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(02/27/20 11:02am)
After the Trump administration enacted updates last August to Title X funding stipulations in a move to severely limit access to abortion care, Vermont refused to yield. The Vt. Department of Health Services and the Planned Parenthood of Northern New England (PPNNE) made the choice to forgo federal money, instead continuing to providing abortion services to Vermonters through state funding. The choice was made possible by Vt. Health Commissioner Mark Levine, who announced that state contingency funds would be allocated to cover the $759,000 difference. This decision came before PPNNE even announced that it as withdrawing from Title X funding.
Title X, which has been in place since 1970, has subsidized birth control and other forms of affordable reproductive healthcare on a federal level. However, these new regulations prevent the allocation of federal funding to organizations that provide or refer patients for abortion services except in certain circumstances, including medical emergency and rape.
Before these changes went into effect, PPNNE was the only provider in Vermont to receive Title X funding for family planning and reproductive health services. Title X money has never directly funded abortion services in Vermont; rather, it has helped patients, many of whom are low-income and uninsured, access cancer screenings, contraceptives and STD testing and treatments. This funding has helped approximately 11,000 Vermonters in the past year, according to Sullivan.
The update to Title X requires that healthcare providers receiving funding from Title X withhold information on abortion services from patients. Eileen Sullivan, communications director at PPNNE, indicated that this is in “clear violation” of medical ethics and standards of care.
“PPNNE’s healthcare providers are not going to conceal any information from our patients in exchange for federal funding, and we particularly refuse to let the Trump administration bully us into withholding information about safe, legal abortion,” Sullivan said.
Ruhamah Weil ’21, who worked at Middlebury Planned Parenthood as an intern last summer, recalled when the Trump administration began to restrict allocation of Title X grants.
“Middlebury’s clinic doesn’t even perform abortions due to staff, funding and space constraints, and it had lost money from the government for providing all sorts of other medical procedures,” Weil said. “This type of policy helps create and embolden the stigma around abortions. It sends a message that says that if the conversation between you and your doctor even includes the word abortion, it’s not a medical conversation.”
Weil also said she alerted patients to losses in federal funding by putting up signs around the clinic. These signs explained that federal funding would not pay for new patients’ healthcare, while making clear that financial assistance would still be provided to those who would have originally benefited from federal aid. Weil found it important that the Middlebury clinic did not give in to Title X’s new stipulations, but expressed concern that reproductive services may be now limited in other regions.
“[These changes] pile on so much more fear, hatred, and misunderstanding to the idea of abortions. It brushes the issue into a corner and tries to hide from it,” Weil said. “Instead, we proudly stood by Planned Parenthood’s commitment to providing safe and legal abortions for those who wish to receive them, but we also proudly stood by our patients in Middlebury who weren’t there to receive abortions.”
Feminist Action at Middlebury (FAM) Co-President Annie Blalock ’20 indicated that FAM has engaged with the Title X cuts by supporting Vermont Proposition 5, an amendment to the State Constitution that is currently being deliberated in the Vermont Legislature. This amendment, if ratified, would guarantee that reproductive liberty is an unalienable right for Vermonters, regardless of restrictions on the federal level.
“[It is] empowering for the politically conscious and for those just existing in this country to actively fight against what the gag rule represents in this country,” Blalock said.
She recalled a time when FAM brought Middlebury students to the Vermont House of Representatives the day the bill was introduced, and remembered that it was astonishing to see pro-life activists alongside Planned Parenthood advocates. “That speaks to the gravity of a constitutional amendment,” she said. “We’d be the first state in the country to do something like that.”
Lucy Leriche, PPNNE’s Vice President of Public Policy for Vermont, will host a workshop at Middlebury on March 11 that will train students on effective communication around reproductive justice.
“We’re incredibly grateful to the Vermont Legislature and Governor Scott for reserving state funds to ensure services like affordable birth control, STD testing and treatment, and cancer screenings can continue for the 11,000 Vermonters who need this care,” Sullivan said.
Sullivan also indicated that Planned Parenthood will remain committed to protecting its patients’ reproductive rights regardless of current political opposition.
“Our patients, everyone,regardless of zip code, income, insurance, race, or identity, deserves expert health care and accurate reproductive health information,” she said. “Our doors are open, and we’re here to provide you care — no matter what.”
(02/27/20 11:01am)
Amidst frigid temperatures on campus last Friday, Las Nietas de Nonó delivered a beautifully heartwarming performance titled “Manifestaciones en Periodo de Caza” (“Demonstration During Hunting Season”). A duo from Puerto Rico, sisters Mulowayi and Mapenzi Nonó discussed the economic, social and political aftermath of Hurricane Maria, which devastated Puerto Rico in September of 2017. Presenting chiefly in Spanish, the sisters cooked, performed and chatted with a small crowd gathered in the Coltrane lounge.
Upon entering, the aromatic fragrance of sizzling food greeted the audience. The sisters offered drinks alongside fried cassava cakes topped with a rich sauce made from vegetables and peanuts. Immediately, the room became more intimate as a warm, welcoming ambience flooded the room.
After Mulowayi turned off the stove, the mood changed suddenly as the room drew to a soft hush. Sounds of a waterfall echoed in the background as Mulowayi Nonó entered, carrying a potted plant. Mapenzi, standing to the side, uttered, “espacio para la planta” (space for the plant), telling audience members to move aside and let Mulowayi through. The waterfall served as a symbol of home and of Puerto Ricans’ sense of ownership of their natural homeland.
Weaving quickly through the crowd, Mulowayi entered dressed in bright linens aflutter and a mask on her face. At that moment, Mulowayi's graceful movement dispersed the grid of previously neatly-seated audience, demonstrating the displacement of Puerto Ricans after the devastation left behind by Hurricane Maria.
Mulowayi highlighted the pain caused by natural disasters midway through the performance by pulling on a sheet and huddling herself in the corner of the room, in stark contrast with the confidence displayed earlier in her walk. In describing their performance, the sisters emphasized Puerto Ricans’ cultural displacement in the aftermath of the hurricane. The mask Mulowayi donned was made of coconut shell, a reuse of existing materials which represents the community’s resourcefulness in a trying time.
Following the performance, the sisters presented videos of individuals affected by the insufficient relief provided by the U.S., showcasing the political implications of food and resource scarcity. For months, the sisters explained, Puerto Ricans lived merely on military food, and even potatoes were precious commodities. As Mapenzi describes the push for “la cultura sostenible” (sustainable culture), the words take on a new meaning as viewers learned how a modified way of living could not only use resources to a fuller extent but also bring people closer together. In describing iguanas in Puerto Rican culture, for example, Las Nietas de Nonó shed fresh light on how a modern culinary adaptation impacted local culture: these recipes were developed to incorporate the reptile’s body into food and its skin into art. In the words of Mapenzi herself, “food is always a reflection of what happens in Puerto Rico politically, socially [and] economically.” The performance shows exactly that, giving voice to a struggle with sustenance.
As the session drew to a close, Las Nietas discussed their future aspirations, engaging in a direct conversation with the audiences. Their interactive, multimedia performance is an ongoing project that continues to be adapted and developed as it is performed. It will come to completion in a few months as the sisters work on building their story to spark appreciation of, contributions to and support for marginalized culture. The project will culminate in a final performance in Puerto Rico this summer.
(02/27/20 11:00am)
Just before the show’s final fade-to-black, Bojack Horseman (Will Arnett) recites a story to his longtime friend Diane Nguyen (Allison Brie). In the story, the pseudo leader of his prison block, Big Andy, forces the block to watch the same rom-com every week during movie night. After weeks of watching the same movie, Bojack hatches a scheme to destroy the DVD and, after his plan’s success, suggests a new one. Instead of fixing the problem, Big Andy falls in love with the new flick and the cycle begins anew.
In one concisely written, only “kind of funny” anecdote, as Bojack says, the show’s entire message pours out of the screen: though the appearance of life changes, shifting circumstances and situations, the essence of it is constant. There is no grand moment of rebirth when the baggage of a past self is left behind and forgotten; we carry our entire past, every decision we’ve ever made, with us every step of the way. We can never escape our faults, or be wholly free from them; we just have to accept ourselves and strive towards betterment. Life is what it is, and nothing more.
“Bojack Horseman” is a show of supreme collaborative effort between Raphael Bob-Waksberg, the show’s creator, and the actors and actresses he employs to great effect. This show could only have been made as an animation because the bounds of reality would only serve to restrict creative potential. Each character, whether they be a Persian cat agent, an asexual rabbit or a horse actor, is entirely unique and unforgettable, creating a world unlike any other. They seem to defy the trappings of archetype and stereotype.
Season 6 Pt. 2 finds Bojack in a period of reinvention; he has been sober for some time and has taken a teaching job at Wesleyan as a professor of acting; yet, his past is inescapable. From the opening credits, which focus on Bojack’s face center-screen as he is confronted by the consequences of his past actions, the final season prompts Bojack and the viewer alike to grapple with the atrocities they have committed and witnessed. He is constantly telling people — and himself — that this is the “new Bojack,” someone who has entirely moved on from his past self, but is this truly possible?
At points, it seems as though he has changed — he seems fulfilled and successful in his profession and cares about his students — but time and again, he reverts back to his old self. After scandalous allegations of his involvement in the death of his “Horsin’ Around” co-star Sarah Lynn (Kristen Schaal), Bojack conducts an interview with Biscuits Braxby (Daniele Gaither) to tell the truth on live TV, yet even the interview is shot on a replica soundstage set of his home hours before it airs. Fueled by the reviews of a “successful” first interview, Bojack pushes for a second against the wishes of his longtime agent and former girlfriend Princess Carolyn (Amy Sedaris), believing that he has “won.” When he is in the steady structure of routine, Bojack can maintain his new self, yet under pressure, he folds and reverts back, erasing years of character reconstruction.
“Bojack Horseman” is at its filmic zenith when it recognizes and reverses the expectations of its viewership. Its self-awareness is unparalleled. This season sees Diane in her attempts to simultaneously battle depression and write her book of memoirs, her agent selling her on the idea that “sad is the new fun.” Instead, she writes — in her own words — a “middle-grade detective fiction series,” starring spunky protagonist Ivy Tran. For years, Diane has considered writing her memoirs, believing she must publish her book in order for the trauma, abuse and neglect of her youth to be “good damage,” but ultimately finds herself altogether questioning the notion of good damage. Life isn’t a perfectly written narrative that succinctly resolves all our problems in a single season, and the irony of this is not lost on “Bojack Horseman.” It is entirely unique in its refusal to resolve its characters’ problems, forcing them to carry the weight of their failures with them just as they would in real life.
The final season of “Bojack Horseman” is the most artistically adventurous of the series. It creates a completely new style of animation for Diane’s internal conversations with her book’s protagonist and depicts a talent show of friends and family for Bojack as quite literally faces his past. These episodes are not artistic feats that draw attention solely to the talent of the show’s creators; they are purposeful alterations of style that present information the most clearly and effectively.
“Bojack Horseman” has quickly become my favorite TV show for its constant reinvention, its seemingly limitless artistic imagination and its unflinching capacity to sucker punch me with a beautiful line of devastating monologue when I least expect it. The greatest compliment I can offer this show is that it is the only one that I watch both the intro and end credits for every time. “Bojack Horseman” remains a pillar of animation that draws its strength from its ability to make the nonsensical more grounded than any other television reality I’ve seen. I cannot recommend a show more highly than this. Please go out and watch it so that I can stop bringing it up at every party I attend.
(02/27/20 11:00am)
Most of the time, it is inadvisable to throw around adjectives of the “Kafkaesque-Orwellian” ilk; these words are overused. But hear me out on this one: “Atlantics” is the most Dickinsonian — as in Emily Dickinson — movie so far in the Hirschfield International Film Series. Consider the film’s opening scenes, which strongly echo the verse of that reclusive New England poet. A young woman spends a solitary night in her bedroom, staring at a flickering candle; the ocean wind brushes the curtains on a creaking windowsill; ghosts — yes, ghosts — haunt the neighborhood. This is, almost stanza-for-stanza, the stuff of “Because I Could Not Stop For Death.” Had Dickinson gone to the matinée screening I attended at Dana Auditorium, I’m reasonably certain she would have given “Atlantics” a glowing review. (“Wild film — wild film — nice cinematography — too many people in this movie theater — I have to run back to my house!”)
