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(10/15/20 9:58am)
Susan B. Anthony, a white suffragist, and Fredrick Douglass, an abolitionist and statesman, were both friends and enemies. “The Agitators” is a play that explores the relationship between two rabble-rousers whose tales of rebellion and revolution remain culturally significant today. The production is co-presented by Middlebury College’s Theatre Program, Town Hall Theater and the Clemmons Family Farm.
Michole Biancosino, professor of theatre, is the director of the play reading. After realizing that current college regulations make performances inaccessible to outside guests, Biancosino reached out to Lisa Mitchell, executive director of the Town Hall Theater, to seek a collaboration and make the play reading a coordinated event. They then partnered with The Clemmons Family Farm, located in Charlotte, Vt., to present this work for free, socially distanced and in the outdoors this coming Saturday, Oct. 17.
The 148-acre Clemmons Family Farm, an African-American owned land asset and non-profit organization, works to curate opportunities to support Black artists and celebrate African-American and African diaspora arts.
“The Clemmons Family Farm brings a deeply meaningful sense of place to ‘The Agitators,”’ Mitchell said.
Lydia Clemmons, president of the farm, was pleased to co-host the play reading.
“Because of the pandemic, this will be our first outdoor program in 2020. We are looking forward to sharing this beautiful place with the community we love and have missed so much,” Clemmons said. “We know that people have been yearning to find ways to come together in a loving and intentional way, especially during these tense times.”
This play reading will be the concluding event of the 21st Century Theatre Festival, an initiative and performance series at the college dedicated to bring works by diverse theatre talents to the campus.
Biancosino pointed to the relevance of the play in today’s political and artistic climate as the chief reason for including it as part of the festival. “The question of who gets to vote is again up for debate,” she wrote in an email to The Campus.
Although a play reading will not immediately solve issues in the society or even on the college campus, she hopes the play can provide a catalyst for further discussions.
“[Douglass’] stirring words, from speeches and writings from the mid 1800s, also shine a light on the ways our current America of 2020 feels stuck in its history of violence, primarily against Black people,” Biancosino said.
The ability to listen wholeheartedly and to observe the world through each other’s eyes was what made the symbiotic relationship between Anthony and Douglass iconic, Biancosino said, and she hopes to highlight the possibility of pushing forward the rights of all people, regardless of differences.
“Art provides a way to look at your world through someone else’s eyes,” Biancosino said.
The play reading will be livestreamed from the outdoors on October 17 and 18 at 2p.m. The registration form is free and open to all Middlebury ID holders.
(10/15/20 9:57am)
There’s a moment in each of my favorite NPR Tiny Desk Concerts when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in applause because something truly remarkable has just happened. It’s at this moment that some of the music industry’s biggest stars and some of its brightest newcomers realize the potential of the intimate concert hall in which they find themselves. It’s found in Hobo Johnson’s impromptu message of gratitude for NPR’s Bob Boilen during “Peach Scone.” It’s found in Chance the Rapper’s poetry, written on the ride from his hotel to NPR’s office. It’s found in Anderson Paak’s wry smile as he says, “So y’all like being called b*****s over here,” in response to the audience’s song request. It’s in these moments when the talented and famous become human.
The NPR Tiny Desk Concert series has existed for as long as I can remember, hosting its first guest, Laura Gibson, in April of 2008. “In a perfect world, there’d be no crowded bar shows or super-sized arena concerts. Musicians would come to your home for a private performance, or they’d show up at your office and play at your desk, easing you through the workday,” says Tiny Desk Concert creator Bob Boilen in the description of this inaugural show.
This beautiful yet simple idea that music should be heard closely and intimately is the keystone that holds together the Tiny Desk Concerts. What started in 2008 as a request to play a few songs at Boilen’s desk has turned into a YouTube channel with nearly five million subscribers and well over one billion views. At this point, it is no longer merely an idea but an institution that has been viewed and replicated all across the globe. It never ceases to amaze me just how massive an artist NPR can book, only to be followed by 10 more I’ve never heard of — yet who are just as talented.
I, along with many others, flocked to this concert series for its big stars — Tyler, The Creator, Chance the Rapper, other musicians that don’t include a “the” in their name — yet find myself returning time and again to find new, unknown artists looking to make a name for themselves. I remember watching the Hobo Johnson and The Lovemakers concert and thinking to myself, “This is exactly the type of artist that was built for these concerts.” Johnson’s awkward charisma provided him and his band just the right amount of nervous excitement to match the honest and heartfelt lyrics of their spoken-word hip-hop music. At times it feels like entire songs are improved, leaning more toward emotional conversation than musical show. Interspersed within cleverly written verses with references to both Shakespeare and Jay-Z alike, Johnson riffs on his life, adding commonplace to the dramatic. “I got a duvet the other day,” Johnson says. “How do you wash a blanket? In a washer? That’s what I found out.”
The NPR Tiny Desk Concerts humanize their guests in a way I hadn’t experienced before. As multiple-Grammy winner Chance the Rapper set about to read his newly minted poem titled “The Other Side,” he was suddenly and abruptly interrupted by a voice crackling over the loudspeaker asking for someone to call the mailroom. In the midst of reciting a heartfelt original poem about holding keys to a life he no longer lives, Chance was forced to start again. It is often easy to forget that this incredibly established institution is still in fact hosted in an actual office, behind an actual desk. Traditional concerts are carefully and deliberately choreographed down to the second, and rightfully so, but to see these wonderfully gifted musicians sing honestly and openly, unafraid to make a mistake, is quite remarkable.
Here is my recommendation: search for your favorite artist’s concert and watch it the whole way through, and, when you’re done, let autoplay decide the next artist, and just let it roll for hours upon hours. There isn’t a bad concert in the entire catalog, and I’m sure that you’ll find new and exciting artists. If you thought that your Spotify’s Daily Mix was a perfect way to find new music, you are in dire need of what NPR has to offer. My only complaint is that the studio version of my favorite songs never live up to their live performance; perhaps its the soft acoustics provided by the office’s bookshelves, or maybe it’s this unparalleled feeling of closeness that you really can’t find on a studio album.
(10/08/20 10:01am)
Two visiting scholars, Leslie Harris and Lucas Morel, spoke last week about the founding of America and the legacy of slavery. Titled “1619 or 1776: Was America Founded on Slavery?”, the debate was hosted by the Alexander Hamilton Forum and sparked controversy among students.
Harris, a professor of history and African American studies at Northwestern University and a fact-checker for The New York Times Magazine’s groundbreaking “1619 Project,” a series of essays documenting the consequences of slavery, represented the 1619 school of thought, arguing that slavery is inseparable from the American project.
Morel, a professor of politics at Washington and Lee University and the author of several books on Ralph Ellison and Abraham Lincoln — most recently “Lincoln and the American Founding” — presented the 1776 school of thought, arguing that the founding of the United States, though a slave-owning nation, was not rooted in racial hierarchies, and its founders intended an incremental approach to abolition.
The debate was held over Zoom and was moderated by Professors of Political Science Keegan Callanan and Gary Winslett. Over 200 students, faculty and community members attended the event.
Beginning the debate, Harris argued that the arrival of 20 slaves near Jamestown in August of 1619 marked America’s true beginning: the birth of a nation that would develop an insidious dependency on “African slave labor as an engine of wealth creation.”
As Harris put it, “1776 was impossible without 1619.” The nation’s very identity was defined by overt “poisonous racism that claimed everyone was not equal, while secular and religious ideals stated the opposite.” She concluded by reaffirming the current anti-racist climate of American culture and the lessons to be learned by understanding the nation’s relationship with slavery as it manifests in injustices like police brutality.
“When I stand at the altar of history, I am not arrogant. I am humble,” she said.
Morel pushed back against the nation’s founding as being rooted in slavery and instead advocated for the incremental “wither on the vine” approach taken by the country’s founders. According to Morel, such an approach is evidenced by the 1787 ban on slavery in the newly acquired Northwest territory, the 1808 ban on the importation of slaves and the early banning of slavery in six Northeast states: Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, Connecticut and Vermont, he explained.
During his portion of the talk, Morel paid special attention to Vermont, which entered as the Union’s 14th state but as the first to explicitly outlaw slavery in its constitution. He argued that Confederate states “thoroughly identified with the institution of slavery,” and stated so in their constitution, while the Union’s constitution never mentioned slavery, and American founding fathers had the intention of eventual emancipation. Morel concluded with the notion that some of the founding fathers — namely Jefferson — feared a race war should slavery end, and thus determined that “freeing self and slaves at the same time would have undermined chances at self-determination.”
“It could not have been perfect at the start. It had to slowly get better,” he said.
Some students, frustrated that the premise of the debate questioned the historical significance of slavery, protested the event by attending with altered versions of the event posters as profile pictures. Some had the “1776” portion of the poster crossed out with “Slavery isn’t up for debate” written below. Others’ profile pictures featured the full poster, but with “YES” written in bold red letters. Protestor numbers peaked when Morel began speaking, making up 43 of 204 participants. Some students attempted to turn on video in order to hold protest signs but were removed from the Zoom call.
“Striking a balance between being non-disruptive yet still making our voice heard with the minimal access to expression we had was certainly difficult, but I think we were successful,” Claire Contreras ’22.5, one of the organizers of the protest, said. “They certainly all knew we were “in the room.”’
Prior to the event, Contreras and other protest organizers circulated an open letter to the senior leadership group about the motivations for their resistance, which garnered more than 600 signatures.
In response to the student protest and outcry, Professor of Political Science Gary Winslett acknowledged the poster design as a source of confusion, saying some students may have “read the poster in such a way that what they thought we were doing with the event was different than what we were actually doing with the event.”
Winslett emphasized that the debate was intended to focus on the role of slavery in the founding of the United States, not on denying its egregious nature or lasting harm. According to Winslett, the wording “1619 or 1776” itself was aimed more at addressing the differing schools of thought on the issue, represented by “The 1619 Project and “1776 Unites” — a lesser-known essay collection pushing back against the 1619 Project — which includes writings by predominantly Black authors.
