New Hampshire and Massachusetts. Eleuterio, a prominent member of the Migrant Justice Coordination Committee and an Addison County dairy worker, and Jose Ignacio, a dairy worker in Shoreham, spoke to those assembled about the alleged human rights violations they have experienced as dairy workers in Addison County. “I work on a farm in Addison county where . . . there are no raises. Where there are no vacations. Where we work 12, 13, 14 hours a day. Where we take only 30 to 40-minute breaks to eat. This is not just,” Euleterio said. The Milk with Dignity program started in 2014, and Migrant Justice and Ben & Jerry’s signed the first Milk with Dignity contract in 2017. In June of 2019, Migrant Justice launched a campaign calling on Hannaford, a major dairy buyer with nearly 200 stores throughout the northeast, to join the Milk with Dignity Program.  Should the supermarket agree to join the program, it would only buy its milk from dairy farms that agree to follow the Milk With Dignity Code of Conduct, which includes “adequate breaks, time off, paid sick leave, humane and safe staffing and working conditions and fair housing.” These farms have to comply with Milk with Dignity Standards Council (MDSC) monitoring to ensure their adherence to the code. They must guarantee that their workers have unfettered access to MDSC complaint mechanisms and worker-to-worker education about their rights. In order to not place undue financial burden on the already-struggling Vermont dairy industry, Hannaford would pay an extra premium to farms to support wage increases. The supermarket would also “sign a legally-binding agreement that defines the program as an enforceable contract under law,” according to the Migrant Justice website. A 2014 survey of nearly 200 Vermont dairy workers conducted by Migrant Justice showed that 40% of workers receive less than the Vermont minimum wage, 40% have no days off and 20% have their pay illegally withheld. 