“Atlantics” takes place in a futuristic Dakar, Senegal, where economic disparities are ever-present. In the first scene, we learn that a skyscraper is being built by a team of construction workers who haven’t been paid their wages for the last four months, and that they can now barely support their families. One of these workers is Suleiman (Ibrahima Traoré), who has recently fallen for another man’s fiancée, Ada (Mame Bineta Sane). Ada, during her affair with Suleiman, starts questioning if she really wants to marry Omar (Babacar Sylla). Who can really blame her? Omar’s a materialistic bore who swims laps at his private pool all day. Suleiman, on the other hand, has sandy trysts with Ada on a beach that looks out on the Atlantic Ocean. We know which of these guys is the real deal.
At this point, “Atlantics” writer and director Mati Diop suddenly throws in two plot twists. Out of the blue, Suleiman and his coterie sail away from Senegal, looking for a better life in Spain. Shortly after the workers leave, though, their wives and girlfriends start to hear a sad rumor: that the boat to Spain might have sunk. Suddenly, the community’s women have lost their men, and the skyscraper’s construction tycoon, who apparently doesn’t feel the Bern, still won’t pay his workers’ families.
That’s the state of things when Plot Twist Number Two comes in: the body-snatching ghosts. The spirits of the dead sailors, we find out, have decided to mentally possess their lovers at night. Ada alone is the spectral exception — she’s much too busy adjusting to married life with Omar. But all the other women — seen mostly through the perspective of Ada’s friend Fanta — spend their wee hours with their eyes rolled back into pale visages, breaking into houses and committing arson. Both man and woman, visionless yet all-seeing, Fanta’s character seems to pay homage to Tiresias, the blind prophet of Greek myth who does not easily forget the sins of others.
Beyond the film’s most obvious lesson — “don’t hustle your employees or they will come back from the dead and destroy you” — there are subtler issues that “Atlantics” tackles. Ada, a religiously progressive Muslim, gets called “slut” several times in the film, and before Ada marries Omar, her in-laws require her to take a virginity test. It’s all the more ironic when the ladies of “Atlantics” become zombies: although the women act seemingly crazy, it’s only because they’re being possessed by the men. We never know if we should admire the drowned sailors’ empowering of Ada’s posse, or if they’re acting too clingy by transforming their wives into nocturnally indentured servants. Like the waves that crash onto the sand in the film’s beginning, the moral ambiguity of “Atlantics” both pummels and refreshens.
“Atlantics” rocks, and I want to see another Mati Diop film soon. Especially clever is how Diop organizes the story. We’re never confused in “Atlantics” because the film centers around a police investigation of an arson. As the cops learn the facts of the story, we learn with them.
Particularly notable is Amado Mbow’s performance as the bumbling lead investigator of the case. (The role is a cliché, but it’s a cliché that works.) His interrogation scenes with Ada crackle with chemistry, and one wishes that those two characters shared more screen time. Mbow’s best scene in “Atlantics” is towards the end. When the detective figures out that he himself might have been possessed by a spirit, he wears that look of sudden terror you get when, gazing out of the window at your lawn, you spot Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein rummaging through the contents of your garbage. It’s game over, man.
(02/27/20 10:56am)
I have a disability. I am disabled. And, I have shame.
I have never written out those words, much less read them aloud to myself, feeling the edges of their meanings, as I do right now. I have said that I have a learning disability, but these words feel different. I have said publicly that I was diagnosed with dyslexia and attention deficit disorder (ADD) as a young boy, and I have been able to say, “I have dyslexia and ADD.” Actually, I have been able to say that when needed, and only sometimes because shame attaches to part of me when I say any of these words: dyslexia; ADD. Shame especially visits me when I call it what it is: being disabled.
Such shame builds over time.
When I was an undergraduate, a professor asked me in class if I had dyslexia. My body went rigid and I got tunnel vision. He asked in care and concern. He had no way to know; I had not told anyone. I was not mad at him. In fact, I love him to this day. In graduate school, a professor who learned of my disability told me I should go back to working construction. I came to hate that professor. But, I no longer allow him to hold power over me. Later, while applying for another round of graduate school, I stated on my application that I have dyslexia. No more cat-and-mouse. Even so, a professor, ripping apart my paper, asked if there was a situation connected to my writing. With a glint in her eye, she offered help. I had had enough “help” by that point to know that, as Anne Lamont says, “Help is the sunny side of control.” I told her nothing was wrong. I did not come to hate that professor. Worse, I have no respect for her. I feared her, which was her game. I went back underground, hiding my shame and my disabilities.
These two professors were not the only ones interested in shaming the disabled. I used to be, too. As a kid in the eighties, I called others “retard.” I had an older brother whom I never knew. We were not to talk about him publicly. His name was Nick. He was profoundly mentally and physically disabled, and died young. I asked myself: Am I retarded and no one’s telling me about it? Are they calling me dyslexic and ADD so I won’t feel bad? How much of Nick is in me? Questions like these led to fear and shame — the cocktail of aggression. So I, the learning-disabled kid with the ghost of a dead handicapped brother, was happy to call others “retard.” Despite the sting it gave me, distancing myself from Nick felt good.
Shame wants to cover vulnerability. Shame moved me to hide my disability from myself and others by burying any sense of weakness in hard won success. So, I began learning Arabic as an undergrad, and not only have I learned it, I have learned to teach it. My Arabic is exceptional. My teaching is exceptional. I know that. I have spent most of my life working on these two things. Not just doing them, but working hard on them, and at different times in my career I have been advanced, if not high advanced, in three different dialects of Arabic, in addition to my skills in Standard Arabic. Take that dyslexia, and ADD, and retardation. I beat you! I deny you!
It is still there. It always will be. I am not it, and it is not me, but it is part of who I am in this world. It was put in me and I recognized it in me, and I let it in. I also let in the shame.
[pullquote speaker="" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]I have learned to embrace my shame.[/pullquote]
In kindergarten, I sat between the smart kids with tears streaming down my face as my teacher scolded me. I could not read. This was my first lesson in shame. I also learned that remembering what was said made reading less necessary. By college, I could read and write well enough and memorize the rest. I got good at memorization. It’s fun. I still remember my lines from my kindergarten play and I finished university with honors without taking notes in class. Does that make me smart? No. I do not feel smart for that. I feel shame. You see, I do not know how to take notes. People talk quickly and then some letters reverse and I forget where I was and then the sentence gets stuck on a few letters, and maybe that person can see my writing and my spelling might be wrong and what are they thinking? Do they know? Can they tell that I am —? And then my hand is shaking and the doctors said that anxiety exacerbates what I’ve got, so I’ve got to relax and try to catch that next sentence, and where were we...?
Oh, yes! Kindergarten play lines, graduating with honors, and a sharp memory. Smarts? No. Not smarts. A survival tactic. Differently-abled? No. It’s “nice,” like someone saying “AWW.” Disability means I lack or find marked difficulty in relation to a capacity that is possible for most. And, disability does not come with extra abilities, despite my lifelong infatuation with Daredevil, the blind comic book hero. No, I just memorized most everything because anyone can. Seriously, read Joshua Foer’s “Moonwalking with Einstein.” I am not special. I am handicapped. Handicapped? Yes. And despite my hesitation, why the hell not say it in this way? It is true and accurate. Retarded? No. On the spectrum? I guess I’ll take it, but I am old enough that it was not part of my medical-DSM/Dyslexia/ADD-story, my story featuring shame.
My shame, despite its efficacy in compelling action, has been a tactic without strategy, a reaction and not a response to being disabled. To feel soothed, it has demanded praise and success, and I have complied. But, it has always fallen short. No matter the accolade gained, the shame does not subside. And, I actually remain less skilled at what I am doing because I remain fearful. Fear limits. Only recently have I begun to move out of it. I have learned to embrace my shame, feel it, and grieve what I denied myself through shame and grieve what my disability has denied me. I sit alone. I cry. I listen. Then I usually laugh. I feel as if I am without shame, shameless, which presents a freedom, and freedom is a strategy, a dangerous one. Yet, it beats shame. So, what instead? I do not know, and I refuse to offer advice. I just know from my story that while shame provided quick and hot burning fuel, a simple generosity for others and the multiple selves that comprise me has provided the basic ingredients of my learning and growth, and can abide more than I thought possible.
Robert Greeley is a professor of Arabic, and is currently on sabbatical.
(02/20/20 11:45am)
Flair: a term that when spoken aloud to some means a rustic pair of good ol’ “bell bottoms.” But that would be “flare,” spelled differently. No, this “flair” is something completely different – not a ’70s fad poking its head in and out of the fashion world as it pleases. To one specific group on campus, this word defines its culture like no other expression can. That group is the Ultimate Frisbee Team, the Middlebury Pranksters.
“Flair” is widely known in the ultimate frisbee world. But how teams choose to incorporate it into their culture varies. Pranksters — both the men and women’s teams — define flair as a word for “atypical” clothing. Whether it is a sparkly tutu or leggings ordained with the anatomy of a leg, anything goes with flair. Flair is anything you want to wear that brings you joy. Grace Kellogg ’22 describes wearing flair as “owning who you are and the way you want to have fun.”
It also allows the teams to bring some levity and excitement to their practices, speaking to the cornerstone of their culture. Have you ever tried to sprint 50 yards in a sparkly tutu? By no means is flair always comfortable to play in. But this tradition goes way beyond the chafing between one’s legs. It provides a sense of community, bringing a laugh or two before that 50-yard sprint.
“It’s a way to not take ourselves too seriously, but at the same time we take what we do very seriously,” said Adrienne Goldstein ’20, one of the team’s captains.
Each year, the Pranksters have a bi-annual “flair pass down” — one at the end of J-Term and one at the end of the spring semester. During this teary-eyed event, graduating seniors give away what they believe to be meaningful pieces of “flair” — items either passed down to them by former Pranksters or ones obtained in a quick run to the nearby thrift store for a last-minute gold mining opportunity. Upon appointing another team member as the bearer of the aforementioned sparkly tutu, the senior recounts tales of the items’ origins.
Articles can include practically anything, whether they are connected to an individual or the team as a whole. Kellogg recalled a senior who found medical scrubs after raiding a thrift store and gifted them to a pre-med student. “You do things that help them feel connected to a community that is a lot bigger than them,” Kellogg said.
To understand the Pranksters and the culture of the team today, it is important to revisit the roots of ultimate. Unlike many other club and varsity sports, frisbee is a relatively new sport, rising to fame in the tumultuous ’60s as a form of counterculture that tried to alter a specific lifestyle. Ultimate was a form of revolt against the uniformity of competitive sports. Rutgers and Princeton battled in the first official collegiate contest in 1972. From the very first moment it was created, the founders were laser-focused on fostering a unique set of values that would set it apart. These virtues of a “letting loose” lifestyle are pronounced in the Pranksters we know today.
The Pranksters are agile both on and off the field. They pride themselves on being dynamic and able to adjust to the needs of each new class it brings in. The central mantra tends to be the idea of inclusivity. An example of this is the way in which the teams constantly reevaluate their culture through their community standards workshop. Previously, the official name of the women’s team was the Middlebury Lady Pranksters. Last year, Goldstein picked up on some tension with regards to the gendered team name, and quickly assembled a poll that she sent out to her team. There was a unanimous vote to change the official name, despite years of its acceptance.
“This team is for the people who are on it now,” Goldstein said. “We obviously love our alumni and value our traditions, but we don’t want to keep traditions just for the sake of it — we had had so much success with that name, but the people that were on the team didn’t like it. Our traditions aren’t static. We never want to put anyone in a vulnerable or uncomfortable position, and that is across the board and the final word.”