Touching on the heavy-handed moderating of the Zoom call, Winslett recalled the racially charged “Zoom-bombing” of a July 28 town selectboard meeting. The Zoom link for that debate was open to the public and had a publicly posted password. Any removal of students, however harsh, he said, was done in order to avoid the possibility of similar events transpiring.
One student who attended the debate, Hannah Wander ’22, spoke highly of the event, and added that hearing both sides of any issue is an important part of necessary conversations.
Contreras felt that organizing student resistance, not just against this event, but against the AHF broadly, was vital. “We protested the event because we found AHF’s decision and permission to circulate harmful and purposefully inflammatory material damaging to our campus culture and community,” she said. “But this protest truly wasn’t just about this event. We also find the mission, funding, and history of AHF just as much of the issue as the topic and title of the event.”
The Alexander Hamilton Forum has been previously scrutinized for its sources of funding: The Institute for Humane Studies (IHS), J.P. Morgan Charitable Giving Fund and the Jack Miller Center. Their past events on campus include “Conservatism After Trump: Reaganism Restored or Populism Forever?,” “Race or Class: An Affirmative Action Debate,” and “Do We Need a Green New Deal?.”
The next event, titled “Has the Supreme Court Become Too Powerful,” will be held on Oct 21.
(10/08/20 9:59am)
In one image from the historic 1965 Civil Rights march that took place on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Ala., the activist John Lewis kneels, pushed to the ground with his hand cradling the back of his head. A state trooper stands over his figure, raising a baton and ready to strike. Looking back at the fateful “Bloody Sunday” the protest turned into, no words could ever do justice to how hard leaders like Lewis have fought for the civil rights we have today. Five decades later, this summer brought forth the sad news of Lewis’ passing. However, Lewis remains with us, remembered as one of the nation’s most influential state representatives and activists who lived through and made history. Such is shown in Dawn Porter’s 2020 biographical documentary, “John Lewis: Good Trouble.”
Let’s begin with the name of the film. Lewis has shown us the virtue in pursuing everything you can, speaking up for any injustice you see. He says, “One day, I heard Rosa Parks — heard the words of Martin Luther King on the radio. And the words inspired me to get in trouble, and I’ve been getting in trouble ever since.” Silhouetted against a projection of scenes in history he himself faced, Lewis’ expression shifts with every moving image as we are transported back in time. His face is determined and optimistic, looking forward to building a better tomorrow.
Lewis grew up in Alabama in the ’50s, picking cotton in the hot sun but enamored with his schoolwork. The film transitions from slide to slide, showing us pictures of the expanses of cotton and interviews with citizens who grew up the same way and with Lewis’ siblings. It’s endearing to see the optimism and love of his family as they discuss his passion for oration. Lewis was determined since his youth, preaching to the chickens in his yard and reading every book he could find.
One of my favorite scenes from the film was when filmmaker Porter follows Lewis around as he visits his sister’s house, talking about growing up in Troy, Ala. He sprays seed and cheeps at the chickens inside the low shed, smiling about his aspirations to preach as a boy. Here, we see Lewis in his own element, a younger version of the formidable political figure he has come to be known as. Lewis remains respectful of his southern roots, the memories of which push him forward.
As one would expect, the documentary isn’t the easiest to watch. As we follow Lewis’s career and civil rights battles, we see difficult interviews with political opponents, and even one of a waitress who refused him service back when Lewis was participating in sit-ins.
Scenes like the sit-in bring us back to those themes of the “good trouble” that Lewis urges everyone to participate in. In a new century, Lewis stresses, “We have to get out and register, get out and vote like we’ve never before. The vote is precious.” Today, good trouble transforms into something else.
Porter has amassed an impressive collection of footage, documents and art to show pieces of Lewis’ history in an honest way. To have a director try to capture such a full life honestly — the difficulties, the long and winding road — is simultaneously harrowing and humbling to see. Porter doesn’t necessarily seek to idolize Lewis. The film instead humanizes him in a way that reminds us of his purpose. Spanning the years of his career, the film also showcases the evolution of protest culture, even as it stretches into today. As modern politicians seek to undo all the legislation pushed forward since the 60’s Civil Rights Movement, Lewis’ impact is not done yet.
As I watched “Good Trouble,” I could not help but feel trepidation about the future, but the documentary has also left me with a unifying sensibility. Porter’s work reminded me that it is not the time to despair, even as so much is on the line. In the words of Lewis, “We cannot give up; we cannot give in. We must keep to faith; we must keep our eyes on the prize.”
(10/08/20 9:57am)
Instead of walking into classrooms buzzing with student chatter this semester, many Middlebury professors are logging into Zoom classrooms to be greeted by a gallery of muted screens. Even though students are back on campus this fall, more than half of all classes are being conducted completely online.
Many professors found the transition to online classes in March challenging and abrupt. But with more time to plan for this semester, some have found success through remote instruction.
“While we’re not back to business as usual, we’re in a little bit of a new normal,” said Genie Giaimo, assistant professor of writing and rhetoric. “Students are probably used to moving to the online format.”
Giaimo, who is teaching from Columbus, Ohio, appreciates how the online format has created more independent learners. Students in her class can now complete some coursework on their own schedule, which she sees as especially helpful if they are experiencing internet issues or are feeling sick.
“I’m realizing that you need to build some wiggle room into the curriculum just in case there’s an emergency — or several emergencies,” she said.
Additionally, she mentioned that she has slightly reduced coursework in her classes this semester, doing away with a few reading assignments. Giaimo is instead emphasizing small group work and giving more time for peer editing.
Remote learning has also changed the way professors approach assigning work and delivering content. Kareem Khalifa, professor of philosophy, is teaching his classes from Atlanta, Ga. this semester after spending time there during his sabbatical last year. Khalifa has been experimenting with some new features in his lectures now that they are remote, including musical intros and outros and occasional photos of his two dogs.
“Creating pre-recorded lectures has also been an opportunity to have a little bit of fun with visual images, and I try to create a new 20-second soundtrack for each lecture I create, so it's a good excuse to make some music every week,” Khalifa said.
Patricia Zupan, professor of Italian, is teaching online from her house in Middlebury this semester. She is relying more on visual aids and powerpoint presentations to keep students engaged in class, using photos, illustrations and even emojis to help students in introductory Italian learn new words.
But with new benefits come challenges. In addition to navigating occasional technology bumps, professors have found that it is harder to discern the energy of the classroom online.
Khalifa explained that while teaching in person, it’s easier to get a reading of student engagement. “It's a bit easier to recognize when material is really clicking with students and when it's not,” he said.
Giaimo finds that she has to stick to a stricter schedule while teaching online, and misses the more spontaneous, off-the-cuff conversations that she used to have in person.
One factor professors and students alike are enjoying this semester is the convenience and flexibility of scheduling online conferences.
“In many ways it’s easier to get together with students outside of class on Zoom. We can talk at 8 o’clock at night, we can talk at 8 o’clock in the morning, you can be sitting in your room, and I can be sitting at home, and we can communicate,” Zupan said.
“Where group class discussion lagged, the individual conversations were really wonderful,” Giaimo agreed. “They were a way to connect.”
Certain subjects have transitioned very smoothly to an online format. Khalifa can now give students more time to work through problems at their own speed.
“Virtually every Middlebury student can do excellent work in introductory logic, but it takes some more time than others. That makes in-class exercises less than ideal,” Khalifa said. “That problem goes away in this environment.”
However, certain classes including introductory languages are particularly challenging. Zupan misses being able to teach Italian with improvisational dialogue and around-the-room choral exercises.
One area of concern for many professors is fostering a classroom community for students, especially for first years. Giaimo tries to encourage students to introduce themselves and facilitates discussions in breakout sessions.
As Middlebury has successfully transitioned into Phase Two and currently has zero positive cases, Zupan is trying to organize a small, physically-distanced gathering with her on-campus first year seminar students. She looks forward to connecting with students in person over a meal.
Whether near or far, Middlebury professors shared their appreciation for the campus community and students’ adherence to college guidelines.
“I’m really impressed with how agile students are and how they are following the rules, from what I hear, and doing their best to keep this community going,” Giaimo said.
(10/01/20 10:00am)
Before she was Notorious, before she sat on the highest court in the land, before she argued in front of that very court against gender-based discrimination, Ruth Bader was a dedicated college student who snuck books into the bathroom to study. At a time when women were expected to graduate with little more than an “MRS” degree, Ginsburg was an unflinching academic whose accomplishments paved the way for millions to follow.
Justice Ginsburg was the first woman on the Harvard Law Review, graduated first in her class at Columbia Law School and became the second-ever woman to serve on the U.S. Supreme Court when appointed by President Bill Clinton in 1993. By the end of her nearly thirty-year tenure, she had asserted herself a liberal champion for her scathing dissents and had become a household name. Ginsburg’s path to the Supreme Court was fraught with obstacles and discrimination, but for each door she opened, she made sure to hold it wide for those who followed.
Justice Ginsburg died on the night of Sept. 18, the first night of Rosh Hashanah. One of two “High Holy Days” in the Jewish calendar, the day marks the start of the Jewish New Year. Justice Ginsburg was the first Jewish woman to serve on the Supreme Court, and it is said that those who die on Rosh Hashanah are of great righteousness. As word of her death traveled around Middlebury, the college community mourned and reflected on the effects of her legacy in their own lives.
President Laurie Patton was home preparing Shabbat dinner when she heard of the Justice’s death. Ginsburg was a role model of Patton’s. She explained that the holiday of Rosh Hashanah celebrates the creation of a new world and, in her view, Ginsburg helped construct a new world for future generations to live in.
“I believe this identity [as a Jewish woman] was one of the things that gave her life-long grit,” Patton told The Campus. “I hope every young person sees in RBG’s words and her life story that discouragement is not a blow, but an opportunity, an opening for another path forward.”