College chaplain completes third pilgrimage to Mecca

Three years ago, Saifa Hussain, associate chaplain to the Muslim Student Association and Mosaic Interfaith House at Middlebury College, set out on a journey to connect more deeply to her faith. Now, at just 28 years old, she has fulfilled the pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca three times. It is a feat which all Muslims are obligated to complete once in their lifetime if they are physically and financially able. The pilgrimage, also called the Hajj, is the last of the five major tenants of Islam, and takes place between the eighth and the 13th of Dhu al-Hijja, the 12th month of the Muslim calendar. Hussain performed her first Hajj the summer of 2017, and made her third pilgrimage to the holy city alongside her husband this past summer. However, her decision to trek across the world and make the trip three times, let alone once, was not always part of her shorter-term agenda. “Back then, I never thought about making the Hajj pilgrimage,” Hussain said, explaining that it is an undertaking many Muslims save up their entire lives for. “It was originally something that I was planning to do when I was much older.” Hussain decided to make her first pilgrimage while living in a micro home built by her husband on a farm in New Haven, Vt. They had moved there from Chicago in the spring of 2017 to practice sustainable living, minimalism and Islamic spirituality. At the time, making the cost-hefty journey did not seem possible. That is, until her change in lifestyle began to shift Hussain’s conception of her own spirituality. “A lot of it was fueled by me negotiating my various identities and seeking out teachers and spiritual guides to help me connect deeper to my faith,” Hussain said. “One of the things that they advised me to do was to make the Hajj pilgrimage.”  The holy pilgrimage, they told her, was “central to rooting yourself as a Muslim in a modern American context.” She began looking at Hajj packages online, and that August, she left to meet the group she had been matched with. Hussain said it is common to make the pilgrimage in a group, and that there is a “whole industry” connecting Muslims from all over the world who wish to make the trip with others traveling from similar areas. After meeting her group in Chicago, they flew to Germany and then to Jeddah, the gateway for pilgrimages to Mecca. Their spiritual journey, however, began on the flight to Jeddah, during which the group entered the purification state of Ihram, which is required before one embarks on the Hajj pilgrimage. In order to fully achieve Ihram, one must pass through several points around Mecca called the Miquat, the first of which the group happened to pass on the plane. “There were pilgrims on the plane getting into this Ihram state, putting on the clothing, making the intention, starting their reciting,” Hussain said. While in this state, men must dress in a traditional white cloth, and a variety of practices are prohibited, such as bathing with scented products, clipping nails, cutting hair, wearing perfume or having sexual intercourse. “You really go into this liminal state where you are out of the ordinary and are in this monastic, austere way of being,” she said. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-niTMok-UM This past summer, Hussain’s Hajj journey once again began in Jeddah, where her group was picked up by a bus which made the day-long drive to Mecca. Once there, they rested and prepared to perform the rituals of the Hajj that would take place in the days ahead. Each day of the pilgrimage is separated into distinct rituals, many of which are dedicated to the life of the prophet Abraham. On the first day, Hussain’s group performed the tawaf, which entails walking seven times, counter-clockwise, around a black cube-like structure called the Ka’ba. In the Islamic tradition, this is the point where heaven and earth meet, but more than that, Hussain said, it is the point which Muslims consider to be “the center of their spiritual universe.” “It represents this circular movement of oneness, and you’re doing this with millions of pilgrims from all walks of life,” she said.  Next, they passed between the hills of Safa and Marwa to commemorate the struggles of the Lady Hagar. Along the way, they also drank holy water from the well of ZamZam, which is meant to replenish pilgrims who “experience the intensity of the heat and the struggle of these rituals,” she said. The next day, they traveled to the tent city of Mina and then to the Plain of Arafat in Mina for a day of vigil and prayer. “This is the encounter of a lifetime with God,” Hussain said.  Hussain said it was a highly emotional experience during which she felt that many pilgrims were in “a complete state of submission.” She and millions of other pilgrims stopped to just cry.  “You go there with all of your life in your heart and all of other people’s lives in your heart,” she said. Hussain was one of the millions of people who took prayers of their loved ones with them to read on the pilgrimage. Before she left, she created a shared Google document for others to write their prayers on, which she then read off of her phone at various points throughout the Hajj. Hussain extended this offer to Muslim students at Middlebury, too.  After traveling from Arafat to Muzdalifa to spend a night in the desert, she returned to Mecca with her group to perform the next ritual, the Jamrat. During this ritual, pilgrims stone the pillar of Jamrat, an act that symbolizes casting away the negativity in one’s life. Hussain said many pilgrims believe that when they throw the stones, they are hitting the devil. Once these major rituals have taken place, an animal is sacrificed, which allows a pilgrim to exit the purification state of Ihram. To signify this transition, men will typically shave their head and women will cut off around an inch of their hair. Pilgrims are then also allowed to resume their normal hygienic practices. The last ritual of Hussain’s Hajj took place in Mecca, where she returned to perform the farewell tawaf, this time from outside  the state of Ihram. With each journey into and out of the state of Ihram, Hussain said her life changed in ways that have allowed her to realize the meaning of her connection to God and who she truly is as a spiritual being. “The Hajj takes you out of autopilot, and that is the purpose of pilgrimage,” Hussain said. “To get out of the mundane and into the sacred ... What it did for me is that it disrupted the monotony, or the human sort of heedlessness that we often find ourselves in.” Ultimately, Hussain’s journey to step out of the mundane of everyday life is one that she knows will be ongoing, which is why she plans to make the Hajj every year. “It doesn’t mean you have to have it all figured out, but I think it’s the questioning that’s important,” she said. “Because if we can’t question things, then we will just be in autopilot forever.”