The inclusivity continues through the winter. Each J-Term, the Pranksters put on J-Term workshops and create different traditions to combat the cold and darkness that can eclipse January in Vermont. The group does its best to ensure that teammates forget the icy wind chill for just a few short hours each week. The workshops can range from anything like “How to Twerk’’ to a more lowkey “Spa Night.” These are not mandatory, but they provide a more accessible social option. The culture is simple: You are never alone.
However, not all team members experience this attention to inclusivity equally. Last year, an article by Sidra Pierson ’21, written for a J-Term sports journalism course and published in The Campus, highlighted some questions about the team’s emphasis on inclusivity. For some people of color on the team, this focus was not ringing true.
“POC communities have different cultural norms than majority white communities do,” said Divya Gudur ’21, a student quoted in Pierson’s article. “I think the quirkiness sometimes doesn’t fit into POC culture.” If we already stand out, she says, why would we want to draw more attention to ourselves?
“I thought the team was really receptive to Pierson’s article,” said Goldstein. “We shared it in our GroupMe and discussed it (along with other topics) at a community workshop. I think for a lot of white members of the team it forced us to confront the fact that being inclusive of POCs takes more than just being really friendly in interpersonal interactions.”
Goldstein added that she has tried to bear the article in mind as she’s made leadership decisions this year. “In general, we have tried to change the way we discuss and valorize weirdness,” she said. “With wearing flair for example, we are trying to shift away from an attitude of, ‘This is something we all do’ to, ‘This is something you can do if you want.’ However, I think that there is still a lot of work to be done.”
[pullquote speaker="Pranksters captain Adrienne Goldstein '20" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]This team is for the people who are on it now. We obviously love our alumni and value our traditions, but we don’t want to keep traditions just for the sake of it.[/pullquote]
Due to this year’s overwhelming interest in ultimate, the captains resurrected the women’s B team for the first time in four years. This program addition allows more students to be active, competitive and social. This change also helps accommodate the varying levels of the athletes. For instance, being from Seattle, one of the nation’s ultimate hubs, it is only natural that Kellogg is a longtime veteran of the game. She competed on her varsity high school team. This is in stark contrast to those who have never once thrown the disc.
This being said, the program’s decision to expand also had a developmental component. There is the hope that with increased training and instruction, some of these B team members will improve and contribute to the success of the A team. Biology Professor Erin Eggleston is currently coaching the B team.
Goldstein wears a few hats, considering that the A team is coached by students. “Being a captain and a coach at the same time, having to play and also think about the big picture is really really tough,” said Goldstein. “We were the ones that created the A and B teams and have to also act as the emotional support. There is a large amount of emotional pressure put on us ... but it is really rewarding. It is great that it’s student driven in a lot of ways.”
The teams face a multitude of challenges, including insufficient coaches, trainers and funds. The captains have close-to-last dibs on reserving time slots in the fieldhouse, and players are unable to check off a P.E. requirement from participating, regardless of their dedication.
In spite of these hurdles, Pranksters have managed to pull off impressive results. The women went from being unranked two years ago to rounding out the season at nationals in fifth place. The men are coming off a national championship run, and looking to pick up another title at the end of this spring.
“It’s fun to be this team that’s out there, and actually delivering,” Kellogg said.
Even in the unassuming sparkly tutu, they work hard. Really hard. The captains schedule around two A team practices a week on the turf, if they are able to secure the times, and two lifts a week.
Both teams have come a long way. For the women, the goal had traditionally been to get to nationals. Coming off last year’s season and securing fourth in preseason rankings, the goal is now to win nationals. However, they are trying to stay humble and not get too far ahead of themselves.
“We are trying to be more process oriented, than results oriented,” Goldstein said. “We are trying to go into every game confident, but not cocky.”
Hopefully, the Pranksters will be able to show what they are capable of in the upcoming months, whether they are leaping up to the disc in medical scrubs or neon capes. The constant commitment to developing their unique culture will only increase their chances of succeeding.
“[We] are one of the only D3 teams that can be both competitive and goofy,” Kellog said. “You put on your flair and you’re ready to run.”
A link to their fundraiser: http://sites.middlebury.edu/ultimate/leadership/
(02/20/20 10:55am)
Students will now have access to free New York Times and Wall Street Journal subscriptions, the Student Government Association (SGA) announced in an email to the student body on Sunday evening.
The initiative to provide students access to the two subscriptions, spearheaded by SGA director of institutional affairs Miki Nakano ’20 and SGA treasurer Kenshin Cho ’20, has been in the works since October, Cho said.
SGA arranged the daily delivery of 60 print copies of the Times for several years, but eventually decided that the limited number of papers was not worth the cost — which would have been $27,394, plus a price increase, for annual campus-wide print and web access. In November 2018, the SGA stopped funding campus-wide online access to the Times, also for financial reasons.
The newest decision to provide the student body with online subscriptions to the two newspapers was informed by a survey conducted of other colleges by the library. The results indicated that most of the roughly 80 schools contacted had subscriptions to one or both of the publications, according to Cho. SGA also felt it was important to provide the subscriptions so that students could more easily stay informed about world events and complete assigned reading for classes without running into paywalls.
Cho was unable to share how much SGA is paying for either subscription, as both newspapers included non-disclosure agreements in their contracts with the college. Cho explained how this made the price-negotiation process challenging, as SGA could not legally compare what they were quoted with the prices paid by peer institutions. SGA will have the opportunity to renegotiate pricing at the end of the two-year Wall Street Journal contract and three-year New York Times contract.
The two subscriptions are for digital versions of newspapers, and do not include additional features like crosswords or New York Times Cooking.
“We don’t want to burden the entire student population with paying for the crosswords that some people want to do, whereas we could justify the cost of paying for the actual paper,” Cho said.
Cho explained that SGA opted to subscribe to the Wall Street Journal and the Times in particular because they hoped the two papers would provide different content. He noted that some believe the Wall Street Journal has better business coverage, and that the op-ed sections of the two papers together provide a broader spectrum of voices.
“If we want people to be educated about the world and we are not providing that resource, then I wonder if we are being true to our word,” Cho said.
(02/13/20 11:01am)
Picture eighteen-year-old Serena van der Woodsen and place her in a cold Northern city with a severely depressed boyfriend. Now, give her a shotgun.
These are the rough outlines of Malin Persson Giolito’s 2016 novel “Quicksand” (“Störst av allt”). It is just as clumsy as it sounds.
We fall into protagonist Maja Norberg’s narration in medias res, as she paints us a bloody picture of her dead boyfriend lying in her lap after the two opened fire in their high school classroom in Djursholm, a wealthy Stockholm suburb. Persson Giolito expands the well-established genre of Scandinavian crime novels and shows off her legal education in her description of Maja’s interrogations and eventual trial.
In many ways, the novel trips on its own narration. As Maja is asked to recall the shooting and the events leading up to it in excruciating detail over and over again, the narrative begs to play with the issue of memory. Persson Giolito fails to harness it. Despite the hours that Maja spends in solitary confinement, we at no point see her falling into the traps of her own mind: Am I making this all up? What if the prosecutor is right, what if I did actually intend to kill all of them? Maja ends up as a remarkably flat character with seemingly little capacity for introspection.
Parts of this can admittedly be blamed on translation. In between the lines of Maja’s narrative, I could hear the echo of the Swedish original and its habitual quip of cynicism that the English language simply cannot carry. To “Quicksand”’s detriment, the edge of Maja’s words just comes off as baseless anger.
Persson Giolito’s portrayal of class in Stockholm is unimaginative at best, and much of the novel’s stacity derives it. Her narration codes wealth almost exclusively through clothes, jewellery and other material items, and brushes over the many other dimensions of class culture as if by choice. This description reaches its highest level of nuance when we find out that Maja is marginally less privileged than her best friend, as her dress was second hand while Amanda’s was bought off the rack. It seems Persson Giolito is so eager to show off the material possessions of her characters that the incisive findings about class in her blurb become an afterthought.
Maja’s boyfriend, Sebastian Fagerman, is arguably the most interesting of the characters that the novel has to offer. The son of Sweden’s fictional richest man, other characters’ behavior around his family makes for interesting observations about the performativity of wealth. Maja mentions on several occasions how anxious her father is about his new money status, and when Sebastian invites Maja to join him on his father’s yacht, she makes a point of saying that her mother is probably out buying the most expensive suitcase she can possibly find. Objective socioeconomic status does not mean much when there is a much more affluent person to appease to. It is scenes like this that give Persson Giolito’s narrative the hues of humanity that she too often sacrifices for material.
Sweden’s low Gini coefficient is a lazy excuse for such oversight. If Persson Giolito can dedicate ample space to a lagging description of a business dinner off the Italian coast that adds little to the plot, why is there such a sense of urgency when we finally get on the train to Tensta and have a chance to look beyond the villas of Djursholm? The novel’s relentless focus on materialism smells not of a genuine desire to explore and understand the meaning of class in Sweden, but of precisely the opposite.
Persson Giolito’s attempt at introducing diverse perspectives through the character of Samir cements this impression. Standing in the assembly hall surrounded by his affluent classmates, Samir challenges a visiting economist on her neoliberalist views while Sebastian predictably heckles him. An awkward exchange about corporate tax rates ensues. Samir’s character has the potential for depth and dimension written all over it, but instead the novel resorts to the not-at-all tired trope that, wow, the immigrant kid in cheap trousers can actually be smarter than the rest of them! It does not take a sociologist to see how anticlimactic this setting is.
“Quicksand” is not a horrible book, nor do I regret reading it. It just is not as good as it thinks it is. The question that lingered when I put the book down was not one about inequality or class culture, but why I was reading it in the first place. For style? Hardly. Because the courtroom scenes fed my law school fantasies? Perhaps. In some backward way, the novel reads like an extended metaphor for the things its own characters try so hard to criticise. Even if this is intentional, Persson Giolito’s flat narrative style is unable to carry it to term. “Quicksand” lends itself as yet another reminder of the work that stands between Nordic literature and a sophisticated understanding of the changing meaning of class, race and social status in the region.
(02/13/20 10:59am)
Editor’s note: These interviews have been lightly edited for clarity and length.
CAROLINE KAPP: Why did you attend the Iowa caucuses?
MAGGIE JOSEPH: I attended the Iowa caucuses to conduct research alongside Professor Dickinson in Political Science.
Abbott LaPrade: To actually caucus.
CK: What precinct(s) did you visit?
MJ: I visited Abbott’s precinct, Des Moines 59.
CK: Who won in the precinct where you attended? Were you surprised? Why or why not.
AL: Pete Buttigieg won the final alignment by a hair, by a few popular votes, but both he and Bernie [Sanders] got four delegates and [Elizabeth] Warren got three of the county or delegates of the 11 for my district. I didn’t think Bernie was going to do quite as well as he did. But no, we were always going to be a big Pete and Elizabeth hub.
CK: What is one word you would use to describe the feeling surrounding the process? Please explain.
MJ: It was a fun mix of excitement but also feeling really uncomfortable. I was so uncomfortable. I don’t think that the process of the Iowa caucuses is justifiable. When you think critically about who can be there and whose voice is represented and valued in the room.
AL: Community-building. I think it’s a really great opportunity to—I mean, it’s a bunch of your neighbors. So, I flew home for the caucuses and got to talk and hang out with all of my neighbors which was really cool. And you know, at the end of the day, it’s supposed to be this conversation, so it really is community oriented and focused on reaching a collective decision.
CK: Did speaking with caucus attendees give you any insights into issues that might become important in the upcoming election?
MJ: It depends on who you talk to. For example, Bernie supporters, and other progressive supporters, are often younger and they’re about issues like debt. They’re thinking about student debt, they’re thinking about the climate, they’re thinking about corruption. They’re thinking about electing a reconstructive president and talking about how things can’t keep going the way that they are going. How, America really needs as a candidate to take us in the other direction — and quickly — and that’s the big structural change argument. But for supporters of moderate candidates, it’s about electability — that’s what it all comes down to.
AL: I would say that, by and far, talking to both people in my precinct the night of the caucus — and then also when I was just home talking to friends — the biggest issue was: “How do we beat Donald Trump in 2016.” I think that there’s a lot of excitement about beating Donald Trump, there’s just not a lot of excitement about a particular candidate or a particular issue beyond that.
