Fall 2015

BSE

Best Student Essays

FALL 2015

Editor-in-Chief Kimberly Mitchell

Best Student Essays

Design Editor Daniel Guardado

Science Editor Neil Sparks

Vol. 27–No. 2 Fall 2015 Copyright © 2015 by the University of New Mexico Student Publications Board.

Best Student Essays is published biannually by the University of New Mexico Student Publications Board.

All opinions are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent those of the unm Student Publications Board or the Best Student Essays staff.

Copy/Research Editors Quinci LeGardye Maria Oroyan

Business Manager Jim Fisher

Special Thanks Leslie Donovan Daven Quelle Carolyn Souther Luci Tapahonso ASUNM GPSA The Daily Lobo

This issue of Best Student Essays was printed by: Starline Printing 7111 Pan American Fwy, Albuquerque, NM 87109 Best Student Essays unm Student Publications Marron Hall 107, University of New Mexico Albuquerque, New Mexico 87131-0001 (505) 277-5656 bse@unm.edu www.beststudentessays.org

Conceptions Southwest Scribendi

Cover Art Rifat Sangida “In Every Falling Leaf There Is Some Pain”

Letter from the Editor Kimberly Mitchell It’s amazing how quickly a semester can pass. I keep waking up expecting to spend my days telling people to submit to Best Student Essays, that our deadline is still two months out. Not only has the deadline passed; we made the magazine. You’re holding it in your hands right now. But it still feels like the beginning.

I thought I knew what to expect when I took on the role of Editor-in-Chief: Advertise, get submissions, read through them, copyedit, typeset, then send it to the printer. A simple, linear sequence of events. That didn’t prepare me for the whirlwind of this whole experience. We designed the magazine while we were still looking for submissions. We scheduled our opening reception before we had submissions selected. Everything seemed to happen at once and, frankly, I’m kind of amazed to be standing on the other side of it all.

I need to thank some people for getting the magazine (and me!) to the metaphorical finish line.

Daniel, thank you for taking on the role of Design Editor. You’ve done beautiful work, and there’s no one I’d rather have beside me on this magazine. Neil, thank you for agreeing to be my Science Editor—having the role filled has been a weight off my shoulders, and I’ve always known I can rely on you to do great work. Quinci, you are a rocking copyeditor, and your dedication to the magazine has been heartwarming. I love working with you. And Maria, I don’t think I have enough thanks for you. You’ve been so patient answering my questions about how things went last year, and your enthusiasm and commitment to the magazine has been simply amazing. I couldn’t have hoped for a better staff, and I can’t imagine having produced this magazine without your hard work and support.

Many thanks are also due to each member of the unm Student Publications Board and Staff.

You’ve been so kind and helpful, and that’s made this experience wonderful. I also want to thank all of our wonderful submitters and readers. Without the combined efforts of all of you, this magazine wouldn’t be here right now.

We couldn’t publish every essay we received, and for that I’m truly sorry. There are some remarkably creative, talented, intelligent people at unm. I feel honored that we get to present this excellent work to you, our reader. This is the point where I could go on about what we loved about each piece in the magazine, or any themes we noticed while reading through them. But I’ll let you read them for yourself, without my flowery words to bias you.

Happy reading.

—K

Table of Contents

07

Concrete Nomads

Bethany Armstrong; Photos by Mikeal Robinson NOMINATED BY

Brenna Gomez

15

Why I Work So Hard

18

Media Versus Instinct: A Deeper Look into Beauty

23

Dungeons and Dragons and a Little Yellow Dress

Johnathan Cordova NOMINATED BY

Elizabeth Sanchez NOMINATED BY

38 41

Eric Jackson

Best Essay Award Winner Keriden Brown NOMINATED BY

29

Kristian A. Macaron

Amaris Ketcham

Learning to Live With the Navajo Legacy of Uranium Malcolm D. Benally NOMINATED BY

Dr. Johnnye Lewis

A Discussion of Individualism, Collectivism, and the Ecological Model Bebe Makena NOMINATED BY

L. Diane Parham, PhD

Lifeblood Runs Thin: Healing Through Tales of Trauma Aaron Kelly Anderson NOMINATED BY

Eliseo Cheo Torres

Bethany Armstrong

Fall 2015

Concrete Nomads

M

y spring break was not as it seemed in the movies. There were no boobs or booze, no sun or sand. Instead I spent my spring break in my little dorm room working on homework with fake lights and bright screens, rather than in Mexico or on beaches. So when my friend asked me to assist him on his photo project, I jumped at the opportunity to escape the cave my room had become.

Tyree’s project was one that was meant to capture people in their natural environment.

We had both moved to Albuquerque the previous school year, and homelessness was as blatant here as in any city. Being the observant artist that he was, Tyree had decided then to photograph the homeless of our adopted city, showing them for who they were by where they were. Juxtaposed onto this project, I decided to take down the stories we heard in some quick notes, as I had a feeling the project would have some interesting stories.

Driving downtown in Albuquerque, Tyree and I came upon a small green park in which a few people were scattered about soaking in the sun. Most notable was a slightly overweight man in a wheelchair.

“That’s it! He’s the one.” Tyree circled around and found parking, hurrying to grab

his equipment and quickly going over how I should hold the flash-machine. I know nothing about photography and I nodded as he spoke, noting how simple my job would be, holding the flash-machine at a 45º angle as he did all the hard work.

I won’t go into much detail about our first subject; he was guarded and offensive, holding a battered Bible over his protruding stomach like a shield. He sat in a wheelchair, unable to readily escape our advancement. We offered him a water, which he took, and asked him where he was from. Looking at us with beady, puffy eyes, he began telling us how the Lord was sending him from the East Coast and he was working his way west. When Tyree asked to take his picture he curtly replied, “No, you can find plenty of me online,” sending Tyree and me on our way back to his car.

“He was perfect! Stuck out like a sore thumb, that’s when you know something’s worth taking a picture of,” Tyree grumbled in frustration as we began driving the city for parking once more. I was glad I’d brought my sunglasses.

Light reflected off the glass windows in a warm amber ambiance, the city streets vacant of life.

Parking, we took to the streets and began walking the busier part of downtown.

Restaurants and venues played music and 7

Fall 2015 waited in quiet for the night life to crawl up to their doors, drawn like moths to a flame. We walked a block or two, running into an odd pair of friends, one of whom was wearing an indiscernible animal costume, honking his nose as he walked past. I was content in just soaking up the sights, but it wasn’t my project, so I carried my share of the equipment and water bottles, tailing Tyree as he searched the streets for the homeless we knew had to be lurking about.

Outside of a corner diner sat two men diagonal from one another. I nudged Tyree, and our eyes lighted at the prospect of two subjects.

Walking up, we offered the two men water, and asked if we could take their pictures for a project. Both agreed, but looked uncomfortable with the idea.