Alex Dobin ’22 was also celebrating Rosh Hashanah in a Zoom service with her friends and family when she received a barrage of messages about Justice Ginsburg’s death. She told The Campus that she watched as others in the call began to hear the news as well.
“There was this moment where I knew that it was circulating among people whom I was sharing this moment with,” said Dobin. “What a day to find out this information about this incredible, strong Jewish woman who has talked about her connection to Jewish social justice. [...] There’s this idea that RBG is an icon for feminists everywhere and people interested in gender equality politics, but also within the Jewish community she’s totally an icon.”
In addition to Justice Ginsburg’s significance within the Jewish community, Patton looked to her as a symbol of intellectual resilience and courage.
“She never gave up — not when she was told she was employable only as a typist, not when she was denied teaching jobs, not when she lost cases,” Patton said. “She focused on the long-term issues, not the politics of the moment.”
Professor of Political Science and constitutional scholar Murray Dry has spent years studying decisions in which Ginsburg wrote the majority opinion, and those in which she dissented.
“I was, like many Americans, surprised and saddened by the news of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s death,” Dry said. “She was more influential than any other person in bringing about a judicial recognition of the equal rights of women under the law.”
Dry identifies Ginsburg's “rockstar status” as a testament to her legal accomplishments and past decade of leadership on the liberal wing of the Supreme Court. He also notes that both Ginsburg and her colleague and close friend Sandra Day O’Connor “embodied in their careers the challenges that women had to overcome to be accepted in the legal profession on a par with men.”
Lucie Rochat ’22 remembers receiving a book of Ginsburg’s quotes as a birthday gift from her mother. For Rochat, this book serves as a reminder that much of Ginsburg’s impact came in small moments when she stood up and used her words to fight for equality, inspiring millions. “If I were to think of her legacy, it would be through those little quotes and little moments that were in that book,” Rochat said.
For Rochat, Ginsburg’s legacy will always be highlighted by her ardent efforts to protect the rights of women and minorities.
President Patton hopes that Ginsburg’s story will continue to serve as inspiration for young people, a lived lesson in the power of reason and determination.
“I will always be inspired by the way that RBG used reason relentlessly. She used reason to change the way we reason so that more people could live lives free of prejudice,” Patton wrote.
(10/01/20 9:56am)
Student MiddView orientation leaders, prepared to introduce first years to Middlebury and help them bond, were surprised to find that they were expected to facilitate conversations about race and prejudice this semester. After widespread criticism from BIPOC student leaders, staff organizers apologized and said that the plans were never finalized, retracting the proposed programming.
Student leaders pointed out that they had received no training on the subject except for a mandatory microaggressions workshop led by Director of Education for Equity and Inclusion Renee Wells, which some criticized as being centered around white students. Wells later apologized for the shortcomings of the presentations.
This summer, the team of three Student Activities Office (SAO) staff members who organize the MiddView orientation program each year prepared a new format in anticipation of an orientation week heavily altered by Covid-19 restrictions. Orientation leaders are typically tasked with leading three-day trips and facilitating bonding between their groups of first years; this year, they met twice-daily in groups of 10 to 12, with some interacting in person and others convening virtually.
MiddView leaders felt unsure of the specifics of orientation prior to their arrival for training on campus, according to Suria Vanrajah ’22, who led a MiddView group this fall.
“In one of the first few days we got a list of daily agendas of things to do with the first years,” she said. “Some of the days it was talking about the honor code; it was talking about drinking, drugs, and there was one day where they wanted us to talk about race, primarily in the context of Black Lives Matter.”
Brittney Azubuike ’22, a first-time MiddView leader who organized affinity group lunches during orientation, said the conversation was planned for one of the first few days of orientation. She noted that this worried some leaders who had expected their role in orientation to be more like previous years, during which they had primarily been responsible for ensuring the safety of their group on trips and encouraging first years to connect with one another.
Though the college initially included the conversation about race — with the idea that it would be facilitated by student orientation leaders — it was eventually removed from the schedule after student leaders expressed concerns about lack of training, the burden it placed on leaders of color and the discomfort BIPOC first years might feel if the conversation were facilitated by a white MiddView leader.
“Even if you are a person of color, you're still not equipped to talk about [issues of race] in an institutional context, especially to first years, and, certainly, white leaders are not equipped to do that,” Vanrajah said.
The Student Activities Office (SAO) team had drafted guidelines for holding such conversations that were criticized by some MiddView student leaders. The original document was eventually deleted from the shared Google Drive to which all leaders had access.
“It was like, ‘Talk about racism because it's a very important topic right now.’ That wording was also problematic for a lot of people because it made it seem as if we're only bringing it up because it's on trend,” Azubuike said, describing the guidelines.
Azubuike said her herd leaders, the students who had served as MiddView leaders in the past and headed groups of leaders this fall, created a copy of the document with the guidelines in which they noted the features they saw as problematic.
Amanda Reinhardt, director of the SAO and one of the three staff members who organized MiddView, said that the group was still working to finalize many of the agendas and that the version that listed the conversation about race was still a work in progress.
“This summer, with the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and so many others, the national climate and just the injustice of all of that, it felt pertinent to hold space for that — not only pertinent but ethical, the right thing to do,” Reinhardt said.
She acknowledged that an all-white MiddView team — which included the three SAO staff members and two MiddView student interns — organized orientation, leading to oversights. She said they are working to change this in the future. Reinhardt also explained that the team had not spent enough time reviewing the phrasing and content of the daily agendas and guidelines that were available to leaders through the shared Google Drive.
“We weren't ready, as a team, to have our leaders check all those out,” she said.
Reinhardt and the other members of the MiddView team apologized to leaders during a morning check-in meeting, sent out a written apology and organized an 8 p.m. meeting to discuss what had happened.
The three SAO staff members laid out some of their long-term goals in the written apology, including creating a MiddView Advisory Board with paid positions for students of color. The team also plans to evaluate leader recruitment, hiring and training, as well as work with the Anderson Freeman Resource Center and Miguel Fernández, chief diversity officer, to consider the orientation program’s role in dismantling racism at the college.
Even though the leader-facilitated conversations about race were removed from the orientation schedule, many still sought ways to address the topic within their groups. Rasika Iyer ’22, a herd leader, said she and her co-leader, Jessica Buxbaum ’23, compiled a list of resources for their first years, invited them to ask questions and spoke about the college’s history with Charles Murray, who was scheduled to visit campus again last spring until students were sent home due to the pandemic.
MiddView leaders received no mandatory training related to race apart from a microaggressions workshop led by Renee Wells, director of education for equity and inclusion. The workshop was divided into two parts, the first of which focused on defining microaggressions. The second explained how to acknowledge and apologize for committing a microaggression.
MiddView leaders criticized the training, saying it did not represent a broad variety of microaggressions, instead focusing solely on racial microaggressions. Some shared that they felt the second portion of the training was centered on white learning and overlooked leaders of color. A few students brought these concerns to Wells’ attention during the training, including Melynda Payne ’21.
“I think that what I had an issue with with the microaggression training — and I vocalized this during the training — was that it was very centered on the white leaders and leaders who hadn't really had any type of trainings or any type of experience with anything having to do with race,” Payne said. “I think it was more aimed at them and their perspectives.”
Wells sent out an email with the subject line “An apology to MiddView leaders of color,” in which she acknowledged the specific ways she had caused harm and offered to meet with students to discuss the workshop and other concerns.
Wells said in an interview with The Campus that she had worked with faculty and staff over the summer, running workshops on anti-racism and racial microaggressions. She explained that the student microaggression training she conducted for MiddView leaders was focused on racial microaggressions because of what she had been working on over the summer.
“I think my brain was so wrapped up in doing all the antiracism stuff this summer that I didn't really change the presentation from what I had been doing,” Wells said.
In the past, she has run workshops with examples of microaggressions rooted in racism, sexism, ableism, heteronormativity and other forms of prejudice.
“It wasn't until the students were naming the fact that ‘this is centering white student learning’ that I was like, ‘Yeah, I did not change the presentation,’” Wells said.
First years also received training on microaggressions, which took the form of a three-hour pre-recorded webinar. Wells said she changed the workshop following the MiddView leader training, so the groups that followed — including first years and residential life staff — had a slightly different workshop. Wells said she did not receive the same criticism during those later training sessions.
Reinhardt sent out an email on Sept. 7 to students who had reached out to express their concerns as well as those who planned and led affinity group lunches during orientation. The email thanked these students for their additional time and energy and offered each of them a $50 Visa gift card as compensation.
Several students expressed discomfort, feeling that their emotional labor had been quantified. Vanrajah said she plans to donate the money and has heard that several other leaders plan to do the same.
Many leaders who were critical of the way the MiddView team handled the issues that arose also acknowledged the burden that had been placed on the three SAO staff members. Student leaders noted that three staff members were responsible for designing what essentially became a completely new orientation program as the college made decisions about the format of the fall semester.
Alex Burns ’21.5, a herd leader, said she did not think any individual or group was at fault and felt that there had been a lot of oversight but that the SAO staff had been receptive to student ideas and concerns once they had initiated those conversations. Burns noted that she believed many people quickly realized the kinds of changes that needed to be made in the future.
“While this year it especially felt really necessary for us to be centering these conversations or at least acknowledging them and acknowledging how they impact our life on campus and at Middlebury, I think that that's something that needed to happen before this year,” she said.
(09/26/20 10:13pm)
A day of resistance and solidarity was soured by the actions of a pair of students behind Ross last night. Rodney Adams ’21 and Jameel Uddin ’22 were preparing for a relaxing evening after a day of protesting when two white students confronted and harassed them with a racial slur, according to Adams.
Per a campus-wide email from Chief Diversity Officer Miguel Fernández, one of the two students has come forward to the college and is speaking to the Department of Public Safety and Student Affairs.
At around 10 p.m., Uddin and Adams were walking along the north side of College Street turning right into HMKL Way behind Ross. They were approached by two white students walking towards Ridgeline and the townhouses: one was clothed, wearing a gaiter and carrying a traffic cone; the other was shirtless and maskless.