CK: What was it like to wait for results and not get them? Please describe the experience.
MJ: The media portrayed this chaos in Iowa, which was funny because it was so pleasant. That night we went to some victory parties, because those are fun, then we came home, and they were still not reporting. I thought, “that’s weird,” but then I thought back through, and it’s not surprising. The person who was running our caucus — I loved him — he was 80. This man was not logging into any app. They count by hand and you’re like, “Are you kidding me?” But then the New York Times and Associated Press are like, “Oh, we find inconsistencies in this in the report.” Yeah, no, duh. They’re doing this by hand like. It was really incompetency, more than any conspiracy I could see.
AL: I would actually say that, by and far, we’re actually run really, really well. The issue then came in the reporting and the votes, which was a gross miscalculation by the Democratic Party in Iowa. But I think that had it been 20–30 years ago, there would not be so much focus on the fact that there were not instantaneous results and in time for Jake Tapper bedtime. If it was a print media world, we wouldn’t even get results by the print deadline and you would have to wait either for a daily news or the next morning’s newspaper. I don’t think it was nearly as bad as the media made it out to be. The media just have nothing else to report on and they had hours of dead time to fill. So, they decided to rip on the Iowa caucuses, when in actuality, it was a really well run event. It was just not executed on the back end very well.
CK: Did this experience give you an insight into any strengths/flaws of the caucusing system? Do you think that it is a valuable system in our democracy?
MJ: Caucusing protects the status quo and it raises barriers to participation. If you enter the caucus at 7:02 p.m., you can’t go. What happens if the roads are bad, and there’s a snowstorm and you can’t afford snow tires or have a car? You can’t go if you have children at home, and you can’t bring them for whatever reason. Who has the privilege to attend a caucus? This experience made me think a lot about whose voice matters. I was able to observe the social dynamics of crowd managing and who was having various conversations. I saw who was using their social capital over someone else to convince them to join their party. The caucuses, to me, just felt like an old boys’ club, old white boys club all coming together. No individual is created equal, let’s not ignore social realities here. We are not in an equal playing field; we need to acknowledge this. Caucusing is built for a type of unity and equality that has either never existed in America, or that disappeared long ago.
AL: I’m a really big proponent of the caucus system. I think it really makes you think deeply about your choice and who you’re voting for. There is also this idea of the caucus being a conversation. When we went to the caucus, I caucused for Amy Klobuchar, and she wasn’t viable in the first round. So, a group of us talked about what the best strategy was going forward — what is our goal here tonight? I think that like a lot of people knock caucuses for not being open and accessible to everyone. So few people vote in primaries anyways. I would be curious to know what the primary percentage participation rate is in Alabama. The Democratic Party did a great job this year in making it more accessible and open than ever before — they had a bunch of satellite locations. My brothers goes to school in Connecticut and was able to go into New York and caucus remotely.
CK: What surprised you the most about the caucus?
MJ: I was surprised by how uncomfortable I felt in the caucus. I stepped into that room and realized how many people didn’t have the privilege to do so. I think the voter turnout rate is on par with 2016 — but it’s around 16% or something. Iowa is around 90% white and not a very racially diverse place. But I was still surprised — walking into the caucus of around 511 people, I saw fewer than 15 people of color in the room. The only people of color that were visible were often press. So, how can we consider this system to be representative of what Iowans want? But that being said, I found myself having moments of, “Wow, this is such a beautiful manifestation of democracy.” But, the other part of me was like, “What the hell?” This system, though it was instituted in the 1970s, reflects the idea of an America that has never existed. It was based on this conception of America, of 18th century America, in which equal, land-owning white men came into a room and picked a nominee. If that did exist at one time, it hasn’t existed for a long time.
AL: I don’t know if anything really surprised me, I was pretty well-educated and engaged and have been there before. I have also just been deeply ensconced in the system. I know the caucus program. I’ve worked in Iowa politics — it all makes a lot of sense to me, so I didn’t find any of it too terribly surprising.
(02/13/20 10:58am)
Nadine Strossen, a former president of the American Civil Liberties Union (ALCU), gave a talk titled “HATE: Why We Should Resist It with Free Speech, Not Censorship” in Bicentennial Hall on Jan. 28 as part of the Critical Conversations series. The lecture included a response from Professor Erik Bleich, chair of the Political Science department, who offered a perspective on the topic that contrasted with the one Strossen provided.
Strossen spoke about the historical importance of free speech for civil rights movements and the rights of minority groups.
“I have seen through experience,” Strossen said, “that equality and liberty are mutually reinforcing, that we cannot have meaningful freedom of speech unless all of us are equally able to and encourage to contribute our voices to the discussion.”
“I thought it was interesting when she talked about how often, minorities are the groups who are negatively affected by censorship laws they were originally meant to protect,” said Maya Saterson ’22.
Strossen and Bleich also explored issues of hate speech and the unintended consequences of laws designed to censor it. They discussed situations in which anti-hate speech laws have had varying levels of success in reducing discriminatory acts.
“Not surprisingly, the social media companies and other online entities have been enforcing their anti-hate speech laws completely as subjectively as governments have been doing, with disproportionate adverse impacts on advocates of human rights, including racial minorities,” Strossen said.
“It turns out that when hate speech cases get to the Supreme Court in France… they are very much more likely to restrict speech that targets minorities, and very much less likely to restrict speech that targets majorities,” Bleich said. “So, the assumption that it’s commonly turned against minorities, well I would say its wrong, it’s statistically wrong.”
“I found it interesting when the speakers referred to countries in Europe and their policies in regard to censoring, like in Germany after WWII,” Evelyn Lane ’23 said.
Both during the lecture and in the following question and answer session, Strossen touched on Charles Murray’s invitation to campus. She expressed hope that it will be a positive experience for the exercise of free speech.
“I was happy to read the letter that was published by the students who had invited Charles Murray, and it seemed to me that they were stating a spirit of openness to protest, welcoming discussion, consulting with other members on campus about this event in a way that didn’t happen the last time he came here,” Strossen said.
She also offered thoughts on how people can use free speech to oppose hateful speech.
“Think about this: hate speech itself is only words, and we know that those words can be extremely harmful… We protect words precisely because they are so powerful, and that power can do an infinite amount of good as well as an infinite amount of harm.”
Jim Ralph, dean for faculty development and research, curates The Critical Conversations series, and several other organizations sponsor the lectures. The Alexander Hamilton Forum sponsored this lecture.
“I hope that the full array of events featured by Critical Conversations reveals that there are many important topics that deserve robust discussion,” Ralph said. “As for the specific events on Race and Racism, I hope that they will attract large numbers of members of our community and engender meaningful engagement with the perspectives of renowned and thoughtful presenters.”
The next speaker in the series is Nikole Hannah-Jones, creator of the New York Times’s “The 1619 Project” and host of the podcast “1619.” Her lecture is sponsored by the Office of the President, MCAB and the Black Studies program, and will take place in Wilson Hall at 7:00 PM on Feb. 25.
(02/13/20 10:58am)
“If people are determined to be offended — if they will climb up on the ladder, balancing it precariously on their own toilet system to be upset by what they see through the neighbor’s bathroom window — there is nothing you can do about that.” — Christopher Hitchens
In 1755, the lexicographer Samuel Johnson published his famous dictionary of the English language. Shortly after his work was distributed, many people in London sought him out to praise him for his work. As the story goes, one group of ladies congratulated Johnson on excluding any inappropriate or indecent words from his dictionary. “Ladies,” Johnson replied, “I congratulate you on your diligence in searching for them.”
It’s easy to hear this story and connect it to contemporary occasions in which individuals go out of their way to find offense with a given author or speaker. Despite my best efforts, I cannot grasp the inner workings of the minds of those who embark upon these kinds of searches.
In some cases, the sought-for offense is more easily found than in others. “The Bell Curve” by the re-invited Charles Murray arguably represents a more obviously controversial publication (as is the case with his newest book). However, the actions of those at the 2017 protest who found offense in Murray’s work were far more serious than those of the ladies of London. They were so extreme that, when I was the treasurer of the American Enterprise Institute Club and co-president of the College Republicans in 2017, I could not have envisioned the outrage his presence generated on campus, which culminated in protests governed by a mob mentality the afternoon of his talk.
Would you return to a place that greeted you with, “Racist, sexist, anti-gay, Charles Murray go away?” Perhaps the hundreds of student and non-Middlebury protesters should have been more diligent in the search to be offended — as the ladies in London were with Johnson — because they didn’t appear to be relying on accurate information. For example, one could choose to counter their chants by pointing out that Murray was one of the most forthright conservative intellectuals in favor of the Republican Party modifying its platform to support both gay marriage and abortion. Or by pointing out that Murray’s calls for a more socially liberal stance on those issues were made in 2013, when gay marriage and abortion were even more unpopular among Republicans than they are today, within just months of President Obama’s own 180-degree switch on the issue of marriage equality. But I suppose the protest chant had a nice jingle to it and seriously engaging in a dialogue with “sexist and anti-gay” Murray was much less convenient than reading a half-page summary of Murray’s work on the Southern Poverty Law Center’s website.
Can I understand why some people were offended by Murray’s visit? Certainly. I came to Middlebury with a worldview that was challenged, shattered, built up and shattered again multiple times throughout my time there. But I sought out guest lectures on race, equity, religion; worldviews that often made me uncomfortable in my own skin, clothes and head. My time at Middlebury popped the bubble in which I was raised and forced me to encounter issues on my own through the free expression and engagement of ideas. Patting myself on the back through conversations with ideologically identical friends whose views echoed my own was of no interest or value to me.
Yet, despite running towards these challenges, I not only found the Murray protesters uninterested in engaging with any contrary viewpoints (or even understanding what they were really opposing), but found myself running away from the event. Literally. I still recall that evening in vivid detail, when my brisk pace turned to a full-on sprint as a masked protester (who I assume was not a student) holding a large sign chased me back to my dorm room from the event. I was wearing a suit and tie; I had to be with the bad guy, they figured.
If you didn’t feel that the protesters’ response — effectively shutting down the Murray event, as well as the events which occurred immediately afterwards — was an embarrassing moment for the college prior to reading this op-ed, I doubt I’ve convinced you. But for those who are on the fence, having Murray back provides an opportunity to engage without shutting down and redeem the college’s stained image in the eyes of many alumni, donors and the general public. Rarely do such second chances present themselves.
If you don’t agree with me, I want to leave you with this thought: Consider what would have happened if, instead of attending those lectures to challenge my viewpoints and gain more information, I had simply taken offense to paragraphs posted on Facebook. Imagine if I had organized a group of dozens, or even hundreds, of students to shut down that event. Or pulled the fire alarm three times. Or stood in front of a car carrying Murray and college staff. Or protested with outside professionals on campus, culminating in the concussion of a professor. Imagine if my gut reaction was not to engage, but to resist forcefully something which I hadn’t read about and based on my opinion of a speaker whom I heard third-hand. Now, imagine if this was done again. And again. And again. Would that be helpful to anyone? Would it further the college’s mission? Would it reflect well on my own (and my peers’) cause? Most importantly, would it right the supposed wrong embodied in the offense that was taken?
The views you cherish and express today might be offensive to someone else tomorrow. And if a precedent is set that offense justifies the cancellation of the exchange of ideas on the basis of offense, then you’ve cut off the very branch upon which you sit. My advice: Be careful not to make yourself a victim of your own actions.
Hayden Dublois '17 helped organize Charles Murray's 2017 visit to Middlebury. Dublois currently works at the Foundation for Government Accountability.
(02/13/20 10:56am)
My valentine this year is transparency.
I’m not the only one. In our editorial this week, you’ll see our board’s collective call for openness and clarity regarding Charles Murray’s upcoming visit. In that spirit, it feels only fair that we should pull back the curtain on our own editorial decisions — specifically, those regarding our coverage of Murray’s talk and any related stories.
The Campus’ goal, first and foremost, is to keep our community informed. Middlebury is small; word travels fast. We are acutely aware of the real consequences misinformation, disinformation and insufficient information can have on the college as a whole. We also realize that, in choosing what to publish, we have a hand in the conversations that take place on campus. It is a duty we take very seriously.