Joe 8

“What’s your name? And how did you get to Albuquerque?” Tyree asked as he began snapping photos, adjusting my position with the light as we went along.

“I’m Joe. From Miss’ippi, I moved out here and married some girl…” Joe sat with his hands on his lap. He sat innocently, like a child waiting for his mother, not sure if he should even be talking to us. I looked over at his friend, whose timid eyes wouldn’t meet my own, and I could conceive of these two as brothers, with their bond going deeper than just friends. I imagine they relied on each other a lot.

“How’d you like Mississippi?”

“Oh, well I was there for Katrina, it was bad. So I came here. Got married but—she left me. So you know, I had no money, I got stuck.

I’ve been here seven years though.” With soft

Photo by Mikeal Robinson

Fall 2015

Fred

eyes, Joe smiled docilely. Sitting there with his friend, I realized he must be feeling like a bug, a specimen to be studied. He knew we were taking pictures of homelessness; he knew he was one of them.

Across from him, his friend, Fred, explained he was from San Antonio and was hitchhiking to California but got stuck. Much quieter, Fred was humorous with lilting eyes, joking with Tyree as he was getting photographed that, “The FBI has my best picture.”

“Oh! No, don’t tell me that.” Tyree laughed at the joke, unsure if it really was a joke or not.

Walking away Tyree and I were gleeful in our find, glad to have part of the project completed, killing two birds with one stone; or at least two pictures with one situation. Hearing

Photo by Mikeal Robinson

about their struggles and experiencing their circumstances up close resonated in us though, and we skittishly made our way back to the car, passing the nose-honking creature once more.

Deciding to try Central Avenue, we drove out of downtown and toward the college, where there were always homeless out begging for money or hunkered down on the sidewalks, watching as shoppers passed them by.

Blocks went by as we drove farther east, keeping a careful eye out for the corners where homeless were known to squat. Tyree and I babbled aimlessly about what we wanted to get out of the project and how cool collaborating would be, to read and be able to see the people who you’re reading about. Making a greater impact, because what readers envision from the 9

Fall 2015 story is also connected to a concrete image.

Suddenly changing lanes, Tyree pointed out a man who I had missed, and we turned around to go meet him. He stood on the side of a street near a stop sign, walking to and fro past cars as they came to a halt, waiting to join the flow of traffic weaving east up Central Avenue. Together we walked up toward the man. Shaking, he had wild eyes, and white crumbs from some past meal were falling out of his mouth and into his beard. It was plain to see the man was on some kind of drug, and when Tyree offered the man a water and to ask questions, his reply was curt, preoccupied with getting the cars passing by to stop and offer him money.

“We were wondering if we could take a picture of you for a project,” Tyree asked.

Hobbes 10

“Sure—one,” the man continued to focus on the cars passing by and presented the sign in shaking hands, hoping for someone to stop.

“All right, cool…We’ll wait. Let us know when you’re ready.”

When the man finally stood for the picture, it was difficult to keep him occupied on the task, as he was still begging for money. The food-stuff still fell from his mouth, and he looked anxious, unable or unwilling to meet my or Tyree’s eyes.

After a photo or two, the man began walking away, and Tyree called after him for a better picture. “Sir, sir, could we get one more picture?” I managed to grab the man’s attention and he stopped once more.

“Uh, uh, ya uh, ya. Fast.”

“Thank you sir…”

Photo by Mikeal Robinson

Fall 2015

Suicide

But the man had begun to walk away again.

In the car, Tyree and I were looking once more for the last two homeless people for the project. “I keep messing up the compositions of my pictures. They’re all cut off at the hands and I’m cutting out the background. I’m going too fast, I feel like I’m rushing ‘cause I’m intruding on them.”

“I can understand why some cultures believe having their picture taken…” I paused, slightly at a loss for words, but Tyree finished what I was saying.

“Takes their soul? Yeah it totally does. Like, they have a part of themselves put down for everyone to see. I feel shitty; just, I want to help.

They’re people too, you know.”

“Exactly, but taking these pictures and

Photo by Mikeal Robinson

showing homelessness in Albuquerque can help just as much as giving money. I mean, I guess we just have to keep that in mind.”

“Yeah, there’s just still so much missing that we can’t add to these pictures,” Tyree answered.

“I guess that’s what my side of this is for. It’s knowing what’s going on beyond the pictures that will help the most in the end. Seeing people beyond their signs.” I wasn’t sure exactly what to say to help Tyree feel better about our adventures, but I truly believed what I was saying.

The next place we decided to look was on campus, but we struck out there. We began walking by the Frontier Restaurant to a place Tyree knew, when a man standing to the side asked us for money. He was a bit older and more 11

Fall 2015 outgoing, holding a “homeless vet” sign and wearing an old army jacket despite the spring warmth. Most notably, he had thick eyebrows that moved up and down like a Muppet’s: silly and overdramatic.

“We don’t have any money on us, but we do have water. Would you like one?” Tyree asked, taking off his bag to get a bottle.

“Anything will help you know, all I’ve got are bottles of alcohol.” The man stuck his hand in his jacket pockets to show us.

“Oh no, that’s cool dude.” Tyree put up his hands, but held out a bottle of water, which the man took.

“I don’t have a place, I’m out here, I sleep in the cemetery.” The man had a smooth cool voice with a slight Spanish accent. “I was military you know. ‘Nam.” The man saluted us, his face contorting into a mock seriousness that seemed very un-military. “Got back… I’m main dog! Everyone ‘round here knows who I am, ya know essè? I’m known by everybody! You know what they call me..? Eh! Suicide.” He said his name slickly, looking between Tyree and me in the hope we’d get some sort of recognition from his name.

“Do you mind if I ask your real name?”

I almost turned to look at Tyree, wondering why he’d ask that.

“Uh… Well…” Suicide timidly withdrew and looked around.

“He already told you, Tyree! It’s Suicide!”

We all shared an uncomfortable laugh, but it seemed to have brought Suicide out from his shell.

“Where are you from?” Tyree continued the questioning.

“Alamogordo.”

“No way! Same here!” Tyree and I both excitedly proclaimed, feeling a connection with 12

this man who was so different, yet so akin to us.

“No way, I just got back from jail there, three weeks ago.”

“How’d you get here?” Tyree asked.

“Greyhound, man! This is my home. I mean, I live here because I got no place to go.”

Suicide’s open and happy demeanor dropped into something much darker. “You know, I sleep in a cemetery.”

You never really expect life to hit you, but when it does, it’s always so raw and powerful there is no turning back. When Suicide began to cry, I felt every inch of me crawl with despair.

His depression and reality set in and chilled the warm spring air. I could understand why he was wearing a jacket while being berated by the

i have dreams, they're real bad. scary. 'cause i sleep in a cemetary. spring sun.

“It’s hard, ya know. I have dreams, they’re real bad. Scary. ‘Cause I sleep in a cemetery.”