Initially, the masked man warned Adams about carrying alcohol outside as Public Safety officers were in the area. Adams, who is 21 and was carrying a closed bottle of wine, replied, “Okay, thank you.”
The other man, without a mask, then quickly approached Adams and Uddin and said, “Well look here goes them n******.” The man then stared down Uddin, who is South-Asian, and Adams, who is Black. Adams asked the man to repeat what he had said and to identify himself.
“He wanted a response,” Adams said in an interview with The Campus. “And it took everything out of us to not hit him.”
The other man, with the traffic cone still in tow, then called out, “Charlie, Charlie, c’mon, it’s time to go.” Both students then walked off towards the Ridgeline Suites.
About an hour after the incident, Adams posted a Twitter thread detailing the event titled, “Experiencing a hate crime first hand on Middlebury’s Campus a thread:”. The tweets quickly went viral, with students reposting screenshots of the tweets to their Instagram stories and professors and alumni replying to Adams’s original tweet. At time of publication, the top tweet in the thread had amassed over 200 retweets and close to 500 likes. Popular Instagram account @dearpwi, an account with over 31,000 followers, also posted screenshots of the thread.
(09/24/20 10:00am)
Students woke up with renewed energy and excitement on Sept. 17 as the college officially began Phase Two of its gradual reopening, continuing along the steady trajectory toward greater freedoms for students. While many groups of students ventured into town, many of the school’s club sports teams got to work.
Middlebury College is home to 21 club teams, which allow opportunities for students to participate in athletics in a less structured environment compared to varsity sports. These clubs have a rich history at the college and even include a few prolific national champions – namely Quidditch, women’s water polo and men’s ultimate frisbee – and their activity this semester is especially important because of the restricted lives of much of the student population.
“Clubs are active, and it’s really important they’re active because of all the things we can’t do this fall,” said Doug Connelly, the director of outdoor programs and club sports. “All the teams that have wanted to have been able to organize and start practice this week. We’re making sure everyone is working in groups of 10, always with masks on and keeping social distancing rules in effect.”
Due to the college’s temporary hiring freeze, many club team coaches have been unable to return to their seasonal positions this fall. Connelly has therefore taken over the role of supervising most practices along with the help of Rich Connell, the former full-time head coach of the club crew team. Together, Connelly and Connell have been overseeing practices, but as Phase Two begins, a few clubs plan to operate more autonomously.
Regardless of the phase, coaching or student participation, this semester will be different for every club team. Women’s ultimate frisbee, a nationally competitive team of around 45 members, has been meeting since Phase One, but practices look unlike anything the team has done before.
“It’s been a challenge to work things this semester so far because there are a lot of social-distancing and shared equipment rules in place,” captain Brooke Laird ’22 said. “Ultimate is considered a high contact sport, and passing discs to each other is considered shared equipment, so we’re more limited in what we can do.”
Under normal circumstances, both the women’s and the men’s team would practice at the same time and scrimmage after workouts. This season, players are required to bring their own discs and practices are increasingly focused on conditioning and fitness. The biggest challenge, according to Laird, has been recruiting new members to the team and introducing them to the community.
“We had some time at the Activities Fair, and we’ve been able to do small in-person meetups, but this semester we have to be very intentional in how we set up practices and introduce players to the sport and the community,” Laird said. “The emphasis this fall will be [on] having fun and being chill, and we’re all pretty excited to have the opportunity to play at all.”
Other high-contact sports, such as men’s rugby and women’s water polo, have faced similar challenges with their seasons.
“Without a vaccine, you just can’t play rugby like you normally could,” said Nathaniel Klein ’21, captain of men’s rugby. “The good thing is there's so much more to the sport than just running into each other — we’ve been having strength and conditioning practices, and recruiting this semester has actually been higher than average.”
“Everything about water polo this fall will be different,” said Jenna Kotcher ’21.5 of the women’s water polo team. Because of the high-contact nature of their sport, the 2019 Division III Club National Champions will face many unique challenges this season. This, combined with the fact that their coach will not be able to return this season and the inability of the team to have pool time until Phase Three, means the primary focus of the team will be building community and staying fit for the next season.
Water polo’s recruitment is focused around the fall season and running workshops for interested new players, but these will take a hit this fall. Kotcher is hopeful that word of mouth can stand in for a semester.
While teams like ultimate frisbee, water polo and rugby face their fair share of challenges this semester alongside many varsity sports, some club sports face the additional obstacle of having to leave campus to access their facilities. The Middlebury club sailing and crew teams both have facilities off-campus and were unable to use them until the start of Phase Two.
“The whole setup of our practices is different this fall,” said Mollie Ockene ’21, a member of the sailing team. “Before we could leave, we did a lot of dryland fitness workouts, but normally this is the best time of year to be on the water.” Now that the club can get out, social distancing rules will regulate how sailors operate in boats and use shared equipment.
The crew team faced a similar situation, according to captain Dan Krugman ’21. “We’re doing what we can, and thankfully there has been a huge amount of positive energy from the team this fall,” Krugman said.
Like sailing, crew practices were on land during Phase One and involved some erging and cycling. Like rugby, recruiting yielded a higher-than-average incoming class of rowers. “One of the big attractions about crew, and any club sport really, is the balance of social and athletic commitment, and we got lucky this fall that a lot of folks were really interested,” Krugman said.
Like many varsity teams this semester, competitions will look very different (or nonexistent) for most club sports. There is still the possibility for intrateam scrimmaging among certain teams, but that constitutes the extent of any foreseeable post-season.
As the fall continues to progress, club sports will become better adapted to the strange and harsh circumstances of this semester. The remarkable resilience of every team speaks to the enthusiasm of club athletes and their sense of community. “We’re lucky to be here and have this opportunity this fall,” Krugman said.
(09/24/20 9:59am)
When Patrick punched a hole in the wall, I was eating Goldfish and sitting on his basement couch.
His jaw, menacingly angular, was clenched with intention before he shoved his left fist through the drywall. Knuckles split, he turned to face me and cursed his father, a man who had been absent from his life for nearly a year, for sending him an unprompted text. I silently watched the blood ooze from Patrick’s hands and pool next to the white sneakers we had bought together that morning.
Surrounded by shattered drywall, I no longer recognized the sweet boy who carried an extra hairband on his wrist for me. He was enveloped by a roiling anger, one that disguised his tacit sadness and broke my heart.
From where I was sitting, this display was unmistakable.
Taxed with maintaining a “tough” persona, men are oftentimes afforded little emotional leeway to express their insecurities, sadness and struggles. Rather than being deemed “brave” for seeking help from others, guys are sometimes encouraged to bypass public expressions of sensitivity in favor of “manning up.”
Steeped in cultural pressure, our society has delineated a narrow breadth of “masculine” traits. Those who are stoic, athletic and attractive (not to mention great in bed) are adorned in gold stars sanctioned by their soaring testosterone levels. [pullquote speaker="" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]Feelings that fall outside these demarcations are a signpost for traditional manhood’s greatest opponent: emotional vulnerability.[/pullquote]
While women are now forging multidimensional identities, men are sometimes denied comparable flexibility. Despite battling gender discrimination on various accounts, female college students excel in academics, athletics and the arts, while men interested in traditionally “feminine” activities, such as fashion or theater, have their sexualities examined under a microscope.
On the opposite side of this binary, the few times that Middlebury has engaged in conversations about masculinity, the word “toxic” has been hastily tacked on. Reeling to prove they’re not the “bad guys,” male students either condemn misogyny or stay silent to avoid implication. We spend so much time talking about what men should not be that we ignore the expectations we have placed on them.
No stand-up guy wants to be confused with a predator. He doesn’t want to be labeled a “pussy” either.
In the #MeToo era, celebrating physical and sexual prowess borders on predation. By comparison, overt affection or weakness gets you branded as a “little b*tch” among other guys. In a contemporary Catch-22, this perception falsely conflates masculinity with violence and blurs vulnerability and femininity.
In truth, competitiveness and the right dose of rowdiness are by no means problematic. Even I, a staunch feminist, understand the allure of “tough guys.” (I admit, I’m a bit of a drunk brawler, so a scar or black eye is right up my alley.) [pullquote speaker="" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]When strength and sensitivity become mutually exclusive, however, we deny men the platforms to express softer emotions while keeping their “man card.”[/pullquote]
* * *
Crinkling the aluminum of his third Miller Lite, Penn State senior Matt Auerbach muses in agreement. (He’s usually a Coors guy but the pandemic has limited his usual alcohol inventory.) “I think one of the biggest problems is the fact that people keep telling [men] to ‘be yourself’ and ‘express your emotions,’” he said. “In the same vein [we] look down on men who do open up and are vulnerable.” This dilemma demonstrates a nominal commitment to progress without challenging any of the constraints men face. Telling someone to be “compassionate yet stern” or both “stoic and expressive” is a semantic blur of 1950s tradition with 21st-century cognizance.
Interestingly, emotional suppression seems to loosen when women are involved. Clark Cossin, a 21-year-old Swiss native, echoes this sentiment when he describes his relationship with his parents. Squinting at the overcast sky, he lights a cig over FaceTime. “It’s a different kind of love from a father than it is from a mother,” he shares, migrating outside to puff smoke into the Saint-Prex landscape. “Compassion — I think that’s the mom’s role. And the dad’s role is to instill discipline.”
The tendency for men to turn to trusted women for guidance illuminates the relative security in opening up to the “more emotional” sex. Part of this perception harks back to the traditional role of a loving woman maintaining household unity as she bakes bread for her breadwinning husband. Sourdough may have enjoyed a recent comeback, but these stereotypes need not follow. Mothers, girlfriends and sisters — possibly unequipped to handle a deluge of pent-up emotion — become the filters for feelings supposedly too “effeminate” for male friendships. However, eschewing these challenging yet oftentimes worthwhile discussions within male friendships codifies stereotypical macho identities.