The importance of that role intensifies during campus controversies that lead to national media attention. When stories are picked up by outside media, getting the details right has even higher stakes.
This burden requires us to be especially thorough — but there is a difference between thoroughness and excessiveness. We are very aware of what Murray and other controversial speakers might have to gain from a flurry of media coverage. Like last time, Murray’s name will again be splattered across the web this spring. Readers will order copies of his book to see what the buzz is about, both in odious rage and genuine curiosity. From Murray’s point of view, the phrase “no press is bad press” definitely applies.
With all this in mind, here’s what you should expect from us.
Over the next few months, we will grapple with finding equilibrium between covering Murray’s visit sufficiently and covering it to a point of oversaturation. There are many important questions our reporters and editors plan on asking. We want to know more about the legacies of hurt and healing that have characterized the campus since 2017; how the college plans on deploying its security resources on the day of the talk; how students, faculty and staff are responding to the College Republicans’ invitation, as many already have in the opinion pages of this newspaper.
And of course, we will be at Murray’s talk — and any concurrent counter-event or protest — with our video cameras and notebooks. Those reporting the story in 2017 made a conscious decision not to publish coverage until they were certain they had all the details right. We will operate with the same sense of care while also treating matters with the urgency they deserve.
You should not expect, on the other hand, that The Campus will become a Murray publicity machine. Murray’s visit is big, no doubt, but there is more to Middlebury than that visit. We will continue as usual with the full gamut of news and feature reporting that characterizes The Campus week after week, from symposia to sports games to your op-eds.
In other words: if you’re looking for clickbait, look elsewhere.
Sabine Poux '20 is The Campus' editor in chief. If you have any questions or concerns about The Campus’ reporting, on the subject of Charles Murray’s visit or otherwise, please email us at campus@middlebury.edu.
(02/13/20 10:54am)
Lucia Evans ’05 applied early decision to Middlebury. When she was a student here, she lived in Hepburn, Stew and Voter. She acted in plays, ate in the dining halls and took literature classes.
She is also one of more than 100 women who have accused famed Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein of sexual assault, for an alleged incident that occured the summer before her senior year at Middlebury. She was part of some of the first criminal charges brought against Weinstein and an integral part of the dissemination of the #MeToo movement.
Evans, then Lucia Stoller, now runs a marketing consulting company, but was an aspiring actress in the summer of 2004 when she met Weinstein at a club in SoHo, New York. She agreed to a meeting at his office at a later date to talk about two scripts, where she alleges he assaulted her, forcing her to perform oral sex.
In 2017, Evans opened up about her experience to Ronan Farrow for his groundbreaking story in The New Yorker about allegations against Weinstein. The article prompted the New York police to contact Evans about pressing charges against Weinstein — they said she was “a highly credible witness” and repeatedly told her that she was “the only one who could put him in jail.” After months of deliberation, she agreed to join the criminal case.
Despite insistence from NYPD detectives about the viability of her case, Evans’ suit was dropped the following year when it was discovered that the lead detective on the case had failed to inform prosecutors about a witness with a conflicting testimony. Still, her decision to press charges helped jumpstart the legal process against Weinstein.
Now, Weinstein is on trial for five felony counts, including rape and predatory sexual assault, and six women are expected to testify against him. Weinstein and his lawyers maintain that all encounters were consensual.
The Campus spoke with Evans about her time at Middlebury, the process of prosecuting Harvey Weinstein and how the events of the summer before her senior year affected the rest of her life.
Editor’s note: This conversation contains references to sexual assault, rape and suicide. It has been lightly edited for clarity and length.
RILEY BOARD: When we first contacted you, you said that you’d be happy to speak with us because Middlebury had a special place in your heart. Can you talk about that? What did you do and study at Middlebury?
LUCIA EVANS: I was a Literary Studies and Theater double major. It was just a really special place for me. All of my best friends, my close friends now, are my friends from my junior and senior years there. Something about the place is so special.
I think the only thing that kind of soured it for me was, obviously, my sexual assault, which occurred the summer after junior year — so my senior year was a bit of a nightmare. But I think the people who go there just really want to make a difference in whatever field they’re in or whatever they’re doing, they always have multifaceted interests outside of class and really are the smartest people I’ve ever met. They continue to be the people that challenge me to this day.
RB: You mentioned in your most recent interview with Ronan Farrow that you had had a “magically good” life before [the alleged] assault happened, and that you had to reconcile how this affected and changed you, the before and after. It happened before your last year at Middlebury — then you came back to campus for another year. What was that like? What was it like in the immediate aftermath, the return to school?
LE: It’s so crazy, because that year was such a happy year for me a lot of the time. It was honestly the year where I had my closest friends and kind of my best group and took fantastic classes and had a really great social life. I was really active and — and yet at the same time, I felt like I was living this other life.
After I came back to school, I told my close group of friends, my roommates. We lived in Voter at the time, it was awesome. Voter was always a place I wanted to live, and I just never thought I would and I was so happy with this group of girls, with our space and our life that we shared. I really felt like I needed to tell them the honest truth. I didn’t tell anyone else the scope of what happened. Emotionally, it was a period of very high highs and very low lows.
I had the opportunity to play this role in the play “Necessary Targets,” which is a play by Eve Ensler [’75]. My character was on stage the entire play but she doesn’t speak except for one long monologue kind of toward the end where it is revealed — and she’s been holding a baby the whole time — and it’s revealed that the baby has passed away, and in her hands are just a bunch of rags, and she has been raped. And so she tells her whole story. And it’s heart wrenching. And I remember the director, when I was auditioning, saying, “You can just channel this character so well, it’s amazing.” And I remember thinking, “If only you knew why I could do this so easily.” And it was because it had literally just happened to me.
I kind of felt that in playing that role, that I had told my parents, which is ridiculous, but it actually really calmed me down and helped me deal with it for a few years, because I felt like in my own way that I had told them what happened to me. And then I could be at peace, which was, of course, not true. But it did give me some semblance of normalcy.
RB: Did you seek out help at Middlebury after that summer? From where did you draw support?
LE: When the cops came to my house two years ago and told me I could put him in jail, they were like, “Why didn’t you come to us right away?” And I said, “Why would I have come to you?” I mean, he was so powerful at that time — and he was the biggest producer in Hollywood. I couldn’t watch the Oscars or anything after it happened to me because I would see him everywhere. Every film, I still see his name everywhere.
I try to not beat myself up for what I didn’t do but obviously do wish I had gotten help. And I would advise anyone going through something similar to absolutely seek help, because it just compounds over the years and it becomes worse and worse and you’ll end up hurting yourself like I did for many years. And I don’t wish that on anybody else.
RB: We’re obviously in a very specific cultural moment, that of the #MeToo movement, in which survivors are coming forward in unprecedented numbers and college campuses are offering more institutional support for victims than ever before. What was the culture around consent and sexual assault when you were a student here? Was it possible to talk to your friends and peers about what you’d endured?
LE: If the #MeToo movement had happened then, there’s no question I would have said something right away. There was such a stigma around it then, and little did I know that 100 plus women were going through the same thing as me at the same exact time. And then obviously, women all over the world are dealing with much, much worse, and they have zero support.
It was hard for me to even say what happened to me and identify myself as a victim — or as a survivor, because now we’re meant to use the word survivor. Sometimes you feel like a victim, sometimes you feel like a survivor. You can be both, right? But I do remember at Middlebury, when I was feeling suicidal, my boyfriend at the time reached out to campus security — they were really fantastic. They were very supportive, even then. But the [#MeToo] movement didn’t exist. And there wasn’t yet that tipping point of cultural change where it became OK to talk about this, where people want you to tell the truth. Everyone I had met at Midd was great, I just was not ready. And the world probably wasn’t ready either.
RB: In the episode of “The Catch and Kill Podcast” on which you appeared, you spoke about how [the alleged] assault affected your confidence with acting and your career. Can you talk about that? How did that ordeal change your plans for the future?
LE: It completely changed it, for two reasons. One of them was that in my entire time as an actor, I’d always been of the school of thought that acting should come from a place of real emotion and raw energy — and you translate that into the character. Acting post-college was a struggle, because I was at a Meisner acting school that was all about coming from that place of real truth. So first of all, I couldn’t find my real truth because I was absolutely not ready to talk about anything. Whenever I tried to tap into any real emotion, I would just shut down. There was only one time when I was able to kind of let loose and then I knew after that I couldn’t do it anymore, it was just too painful. Even though everyone said, “Wow, that was amazing.” I was like, I can’t do it. I couldn’t act when I was hiding something that big.
The other reason was just because I had seen the worst of the industry, very quickly, and I thought that was what the industry was like. And I thought, I don’t want to do that. I have no interest. Now the whole narrative that they’re spinning is that people did it for roles. But I never got a role. And I never wanted a role after that, because I didn’t want to get a role like that. I just was not interested in being part of a system that just chewed up and spat out woman and didn’t respect them and forced them to perform sexual acts against their will.
RB: Now that your case has been dropped, what has it been like for you to experience Weinstein’s trial?
LE: I would have a lot more trouble experiencing it if it hadn’t been for this photo shoot [“100 Women vs. Harvey Weinstein”] that me and my fellow Silence Breakers participated in for New York Mag. It was so amazing meeting these people — we have an email chain that we’ve been on for years, but it was just me and a bunch of actresses. It’s so surreal for me. I’m the only non-actress on this email chain. It was like Rose McGowan and the other Silence Breakers, and I’m one of them, but I’d never met them. And meeting them was so meaningful and wonderful — and I just felt like I had all these sisters. And so thank God that happened before the trial, because now I have this amazing network of women who’ve been through some of the same things that I have and have been hurt by this horrible person but now we’re empowered and we’re a collective.
[pullquote speaker="Lucia Evans ’05" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"] Now the whole narrative that they’re spinning is that people did it for roles. But I never got a role. And I never wanted a role after that, because I didn’t want to get a role like that.[/pullquote]
RB: I wanted to talk a bit about an interview with Donna Rotunno, Harvey Weinstein’s lawyer, that was aired in an episode of “The Daily” last Friday. Have you listened to the interview?
LE: No, I couldn’t listen to it. And I think that’s also an important point. Just because I think it’s important to realize that you do not have to do everything, because media consumption is so damaging sometimes. And I would just encourage people to take a step back and just not feel like they have to consume everything. Because your health is more important than browsing Instagram, you know what I mean? Or reading or listening to the podcast that you think might be triggering for you.
Tell me what I missed.
RB: Do you mind if I read you a quote from Rotunno from the interview?
LE: OK, sure.
RB: “So when I make comments and say ‘if you go to the hotel room,’ doesn’t mean you deserve to have something bad happen to you. But if you go to the hotel room, you continue to perpetrate a culture that allows that to be acceptable. And so if women take the power and women say, none of us are going to a hotel room, then that culture must change.” This was in reference to the circumstances under which many of the alleged assaults by Weinstein occured. How would you respond to that quote?
LE: I knew that he was a really dangerous person, and that put me on extra guard — I wasn’t going to go and meet with him late at night because I was nervous about him. I wasn’t as nervous as I should have been. But I went to his office in the middle of the day, when there would be people, because how could something bad happen to me, surrounded by people?
Also, why would somebody want to put themselves through this hell? I mean, it’s not like we’re getting anything out of this. None of us have gotten a thing out of this. This is not a fame-seeking thing. In fact, we’ve only lost jobs, we’ve only lost like careers and opportunities because of this.
We just really want to help and that’s the only reason why we’re doing it. I hope people continue to want to help because it’s the only way that any changes are ever going to happen.
RB: What advice would you give to someone who has just graduated and is beginning to navigate industries, like the movie industry, that can be fraught with certain injustices and circumstances like the ones that you have experienced?