As a highly spiritual person, I could only imagine sleeping next to a field of the dead, their spirits always stronger at night than during the day.

Suicide sniffled, tears dropping from his eyes onto the camouflage of his jacket. “I’m called Suicide, ya know. ‘Cause I want to kill myself!”

Sharp as little knives his words drove themselves into my head where they continually dig into my thoughts. My morals screamed at how much I wanted to give this man my own bed, my own meals so that those fat tears rolling

Fall 2015 down his cheeks would stop.

Standing in front of this deteriorated man, shifting from foot to foot, the only way to make it through this ordeal would be to push on through the project, to hold the light to Suicide’s face and let Tyree show how these emotions were panning out through his photography.

“Sir, would you mind if we took your picture?

We have a project for school, taking pictures of people in their environment.” I fought down the tears clawing up my throat, choking me up as I spoke.

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Here, let me pose for you.”

Tyree pulled out his camera and I switched the light machine on, and stood, as an expert assistant, at the 45º angle. Hands shaking and moving too fast, Tyree began to photograph Suicide, who stood at mock-attention. When he was done, Tyree nodded and thanked the older man, apologizing because we didn’t have money to give.

“That’s okay, you know, you can’t do nuthin’ ‘bout it. Take what you can get ya know?”

Suicide began tearing up once more. “Thank you, ya know, maybe this will help. People will hear ‘bout it. That’d help. Thank you.”

Shaking his hand, Tyree and I walked away, shocked into silence at the situation that’d just taken place.

“I want to help,” Tyree finally spoke up. “God that was intense. And so much harder since he was from Alamo. I mean, we could just as easily end up in the same spot as him…” I nodded, knowing what he meant. “Look so I actually have some cash, but I didn’t want him spending it on anything that wasn’t food, could we, like, go to Frontier and buy him a burger?”

We both remembered the bottles that he had in his pocket, alcohol in his veins from

the money he’d been given. Once when I was in Rotary Club in high school, an ex-displaced man came to speak to my group about homelessness and explained how Jonesing was one of the leading ways someone died on the

...it still felt wrong feeding the addiction, rather than feeding the addict. street. Despite this knowledge, it still felt wrong feeding the addiction, rather than feeding the addict.

Debating it, I agreed, and we went inside and Tyree ordered the sandwich. But, unfortunately, when we went back outside to where Suicide had been standing, he was gone. Disappointed, we walked a little ways farther but didn’t see him.

We began walking back on the other side of the road where a woman sitting by Saggio’s asked us for money. Knowing we still needed the last photo, we denied having cash but offered her water, to which she accepted, saying, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“So we’re doing a project looking at homelessness in Albuquerque, would it be okay if we took your picture?” I was doing the talking this time, pushing my emotions aside to finish the job we’d set out to complete.

“Yeah sure, I guess that’s ok,” the woman replied. Tyree began fiddling with his camera, trying to get it to turn on. I realized something was wrong, as it was taking longer than usual to set up, so I began questioning the woman.

“What’s your name?”

13

Fall 2015 “Stacie.” She began rolling up some sort of joint in her hands, big and dark beside the light white paper.

“So how’d you get to Albuquerque?”

“Came here for treatment and got stuck.”

Later Tyree and I debated whether it was gender reassignment or drugs, but we didn’t know for sure, and I wasn’t going to ask, as I wasn’t sure of any polite ways of asking.

Stacie looked between Tyree and me.

“This isn’t going in that…Uh…Lobo. That newspaper...?”

“The Daily Lobo?” Tyree asked, to which Stacie nodded her head. “No, no this won’t really go past our classes.”

“Okay, ‘cause I don’t want my face in the paper. So what are you guys studying?” Stacie looked pointedly at me, as Tyree was still fiddling with the camera.

He seemed flustered and frustrated— whether it was because the camera wasn’t working or he was still caught up in the emotional turmoil left by the tempest that was Suicide. I kept the conversation with Stacie going. I was surprised to have the conversation switched to me, but answered in the quick, memorized way any college student will.

“English.”

“So you going to be an English teacher after?” Stacie asked, and like any English major I wanted to bang my head into a wall. But instead I laughed.

“I get that all the time, but no I’d like to go into writing or publishing; getting works published for other people to read.”

“So, like journalism?”

I didn’t have the patience to explain the difference so I just let it go and answered that it was very similar.

“So you guys smoke weed?”

14

“No.” I was quick to answer and it was now very clear that it was a joint in her hand.

“Uh…” Tyree looked up from his camera.

“I got some.” Stacie held up the lit joint, the smell starting to fill the air. “Would you like some?”

“Uh, no thanks. Actually my camera is ready.”

Tyree quickly finished the pictures, attempting to take his time, but still in a rush.

I felt bad, feeling that it was my fault, as I had to get back to my room because, as a Resident Advisor, I was on duty that night and had to pick up the duty materials in about five minutes. Silent in my thoughts, I held the light and focused on the mediocre task of staying still, and moving wherever I was asked to move.

After we finished taking the pictures and grabbing the duty materials, we walked back to my dorm room. Sitting silently on my couch for a few minutes, Tyree pulled out the sandwich he’d bought for Suicide. Taking out a knife from one of my drawers, he cut the burger in half and offered me one of the two pieces. Accepting it, he held out his half and I tapped the edge of his with mine. “To Suicide.”

A Word From the Editors Due to the nature of this piece, we would like to provide readers with information on how to make a positive contribution concerning the issue of homelessness near and around the University of New Mexico. There are various homeless shelters throughout the city of Albuquerque that provide their services and help, such as Albuquerque Heading Home (abqheadinghome.org), Joy Junction (joyjunction.org), and the Albuquerque Rescue Mission (abqrescue.com).

These organizations accept donations, as well as your volunteered time, in order to help those in need.

Thank you!

Johnathan Cordova

Fall 2015

Why I Work So Hard

G

rowing up as a Hispanic, or Latino (or whatever label you wish to slap on me), I’ve experienced discrimination since an early age. I remember the first time I discovered I was a minority. I was sitting in class in the third grade when my friend asked me, “Hey, what’s Mexico like?”

Puzzled, I answered, “I don’t know.”

That led to a further series of questions that were all similar to: “Aren’t you from Mexico?” and, “Well, you have dark skin, black hair, and a Spanish last name, so doesn’t that make you a Mexican?” From that moment on, I knew I was different.

By the time I hit my teen years I was well aware of the fact that racial discrimination was all around me. One thing I didn’t understand was why? Why are there so many negative stereotypes? Why does everyone always seem to point out the differences between us? My roots in New Mexico run deep into the eighteenth century. My family has been here in New Mexico since the 1700s and yet there are people who still look at me like I’m the foreigner to this land!