Johnny D’Aversa, a senior at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, feels less pressure to keep up this charade. “When my girlfriend dumped me,” he shares, “I called [my friend] Peter and I cried on the phone a little bit.” His strikingly light eyes — thick brows perched above them — briefly dart to the bubble bath he’s preparing. “But I don’t think most guys would do that,” he adds quickly.
Despite individual commitments to open-mindedness and activism, many Middlebury students have likely experienced the manifestations of society’s dominant, gendered culture. A Pew Research Center survey found that only 50% of respondents thought society looked favorably on “caring” men. That figure jumped to nearly 100% when applied to women.
These trends, although not necessarily Middlebury-specific, lay the foundation for what is an “acceptable” way for men to act in friendships, in the workplace and, of course, in college. Until we create space within our Middlebury community for a wide range of emotional expression independent of sex (yes, that includes crying), it will be impossible to find common ground with one another. Perhaps it is time for our private identities to bleed into our public lives.
Being a “real” man then is much more than bench-pressing and banging.
Maria Kaouris is a member of the class of 2021 and a columnist for The Campus.
(09/24/20 9:59am)
Before a week ago, Casey Neistat — famed YouTuber, filmmaker and vlogger — had uploaded 11 videos in the past eight months. In the last 10 days, he has uploaded 10 times. His comment section is filled with different versions of the same question: “Is Casey starting up the daily vlog again?” I wanted to write this article in part to answer that question so that Neistat doesn’t have to. Before you read more, just know that the answer is no, at least not in the way it used to be.
In a largely unwatched, minute-and-a-half announcement video released almost a year before the first episode of his daily vlog in 2014, Casey Neistat said a few key things that laid the groundwork for his meteoric daily vlog and subsequent reinvention. “I haven’t done [a daily vlog] yet because it just seems daunting,” Neistat said. He was, without a doubt, right in his thinking. After watching Neistat go about his life, it is immediately apparent that he has never half-assed anything. He is beyond hard working, sacrificing everything to create a perfect product. He even has the phrases “do more,” “work harder” and “do what you can’t” tattooed on his arms. Neistat’s personality in a single, all-encompassing word? Driven.
Every day, Neistat would take his years of filmmaking experience and apply it to this new short film genre, creating novel and innovative vlogs, each seeming to come equipped with the production value of a 10-person film crew. Neistat carried around a much larger camera than his peers, allowing him to — with a significant amount of added effort — create a better quality image with clearer sound. There is a great video essay about Neistat’s hidden effort that you should definitely check out. For example, just to show himself walking a city block, Neistat would film five different angles, requiring him to reset the camera mount and walk through the frame each time. After all the extra labor, it would merely turn into a 15-second segment. Neistat mastered the art of making his vlogs appear to be effortless without them actually being effortless.
After moving from New York City with his wife and two young daughters to Los Angeles, Neistat’s vlogs have changed tremendously. The scale of his storytelling is infinitely smaller, yet no less captivating. Neistat was on top of the internet world, winning numerous awards for his daily vlog. He was a king of the internet video world. And now, after a significant decline in output, Neistat has completely reinvented his filmmaking. No longer is he in a world of constant motion, barely having time to spread himself out among his various artistic projects. Now, Neistat is moving at a much slower pace, taking time to enjoy his family and new lifestyle. During its near 1,000 episode run, Neistat’s filming would overflow into his every moment, demanding all the energy and attention he could give. Today, it’s family first, vlog second.
His vlogs have become considerably shorter, ranging five to six minutes as opposed to his previous 10-minute standard. It is not, I believe, a conscious decision to create bite-sized entertainment like other YouTube personality David Dobrik’s four-minute-and-20-second vlogs. It is instead an effort on Neistat’s part to create a less consuming daily vlog — one that doesn’t sap his energy and drain his attention. All of his vlogs include much more footage of his children, and it is clear that he doesn’t hesitate to put the camera down when something more pressing comes up.
For longtime viewers of Neistat’s work like myself, these new vlogs are a glimpse into a different side of his life: a chance to see how Neistat has grown as a father and husband as well as a filmmaker. There is definitely a skill to making captivating vlogs like Dobrik, but to do so without any sort of spectacle is nothing short of brilliant. His new videos show nothing more than the mundane ongoings of daily life in an effort to create a greater sense of realism in the daily vlog world.
One of his episodes, titled “i started a fight i’ll never win” and my favorite so far, depicts Neistat in his ongoing struggle against the ants that have invaded his yard and home. Neistat likens himself to a Carthaginian general preparing for a total war against the imposing force of the Roman army-like ant infestation. Reading snippets from “The Enemies of Rome” by Stephen Kershaw, Neistat is able to dramatize a household chore into a full-on war. The video, like all his others, is mesmerizing from start to finish. He has managed to make a five-minute vlog about a non-story — something he wouldn’t even mention at the dinner table. It is his unparalleled storytelling capability and eye for editing rhythm that make his vlogs so captivating. Most of all, the video doesn’t seem to dominate his day; the five-minute video appears to take a backseat to his daughter’s playtime and his weekend getaway to a beach house, which force him to cut the segment short.
Casey Neistat was an integral part of YouTube’s development and an iconic figure of the 2010’s internet zeitgeist. His nonstop quest for greatness undoubtedly cemented him as one of the platform's best and as a transcendent filmmaker of his time. His vlogs were never intended to be effortless - just to appear effortless. And now, after over five years of vlogging, Neistat has cracked the code to this new form of video. He is by no means overexerting himself, but he has sacrificed none of the polish and craftsmanship that has gotten him so far. It is wonderful to see someone who was previously consumed by a hunger-pained drive for greatness now take the time to appreciate how far he’s come.
Neistat has all the wisdom and patience of a retiree, yet still possesses an internal motor that perpetually pushes him forward. His time off seems to have granted him a greater understanding of himself as an author as well as a man, and he has come out the other side more well-crafted as each. Neistat has marched himself to the forefront of the internet filmmaking world. I’m as excited as ever to be a fan, and you should be too.
(09/24/20 9:58am)
As a young “Daily Express” correspondent, Evelyn Waugh (1903–66) once explained to a colleague the secret to success in the newspaper business. “The correct procedure [when assigned a story], is to jump to your feet, seize your hat and umbrella and dart out of the office with every appearance of haste to the nearest cinema,” Waugh said.
During what is hopefully the last few months of the Trump era, recommending Evelyn Waugh can seem like a daunting task. Both Waugh's brand of Catholicism and his political views bend towards the uber-conservative, and the novels of his later years increasingly include storylines and jokes that give way to theological tirades and overwrought language.
But when he stays away from untenable beliefs, Waugh’s novels reign supreme in their painstaking style and dark humor. The word “satire” almost doesn’t apply to his books; Waugh’s jokes don’t just strike the reader with their barbed venom but simply induce sheer (if at times uncomfortable) laughter.
Captain Grimes in Waugh’s novel “Decline and Fall,” for instance, has taught at a number of public boys’ schools in the UK for years but is always getting fired for getting “in the soup.” Grimes remains an optimist, though, because he always gets job transfers thanks to his social class. “Besides, you see, I’m a public school man,” Grimes says. “That means everything.” Waugh deftly savages “old boy” networks here, even as he blends the tricky line between satirizing classism and trivializing the horrors of sex abuse. That same cold hilarity is found in his novels “Vile Bodies” and “Scoop,” where characters often shrug at human folly and their own emotions.
For readers interested in more thoughtful literature, I still recommend Waugh for the overwhelming humanity of his two masterpieces “A Handful of Dust” and “Brideshead Revisited.” “Dust,” which recounts the fall of country aristocrat Tony Last after his wife Brenda leaves him for a younger man, has perhaps the meanest scene from any twentieth-century novel. When Brenda’s son John dies in a riding accident, for a moment, she thinks that her lover — also named John — has perished instead. Upon hearing that her boyfriend is alive, the now childless Brenda sighs, “Thank God.” It’s definitely an over-the-top scene, but we’ve all at one time or another met those wantonly self-centered beasts like Brenda Last, and few novelists capture the special banality of their narcissism more acutely than Waugh.
The structure of “Dust” also allows us to — barely — digest such heinousness by balancing genuine darkness with slapstick doom. Shortly after the cuckolded Tony Last flees to the Amazon, he gets abducted by a certain Mr. Todd, a Colonel Kurtz-esque hermit who captures Tony and forces him to eternally read aloud Charles Dickens at gunpoint. I can see an icier satirist like J.M. Coetzee constructing the “Thank God” scene, and perhaps Flannery O’Connor at her weirdest might employ “Nicholas Nickleby” à la Mr. Todd. But in my mind, only one writer adeptly combines these two types of gallows humor, laughing at evil in all its pain and all its absurdity.
And as for the sunnier anomaly of “Brideshead Revisited?” Well, a good deal of the novel’s last 200 pages play out a tad ham-fisted, particularly when Lord Marchmain — an avowed atheist and philanderer — suddenly takes Holy Communion in his last minutes, dying only after making the sign of the cross. But the book’s first 100 pages have an unvarnished sentimentality which has aged well. When the novel’s narrator Charles Ryder reflects on his college years, his comments on the features of Oxford wistfully transition into an ode to being young with one's friends. Charles especially misses “[Oxford’s] autumnal mists, her grey springtime, and the rare glory of her summer days — such as that day — when the chestnut was in flower and the bells rang out high and clear ... It was this cloistral hush which gave our laughter its resonance, and carried it still, joyously, over the intervening clamour.”
Rereading this passage, I find myself forgetting the shock humor of “Decline and Fall” and Waugh’s later persona, that cigar-chomping right-winger outraged over the dawn of a British welfare state and the Great Scandal of the Catholic Church (its 1964 cessation of the Latin Mass). Instead, this is Waugh at his most ornate and sincere. And Charles Ryder’s ruminations about Oxford definitely echo my own joys about returning to campus for this weird, masked, and somehow beautiful semester.
