it started with pneumonia in california

Nicole Wang ’22

At the pass of Stonewall, bright things are coming

You’ll see. They all will. Of how worthy you are of loving

Maybe one day, you’ll fall in love; get married; feel like you belong

Maybe one day they won’t take you, sending lightning through your tongue

But your friends are dying of some unknown disease

Your government laughing at your cough-ridden pleas

Their lovelessness  cannot even hold your hand

For fear to catch what they do not understand

How can they touch your skin if you are barred from touching their hearts?

Where do you begin to heal when there is hatred at the start?

They call it the “gay plague”, such one rightfully deserved

“Save Our Children from the Homosexuals”-

 as if you are as toxic as their Suburban dinner bird

To fix you: a dirty bed and an  toxic overdose of AZT 

As they endlessly preach “Moral Majority”

Saying your death is the punishment of the omnipotent 

But the blood is on the hands of Bryant, the Reagans, and the Reverend

 “Silence=Death” take control of the FDA

Because you are human no matter what they say

Sex; your body; your heart was never the problem

And the gone young men will never be forgotten. 

Happy Pride Month.

Get Tested. 

On Inauguration Day

Nicole Wang

On Inauguration Day,

the sky filled space (where existence lies unabashedly present) with blizzarding snow just long enough for the growers to see its relief. The world exhales, throwing away the moldy overfilm, as if to shower down its grievances, making way for sunny, biting, peeled-back renewal, and cautious anticipation. The clouds still remain to remind us all that was left. Built-up and waiting. The universe condenses and waits; everything is consequence, and this snow is the release. I have never before seen such an act of vulnerability. The once-white sky is impulsively removed like a hangnail to reveal the fresh wound of clear day. Naive is a blank word; a mockery of the sweetest part of human nature; even the sky leaves room for hope, despite the callousness of corruption and genteel morality. Today, the Earth responds to the space overtaken in the only way it knows how: unarmored in full radiance and innocence. There is nothing more beautiful. Today will be beautiful. 

Include Jews in Your Activism. It’s That Simple.

Naomi Gould ’22

I need to tell you how much terror I felt on Wednesday, January 6. I shared many people’s fear over the threat to our democracy and the attack on the city I live right outside of. But, I was also terrified because, as I sat glued to the television and social media, I saw pictures of men in shirts that said “Camp Auschwitz,” the Nazi extermination camp that killed over 1.1 million individuals, and “6MWE,” standing for 6 Million Wasn’t Enough, referencing the six million Jews murdered in the Holocaust. I saw a man performing the Nazi salute on the steps of the Capitol building. 

I saw a graduate of the Jewish day school I attend post on his Instagram story to say that Proud Boys were seen in the strip mall by my house. He urged Jews like me to take down anything that may mark our houses as Jewish, such as our mezuzot, a small compartment nailed to our doorposts containing a sacred Jewish text. I sat in fear and refreshed social media to see if they were staying downtown or moving out into the suburbs. 

Considering my alarm, I hoped to see many teens calling out these displays of antisemitism on social media alongside their other activism related to the events. As a result, the utter silence of non-Jews on social media on this issue took me quite by surprise. Understanding that this is merely another occasion of silence from non-Jewish activists, the question is raised of why: Why don’t non-Jews advocate for their Jewish peers in the same way that they do for any other marginalized group? 

In the past few months, I’ve seen quite a few excuses online, and not just from right-wing extremists like those we saw in DC. From the left, I’ve seen some cite how many Jews have enough white privilege and economic privilege that they are not truly harmed by our society. Some are more blatant with their antisemitism, referencing the stereotypes that Jews control the media and the banks to argue that they are a powerful people victimizing themselves for more control. Add this to the ever-present notion that American Jews are partially responsible for the plight of the Palestinian people, and the narrative of Jews being the oppressors rather than the oppressed comes into the limelight. 

Want some proof? A poll on the seemingly now-deleted Twitter account @PoliticalPolls asked “Who’s America’s biggest threat to society?” and the responses were “The Right,” with 51 percent of the vote, and “Jews,” with 36 percent of the vote. “ANTIFA” and “BLM” only had seven and six percent, respectively. 