My great-grandparents and their parents were some of the first settlers of the MountainairManzano area. My grandfather fought in World War II! He and my grandmother were in a book written about the history of Torrance County,

yet I’m still looked at as foreigner.

Once during my senior year of high school I stood in line at the local gas station and I overheard two elderly women talking. They were ranting about how useless men were, and how the world would be better off without men.

One of the women turned to me, laughed, and apologized. The other woman turned and said, “Don’t apologize to him, he probably doesn’t even speak English.” The first woman said, “Sure he does. Look, he’s dressed like my grandson!” I was left speechless. I had never felt so insulted and low. I felt this weird knot in my stomach and a dry throat. I felt I should say something, or at least stand up for myself, but I couldn’t. After I paid for gas and I walked back outside, I was greeted by my best friend. Standing next to him was the elderly woman who had apologized to me. She was my best friend’s grandmother. She turned bright red with shame when I told my friend his grandmother and her friend said I didn’t know English.

I remember once sitting in my English class my junior year of high school. My teacher was a Caucasian woman from the city of Chicago, who had recently moved to New Mexico. She prided herself on the fact that her grandparents were from Germany. This particular morning class was a total of six students, who were mostly 15

Fall 2015 Hispanic. She arrived late to class one day in a rush, threw her bag down, still looking at the floor, and out of nowhere blatantly asked why there were “so many Mexicans in this state?”

Everyone in class gave her this curious look. She tried to explain where she’s from there aren’t many “foreigners.” I thought to myself, my grandparents and their grandparents and even their grandparents are all from this state. You’re the one whose recent ancestors took a boat ride over here. You’re not from New Mexico. This land and this state is my dirt—and my heritage.

You’re the foreigner, but to you and the rest of white America I look like the foreigner.

My whole life I have heard the comments, been called racial slurs, seen negative propaganda, and gotten the dirty looks. Even at my place of work some of my coworkers have accused my other coworkers (and probably myself) of being lazy “because we are Mexicans.” Discrimination and hate is rampant in this country; it did not end with the victories of the Civil Rights movement and is far from being over.

How can someone accuse a whole race of being lazy? I do not see what they see. When I drive into Albuquerque and I’m stopped at a stoplight (usually at Central Avenue and San Pedro), I look to my left at the street corner and I see a Mexican immigrant selling juice, flowers, food, and other goods. I notice it’s not just one person—it’s his whole family. His children are holding up signs, his wife is making the drinks, and he is at the very edge of the corner trying to get the attention of cars driving by. They stand outside working for hours without shade, sometimes without selling anything, and they are not the only people who do this. I think to myself: Who in their right mind would call these people lazy? Still at the stoplight I glance 16

across the street at the other corner and I see “Americans” begging for change. No goods to sell, no work is taking place. Often times it is just a sign with something written on it begging for any amount of money.

I’ve been called ‘beaner’, ‘wetback’, ‘spic’, ‘lazy Mexican’, and many more racial slurs, but all that does is add fuel to my fire. It drives me to wake up in the morning to get ready for work or school. I work forty hours a week and on my two days off I’m at school. The way I see it is that I’m working hard to end stereotypes. I am not lazy.

I am going to be successful. Just like Elie Wiesel said in his essay Why I Write, “I owe them my roots and my memory. I am duty-bound to serve as their emissary, transmitting the history of their disappearance, even if it disturbs, even if it brings pain. Not to do so would be to betray them, and thus myself.” Like Elie Wiesel felt obligated to write about the Holocaust for his people, I too feel an obligation. I feel I need to be successful for my people. I need to be successful for everyone who faces racial discrimination. I need to succeed for everyone who is scrubbing toilets, picking in the fields, working for less

i need to be successful for everyone who faces racial discrimination. than minimum wage, and for every child who has a dream to become someone and faces these racial borders of discrimination. I owe it to my father, the hardest working man I know.

I owe it to my mother, my grandparents, and all my family and friends who want to see me succeed. I owe it to all the people who never

Fall 2015 broke minimum wage, who came here in hopes of the American dream, for all the parents who have sacrificed and suffered for their children.

I owe it to my people, to all the Hispanics, Latinos, and indigenous peoples of North and South America whose ancestors once roamed freely without borders. So when my friends and family ask me, “John, why are you working so hard?” I say because I have to. I believe knowledge and success are the only way to break the chains society has shackled me with.

I work hard to end negative stereotypes, though I know I can’t do it alone; I will not be shackled.

Works Cited Wiesel, E. (1985). Why I write: Making no become yes. New York, N.Y.: New York Times.

17

Fall 2015

Elizabeth Sanchez

Media Versus Instinct .. a Deeper Look into Beauty

“T

his is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, ‘Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?’ I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer, ‘No.’ The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five [sic] letters. You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing, but you will never be merely ‘pretty.’” Slam poet Katie Makkai is not alone in her dissatisfaction with current cultural interpretations of beauty. Every morning, I look in the mirror, sometimes staring at my features from different angles, assuring myself that I look “okay,” with only the occasional question: “For what? For whom?” Perhaps it is because humans view one another as enemies, friends, or acquaintances, based on experience. Perhaps it derives from expectations surrounding one’s home life, generation, and culture.

Unfortunately, this initial judgment tends to stem from personal interpretation of beauty.

According to many psychologists, including Abraham Maslow, humans innately desire to socially belong. When individuals question their self-image, they may take dangerous, sometimes deadly, precautions simply to feel wanted. This may lead to eating disorders, plastic

18

surgery, and more. From Indian bindis and hennas to Ethiopian “lip stretching” and facial paint to Myanmar “neck rings” and Chinese foot binding, beauty modification has been around for centuries. Despite both the positive and negative effects of ancestral definitions of beauty, today’s media is primarily at fault. In many cases, heavy exposure to modern media has transformed a natural human instinct to be accepted into a desperate and detrimental need to please or victimize others.

“Three minutes of looking at a magazine can negatively influence one’s self esteem [as seen when] seventy percent of girls get their idea of a perfect female body from images they see in magazines and [when] boys who look at health and fitness magazines are two times more likely to use steroids and unproven supplements” (Heart of Leadership), indicating supporting, yet worrisome statistics. Many, including former fashion model Nicole Weider, are campaigning against explicit or unsafe images found in advertisements. She is targeting one company in particular by “leading a Change. org campaign, demanding that Cosmopolitan Magazine be sold in a non-transparent wrapper to adults, in order to prevent children from buying and reading ‘filthy’ material” (Smith).

She feels that the magazine, along with many

Fall 2015 others, is far too sexual and degrading for young people to freely access—it is liberally sold near grocery store cashiers. Studies, such as “the American Psychological Association’s 2010 study, titled ‘Report of the APA Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls,’ [suggest] that the proliferation of sexual images of girls in the media is harming and impeding healthy development, self-image and body-image, and is now linked to common mental health problems including eating disorders, low self-esteem, and depression” (Smith). Again, a distorted self-image may lead to targeting others or oneself, based on the criteria, or lack of criteria, found in advertisements.