(09/24/20 9:57am)
When I received the news that Ruth Bader Ginsburg had passed away on that clear Friday night, I burst into my house, not knowing what to say, tears already streaming down my face. “Mom! Ruth Bader Ginsburg is gone — mom, she died!” Those were the only words to successfully escape my mouth before my brain was flooded with the realization of all we had lost.
Ginsburg was a pioneer, advocating not just for women’s rights but for equity among us all. She dedicated her life to this cause, knowing that “real change, enduring change, happens one step at a time.” She used her influence to support trailblazers striving towards equity. Even as she neared her ninth decade, she became a cultural icon and a beacon of hope for a younger generation who often found themselves lost in a world unafraid to betray them.
This is a national tragedy, yet it is a tragedy for all the wrong reasons. We should cry for the powerful life that has been taken from us. We should mourn alongside her family, who has lost so much. But the pain and anguish that so many of us feel is driven less by the grief of losing a national hero and instead by the actions of the man with the orange skin who sits behind a desk he has yet to earn. Ginsburg’s legacy may be eroded by the ascension of yet another far-right judge whose actions betray the ideals of this nation. Just days before her passing, Ginsburg made it clear that her “most fervent wish is that [she] will not be replaced until a new president is installed.”
“I would like to be remembered as someone who used whatever talent she had to do her work to the very best of her ability. And to help repair tears in her society, to make things a little better through the use of whatever ability she has,” Ginsburg said when Irin Carmon, author of “Notorious RBG,” asked her how she wanted to be remembered. The best thing that may come out of this tragedy is for her wish to be realized — we owe it to her, and ourselves. The best way to ensure that she is remembered and that her legacy is preserved is to use the lessons she has taught us to shape the world for the better.
[pullquote speaker="" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]This is a warning, a call to action. The life of our nation is still within our own hands: we must remember and apply to our own lives the lessons that she taught us during hers.[/pullquote]
This summer, our nation has endured a long-overdue equal rights movement and an unprecedented pandemic, both ongoing. The murder of George Floyd underscored the systemic racial biases that have brought about surges of protests and continue to consume our everyday lives, but now consistent pressure and action must be taken for justice to be served. Something that Justice Ginsburg knew, “you can’t have it all, all at once,” is a sentiment now more poignant than ever. To achieve a world that belongs to everyone on this earth, we must fight with every year of our life, the way Notorious RBG fought with every year of hers.
We must be inspired by the woman who led us, as opposed to frightened by what the future might hold. Now, many people fear what the world has become, but we must work, step by step, to ensure the world will become the place she helped us envision. We have now reached a point where in not taking action, we allow others to make the world a bad place for us. To protect our nation, we should live out the lessons that she attempted to teach us. We have all the tools. The struggle is to wield them enduringly.
Max Padilla is a photo editor for The Campus and a member of the class of 2022.
(09/24/20 9:57am)
For Vermonters, a complete 2020 Decennial Census count is within reach. As of Tuesday morning, nearly 99% of Vermonters have responded to the census.
“We are close to having it as complete as can be,” said Jason Broughton, state librarian and chair of Vermont’s Complete Count Committee.
Broughton explained that the census is responsible for largehuge amounts of federal funding, as well congressional redistricting and the reapportionment of U.S. House of Representatives seats. as the redistricting of congressional seats.
He said that miscounts — particularly undercounts — can lead to massive funding losses. A 2018 paper about the 2010 Decennial Census reported a possible 1% undercount and discussed the undercount’s effect on a single program funded by the Department of Health and Human Services.
According to Broughton, the possible 1% undercount meant approximately 6,000 Vermonters may have gone uncounted. He said that relatively small miscounts like this can have a big impact.: Tthe paper reported a possible $14 million federal funding loss in 2015, alone.
“If you think about it, some people say, ‘Oh, that’s not that bad,’ until you say, ‘That’s $14 million for that small amount of people, every single year, for ten years, until the next census.’ And that was one specific program,” Broughton said.
In 2016 alone, it was reported that Vermont received nearly $2.5 billion based on data collected in the 2010 Decennial Census.
To make sure everyone is included in the survey, Broughton said the Complete Count Committee has worked with Vermont groups and agencies to reach out to hard-to-count populations. These populations include single mothers with children, the elderly, the disabled, and migrant workers who may be undocumented.
“We were doing a lot during the tail end with Vermont Migrant Justice,” he explained. “They let us know that they were able to get in touch or do outreach with 400 persons in that community.”
The partnerships with Migrant Justice and other organizations haves also helped distribute correct information to individuals. This information includes the wording that the census counts “all whole persons” residing in the U.S. at the time of its conduct.
The inclusion of undocumented persons in the census is something that presidential officials are working to change in this year’s count. The State of Vermont joined aA lawsuit filed earlier this year against the Trump administration was joined by the State of Vermont, with Broughton cited in the opinion submittedfiled by federal court justices.
Broughton said that Vermont’s involvement in the suit was crucial to its success, but he added that the Trump Administration is currently working on an appeal.
“I do anticipate that there’s going to be a lot of conversation about the accuracy of this year’s numbers,” he said.
But for now, he’s concerned with concluding a complete count of the state.
“Everyone has worked feverishly and endlessly in our outreach effort to make sure we get to as many people as possible,” he said. “It’s been a very interesting year.”
Census response ends Sept. 30. People who have not yet responded can self-report online or by calling (844) 330-2020. The questionnaire contains nine questions and can be completed in under ten minutes. It is completely confidential.
(09/24/20 9:56am)
This letter was originally sent to Laurie Patton and the Senior Leadership Group on the 3rd of July 2020. The piece has been lightly edited in accordance with The Campus’ style guidelines.
Dear President Patton,
We value the statement made in your May 31, 2020 email that “Education and action are the two forms of oxygen that can heal.” Your commitment to anti-racism and challenging white supremacy is crucial in fostering a culture of safety and acceptance on campus. We hope that this sentiment is maintained as you read through this letter. We appreciate your time in advance.
One of the most powerful and necessary actions that this administration can take in pursuit of anti-racism is to restructure the role of Public Safety on our campus by dissolving Middlebury’s collaboration with police and private security. We are not the only institution making these requests. Movements against police have proliferated on college campuses across the country. Recently, the University of Minnesota has changed its relationship with the Minneapolis police, pledging not to call them for law enforcement support or special events. UVM students demand UVM cut ties with Burlington police. And more will follow.
Over the past few years, we have repeatedly articulated to both the Office of the President and the rest of the administration that the presence of police, private security and punitive public safety systems do not make our community safer. On the contrary, these entities place the most marginalized groups among us at unnecessary risk. As an institution, policing has a long history of horrific abuses, particularly against marginalized populations. Our reliance on private security and public security systems based in this policing regime fails to protect our community's health and safety. Instead, it perpetuates an unwelcoming culture by exposing students, faculty, and staff to potential violence at the hands of current and former police. Furthermore, it deepens Middlebury’s complacency in upholding damaging, racist structures of white supremacy.
At Middlebury College, police and public safety have racially profiled and harassed Black students and faculty. These incidents include when Addis Fouche-Channer, a Black alumna of the class of 2017, was accused of having attended a protest against Charles Murray in March 2017 although WiFi logs indicated that Fouche-Channer was nowhere near the protest, as she had testified. However, Middlebury still believed the Public Safety officer, thus forcing Fouche-Channer into a lengthy and unwarranted judicial process. Later in 2017, a professor of color recounted being aggressively harassed and questioned by Public Safety while unlocking the door to the building where her office was located. Students, faculty and staff of color have experienced countless similar incidents which specifically placed them at risk, highlighting the gap between Public Safety and actual safety. This untenable system of Public Safety is thus incompatible with Middlebury’s stated goal of advancing racial justice and anti-racism.
Despite the concerns expressed by students, faculty, staff and community members, the college has repeatedly collaborated with police and employed private security companies. We hope that during this time of national civil unrest, you can understand the pain and terror experienced by the student body this past semester when we heard that police were coming to campus for a controversial and racist speaker event. We remembered the profiling of Black students that happens frequently on our campus, and we knew that similar instances of racial profiling happen in many of our home communities. We, and Middlebury students before us, repeatedly asked this institution to reconsider its decision to bring armed law enforcement into our home, and we were ignored. In response, students were forced to organize a system of cop-watchers, de-escalators, and legal observers to keep our community safe. We hope you can recognize the irony in this situation. We know that police do not protect us, and we did what was necessary to keep each other safe. We need you to do the same by eliminating police presence at Middlebury.
You acknowledged in the same email referenced earlier that “People of Color in our country walk daily with deep vulnerability to the threats of institutionalized violence. They face greater risk of death in the time of coronavirus, greater risk of death on the streets and in their homes.” The same risks of institutionalized violence are present at Middlebury. The question is: what will you do to mitigate them?
There is a simple, powerful and effective position you can take to prevent police brutality. You can cut off all future collaborations with law enforcement and private security around campus events and commit to not calling the police. You can dismantle Public Safety’s punitive role, abolish citations, and reconstruct a public safety team that is accountable to the community, with expertise in medical first aid, mental and sexual health, drug and alcohol harm reduction, de-escalation and conflict resolution.
You can collaborate with the town of Middlebury to defund the local police department and envision transformative community solutions, and you can support student-led workshops on cop-watching, legal observing and de-escalation tactics. These actions will not be enough to repair the years of trauma that have occurred at Middlebury nor the centuries of oppression and violence faced by Black people and other people of color throughout this country. But they are a necessary step towards justice.
We know we have a long way to go, but we imagine a future wherein Middlebury is a safer, more equitable place for all of us. We imagine a Middlebury where policing is obsolete, where trained community members take care of each other following principles of restorative justice, harm-reduction, consent, de-escalation and community repair; where we promote each other’s health and well-being instead of investing in racist, punitive systems of control; where our commitment to anti-racism and Black liberation extends beyond performative words and does the work of dismantling the structures of white supremacy on our campus and beyond.