I could spend the remainder of this article debunking the misinformation I referenced, like how the stereotype of Jews running the banks comes from the fact that medieval lords and kings asked merchant Jews for loans, knowing their Christian citizens could not loan with interest, and when their fiefdoms fell into economic turmoil, the Jews were scapegoated and accused of causing the ruin. I could spend it explaining to you that throughout history, despite appearing white, Jews have been treated as a separate race and persecuted as a result, rendering white supremacy a severe threat to Jews. I could spend it reiterating the pleas of countless American Jews to not blame world Jewry for the actions of the Israeli government, especially as many of us look at our American government with criticism and contempt.

Instead, I want to show you the consequences of not speaking up against antisemitism and countering this misinformation. The FBI reported in their 2019 hate crime statistics that, despite Jews making up only two percent of the US population, over 60 percent of all religious hate crimes were targeted toward Jews, hate crimes against them rising by 14% since 2018. The first nationwide survey of Holocaust knowledge among millennials and Generation Z found that 63 percent of those surveyed did not know that six million Jews perished in the Holocaust, and 10 percent of respondents either denied that the Holocaust occurred or were not sure. 

There are real-world, dangerous consequences to the lack of attention antisemitism receives in the news and on social media, to the excuses of self-proclaimed “intersectional activists” who leave Jews out of said activism. 

So, I challenge you to take action. Please research the history of antisemitism to better understand the strong historical connections to the antisemitic tropes of today– even Britannica or Wikipedia would be enough. Please listen to Jews when we tell you when we say something is antisemitic, rather than promoting the opinion that Jews are merely victimizing themselves. And, lastly, please include Jews in your activism. Raise awareness about occurrences of antisemitism and correct your peers when they make an insensitive comment or joke. 

Antisemitism is pervasive throughout American society, on the right and the left, among the old and the young. We need all the support we can get to combat it.

fear

Bhakti Patel ’22

fear is not the trembling horror of haunted houses and jump-scares
it’s the empty pit of dread that has been festering in my stomach for months
it’s the sobbing terror of my friend finding out of a supreme court nominee that doesn’t believe in her existence
it’s the damning knowledge that the country i was told to love blindly has taken fifty steps backwards for the half step we had taken forwards

and i hold fear in my heart as i write these words, a fear of a reality that is so close i can taste the rotting bitterness, smell the scent of blood
a fear of a repeat of the four year nightmare in which i wake up and check my phone not for “good morning” texts, but for news of death

so no, fear is not the trembling horror of haunted houses and jump-scares
but i’d rather the haunted houses
than live in a future cloaked with the fear i know now.

from my family to yours

Saanvi Nayar ’22

I am second gen, the granddaughter of immigrants who call this country their home, who use English in their local grocery stores and Hindi on the phone with their brothers and sisters 
who make their grandchildren our favorite aloo podi and chai for breakfast on Sunday’s, but love a good slice of Frederici’s pizza,
my immigrant grandparents who have lived in Queens, and Iselin, and Marlboro for 40 years, 
yet will be voting for the first time this election
‘for our children’
they say, for a legacy that lives beyond their own, 
for their business, their freedoms, their pride,
and beyond so,
for a country that has given them the proclaimed American Dream.

They vote because once, long ago, applying to this country with their own hopes and dreams, they were not able to. 

You power as an American. 
Cherish your voice. 
Exercise your vote..for this election, and every hereafter. 
For yourself, and a legacy yet to be written.