From the flying projectile known as current media, reports of peer-to-peer bullying have increased now more than in years past (Seddon). According to stopbullying.gov, many are bullied because they “are perceived as different from their peers, such as being overweight or underweight, wearing glasses or different clothing, being new to a school, or being unable to afford what kids consider ‘cool,’” among other reasons. By not meeting personal standards of “good enough,” one may be enveloped in shame and begin to harass others. These “good enough” self-ratings tend to originate from the comparison of oneself with media images (Teens Health, section three) of thin women and muscular men with symmetrical—not necessarily beautiful— features. Comedian Jimmy Fallon, among others, has noticed the drive to make up for these faltering “good enough” standards, particularly upon discussing the Academy Awards: “It’s that special time of year when celebrities get done up and dress their best, so that they can be judged by people at home wearing sweatpants.”

Though his take on teasing others without

examining oneself is quite humorous, “shame can be experienced as such a negative, intense emotion of self-loathing that it can lead you to disown it, and, in the case of one who acts like a bully, give it away by evoking that emotion in others” (Lamia). Bullying—in any form—has been given the opportunity to flourish through social media, cell phone usage, and other sources. Online ads have grown in popularity, presenting viewers with more images of “true”

often, "likes" or comments on online posts become a young person' s scale for personal satisfaction. beauty, which continues to fuel the fire. Often, “likes” or comments on online posts become a young person’s scale for personal satisfaction.

This can be noted in the cruel comment sections of “Pretty or Ugly?” videos, in which individuals ask viewers to tell them how attractive they are.

The ability to harm others at any time of day without being face-to-face, and with extreme rapidity, results in alarming statistics: “About half of young people have experienced some form of cyberbullying, and ten to twenty percent experience it regularly” (Bullying Statistics).

Victims often turn to substance abuse or other means to feel important.

Many bullied children have turned to groups such as the non-profit Little Baby Face Foundation in New York to change their appearances through plastic surgery. “Is there some benefit in learning how to struggle with adversity? We’re not convinced that confidence 19

Fall 2015 is gained by changing the way you look,” said Vivian Diller, a concerned psychologist, during an NBC interview. She, alongside others, questions the need to change as a means for positive attention, as opposed to teaching children from a young age the benefits of being different and the results of bullying. I have personally been bullied (to a lesser extent than the individuals considering plastic surgery) for my appearance, beliefs, or actions, but never once did I consider changing myself to let others “win.” All options must be considered when it comes to breaking away from bullying, particularly in schools, including but not limited to speaking with a principal or staff advisor, staying away from social media sites, transferring schools, and finding new friends outside of school. Ultimately, bullying has shoved its victims into dark, voiceless corridors with the help of the media. Such instances have blinded victims from understanding bullies and realizing that by finding a safe, non-violent escape route without changing themselves, they have already tasted success.

Based on witnessing or fearing bullying in and from the media, many reach extremes in achieving beauty. This includes disorders such as anorexia, bulimia nervosa, body dysmorphic disorder, binge eating, and more. Although I have experienced eating disorders in friends (concerning both overeating and eating very little), my evidence does not quite compare to that of Fiji, where cultural encouragement of eating heartily was destroyed almost instantly.

“In Fiji, big was beautiful and bigger was more beautiful—and people really did flatter each other with exclamations about weight gain, [until 1995, when] a Western mirror was shoved into the face of the Fijians. Television came to the island,” as columnist Ellen Goodman 20

explains. In fact, “within thirty-eight months, the number of teens at risk for eating disorders more than doubled to twenty-nine percent.

The number of high school girls who vomited for weight control went up five times to fifteen

other lesser-known eating disorders are more prominent among men... percent. [It became evident that] ‘the acute and constant bombardment of certain images in the media are apparently quite influential in how teens experience their bodies.’” Other lesser-known eating disorders are more prominent among men, as opposed to those primarily associated with women (anorexia, etc.), including bigorexia. This illness forces its victims to “compare themselves negatively to others [and] dislike their bodies so much that they often hide them in shame,” according to Men’s Health Magazine. During an interview with the magazine, clinical psychologist Doctor Stuart Murray explains that, “We’re seeing semi-undressed men advertising things like cars, so guys perceive that to be muscular is better. Six-year-old boys report a preference for muscular bodies and report dissatisfaction with their bodies. The problem is the images we see in the media are often substance-enhanced [with steroids], so the average guy on the street compares negatively.” Ironically, beside the anti-negative-body-image online article read “Men’s Fitness 2XU exercise shirt. $69.99 – ONLY LARGE and X-LARGE Available! Click here to buy.”

Others believe that Westernization is not to

Fall 2015 blame for the disintegrating culture in various regions. For example, importance of and focus on one’s appearance is particularly common in Korea. One study was conducted to inspect the concept that Westernization of South Korea is at fault for the overpowering and increasing levels of eating disorders among Korean women (Alain). The study “found even though Korean Americans had the most exposure of [native Koreans, recent American immigrants, and second Korean-American generations] to Western ideals and norms, they had the lowest rate of disordered eating when compared to women born in Korea.” This thought expanded onto the traditional matchmaking in Korea, where women are criticized over appearance, rather than abilities, forming a bridge between traditional ideals and present issues.

Some say that today’s media is not entirely negative. This can be seen in the Dove Real Beauty Campaign that promotes “girls and women to understand that their power and their beauty does not come from a tube or an airbrush or a cream, but rather from their own personalities and power.” The campaign’s success is indicated by positive comments following “tick mark” billboards, which illustrate a photo of a real person with a caption similar to that of “Withered or wonderful? [and] Grey or gorgeous?” Additional campaigns have also proven that some media is non-threatening, including the Brazilian “You Are Not a Sketch” movement to end anorexia through graphic and realistic Photoshopped comparisons between extremely thin women and fashion sketches.

Another movement, the “No Photoshop Movement,” originally began by an online petition by “teenager Julia Bluhm, [who] clearly believed Seventeen and other publications didn’t always present the full, unvarnished

truth” (CNN). Thereafter, American Eagle’s “Aerie” line and Seventeen Magazine vowed to only produce untouched photos of healthy models. Another organization produced “the Real Cost” campaign, which discourages substance abuse, particularly among teenagers.

The campaign can be seen on local television network commercials, illustrating the reality of drug use through losing skin, teeth, or other parts of oneself in the attempt to be “cool.” Other ideas, such as those promoted by the Raising Children Network, discussed by writer K. Nola Mokeyane, find that there are many cultural and political news outlets and other media sources “that encourage teens to think critically and question cultural stereotypes.” Despite beliefs in harassment and other negative effects of social media, the Raising Children Network also finds that social media sites allow young users to expand their social skills by increasing their self-confidence and media literacy. These ideals indicate that media may not always have negative outcomes for users; however, there is

although ancient customs

may be a sign of beauty, they have largely been replaced or enhanced by commercialism and a fear of the mirror.

not nearly enough “positive” media to entirely alter cultural perceptions of perfection, beauty, self-presentation, and social expectations.