You’ve encouraged us to “use [our] Middlebury education to challenge bigotry and hatred.” We utilize our education to understand the history of the United States through a decolonized and anti-racist framework. We acknowledge that the police force we have today began as the Slave Patrol in the South in 1704, and that we must remove an institution founded in such undeniable oppression and racism from our campus.
President Patton, we call our congressmen and senators. We are involved in local groups. We collaborate with members of our community to act against racism and take accountability for the work that needs to be done, “in our classrooms, in our living rooms, in our workplaces, in our communities.” We are now asking the same of you.
We ask you to transform rhetoric into action. We ask you to move beyond metaphors and do what we should have done years ago. We ask you to meet all demands of Concerned Students of Midd and the AAUP anti-racism working group, and to listen to the leadership of our BIPOC community members. We ask you to dismantle policing on campus and to help us build a community so strong that force and coercion are irrelevant. When you ask us “to circulate that air so all of us can breathe in it, and live,” we challenge you to mean it.
Thank you,
Middlebury Cops Off Campus
Read the complete letter, platform and signatory list for Middlebury Cops Off Campus here.
(09/24/20 9:56am)
In a nameless country in the Middle East, a civil war breaks out. Not only is this inconvenient for new lovers Nadia and Saeed, it’s potentially fatal if they do not find a route to evacuate as their surroundings rapidly disintegrate into armed strife. The relative simplicity of their lives as working college students is irrevocably disrupted, and while they make their way out of the country, readers journey with them, reviewing all that they leave behind. Will their new lives as refugees ever allow them to return home? If so, what will they find that remains when they return? Can their newly budding relationship survive the upending turmoils of life abroad?
Mohsin Hamid’s novel is a curious one in that he makes intentional choices I have not seen before. For example, by withholding the characters’ country of origin, he makes the story more universal, forcing readers to ask themselves what is more important: the nation from which the protagonists originate or the perils to which they are subjected because of the ongoing conflict at home?
This is not strictly an “Australian,” “Syrian” or “Zimbabwean” story; it’s a story of the lives and normalities that are threatened and disrupted in moments of instability. Nadia and Saeed, irrespective of their origin, need food, shelter and stability — needs often overlooked depending on how displaced people are perceived given their religion, language and state of peace or enmity with powerful countries.
Another choice Hamid made was to veil the routes of passage that Nadia and Saeed use to arrive in countries that are not experiencing warfare. Words like “asylum” and “visa” do not appear in the narrative. Rather, Nadia and Saeed use an unnamed system of doors to “exit west.” Access to these doors comes at a significant monetary expense, but they make it to the other side. Each door leads to a new destination: the Mediterranean, London, California. However, the conditions they find in their new residencies continue to push them farther away from home.
The journey is an adventure, and the physical travels are as important as the narrative’s emotional ones. For another work in the collection that treats the complex nature of being an immigrant or a child of immigrants, check out “How To Read the Air” by Dinaw Mengestu or Fabien Toulmé’s French-language “L’odyssée d’Hakim.”
Editor’s Note: Katrina Spencer was the Literatures & Cultures Librarian, and this book review was written for The Campus before she left the college.
(09/17/20 9:59am)
As Phase One neared its highly anticipated end, the college concluded its campus quarantine programming last Friday with a remote lecture and Q&A by Scholar-in-Residence Bill McKibben. During the talk, titled “This Crisis and the Next One: What the Pandemic Suggests About the Century to Come,” McKibben spoke about the relationship between environmental injustice and Covid-19 and the reasons he believes Vermont has been so successful in its battle against the pandemic.
Jim Ralph, professor of American history and culture, introduced McKibben. Following his talk, three underclassman student panelists — Tim Hua ’23.5, Alicia Pane ’23.5 and Daisy Liljegren ’24 — opened the Q&A session with prepared questions.
Before diving into the future implications of the pandemic, McKibben began by speaking about its ramifications in the present moment. He emphasized the disproportionate severity of the effects of the Covid-19 pandemic on minority communities, even in predominantly white Vermont: one of the state’s few bad outbreaks occurred in Winooski, a city with a large immigrant population.
“If there was a single powerful quote from the last six months, it came, tragically, from George Floyd,” McKibben said. “And, as you all know, what he said was, ‘I can't breathe.’”
He described the many ways in which the compounding crises of the past six months have restricted the ability of people, particularly Black Americans, to breathe: police brutality; poor air quality from coal fired power plants, usually seen in POC communities; the wildfires filling the air with smoke; and the sheer heat of this past summer.
“We have this huge mix of crises on top of each other,” he said.
During his talk, McKibben highlighted three key aspects of the relationship between the pandemic and the climate crisis.
1: Reality is Real
“I've spent the last 30 years trying to remind people that chemistry and physics won't negotiate or compromise,” McKibben said. “And the pandemic was a good reminder that the same is true for biology. It’s fine for the president to get up and say it’s all a hoax and whatever, but the microbe could care less. If it says stand six feet apart, then stand six feet apart.”
2: Reaction Speed Matters
“We've learned a lot about flattening curves this year,” he said. “The U.S. and South Korea had their first cases of Covid-19 on the same day in January. South Korea went, admirably, to work. And it’s not over there, but it's definitely in the rearview mirror, and with a tiny fraction of the suffering and the loss of life that we've experienced here. That's because we wasted a couple of months, as Bob Woodward has demonstrated over the last couple of days, despite the fact that the White House knew very well what was going on. That slow reaction is the equivalent to the way that we've done nothing about climate change over 30 years that the scientists have given us a warning. And so now, of course, we need to move with extraordinary speed.”
3: Social Solidarity is Really Important
“I grew up in the political shadow of Ronald Reagan,” McKibben said. “He was the dominant figure in my early life, elected while I was in college. Unlike most presidents, he really did realign the country around a new ideological idea, and that idea basically was that markets were going to solve all problems — that government was, as he put it, the problem, not the solution. Indeed, the most famous laugh line in Reagan's speeches, always, was, ‘The nine scariest words in the English language are, I'm from the government, and I'm here to help.’ Well, it turns out that the scariest words in the English language are, ‘We've run out of ventilators,’ or ‘The hillside behind your house is on fire and you have to leave now, without any of your possessions.’ Those are not things that are solved by markets. Those are things solved by social solidarity of one kind or another, governments learning to work competently, but people joining together with some trust in those governments — and with each other.”
According to McKibben, about 78% of Vermonters mostly or completely trust their neighbors, compared with 38% of Americans. And 69% of Vermonters say they know most of their neighbors, as opposed to just 26% of Americans. He credits the state’s high level of social trust for the early, effective intervention that limited the spread of Covid-19.
Earlier this year, as armed protesters gathered in many states in opposition to wearing masks and other pandemic-related mandates, “in Vermont, there was a demonstration called for Montpelier outside the state capitol,” McKibben said. “And when the day came, there were seven protesters on the ramp for that demonstration.”
He doesn’t attribute Vermonters’ willingness to wear masks and maintain social distance to particularly liberal politics: though Vermont is home to democratic socialist Bernie Sanders, the state’s governor, Phil Scott, is a Republican. Rather, McKibben ascribes it to the state’s unusual geographical and political structure. Unlike other remote states, which tend to be centered around a small number of major cities, Vermont’s population is spread more evenly across the state, and individual towns manage their own affairs through annual town meetings.
“It is a state of villages, and what that means is that people tend to know each other better,” McKibben said. “More to the point, what it means is it’s enabled this long Vermont tradition of very close, democratic self-governance.”
He believes that local self-governance disincentivizes polarization, “simply because you have to get the business of the town done and everyone knows it.”
Many of the questions from panelists and audience members alike addressed the concept of social trust. Hua, one of the panelists, asked whether anti-mask protests could have decreased social trust elsewhere in the country; attendees raised questions about encouraging trust on a larger scale and the potential for people with more diverse backgrounds, in more densely populated communities, to develop similar levels of social trust.
McKibben emphasized that it is unclear how significantly Vermont’s demographics — being a particularly homogenous state with a predominantly white population — impact social trust throughout the state, and that it is difficult to gauge how well the concept of local self-governance might translate to other parts of the country. He denounced the increasing political polarization perpetuated by the current federal government and spoke highly of efforts like “citizens’ assemblies,” designed to help communities become informed about, and collaborate on ways to deal with, local issues.
Pane, another panelist, asked how McKibben sees Vermont’s motto, “Freedom and Unity,” playing out during the pandemic.
“We have chosen, I think, unity above other freedoms here in Vermont during the course of the pandemic,” McKibben said.
(09/17/20 9:57am)
This work is the most enrapturing audiobook vocal performance I’ve ever encountered. “A Brief History of Seven Killings” came on my radar after I interviewed Dr. Kemi Fuentes-George, professor of political science, for the “In Your Own Words” oral histories project. He suggested it after I asked him what works he might recommend to those wanting to learn more about diasporic Blackness. Taking real life events and creating others, it is a fictionalized and revisionist retelling of the zeitgeist surrounding an attempt made on Bob Marley’s life in 1976. But, it’s really much more than that.
The most engrossing parts of the book are the glimpses readers get into the social stratification of 1970s Jamaica and the suggestion that non-governmental entities ran the country. Moreover, while Jamaica is but one Caribbean island, the people and culture it has produced have strong impacts all over the world. We see this, for example, in the plentiful nurses and domestic care workers “exported” from Jamaica to New York. From commentary on the 1960s Bay of Pigs Invasion to references to the popular television series “Starsky & Hutch,” Marlon James revives the ’70s from its crypt, highlighting the international reach of US-based media and the rise of Jamaican reggae. Unforgiving drug lords, unpredictable addicts and regular bouts of gun violence run throughout the pages (or soundbytes, if you’re listening) of this work. However, it was the extent of the homophobia, omnipresent throughout the work, that I found the most relentless of all — James makes a diligent effort to shed light on the virulent attitudes towards homosexuality that remain alive in Jamaica today.