LE: I would just encourage people to talk to someone as quickly as you can, because I wasted far too much time not being open and honest. Even though you can have some great times — it wasn’t like I just wiped 13 years off of my life. I got married, I have a wonderful career, I’ve had great things happen to me. But there’s still something in the back of my mind that wouldn’t leave me alone. And this thing that I hadn’t told anyone was like eating me up. So I would encourage people to talk about it with someone they trust and trust that person that they’re talking to.
I remember thinking in college, during my senior year, I just wish that my parents would tell me that I was still a good person, that it was okay that this happened to me. I just needed some type of validation, that I was okay and that I was still a good person, because I still thought it was my fault, which obviously it was not.
Also, I would not be afraid of the criminal justice system, even though I’ve had a really horrible experience with it. Because honestly, if you don’t try to make a difference and change the law, there’s no way that anything is ever going to change around here. And we all know that things have to change. So I would just say if there is ever an opportunity that anyone has to try to make a difference in that way, don’t be afraid of it. I’ve had the experience I’ve had and I would do it again, even though it was painful. The more you revisit these horrible things actually really helps you heal, even though you don’t want to go back to these places. And I hope no one ever has to go through what I did. And some have gone through far worse than I have. But it really is amazing how much it can help you heal by talking about it.
(02/13/20 10:53am)
“WE ARE CALLING ON THE STUDENTS OF WILLIAMS COLLEGE TO BOYCOTT THE ENGLISH DEPARTMENT,” reads the front page of a Google Website put together by a group of Williams students in early November. Dump the structurally racist and whitewashed English program at our liberal arts school, these pro-boycotters plead, for they are “receiving an inadequate education” that “hinders [their] learning.”
Oh boy. Here we go. Before I address Williams directly, let’s talk about books for a moment. Those long, almost lost, beautiful blocks with words, ideas, longings, thoughts, and so on. Yes, books. Sweet, sweet books.
More specifically, actually, I’m going to talk about the "literary canon." That is — those works of which are deemed superb and worthy of being taught as tools to educate. They are hard and complex by their nature, and they stretch the mind. In effect, they teach one how to think clearly (granted our idea of education still stands).
To start I might claim that all books are not created equal. (Their authors, yes I agree, are, but that isn’t the topic of discussion). Some books, most books actually, are simply inadequate when compared to those texts that have, or are expected to, "stand the test of time." And this test, you may have guessed, is a difficult one: In order to pass, the text must transcend place, trend and era. No small feat for a fictional tale. Nonetheless, this is the criteria, and writers throughout history have set the bar high. And in the English language, as it so happens, writers throughout history have been predominantly white and male. This creates tension in the classroom, especially given that course reading lists are zero sum games: Every addition demands a subtraction.
For those of you out of the literary-loop, let me set the stage. After the late twentieth century, it was well established that reading strictly the emblematic ‘Dead White Males’ no longer suffices for the study of English literature. And for this reason, after much argumentation back and forth, the canon was expanded; newer, more diverse voices received spots at the table — Toni Morrison, Chinua Achebe, Zora Neale Hurston, to name a few (all of whom you should read).
As a result, it largely seemed like the “canon wars” were put to rest. Students were reading and being taught the strongest that has been written in the language and, given that artistic literary genius is not an attribute exclusive to deceased white men, more females and writers of color than ever before could be and still are found on reading lists across the country.
But, alas, the war has been rekindled. And here we are.
Though not exclusive to the typical dead white male demographic, it seems safe to say that literary genius is not found in every soul who ventures to pick up the pen. No matter how hard you try, you cannot democratize brilliance. But as the Williams boycott demonstrates, people will indeed try.
These newer multicultural voices, appropriately added to a canon based foremost on aesthetic merit, are now being dismissed by their very own proponents, those whom I might call amateur radical critical theorists, as “token” instances of ethnic writers in otherwise “whitewashed” syllabi. To be clear, these are the kind of people who loudly proclaim that Shakespeare’s popularity and world-renowned status can be solely attributed to nothing less than white supremacy and white hegemony.
To these people, all I can say is that you aren’t reading closely enough. You might even be taking classes in the wrong department.
In this increasingly scientific, materialistic age, the humanities are under enough stress as it is. The study of English Literature cannot and should not bend to the will of these radical students who wish to turn it into something along the lines of what I’d dub “Oppression Studies,” or something of the kind. Such a department would likely be quite successful in our current academic climate. Still, let the greatest artistic feats of humanity stay where they are. To the braver ones amongst you, maybe even read them. I’m willing to bet you’d learn a lot, potentially even some things you’d wish you hadn’t. These timeless texts tend to act as mirrors. They grant you insight into your own soul and teach you who you really are.
Reading Great Works is now an act of rebellion, apparently; have at it, if you dare. And to those Williams boycotters and closed minded students in general, I have one last thing to say. Silencing, boycotting, cancelling… These aren’t the answers to your complaints. We need open and free (completely free) debate. I myself am a firm believer in the dialectical method. I think there is a reason why Plato wrote dialogues and not treatises: for it is through discussion that we best come to truth and knowledge. If we throw this idea out the door, I’m not so sure what we’ll have left.
Quinn Rifkin is a member of the class of 2022.
(01/23/20 11:11am)
When Courtenay Roche arrived on campus as a first-year in the spring of 2017, she began to develop an unhealthy relationship with food and exercise. The problem worsened throughout her first two years of college, and Roche recalled having less and less energy to devote to friends and extracurricular activities.
“Because I wasn’t at home, I was more easily able to engage in bad behaviors that my parents would not have let happen,” she said. “Middlebury is a very isolating place. It was very easy to suffer in silence.”
Roche withdrew from school in the fall of 2018 and sought treatment. Once her recovery process was underway, she decided not to return to Middlebury at all. While her decision to transfer was driven by a number of factors, Roche said that Middlebury’s culture around dieting and exercise contributed to her desire to leave.
Middlebury can be a difficult place for students who struggle with body image and eating issues. Some students enter college with a history of disordered eating while others develop new unhealthy habits on campus, but many who need help often find on campus expectations about exercise and body types harmful and the college’s mental health resources insufficient.
While students spend a lot of time focusing on often-skewed ideas about “healthy” eating and the importance of exercise, there is very little conversation around what happens when those norms go unchecked. Despite the fact that students every year must leave to seek intensive treatment, there is not a common understanding of eating disorders on campus. Eating disorders can impact people of all genders, races, socio-economic backgrounds and ages. In addition to those with formal diagnoses, many students experience “disordered eating,” a term used to describe a range of irregular eating behaviors that may or may not warrant a specific diagnosis.
For many students, the way peers talk about food and beauty standards creates unhealthy expectations regarding body appearance. Abby Blyler ’19.5 began struggling with an eating disorder the summer before high school. She feels that Middlebury amplifies harmful standards about body size.
“Our culture is so fatphobic and I think that’s hyperprevelant here,” she said.
Blyler, who left campus to attend a residential treatment program last fall, said this can manifest in conversations between students about how much they eat and exercise, or comments that frame food as a reward for exercise rather than a daily necessity.
Quinn Boyle ’21, who recently wrote a widely shared op-ed in The Campus about her experience, said that for her, coming to Middlebury exacerbated an issue with which she was already struggling.
“Middlebury has a very perfectionist culture, and because society believes that skinny bodies are perfect and fit bodies are perfect, not only do we want to do 110% in our academics and extracurriculars but we want to do 110% when it comes to the way we look,” she said. “I got really sucked into that.”
Many students said structural factors can make college challenging for students with eating disorders. This includes having to navigate dining halls, where the public nature of eating and food can be an issue, according to Boyle.
“I was really socially isolated,” she said. “I couldn’t really do meals with people, I either ate in the dining hall alone or I ate in my room and I lost a lot of friends. It was really horrible.”
A lack of resources for mental health
The counseling staff at Parton Health and Wellness Center are generalists — they are able to help students who struggle with disordered eating until the issue has reached a certain level of severity, according to Gus Jordan, the executive director of health and counseling services.
“We treat eating disorders very much like we do any serious medical or mental health issue,” he said. “Last summer, I had all our staff go through a day-long eating disorder training with two specialists from a clinic in Boston.”
Jordan explained that part of the training was geared toward assessing whether students need more support than therapy every other week can provide. For students experiencing more severe symptoms, the college may not be able to offer sufficient care to help them start or continue recovery.
The level of care the college is able to provide to students has been impacted by a surge in students seeking mental health services on campus, The Campus reported last spring. Jordan said that demand has risen drastically in just a few years, which reflects a larger national trend.
“Five years ago we were capable of seeing every student who wanted care weekly,” he said. “We now have difficulty providing every other week therapy. My staff are carrying caseloads that are twice the size as they were five years ago in trying to manage all the people that are looking for care.”
This shortage of counselors means students who need more regular therapy to treat an eating disorder might not be able to schedule appointments frequently enough to help them. In the long term, Jordan explained, this kind of under-treatment can do more harm than good for people struggling.
“If you provide inadequate or too low a level of care relative to the severity of the condition, what you’re doing is you’re helping the student practice their eating disorder without it getting better,” he said. “In other words, if I’m providing once a week therapy, or every other week therapy, to a person who really needs intensive outpatient treatment, then they may be using the therapy to keep their head above water while they are practicing their eating disorder and so they are actually getting worse during that time.”
The lack of resources on campus leads some students to seek solutions elsewhere. However, in a rural setting like Addison County, the options around the college are also limited.
[pullquote speaker="Gus Jordan" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]Middlebury students say that the college’s culture contributes to unhealthy expectations around food and exercise, and that the resources for struggling students are lacking.[/pullquote]
Amy Rice, a local dietician who frequently works with Middlebury students who have eating disorders, said that it can be challenging for patients to assemble the team they need, which usually includes a dietician, a therapist and a doctor. Rice explained that there are more options and more variation for those seeking care in the Burlington area, but traveling an hour each way for multiple appointments a week is often an unrealistic option for Middlebury students, especially for those without access to transportation.
Receiving care from professionals in town can also come with a hefty price tag.
“It was so hard to find people that would take my insurance,” Boyle said. “Being on the school’s insurance means that most people are not in-network with whatever health plan Middlebury provides. So then going through the process of talking to your insurance companies and then talking to your provider like your therapist or your dietician and coming up with a number you can actually meet is super difficult and stressful, and on top of that you still have to pay money out of pocket.”
Boyle and other students interviewed for this article expressed a desire that the college hire more specialists, such as a nutritionist or specialized eating disorder counselor.
Jordan said he also hopes to one day have a nutritionist at the Parton, either as a full time staff member or on a part-time basis. He explained that there was a part time nutritionist at Parton in the early 2000s, but very few students made appointments so the college decided to redirect funds used for the position elsewhere.
“But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work now,” he said, pointing to the increase in the overall use of mental health services since then.
Boyle said access to a nutritionist on campus would be a good first step. She also believes the college should hire or bring in a specialist to run a support group for students who are struggling with disordered eating.
Eating disorders and athletics
While eating disorders impact students across campus, being an athlete can present unique challenges for students trying to recover. This is especially true for students with teammates who struggle with similar issues. Blyler plays for the women’s soccer team, and said that in her experience, the environment on sports teams does not always facilitate healthy habits.
“Every season I have overheard or witnessed teammates expressing the desire to lose weight, become more toned or go on a new fad diet. You have people eating a Proctor bowl worth of food for their whole dinner,” she said. “To me, that just shows how little education there is around health and wellness. We live in such an active community, we need to be properly fueling ourselves.”
Part of the problem, Blyler said, is that teammates do not always talk openly about the issue.
“People don’t want to say, ‘I had an eating disorder.’ Instead you see what they eat,” she said. “Teams have meals together all the time. So you’re just like, ‘Oh my god she’s eating just a salad, should I be eating that?’ Especially for people who may have a greater tendency to fall into that stuff it’s such a slippery slope.”
Rory Kelly ’19, who ran for the cross country and track and field teams while in recovery from an eating disorder, said that being an athlete changed her relationship to her recovery process.
“There were a lot of toxic things going on about food and body image on both the men’s and women’s teams,” she said. “I was in a lot of conversations about mental toughness and being kind to yourself and pushing yourself and where that line is.”