Although ancient customs may be a sign of beauty, they have largely been replaced or 21

Fall 2015 enhanced by commercialism and a fear of the mirror. In a multitude of situations, modern media has eliminated the human need to belong and given consumers the impression that pleasing or harming others must occur.

Constructive, self-confidence-promoting media has become a strong defender of individual mental purity and will, hopefully, carry a new generation of positive advertisement on its shoulders—ultimately creating a more accepting society overall. Until then, the public must understand the planned enticements of media and their potential—possibly extreme— effects on the fragile human mind.

22

Works Cited The Real Cost Campaign. (n.d.). Retrieved April 21, 2014.

Alain, T. (2010, September 23). The skinny on eating disorders in Korea. Retrieved October 19, 2015.

Bahadur, N. (2014, January 21). Dove ‘Real Beauty’ Campaign Turns 10: How A Brand Tried To Change The Conversation About Female Beauty. Retrieved April 21, 2014.

Body Image and Self-Esteem. (n.d.). Retrieved April 20, 2014, from http:// teenshealth.org/teen/your_mind/body_image/body_image.html Seventeen magazine vows not to alter images, to ‘celebrate every kind of beauty’ - CNN.com. (n.d.). Retrieved April 27, 2014.

Cyber Bullying Statistics. (2013). Retrieved April 20, 2014.

Dahl, M. (2014, January 5). Tormented over their looks? Bullied teens seek free plastic surgery from a NYC nonprofit. Retrieved April 23, 2014.

Goodman, E. (1999, May 27). The culture of thin bites Fiji teens. The Boston Globe.

Lamia, M. (2010, October 20). Do Bullies Really Have Low Self-esteem?

Retrieved April 20, 2014.

Legleitner, E. (2014, February 17). The No Photoshop Movement.

Retrieved April 23, 2014.

Makkai, K. (2010, September 9). Pretty. Retrieved April 19, 2014, from http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pretty-19/ Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. (2007, September 17). Retrieved April 19, 2014, from http://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html Mokeyane, N. (n.d.). Media’s Positive & Negative Influence on Teenagers. Retrieved April 27, 2014.

Perle, E. (2012, March 3). ‘Am I Pretty’ YouTube Phenomenon Raises Red Flags. Retrieved April 23, 2014, from http://www.huffingtonpost. com/2012/03/03/am-i-pretty-youtube-pheno_n_1318713.html Powerful anti-anorexia ad campaign tells women ‘you are not a sketch’ using models with fashion illustration proportions. (2013, April 19).

Retrieved April 19, 2014.

Rogers-Anderson, S. (n.d.). Bigorexia. Retrieved April 20, 2014, from http://www.mensfitnessmagazine.com.au/2012/11/bigorexia-2/ Seddon, K. (2010, June 1). Creative Graphs. Retrieved April 19, 2014, from http://tuesdayswithkaren.blogspot.com/2010/06/creativegraphs.html Smith, B. (2012, January 9). Model Leads Anti-Cosmo Campaign; Says Magazine Has ‘Devil’ All Over It. Retrieved April 20, 2014.

Keriden Brown

Fall 2015

Dungeons and Dragons and a

Little Yellow Dress

Z

allura takes her crossbow and aims at the sailor approaching Admiral Blud, armed with a club in his hand.

Roll—20, Crit.

The man didn’t have a chance: an arrow to the shoulder, severing ligaments necessary for wielding the wooden weapon against the Admiral.

The Admiral doesn’t need to die: He is a necessary pawn in a scheme to escape the jungled island. I know this. Zallura knows this.

I am the only one who has a grasp of the plan; the others run blindly for blood wherever they can find it.

But Zallura is tactical and calculating.

We need the sailors on our side. We need the numbers to take out Zellian Martellus. We need to get off the island.

But this is a just a fantasy, and Zallura is not me. * Role-playing games are often also classified as tabletop games. These are games that use the table as the playing ground, meaning, no board for the pieces. These became popular in the sixties—a time often characterized by conflict, diversity, and perseverance—a time when crotchety old men and young boys were the main players of tabletop war games.

The young’n’s would want to play soldier/ commander and the retired military officers would try to relive their glory days while sitting on their brown, cubic couches, playing advancement and strategic games on thinlegged coffee tables or at a round, white table on a checker-tiled kitchen floor.

The “pre-fantasy” war games often had female players, despite the common thought demographics of these games. The female players were usually the only people husbands could find as opponents at a moment’s notice; these women were the wives of tabletop game players, and they tended to go along with what their husbands were doing. And when male opponents showed up, the wives took back to the kitchen serving tea, coffee, snacks...

By the mid-seventies, the high-collared, high-waisted, and A-line styles of clothing were fading away into bell-bottom jeans and fantastical tie-dyes. With this change in fashion came a change in RPG tabletop games as well: Dungeons & Dragons (DnD) was released in 1976. This fantasy game swept across the geekdoms and basements of the United States, grabbing the tail end of the wave that took The Lord of the Rings to the flowery rooms and comfy chairs of young adults in the later half of the sixties.

23

Fall 2015 Much like its older war game counterparts, DnD had a very striking demographic difference in male to female ratio that most people just push under the rug. * A closer look: I was asked to play DnD with a friend of mine, but then told there might not be enough room at the table—the party of eight men already took up three eight-foot folding tables that are intended for people to play Magic at TwinSuns Gaming Center.

I went to watch, which was all I was allowed to do.

The interior of the shop was concrete-slab floor with gray walls; however, there was no lack of color. The walls were lined with comic books, DC and Marvel posters, dice, Magic cards and strange collectibles. From the ceiling hung colored banners advertising the Khans of Tarkir Magic block of 2014. Beside the stationary color, the moving people also had bright shirts representing their favorite video games or comic book characters. Noticing this helped lead me to the party at the back of the store.

My first night at TwinSuns consisted of an eventful game. A character was lost: A character that had been in play for seven years, “people years,” as I was told. This was a big deal. I had no idea. I sat intrigued but confused as to why this greasy haired guy was about to rage-quit a tabletop game over the loss of a character. Green as I was, I eventually caught on to this half-orc character’s, to Trogdor’s, death. Even though this loss was so great to Adam, the player who lost his imaginary companion—he was fuming to the point his small tapers shook violently in his ears—it was great news for me. It meant the party would have to introduce small-greasyguy’s new character at the next meet up, and 24

they asked me to make a character to introduce as well.

I had to acquire all the basic tools of a character, which is basically dice and a character (in the form of a character sheet). I decided to do the easy option first: dice.

you would think that a facility with so much gaming, geeky paraphernalia would have dice.