While certain cultural products and chronologies are true, others are figments of the author’s imagination. As is repeated multiple times throughout the work, some Jamaicans say that, “If it not go so, it go near so” — some recounting of history is tremulous and uneven, but its shakiness isn’t an invalidation of its veracity or near accuracy. For more works that treat similar themes, I recommend Quentin Tarantino’s “Inglorious Basterds,” which also takes an actual historical time period, its politics and accoutrements, and remixes its narratology. Television series like “Hawaii Five-0” and “Three’s Company” also gesture towards capturing this era.
Editor’s Note: Katrina Spencer was the Literatures & Cultures Librarian, and this book review was written for The Campus before she left the college.
(09/17/20 9:57am)
“You know, you really remind me of my little sister,” my dinner date declared, his thin-lipped mouth broadening into a cheerful grin. “She tries to be perfect all the time. Like you.”
Few men have left me speechless. This one, however, had a way with words.
In a corporeal manifestation of my horror, I accidentally swallowed a mouthful of fettuccine alfredo — unchewed, no less — and began wheezing. Rather than acknowledging that I was, in fact, hacking uncontrollably, my date gazed into my watery eyes and told me they reminded him of “beautiful black holes.”
I almost ripped my clothes off right then and there.
While I’ve always had a propensity for men who make bold statements — and trust me, this one gets bonus points for the unprecedented creativity — my date soared far past brazen, crashing and burning somewhere between heinous and unbearable.
In his defense, had I responded with a weak smile, an “Oh, that’s nice,” or even simply ignored the comment, I could have allayed some of the tension (to clarify, it was the awkward, not sexual, type). But no, in all of my wisdom, I croaked out a sarcastic joke, congratulating him for bringing up both incest and perfectionism on a first date. Good one, Maria.
When the night ended, I walked home alone under the orange streetlights and eavesdropped on couples strolling by. Their shards of conversation, injected with playful banter and surreptitious whispers, belonged to a language even the Rosetta Stone could not uncode.
As the early February chill wrapped around my waist, I knew one thing for certain: this boy and I were never going out again.
The next morning, my Kim Possible ringtone woke me up, mercilessly.
Maria, had such a great time with you. Dinner on Friday?
It was the text’s muted enthusiasm that made me perspire. Did I give him a hand job under the dinner table and simply forget? Did he have a fetish for girls who make slightly off-color jokes? Was I being featured on some new reality TV show called Civilians Finding Love? Momentarily enthralled by my third explanation, I envisioned myself as a hometown celebrity, swarmed by Fairfield County soccer moms desperate to get my autograph (a girl can dream, can’t she?).
I returned to Middlebury for the spring semester days after my chaotic date, slightly scarred but with high hopes for connection. Short of discussing it in therapy, I recounted the absurdity of the story over Ross brunch and vowed that, this semester, I would be gunning it for Nicholas Sparks-esque romance, rather than that cheap Adam Sandler sh*t.
My attempt at love was far less than successful. Only weeks later, we got sent home for the semester.
Packing up my bedroom, I peeled my feminist posters off the walls of Starr 205 (a room whose quality time with me was tragically cut short) and stuffed my oversized sweaters into duffels. I couldn’t help but think the universe wanted me to be perpetually single. Slow and steady in the right lane, I drove home, wondering how my love life would pan out in isolation.
The truth was, I came to realize, that romance was now unequivocally inconvenient.
At Midd, B.C. (before Covid), we could grab-and-go some combination of intimacy and connection with relative ease. The pure existence of options (namely, other students and a lack of parents) wrangled into a 350-acre campus created an arena for attachment, both profound and superficial. It was common, natural even, to be hooking up with someone on Friday nights, Snapchatting someone else who added you “by search” but didn’t acknowledge you in the dining hall, and doing homework with your friend-that-you-may-have-feelings-for all within the same week.
And so, I have found myself in a number of situationships, contending in a ring of convenience. My weekends were marred by boozy bonds and daylight dates with boys who didn’t quite fit into my romantic life. In an effort to “keep an open mind,” I went out with a number of guys who I had little in common with, some of whom were emotionally unavailable and others whom I wasn’t even attracted to. The common thread throughout all of these interactions, however, was that I somehow managed to flee with nothing short of a preposterous story (see above).
But in the wake of a pandemic, it is no longer feasible to flit around without considerations of our health and safety. Now, more than ever, we are forced to be discerning about who we let into our lives and how, if at all, they fit in. Gone are the days of utilitarian connections, making out with someone at a party who is cute enough or maintaining a fizzling relationship for the “good of the friend group.”
Now that human connection is spatially inconvenient, even on our small Vermont campus, I wonder if the pandemic has given us a rare gift.
For arguably the first time, we will be forced to form intentional relationships, ones that are neither stained by poor communication nor misunderstandings.
Our school year will be differentiated by a marked cognizance: an obligation to briefly discuss our physical whereabouts with each of our new partners. Without explicitly expressing that we’re planning to “toot it and boot it,” if you will, or, alternatively, longing for a Taylor Swift-inspired romance, we can use Covid to broach the subject of desired commitment level. Not only has the pandemic impacted each of our individual comfort levels with physical intimacy but it has spilled over into those of our roommates and suitemates. Consequently, we each have an unprecedented responsibility involved in romance that may just remove the ambiguity that usually plagues love at Middlebury.
Romance, in whatever form we seek it, might come to fruition for us sooner than the vaccine.
MASK OFF MIDD, blurry lines are so last season.
Maria Kaouris is a member of the class of 2021.
(09/10/20 10:00am)
For most of us living in this unprecedented Covid-19 reality, everything feels pretty new right now. Having to wear masks in public: new. Needing to stay six feet apart from strangers as we walk around our neighborhoods: new. Being quarantined in our houses with the same few people for two months straight: VERY new. Yet, when Covid-19 struck during my senior spring at Middlebury, the feeling that hit me wasn’t so much that of “oh no, what is this new reality?” but rather one of “oh no, here we go again.”
To understand this last statement, I must first explain a little bit about myself — or more specifically, what happened to me during my junior year of college. My junior year was not the work-hard-play-hard year that most of us envision as Middlebury College students. No, it was a work-as-hard-as-you-can-when-you-have-the-energy-for-it kind of year. It was work-as-hard-as-you-can-between-panic-attacks, work-as-hard-as-you-can-between-doctor’s-appointments, work-as-hard-as-you-can-on-days-when-you-didn’t-just-have-a-seizure and, somedays, it was just don’t-work-at-all-and-instead-cry-on-the-phone-to-your-parents-because-YOU-CAN’T-DO-THIS-ANYMORE. You see, in my junior year, I struggled with my own personal crisis, with what I think of now in retrospect as my own mini-version of the Covid-19 pandemic: I had a tumor in the right temporal lobe of my brain. Though I did not know it at the time, this tumor was the reason that I was having seizures and panic attacks, and thus why I could barely keep up with school.
Now, of course, here’s where I admit that I was one of the lucky ones. I was okay. Five days after the end of my junior year, my doctors finally located the tumor, and over my summer break, I had surgery to remove it. Luckiest of all was the fact that the tumor wasn’t cancerous and that I didn’t die before I could make it to my senior year — as I had feared for so many months. By all measures, I was fine, and I returned to Middlebury College on schedule for the start of my senior year as if nothing had happened at all. But something had happened.
After coming back to school, I realized that my relationship with Middlebury had changed. I was angry, so very angry: not just at the world for having made me go through what I had to go through, but at Middlebury itself. I was angry for all the support that I didn’t receive because I didn’t know that I had the right to receive it. I was angry for all the times that people spoke on my behalf regarding what I needed, instead of listening to me when I told them what it was that I truly needed. I was angry that, even after returning to school, I was still being treated like a burden just because I had needed extra help to get to where I was, and forever having to explain to professors why it was that I was behind. And to be absolutely honest, as much as I have tried to let go of it all, I am still angry. There are a lot of ways that Middlebury failed me when I needed its support the most, and that hurt doesn’t just go away.
So why am I writing this piece? Since I am done with Middlebury now, having graduated in the spring, what is the point of revisiting all of this? I have asked myself this question for months, trying to decide whether it was even worth putting these words onto paper in the first place – after all, many of you likely have more pressing issues on your mind. But what I have realized over the last few months is that I deserved better and, more importantly, that you — the current students — all deserve better now. The outbreak of Covid-19 may be unprecedented, but colleges and universities dealing with students in crisis is not. If Middlebury is failing you now, it is not because they are learning to handle a brand-new situation for which no one has the road map; it is because they did not learn to handle such a situation when it only existed on a small scale. My college experience is proof of that fact.
In a moment of crisis, it is unreasonable to expect that college students can function at the same level as they normally would. Whether it be a parent or loved one who is working a job that compromises their own health, a sick relative or, worse yet, a deceased one, Covid-19 affects our personal lives in a myriad of ways, which, in turn, impacts our ability to perform academically.
It doesn’t matter that “you chose to come back to school in the middle of a pandemic.” When I chose to come back to school just two months after brain surgery, it was not because I had a hankering for writing some essays on 19th century novels and a yearning for creating some lesson plans; it was because, after a year of my life being completely upended, I needed to regain some sense of normalcy — however minute it was. Many of the people from whom I sought help at Middlebury understood this fact, but others did not.
Over the next year, you will meet both kinds of people — those who will stand by your side when you are struggling, and those who will pretend that your problems are no problem at all — but when you encounter those who fail to support you, I encourage you not to keep quiet like I did. Speak up. Talk to your friends, to your professors, your advisors, your counselors, your administrators. If they don’t hear you the first time, then speak up some more. You have a right to hold them accountable, and most importantly you all have a strength in numbers that I could never have even dreamed of a year ago. What you do now, the way you handle this unprecedented global pandemic, will have ripple effects not only on your own lives but on the life of every student in crisis who will come after you. I urge you: do not take “no” for an answer.
Cooper Siegel was a member of the class of 2020.