I like dressing up

Ananya Beher

a sweet simmering ensues
when i use my mother's makeup.
exalting my epiphanies
alluding to the awe of
my conception crowned.
when i wore my mother's dupatta
my brother told me i looked pretty;
my mother told me i should change
because if dad saw me,
all hell would break loose.
he came back home later
that night and he screamed a
word that i didn't know about.
i was angry and sad, and
cried a lot, thinking that
make-up was a girl's muse.
my father told me, 'i
should man up.' i nodded
for i was numb with pain.
looking back, i laugh
because i was so wrong.
me dressing up didn't anger him.
me being a 'chakka' did.
mom told me that i should have
changed but 6-year-old me asked,
'why? you can apply make-up.
why can't i?' she was stunned, and
had no answers. she was ashamed,
that i could tell. she told me
to turn heartbreak into
kindness. and turn the toxic
curses to sweet words.
that day on,
i used my mother's saree to
fulfill my wishes of dressing up.
i learned not to cry. i learned
that dressing up wasn't wrong.
my brother taught me to turn the healing
words into a garden of love.
'some people are an elixir;
some are a venom.
you must learn to distinguish
between who will stain you
with crude poison and who will
enrich your soul with their aura.'
i stand today, loud and
proud, of who i am. long gone
was the boy who cried infront
of his father. there stood a young man
who did what he loved.
he dresses up, paint his nails,
glams up himself and makes his hair.
my dad didn't remember, when he saw me,
what he called me earlier.
yet, his harshness made a
permanent scar, that sat above
my eyebrow, reminding me of
the times he didn't accept me;
when he called me a 'hijra'
and demeaned me.
i look back and realize
how thankful i am. life's
battles will continue on and on
but me, i will still be the man
who liked dressing up.

RBG’s Legacy: An Icon to Criticize and Admire

Nicole Wang

Today, we not only mourn a life, we mourn a fighter; competitor in the war for human rights. This war; this battle. What is it, really? Minutes after her announced death, everyone rushes to call her a fighter. But why? Even in death the human sees life in terms of battle. Fighting, fighting, fighting. Sweet, powerful, ruthless, Ginsburg will be remembered as a person who fought endlessly, tirelessly; to the day she died; to the day when she was stronger than most, if not all, at her weakest point. A role model for all, fighting, fighting in such a manmade war: Women Vs. Men; Gay Vs. Straight; Coloured Vs. Bleached; Body Vs. Mind; Life Vs, Liberty. It is not about politics anymore; it is about hope and strength. As soon as I open my phone, I see a post saying, “And now we fight. For Ruth Bader Ginsburg. We fight. Just like she did.” This generation was born to be soldiers. From birth we fight to win wars we never wanted; to win prizes we should have already had; to win just to settle. From birth we have been drowning, fighting against the tide of white supremacy, hate, and love. Scrupulously, we dance; play in this game programmed for us to lose. We don’t do it just for Ginsburg, but for ourselves. 

Isn’t is so gut-wrenchingly insane how this war was started by the same men in looks as the ones who will decide the fate following her death? Once again, the fate of women is in the hands of men. Once again, the future of the brown, black, and all muted tones in the mosaic of white-washed history, will be decided by white men. This world we live in is so convoluted and twisted, that is, if Franz Kafka himself could possibly begin to know what oppression is for, define for, a woman, for a human, as a white, straight man. Look at our upcoming presidential election, the one dear Ginsburg will not be replaced by until fairer eyes look upon the future of America; we have two white, straight men who were born in a generation so unlike ours, that they were able to grow into livelihood without facing torment of what is considered politics. As straight, cis, Christian, white men they were not born to fight like we were. They were not born to fight like Ginsburg was. They had time to develop arrogance and pride, we had time to learn our place. They were not born to be remembered as fighters because our world does not require straight, cis, Christian, white men to fight.  We were born to struggle because our world requires us to lose a part of who we are to gain freedom for us all. 

Ginsburg was a legend; a true feminist icon. However, we cannot make the same mistakes as the ones before us. While a heroine of our generation and lifelong protector of human rights, Ginsburg maintained a strong colonist ideal which is shown in her attitude towards the indigenous people (Sherill Vs. Oneida). I say this to not insult the dead, but to show the young girls and boys who look up to her that they can be like her and more. Everyone’s character can survive improvement and it is important as historians, as scientists, that we do not shape history to support our own ideals. It is our responsibility, as a unit, to not simply revere our icons as obsequious, mindless followers, but to question the ethics of those who symbolize a morally just future. 

Ginsburg was extraordinary in the fight for women’s rights She went places no one else did; she set a precedent for what could be done. Ruth Bader Ginsburg gave her life to help women break down the walls fenced by snivelling men. She is a legacy; a feminist symbol for young, innocent girls born to change what is wrong; what is unjust. She was powerful, liberal, radical; terms meant for people who live their life for the dream of justice. I’d not falter to call her Herculean if such greek myths did not depict powerful women as evil and loving ones as weak. She is her own story, rounding out the epic poem told by the Iliad of other awe-inspiring women. 