The first campaign took me to Hastings, which has a surprisingly limited amount of dice in the store. You would think that a facility with so much gaming, geeky paraphernalia would have dice. They have DnD posters for god’s sake!

But, no. The dice collection was pitiful: Star Wars Yahtzee set (cups and six-sided dice with, not numbers, but Star Wars symbols gracing each die face), and one set of Vegas dice with their iconic, translucent ruby-red cubic bodies dotted with white to indicate numbers.

I didn’t find these dice on my own, though I have navigated Hastings myself for other nerdesque items many times before. A nice guy helped me find the meager supply of dice, and seeing the scanty selection, kindly suggested Noble across the parking lot.

Onward!

Noble is even more of a dweeb-cave than Hastings. Instead of booster packs of Magic cards, they have cases of them: bought, sold, and traded to build decks. They have gaming systems, all of them. There was even a GameCube and about twenty compatible

Fall 2015 games to accompany it. DVDs, card sleeves, deck boxes, and anime box-sets line the walls of the dark, overcrowded shack-space.

I step up to the counter between slouchysweater teens drooling over Magic cards pulled out from the case.

“Excuse me.”

“What card are you looking at?” A larger guy wearing a dark green polo speaks from behind the counter. But I’m not here to build up my decks.

I interject again. “Excuse me, can you help me find something?”

“I said: what card are you loo-k-ing at?” He speaks to me. He had always been speaking to me. Excellent.

“Um, hi. I’m looking for a set of dice?” It wasn’t really a question, but I posed it as one anyway, somewhat aware, but mostly not.

“Oh, here.” He turned and put two twentysided dice on the glass.

“Um…I don’t need life counters.” These are frequently used to count the twenty life appointed at the start of each game of Magic.

“I wanted a set to use for, uh, Dungeons & Dragons.”

well, awesome. i have one set for girls made right now.

“Well, awesome. I have one set for girls made right now.” He puts a plastic package on the countertop.

Inside the crinkly cellophane envelope

are dice: one twenty-sided, one twelve-sided, two ten-sided, one eight-sided, one six-sided, and one four-sided. They are medium pink/ pearlescent pink marbled in pattern with white numbers etched into the side. Girl dice.

“Do you have, like, not-pink?”

“Ummm…I have purple?”

I don’t like purple either.

“Or I guess you can make a set. Here.”

He turned and placed two square buckets of random, mismatched dice on the counter.

“They’re fifty-cents apiece, you can pick whichever ones you want, but it would be cheaper for you to buy the set.”

“It would be cheaper for me to get not-pink.”

Because I don’t like pink. It doesn’t make sense, but the large guy says okay and leaves me to my dice choosing. I come up with a set of pearly gray, black, and blue dice. I walk to the register.

The same green polo is standing there and asks if I found everything all right. I say yes, and then I put my dice down. Gray, dark.

“Hey, you know, we have a set of pink dice. I still think you would like those better. I’ll go get them for you.”

“I hate pink. Can you just ring me for these, please?”

“Oh, uh-mm, are you sure?”

“UH-mm yeah?”

My first taste of the sexism that is unintentionally expressed in DnD was pretty obvious, but I still didn’t realize what this encounter was until later. Also later, I would have more interactions like this, some more subtle, some more obvious. * Night two at TwinSuns was different from the start. We all walked over to the Panda Express down the block before starting game play. On this walk I talked to Adam about the 25

Fall 2015 character I made.

She is a sylph, a half-human/half-djinn creature. Yes, djinn as in djinni, or genie, however, rather than being a fire-elemental being, the djinn in this rpg is an air elemental and allied with lightning. Her name is Zallura: a rogue who relies on poisoned melee weapons, master of dexterity, has reasonable strength, fairly smart, and (because of her race) aloof.

Adam describes his character to me: “A changeling, oracle, beautiful to look at but also creepy and kinda cold.” Flat. Her name is Tatiana, like a sultry Russian entertainer, an explicitly sexualized woman.

“I made a female character so you wouldn’t be alone.”

Because apparently having an extra female character makes up for the fact that I am the only in-real-life girl in the party. But do I need a savior? An effeminate ally to help me interact with everyone else?

Well, Adam’s character “makes it easy to introduce Zallura” to the game, according to the Dungeon Master (DM). This introduction of Zallura and Tatiana is good, but slow. We meet the others in the party literally seconds before the TwinSuns guy says it’s time to pack up because they are closed.

I witnessed, during this four-hour game play, a total of three strange looks in my direction from one David Raguini, four statistic numberings from Bob, one sympathetic look from Mr. Lonnie, one passing remark of “that isn’t a good plan” from Adam Yancey, and one feeling of being cheated when Lance mentions my “not-good” plan and gets praise for having such an awesome plan from the same Adam Yancey.

Great.

“Hey, why didn’t you choose to be a healer?”

26

Alex asks me this.

“Well, I like doing things and being able to have the option of protecting myself. I don’t want to be that in-the-way person.”

“Oh, cool. So, you’re aligned chaotic neutral?”

“Yeah.” Neutral means my character doesn’t care for good or evil, but acts in her own selfinterest; chaotic means Zallura will do whatever she can to benefit herself whether it is at the expense of others or not.

“That is so interesting. You know, most girls I hear about choose to be good because they don’t want to help themselves; they want to be useful to others in the party.”

Well, I guess that’s cool.

“Which is why I asked you why you weren’t a healer. I always thought girls played as support.”

Alex is Raguini’s dad and has been playing DnD since he transitioned from tabletop war games in the seventies. His comment made me feel like I was, in fact, someone’s housewife playing only as a commodity for the party to exploit.

i always thought girls played as support.

Girls are in the party for the benefit of the others in the party. Girls are a tool to be used.

But not girl characters, necessarily—nobody asked Adam why he wasn’t a healer, why he was chaotic neutral, why he was a heavily armored oracle, sorcerer woman. They asked why my rogue poisoner was not, instead, a cleric of some RPG cosmic goddess of water who heals the wounded (yes goddess, not god). *

Fall 2015 The party corresponded online over the next two weeks for battle planning. I started getting hyper-invested in this, and someone just had to ruin my high. It was the greasy-haired eartrembler who lost his pet after “seven people years.”

We talk about what is going on in terms of where we are on the island, how we plan on arming everyone who doesn’t have spells to use, how to overthrow the primitive government, things like that.

I suggest unbinding our fake-prisoner, Bob, to allow him to sneak through the shrubbery alongside the path Zallura and Tatiana are following (we have established trust with Bob at this point). Adam didn’t agree.

—That is a horrible plan! What if someone finds him? We would be dead, he would be dead.

—But Bob has a crazy high sneak, so even if he rolls a 1 on his sneak check, his bonus puts him at 12. This was my argument.