For athletes struggling with eating, there is often little their coaches and trainers can do to help them. While many coaches are aware this issue exists for their athletes and want to help, there are few resources for coaches to learn how to approach this topic. Kelly said this problem goes beyond Middlebury and exists in sports at large.
“There’s no good training out there for coaches on how to step in,” she said. “[Our team] did feel comfortable talking about how to get faster, but balancing taking care of ourselves and also doing that thing called school .... The area that’s still lacking is in the moment [when someone is struggling], you have to buck up and step in and have a difficult conversation.”
Nicole Wilkerson, the head coach for both the men’s and women’s cross country teams, expressed frustration with the lack of information available to coaches about how to help an athlete struggling with an eating disorder. In the past, Wilkerson has brought speakers in to help educate her team on this issue and how to take care of themselves. But she said that when it comes to specific cases, it is hard to know what to do.
“There’s not a clear avenue to say hey you need to do x, y and z in order to be able to compete, in order to return to practice,” she said. “It’s just trying to tackle this on our own.”
According to Blyler, athletes often worry that if they tell their coaches about their eating disorder, they will be benched — or that if they start the recovery process in season, it will hinder their performance.
“How do you navigate healing and navigate getting help when you don’t necessarily feel like you need to get treatment, and you’re in the middle of a season, and you’re trying to outcompete your peers? How do you do all that?” she said.
The cost of leaving for help
The help Parton can provide to struggling students includes weigh-ins — regular appointments to check if a student gaining or losing weight in relation to medical recommendations. However, Jordan said that the health center cannot guarantee the accuracy of the results, given that students are not monitored to ensure they are not tricking the scale like they may be at a facility that specializes in treating eating disorders.
If a student appears to be at risk of serious health consequences from their eating disorder, counselors at Parton will start talking with students about taking a leave of absence.
“We take action when there is imminent risk to a person,” he said. “That’s when we ask and say, ‘you might have to go home.’ We might involve parents or a dean.”
Rice said that for students facing worsening symptoms, she believes it is often better to take time off and get more help than Middlebury and the surrounding area are able to provide.
“If they need those bigger centers or that higher level of care the question becomes is it in their best interest, is it better for them to take a semester off versus struggle trying to manage college and their eating disorder for the duration of their college experience?” she said.
For students, the decision to leave can be an incredibly difficult one. Many expressed that they reached rock bottom before they were willing to admit they needed to seek more intensive treatment. Blyler reached that point last November.
“It got to the point where it was infringing on my everyday. I couldn’t do school work,” Blyler said. “I was sleeping through so many things and I was socially isolating and trying to hide it from everyone.”
For Blyler, the decision to leave school came with significant financial implications, which is the case for many students contemplating a medical leave of absence for residential treatment. In addition to potential loss of tuition money for the semester a student withdraws, treatment programs for eating disorders can cost tens of thousands of dollars a month.
Blyler was able to negotiate for her college insurance plan to pay for 90% of her treatment last fall, but that still left her with a $6,000 bill.
“I was like, I don’t have that,” she said. “My parents aren’t financially involved – they don’t pay for anything and I have to pay for college, too.”
Blyler ultimately received a grant from a foundation to cover the rest of her treatment.
Boyle’s situation was also complicated. Her family cannot afford the cost of treatment, and Boyle said that she would not be able to recover living at home, leaving her with very limited options. Boyle said that she was ultimately able to access treatment because a friend’s family took her in and paid her medical expenses.
“I’m really lucky that this family is giving me financial support right now, if they were not I would not be able to get any help whatsoever,” she said. “I could have died if they hadn’t been there. It was so bad.”
Boyle also expressed frustration that she had not been able to access more regular therapy and appropriate medical treatment earlier, while she was still on campus, which she feels may have kept her disorder from worsening like it did.
“It’s really shameful that Middlebury does not provide those resources,” she said. “Not only does it set kids back mentally but it sets you back financially and it makes it way harder for you to recover and it really does disproportionately affect kids from low incomes who can’t support themselves or don’t have family to support them.”
After spending several months in treatment, Boyle recently re-applied to be allowed to come back to Middlebury for the spring, and last week she was given permission to return.
“I’m not cured by any means but I’m better than I’ve been,” she said. “Middlebury provides routine, it provides stability, it provides a home where I feel like I belong, and I have an entire treatment team currently in Vermont.”
She hopes that Middlebury will take steps to change the culture on campus and make more resources available to students.
Jordan said one thing he believes the school can do to help combat the broader problem is institute more preventative measures. He feels that educational programming through the Health and Wellness Office will have a positive impact on campus culture.
“To me that’s where the energy needs to go because I don’t think we can treat ourselves out of these situations,” he said. “We need to do much more preventative work.”
Blyler said that one of the best things students can do is destigmatize eating disorders and learn how to talk about them responsibly.
“It needs to be not so taboo because I know so many people who are so afraid to talk about it,” she said. “[But] if you pick five random people on this campus they will all say at one point in their life they have struggled with this to some extent.”
(01/23/20 11:04am)
InspirASIANal Voices, a storytelling event arranged by the student organization RAISINS (Radical Asians), kicked off with the following question: “What is your first memory of a circle?” Club members distributed paper and markers to the audience members, who anonymously penned their answers. The answers were read periodically over the duration of the event and varied considerably. Some were inspired by family memories, some were connected to the mathematical definition of circle and some pertained to the idea of social circles. This activity introduced the theme of the event: the many connotations of the word “circle.”
The event on Thursday, Jan. 16 was the fifth annual InspirASIANal Voices hosted by RAISINS, a student organization that focuses on “raising Asian and Asian diaspora voices on campus for more visibility and doing activism work through that,” according to Stephen Chen ’19.5. The club operates through horizontal leadership, highlighting the voices of all club members rather than electing a single leader.
The first storyteller to speak was Pim Singhatiraj ’21.5, who began by reading a few poems that she wrote about “her childhood, her trilingualism and her bi-cultural identity.” Next, she told a story about bonding with her four queer aunts last summer while visiting her hometown: the island of Phuket, Thailand. Her story related to the theme of the event in that Singhatiraj felt she had gained a “circle of cool aunts to spend time with.”
Singhatiraj became interested in RAISINS after attending last year’s InspirASIANal Voices event. She has been involved with the organization ever since. “RAISINS helped me find my Asian community and makes me feel like I belong on this campus,” she said.
Rachel Lu ’23 spoke next, conveying the story of her name. She first explained the origin of her birth name, which came from a psychic who predicts which Chinese characters bestow the best fortune. Next, she spoke about a name she chose for herself in second grade after transferring to an international school in Shanghai. Ultimately, she showed how she came upon the name she now goes by, which she and her parents selected by the time she first attended high school in the United States.
“I think of all three names that I have as three circles that don’t fit together, and circles can be boundaries. You’re either in the circle or you’re not,” Lu said. “But when you really think about it, maybe my life is a Venn diagram, and I’m just in the middle.”
Stephen Chen ’19.5 opened by reading the Serenity Prayer and talking about his Christian faith. His story revolved around relinquishing control and passing along leadership knowledge. Themes of accountability and the power of verbalizing one’s thoughts to others also surfaced, with the ultimate lesson being that vocal expression connects the speaker with the audience.
“The circle that you’ve selected to be around you knows how to support you,” Chen said. “Announcing your goals allows other people to enter into your own circle, into what you previously had a tight control over.”
Christine Nabung ’22 performed last, reading four poems that she wrote. The first two were about her grandmothers, one of whom lives with her and the other who lives in the Philippines, where she was born. She addressed her grandmothers’ histories with colonization as well as the inability to digitally contact her grandparents in the Philippines.
Last year, club members collaborated to create a zine titled “The Asian and Asian-American Sexual Experience.” The organization also works to connect students and professors from similar cultural backgrounds. According to member Jasmine Chau ’21, this year, the club has also been working on amassing stories from Middlebury’s Asian residents, culminating in a podcast that will be uploaded to their Instagram account.
(01/23/20 11:03am)
RIDDIM World Dance Troupe, one of the college’s oldest and most recognizable student dance groups, takes Wilson Hall by storm twice a year. Its biannual show consistently sells out, and its recent Fall 2019 show, “RIDDIM Throws It Back,” was no different. Nearly every seat was filled as members of the audition-only troupe performed a variety of pieces choreographed by fellow dancers.
So, what’s RIDDIM all about?
RIDDIM began as RIDDIM World Dance Club in Spring 1998. Started by Tessa Waddell ’02, the club aimed to present the Middlebury community with different styles of dance. From the club came the troupe, an audition-only and student-run group with a stated goal “to provide the Middlebury College community with an outlet of expression through diverse dance styles.”
The word “riddim” comes from the Jamaican Patois pronunciation of the English word “rhythm,” but in reggae and other Afro-Carribean music styles it most commonly refers to the instrumental background of songs.
Mariel Edokwe ’20, a RIDDIM board member, said that the troupe’s style of dance has shifted away from its Afro-Carribean origin over the years.
“As [RIDDIM] continued on, it started kind of shifting towards a contemporary, modern, more ballet-based [style],” Edokwe said. “I know that there’s controversy about that, but I know that since I’ve joined RIDDIM, freshman year in the fall of 2016, they’re really trying to diversify in terms of its members and in terms of its dance styles.”
Edokwe said that the group aims to create a positive, open space for students to dance on campus. She recalled her own experience as a ballet dancer before coming to Middlebury and noted that many dancers in her position choose to pursue their career instead of an education. On-campus groups like RIDDIM allow students who want to dance to do both.
With that being said, RIDDIM members come with varying levels of dance experience. Some members come from a competitive background and have several years of ballet experience whereas others have no formal dance training at all. The troupe remains open to all styles of dance, which Edokwe considers “part of the beauty of RIDDIM itself.”
“I know that for me, personally, and for a bunch of my friends and the group members, that it’s been really awesome for us to come in as, for me, say, a ballet dancer, and then to try hip-hop, try Latin dancing, and to try styles I’ve never done before and just grow as a person and dancer, and just kind of expose yourself to all there is that’s out there in a way that maybe you didn’t get to before," she said.
Malia Armstrong ’22.5 acknowledged the challenges of being a student dancer but said she feels supported by the RIDDIM community.
“Being in Riddim has completely reignited my creativity and passion after feeling burnt out after years of dancing competitively and has created a supportive and healing space on campus," she said. "It reminded me why I love to dance and that is something I will always be grateful for.”
RIDDIM is an inclusive environment that is welcoming to students of all classes and levels of experience. The nine-person board includes members of different years, which allows multiple voices to be heard, and any RIDDIM member can choreograph a piece as early as their second show.
Armstrong and Katie Koch ’22.5 choreographed their first piece, “Partition” for the Fall 2019 show. The dance was performed to Beyonce’s Partition – a song that celebrates female sexuality – and featured excerpts from speeches by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a renowned author and vocal feminist.
Armstrong said that she and Koch chose this song because it features a woman talking about sex and sexuality with strength and confidence, something that is often repressed in society. They overlaid Adichie’s speeches over the song in order to more concisely convey their message. The song ended with the phrase “I have chosen to no longer be apologetic for my femaleness and femininity,” which Armstrong said sums up the intention behind their piece as a whole.
“My favorite part of choreographing this piece was being able to collaborate with Katie doing something that is out of my comfort zone,” Armstrong wrote in an email to The Campus. “I had never choreographed a heels piece, so exploring different movements with Katie was challenging, but being able to create something together that meant a lot to us was really exciting.”
“When I joined RIDDIM, I thought I was just joining a dance group,” she said. “I had no idea that this group would become my second family. I am so grateful to have connected with such an incredible community of people, all bonded by our love of dance.”
(01/23/20 11:00am)
In her debut collection of essays, “Shrill,” available in print and as an audiobook, author Lindy West takes a number of anti-feminist, fatphobic and misogynistic beliefs and challenges readers to examine the underpinnings of these hegemonic and harmful ideologies.
What does that mean in plain English? West supports women. She believes fat bodies are worthy of respect, space and love. And she believes that women have more to offer the world than just their sexual appeal to men. She also believes this in spite of the fact that the predominant culture in the United States would suggest otherwise.