Heath Quartet stuns during class visits, performances

At the intermission of the Heath Quartet’s concert on the night of Friday, Oct. 11, I was chatting with my friend Henry Ganey ’22 outside the Mahaney Arts Center’s Robison Hall, and mentioned a certain Shakespeare phrase.  “‘If music be the food of love, play on,’” I said, quoting the opening lines of “Twelfth Night.”  Ganey’s eyes lit up. “I would say that the standing ovation at the end of [Ludwig van Beethoven’s Quartet no. 8 in E. Minor] would be the quintessential example of the aforementioned quote,” he said. He was not exaggerating. Despite the unspoken rule that an audience can give a standing ovation only after a program’s end, the crowd went bananas at the end of the British ensemble’s first act.  Throughout the last week, the Heath Quartet — comprised of violist Gary Pomeroy, cellist Christopher Murray and violinists Oliver Heath and Sara Wolstenholme — performed three times for students on Saturday, Oct. 5, Tuesday, Oct. 8 and Friday, Oct. 11. They also co-taught three classes: two music theory courses with Christian A. Johnson Professor Emeritus of Music Peter Hamlin and Professor of Music Larry Hamberlin, and “Sensation and Perception,” a neuroscience course taught by Assistant Professor of Psychology Mike Dash.  Allison Carole Coyne, performing arts series director, sent an engagement survey about the Quartet’s visit to all students in the above classes, and the responses were glowing. “Thus far, 100% of student responders have said the quartet’s visit was relevant to their coursework and that they’d highly recommend such visits to their professors in the future,” Coyne said. The first class I attended to see the Heath Quartet teach was Introduction to Music with Hamberlin. One student asked the musicians why they only play works by other composers as opposed to writing their own music. Heath Quartet Cellist Murray compared the group to “a traveling theater troupe,” suggesting that a cellist who interprets the music of Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) is similar to an actor personalizing a role. The foundations of the work stay the same, but the performer brings a unique understanding of the piece to make good art. [pullquote speaker="Christopher Murray" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]As a musician, you have this little monkey inside of you that’s doing music all the time. This little guy is always working out stuff.[/pullquote] At the lecture for students studying sensation and perception, the quartet’s playing invoked conversations about the scientific nuts-and-bolts of classical music.  Murray told the class that being a cellist has its cerebral quirks. “As a musician, you have this little monkey inside of you that’s doing music all the time,” Murray said, smiling. “This little guy is always working out stuff.”  When asked about their vigorous movements while playing, violinist Wolstenholme referred to the importance of visual elements to a performance. After jokingly pantomiming a violent wave of her bow, she explained that the group also uses more subtle body language such as eye contact to communicate with each other on stage.  “How much of our auditory experience is visual?” Professor Dash asked. This question prompted a neuroscience experiment. Dash asked Heath and Wolstenholme, the Quartet’s violinists, to stand apart on Robison Hall’s stage and play some Beethoven. While the violinists fiddled away, I heard the instruments more individually. But seeing the musicians spread apart so far made it harder for me to concentrate on their music. My sensory experience was vexing; I wanted to see these musical Avengers assemble. The four musicians also examined more contemporary classical music. They showed Dash’s class “Memento,” a string quartet by the Scottish composer James Macmillan. Murray’s cello dominated the song — you could almost hear the misty peacefulness of the Highlands as his cello strummed a dissonant, airy theme.  The Heath Quartet’s classes were thought-provoking, but their concerts stole the show. The group’s performance on the night of Saturday, Oct. 5 was quite good, and from what I’ve gleaned from an audio recording, the matinée on the following Tuesday was just as lovely.  But the Heath Quartet saved their best night for last. At their final performance, they delivered Beethoven string quartets like nobody’s business.  Heath’s team began with Beethoven’s Quartet no. 2 in G Major, op. 18, no. 2 (1799). The opening theme was done gently — the violins scintillated back and forth in bright scales. The two instruments sang to each other, as if courting.  Of particular interest during Quartet no. 2 was Murray’s cello playing. While other Heath members looked at their music with intense concentration as they strummed their solos, Murray gazed up at the ceiling during his, smiling serenely. His playing had a similar quality. It was reminiscent of the elegant cello parts in the “Swan” movement of Camille Saint-Saën’s “Carnival of the Animals.” Murray’s calm playing guided the rest of the ensemble through this charming reverie of a piece.  Next up on the program was Beethoven’s Quartet no. 8 in E Minor, op. 59 no. 2 (1808). During the piece, Pomeroy’s viola parts accentuated harmonic counterpoint. It is not often that one gets to fully hear a violist, but Pomeroy’s subtle playing kept the quartet grounded in the melancholy key of E Minor.  The final movement showcased Oliver Heath’s virtuosity. Great violin music is never a given — some violinists have a habit of caterwauling during crescendos. Thankfully, Heath stayed away from such theatrics, subtly guiding the music with uncannily fitting dynamics. It was easy to see after the “Presto” movement why the Heath Quartet begins with “Heath.” The quartet’s end was absolute dynamite.  The highlight of the evening was Quartet no. 15 in A Minor, op 132 (1823-1825). The quartet is late-period Beethoven; it lacks Hayden-esque time schemes or grace notes. Quartet no. 15, rather, is a Romantic vision of grace and majesty. The performance’s best music was during the “Molto adagio” third movement. The four musicians played the same notes for the first few minutes. The instruments’ synchronization yielded a natural ambience; harkening white waves splashing onto a beach or a horse walking through a field. Suddenly, the movement became a heart-stopping aria.  The quartet’s third movement shocked Madison Middleton ’22.5. “During that movement, I… I thought, ‘This is changing me...'” Middleton said.  The Heath Quartet triumphed during their week at the college, and I look forward to the continuation of their residency next January and May. As I left the Mahaney Center last Friday, a thought occurred to me. For many Americans, 2020 means another grueling election cycle, an uncertain beginning to a new decade. For all we know, the 2020s could get more hectic than the 1920s.  But life, sometimes, is really quite good. I am grateful that my New Year beckons the Heath Quartet’s return from across the Atlantic, eleven other Beethoven string quartets, and more enchanting music at Robison Hall.

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