Ginsburg has saved my life, the life of my family, and the life of so many women born into traditional misogyny. Specifically for me, her representation of Goldfarb in Califano Vs. Goldfarb allowed widowers, like my father, to receive social security benefits for their families after their wives have passed. She inadvertently put my sister through college without financial struggle, allowed my scared friends to get abortions, supported the dream of marriage for my gay friends, and taught billions what is it like to fight for change. She was not perfect, not close. But she was a hero to so many and we must acknowledge her as such. 

How will historians remember this day? How will historians remember this year? Will they forget her like they did so many powerful women before her? No, they will not, they cannot, because we, the generation of soldiers,  of fighters, will not let them. We will share her story. Her mistakes, her triumphs, her hopes, and regrets. We will push her radical goal of equality until there are 9 women justices; until 9 women justices is no longer a radical idea. We will fight until the thirst for war is over, Until we, as strong, powerful, radical, liberal, women, can die not as a martyr for a cause, but as a peaceful soul; until strong, powerful, radical women are awarded so commonly, it is the norm. Rest in peace, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, we will soldier on in your name.

mud & water

Saanvi Nayar ’22

she floats mindlessly 

petals strewn across the purified river

divinity coursing through her roots

for she is the standard of beauty

(in all of its subjective glory)

as the bleeding sunshine bellows my name

i regard the lecturing mindset of my skin 

(too dark, too dirty, not pretty)

the mindset timelessly bolstered by my culture 

for in mockery

they spew bleaching products on their shelves and yet

expect me to follow in embrace

for in ignorance 

they cast fair-complexioned actors in their films

modeling the same fabrics buried in my closet on the skins

of white, of light, of superior women.

she floats consciously, 

more conflicted than ever,

teetering on the untaught insight of embracing a culture

that does not offer the same embrace back

and, so, she reminds herself

that the lotus,

with divinity coursing through her roots,

blossoms in water and mud alike.

for in the mud of a scornful culture

(too dark, too dirty, not pretty

embracing, untaught,  and unloved) – 

the bleeding sunshine drenches my rich brown skin

for i revolutionize the standard of beauty,

idiosyncratically crafting my own.

To Be Enough

Rohan Lokanadham ’23

My heritage. Something so simple. By dictionary definition, heritage is someone’s unique family identity, their culture, values, traditions, and sometimes religion. Throughout my life, I have struggled a lot with being confident of my heritage. Living in an American society, it can sometimes be difficult to be confident about your culture with people who know nothing about it. I have finally learned the importance of heritage though, and I now share it with friends who might want to learn about my culture. 

I live in a town, populated mostly by white people, which made expressing my culture a little difficult. If I’m being completely honest, I was embarrassed of my heritage, and this came from people making jokes about being Indian, and similar experiences in which I was made fun of for my culture. In my opinion, some of these jokes can be considered as normalized racism and overgeneralization. There have been many occasions where I have been told that I “smell like curry”, just because they saw that I was Indian. Some people might say that I shouldn’t take these comments to heart and that they are “just jokes”, but that is normalizing it even more. This is blatant racism at a smaller scale, and these little things can offend and affect people. It affected me personally, more than I even realized. I became embarrassed of my culture, and where I come from. 

I have also been told that I am “not Indian enough”, or “basically white.” I have never understood these labels, as they are just a play on stereotypes. What makes me “not Indian” and what makes me “white”? I am connected with my culture and heritage, and I am also a product of the American society that I have grown up in. These labels come from the Indian community itself, and I think it is why we normalize the racism against us. We tend to make fun of our own culture, which teaches others that it is okay to do as well. We stereotype Indians ourselves, and I think it needs to stop. More and more generations of Indians are now growing up in the American society, but we should not forget where we come from. Stereotyping ourselves gives being Indian a negative connotation, one which is not even true. I am proud to be Indian and the fact that I have learned from American culture as well.