West is a smart writer and an in-tune cultural critic. One of her strengths is her vulnerability. For example, in one of her essays, she recounts calling out her former boss, well- known sex columnist Dan Savage, for his insulting rhetoric surrounding fat people. In another, she tells of the abortion she had before she was ready to become a parent. In a third, she tries to explain why there really is no appropriate place for rape jokes, despite the fact that some stand-up comedians favor them.
These positions and willingness to be open and confrontational about issues that are largely taboo in our culture should garner West an award for bravery. However, I’m concerned that the audience most likely to consume her work— or the words of any “shrill” woman— is an audience that is already on board with her message. And in that respect, regrettably, she may not be catalyzing widespread change — The same may be true of this very column.
West’s audience is likely white women between the ages of 20 and 45 who are highly literate, regular readers, willing to appreciate rhetorical nuance and sensitive to feminist issues. Wonderful. They likely look to her to help themselves better articulate some of the ideological conundrums they encounter. That’s fine. But, I suspect that the people who most need to engage in discussions regarding a woman’s bodily autonomy, such as some male legislators in Congress, for example, will never page through this publication. The people who most need contact with this work are likely oblivious to its existence.
Is it West’s responsibility to lure that readership towards her arguments? No! But how do we move a conversation forward when the interlocutors create an echo chamber? In plain English: if the only people willing to hear a message are those who already believe it, what, ultimately, are we accomplishing? Is the book good? Sure. As with any collection of essays, some are stronger and more compelling than others. I have already mentioned my favorites.
To whom would I recommend it— with realistic hopes that they might read it? You can see my quote above: “white women between the ages of 20 and 45 who are highly literate, regular readers, willing to appreciate rhetorical nuance and are sensitive to feminist issues.” What more might I hope for? That there be a way to position the work so that the issues it addresses are heard by more people who will encounter the ideas as novel, provocative and so alien as to be engrossing. For more titles like this one, see Roxane Gay’s “Hunger” or Samantha Irby’s “Meaty.”
(01/12/20 3:16am)
A month after students protested for higher staff pay, the administration has raised its minimum entry-level wages for some staff positions in the lowest pay bands.
Effective December 30, 2019, the increases affect workers in about 80 existing benefits-eligible positions — jobs in which employees work at least half of a full-time work schedule — and raise the starting rates for numerous open positions, most of which fall in Facilities Services and Dining Services. Previously, staff in entry-level Operations Level 1 (OP1), 2 (OP2) and 3 (OP3) positions made $11, $12.07 and $15.22 an hour, respectively. The new minimums fall at $14, $15 and $16 an hour.
The Campus reported in a series of stories last October that insufficient wages were causing widespread discontent among staff in some of the lowest pay bands, spurring some facilities staff to consider unionizing and creating staff shortages in other areas.
Last month, hundreds of students protested in support of paying staff higher wages. In response, the administration reiterated that it would address such concerns with a compensation review meant to gather market data and make the college a more competitive employer.
That compensation review is slated to finish in late spring. But Executive Vice President for Finance and Administration David Provost said it was already apparent that the review would indicate an issue with entry-level positions. While Provost did not share how many OP1, OP2 and OP3 positions are currently vacant, The Campus previously reported that a large number of openings in certain departments have put significant strain on college staff.
Provost also said the administration thought raising wages now would send a strong message about the college’s priorities, one he feels has been reiterated by various groups across campus, from the student-led protest to conversations at faculty meetings.
“The messaging I was hearing from faculty, staff and students was that this is our top priority,” Provost said. While the college has known it would need to address low pay for a long time, the extensive support for higher wages allowed it to circumvent “a lengthy conversation about prioritization” and to commit those dollars now.
When asked where the college found the money for the wage increases, Provost chuckled. “I haven’t yet,” he said. But since the budget for fiscal year 2021 goes into effect this July, the college will only need to find extra funds to tide itself over for half the year. Any changes made following the spring compensation review will be factored into the new budget.
Provost explained that the college determined the amounts for the wage increases based on market data from comparable positions in the area. The college had originally only committed to reexamining OP1 and OP2 jobs, but included OP3 wages in its adjustment as pay increases excluding OP3 would have placed OP2 wages only 22 cents below OP3 rates.
Pay compression
Every staff member The Campus interviewed for this story said they were glad to see the college raise at least some wages earlier than expected, but many are concerned that those changes only impact employees in entry-level positions. The raises create an issue known as pay compression, in which more senior employees who have received incremental annual raises for years will not receive raises because their wages exceed the new minimums — sometimes only slightly.
Waste management/custodial employee Brenda Hansen has been working at the college since 2001. Over the last 19 years, her pay has increased to $15.78 an hour.
Hansen’s job is classified in the OP2 band, in which the new entry-level minimum rate is $15. She said she feels she has “fallen between the cracks,” and thinks the college should have refrained from increasing entry-level wages until it could increase wages for all employees in the affected pay bands.
“People are going to be starting in here making 78 cents less than what I have been making,” she said. “I’m dedicated employee. I’ve worked hard.”
When she inquired about pay compression in an email to the Office of Human Resources, Hansen was told the college is aware of the issue and will make decisions on the matter following the compensation review, in “several more months.” The email emphasized that the college had to focus its efforts on starting salaries first to “attract and retain” employees.
Provost told The Campus he thinks addressing compression pay will be an important next step for the college.
“The next couple months for the people in that compression area are going to be difficult,” Provost said. “I’m going to ask for their patience. And I hope that our ability to do this now shows that this is what we want to do.”
Atwater Dining cook Patti McCaffrey said the administration told staff at a meeting last fall that it would probably have to look at compression issues soon. She said Executive Director of Food Services Dan Detora also acknowledged pay compression would be a problem when he visited the dining halls the morning before the announcement about the wage increases was made.
Landscape worker Todd Weedman is somewhat optimistic that the college will address compression come spring.
“I think a lot of people are upset about compression, and I understand that and I get it,” Weedman said. “But I know they’re working on it. I’m willing to take them at their word for it and I think we will see something as we move forward.”
Others, frustrated by what they identify as repeated patterns of bad communication, are not confident the administration will raise their wages. One facilities employee, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of retribution, is concerned that the administration’s decision was just for show. He did not receive a wage increase because he was earning slightly above the increased minimum in his pay band.
“That email is all smoke and mirrors,” he said. “It’s a decoy. Because now students think the college followed through and everyone’s happy.”
Staff largely credit students for putting pressure on the administration to address wages. In multiple interviews, they repeatedly brought up how grateful they were for students’ displays of concern. One of the co-organizers of the December student-led protest, Celia Gottlieb ’21.5, said she does not feel the change adequately addresses underlying institutional issues.
“It is a shame that this issue has only seen progress after student involvement,” she said in an email to The Campus. “This is an issue staff members have raised for the past three years without making much headway.” Gottlieb and others said this is a start on a longer road toward better staff treatment.
Many workers, like Facilities Service Floater Isaac Larocque, say the change indicates more broadly how the college treats its long-term employees.
“Seniority doesn’t really mean anything,” he said. “How can somebody who’s been here 20 years, or 10 years, just be left in the dust?”
The Campus will continue following the story as the college moves forward with its compensation review.
Managing Editor James Finn '20.5 contributed reporting.
Editor’s note: The Campus has granted anonymity to a number of sources in a series of stories about staff pay and treatment. Granting anonymity is not a practice we take lightly, but we feel the sensitive nature of the subject matter and some employees’ fears for retaliation warrant anonymity in these cases.
(12/05/19 11:02am)
This fall, Special Collections curated an exhibit commemorating the 1969 Stonewall riots. The exhibit, on display in the Library Atrium, is titled “Before and After Stonewall: Queer Stories Throughout American History” and was curated by Suria Vanrajah ’22. The exhibit is partnered with a display on the Library Lower Level titled “Middlebury College Coming Out: A Foundation for Queer Activism,” which was curated by Halle Shephard ’22, Reid Macfarlane ’21 and Joseph Watson, Preservation Manager for Special Collections.
The exhibits were the ideas of Watson and Rebekah Irwin, Special Collections’ director and curator. Watson and Irwin had long wanted to do something to mark the 50th anniversary of Stonewall, Watson said, so he proposed the downstairs archives exhibit, while Irwin had the idea for the atrium literature exhibit.
With the help of the MuseumWorks internship, a program that connects current students with the college’s collections and museum, the Special Collections team hired Macfarlane, Shephard and Vanrajah to curate the exhibits.
“I’ve always been very interested in history — I went to an American history high school — and am from New York City, so I recognized how important the Stonewall Riots were to my city, the LGBTQ community and our country,” Vanrajah said. “I wanted to be a part of the exhibit, and I was lucky enough that Joseph and Rebekah took a chance on me.”
Vanrajah said that she hopes her exhibit points out ripples made by events like Stonewall. As curator, she said she wanted viewers to draw their own conclusions about the impact of the riots on queer literature and history. “I felt that my role as a curator was not to try to create a narrative about the Stonewall Riots but rather to create a context through which anyone who sees the exhibit can reflect on the impact [of Stonewall] and understand it in their own way,” she said.
Beyond Stonewall, however, Vanrajah says her display is a nod to the activist aspects of the authors she has chosen to focus on. “I would consider each of these authors activists in their own right, whether or not they saw themselves that way, because their work helped make queer stories public and brought them to the attention of the American public,” she said. “By normalizing LGBTQ stories, these authors helped to normalize LGBTQ individuals and their experiences.”
While the atrium exhibit focuses on literature written by authors who identify as members of the LGBTQ community, the exhibit on the lower level is centered around past Campus articles detailing events occurring within Middlebury’s own LGBTQ sphere. “[Halle] and I spent about two days going through bound versions of The Campus, looking for things that might pop out — [words like] gay, queer — and compiling them and noting them,” Macfarlane said.
Watson, who had the idea for the exhibit, said that he had hoped to survey the five decades since Stonewall, but said that he, Macfarlane and Shephard decided instead to focus on the first three decades of the time period. One reason behind this decision was space.“Once 2000 came around, there was much more student activity and the student groups were much more high profile,” Watson said. “It would have been really difficult to fit those next 20 years in because there would have been so much.”
Waton also said that he hoped students would use the exhibit to learn more about the efforts that laid the groundwork for LGBTQ visibility on campus. “Pre-1970, there’s no open history of queer people at Middlebury,” he said. “I think that’s an interesting thing for people to realize, especially current students, who can say, ‘oh, these people are my parents’ age, and there were no [visibly] queer people before them.’”
This observation was something Macfarlane and Shephard became aware of as they worked on the exhibit.“At first it was really hard to find [Campus] articles,” Shephard said. “The gay student groups were really kept under wraps.”
The underwhelming presence of LGBTQ visibility was something Macfarlane also noticed. “I think that for a long time, queer people on this campus didn’t feel comfortable in their own visibility,” he said. “I think in the ’70s and ’80s there wasn’t a lot of queer visibility on campus. There weren’t a lot of people in organizations or starting initiatives to engage a discourse about the queer population on campus. You saw people attempt to do that, and then people wouldn’t show up to meetings.”
Shephard, too, noticed attempts made by students to establish an LGBTQ community on campus.“One of the first [student LGBTQ] groups was Gay Students at Middlebury,” she said. “Eventually the membership dwindled off, and then people just didn’t know where to go. It was sad to see it disappear.”
Watson also acknowledged this historical absence and lack of visibility.“When you’re doing research into underrepresented groups, they’re called that because they’re underrepresented,” he said. “In the archives, we have very little related to LGBTQ people.”
This underrepresentation was something Vanrajah was thinking about in terms of a broader literary tradition. “Queer stories are rarely told and many people never learned about Stonewall in their history classes, or never read seminal queer works because of the stigma surrounding many of them,” she said, adding that she hopes to address this gap in narrative with her exhibit. “While this exhibit is by no means a comprehensive analysis or display of queer history and literature, I see it as a way to introduce a general audience to these topics,” she said. “If everyone who looked at the exhibit walked away with an appreciation for the activists at Stonewall and the writers that came before and after them, I would be really proud.”