Players roll a twenty-sided die for Initiative (order of action in a round) and for ability checks (how well a character can perform an action). So, Bob’s sneak skill is so high he has a bonus of 11 points. The bonus is added to a roll. This is checked by the DM to see if he “makes it” meaning accomplishes the action.

Sneak checks are pitted against perception checks, and both are required to see if actions can be performed. Sneak is the ability to hide, and perception is the ability to notice things: High sneak, low perception means Bob would succeed in his action, but if the sneak were low and the perception high, the DM’s pawn would notice Bob, because it means Bob didn’t hide well enough to go unnoticed. In the event of a tie, additional checks are put into play (this specific example works with Initiative, meaning

who acted first. Did Bob hide before the pawn noticed? Or did the pawn notice before Bob got the chance to hide?).

—Bob likes that idea. He hates being tied up and he won’t run off. Probably.

Adam only concedes after the idea comes from Bob’s intangible .gmail mouth.

At this point, the person who was trying to connect with me the most and make me feel the most welcome was the one who pushed me away the most and had the biggest problem with me being a girl.

Further along in the conversation, the European Escort talks to Lockhart (Raguini’s character) and Lockhart shares his plan. The response to this (actually very tactical) plan was: —I don’t think this is a great plan. But Tatiana doesn’t care if the plan is good or not, so let’s do it. Oh Zallura, Tatiana has to obey Lockhart because he’s the chosen one, just so you know.

I didn’t spend an hour with Adam and the DM and a week of email correspondence working on backstory to not understand why characters act the way they do. We specifically went over why Tatiana thinks Lockhart is the chosen one as opposed to one of the two strongest members in the party. Tatiana thinks Lockhart is “the chosen one” based loosely on a card reading and vague, foggy visions of the future, and therefore would follow his words and actions to the ends of the earth.

I see the weird looks for speaking openly during game play, and I understand Bob is just trying to help me create a useful character, but the difficulty that comes with breaking into a male-dominated world as a female is something I never imagined would happen—nerds are supposed to stick together. Learning a game 27

Fall 2015 that is shrouded in male/female social stigmas has proved taxing because, not only am I new, but I am also the only girl. Even Ryan, who is as new as me, doesn’t get the abridged, baby-step version of rules or the super-critical comments for minor mistakes. I don’t get taken seriously.

I am assumed to be a female character because I am a girl, not for any reason of party diversity.

But more than the (mostly) inadvertent sexism, I am tearing down the wall and reshaping the DnD world, or at least the small world of our party. I don’t want to be treated like a princess in a dress playing at tabletop war games. That’s Tatiana, and Zallura can take her out with a drop of poison.

Or a stab in the back.

28

Malcolm D. Benally

Fall 2015

Learning to Live With the Navajo Legacy of Uranium

L

eupp, AZ—As a young boy, Benny Benally grew up on a work camp with his family on an active uranium mine called VCA Mine #2 in Southeast Utah near Cane Valley, AZ right at the Arizona and Southeast Utah border. He is seventy-one years old. It was after Benny and his wife listened to the Wednesday evening KTNN AM 660 liná Nizhóní: A Beautiful Life radio forum about the Navajo Birth Cohort Study that Benny decided to tell his story.

The full impact of the health effects caused by the Navajo legacy of uranium mining still has yet to be known. It is an issue that spans over eight decades that has received very little media attention.

The Navajo Birth Cohort Study is collecting oral histories from Navajo communities affected by the Navajo legacy of uranium so that when the study provides its final reports, the stories can be used to reflect how the communities want their story told to the greater public.

Hello to our visitors today. My name is Benny Benally and I am 71 years old.

My first clan is Black Forest Streak. I am born for the Mud clan. The Yucca Fruit Strung Out In A Line is my maternal grand-mother’s clan. The Rock House clan is my paternal grandmother’s clan.

This is how I am a man. There is a place called Birdsprings, Arizona where I was born.

The story that I’m going to tell is very 29

Fall 2015

real because I am going to talk about the place where I used to live. It was about 1952 my father worked at a “rock mine”.

In the English language, this uranium mine was called “VCA Number Two”.1 No one ever told us, “This place is dangerous.” No “Hazardous” signs. “It can make you sick.” No one ever said this. The men who worked there were not warned of the dangers. Many of us were exposed to this. We ate near the mining and drank water from there. Dynamites were blasting near the campus. We set up camp here as a family. Around noontime dynamite would explode into the air. We had set up shade with used lumber and small tents were up everywhere. We ate outside. We probably ate with all that downwind. The water we drank was probably tainted, too. The same way, we played in the water puddles when we were children. No one ever came around to tell us: “The dust can harm 30

Fall 2015

you.”

No one gave us any warning. Our parents worked there for many years.

Many Diné families were at the job site to work for the uranium mine. I do not know how much money people were paid. Not one Anglo person ever came by to visit us at the camps near the uranium mines even when they probably already knew about the dangers.2 Not one Anglo person in charge of the mining operations ever came to talk to us. Only people who worked for those in charge bothered to come around to our camps. They came through in a rush. But, the work continued. Diné people kept on working. I knew many Diné people from Dennehotso. Many were young men who became older men while working there. Many of the men who worked at the uranium mines are no longer alive. A lot of people have died. People had heart problems and 31

Fall 2015

trouble with breathing. This is the way I am now.

I cannot really walk anymore and this has affected my overall health.

Even to breathe right I am in need of these oxygen tanks that help me by plugging it into an electrical outlet.

Even the way I talk, if I was going to talk for a long time it is going to make me tired. It seems like it is getting harder for me to talk at length now. Even the men I used to know say the same thing.

They talked about how they lived with no health problems then they slowly became sick and died.3 This is what happened when people were exposed. No one took the time educate us about the dangers of the mining. No meetings were held.

Nothing. We just walked into it. The people only thought about the need for work to make money, “How can I put shoes on my children’s feet?” This is probably how people were thinking 32

Fall 2015

and this how we were exposed.

My father got sick from working at the mine. After he retired we came home to Birdsprings and that is when he began to suffer. First he had kidney problems, then breathing problems, and slowly his heart troubles gave him a heart attack. Then my mom got sick and died. She became very sick again from a disease called “cancer�. Whatever she was exposed to at that mine killed her.

A lot of our people died in this way. If our men and women were not exposed to radiation in the mines then our Elders would still be around today. It is because my family lived near the mine that is how I became sick. I saw all this with my own eyes so it is not just a story I heard that I am telling again over and over. It really happened this way. We have to deal with all the sickness. So this is the story I am telling here.

When I found out more about my health problems I now have different 33

Fall 2015

prescription pills that I must take daily.

The doctors never say what caused my illness. “You have a severe disability. You can receive a new kidney but your heart is too weak to survive the surgery that will be needed for a kidney transplant.

The surgery that is needed is likely to cause your heart to stop. This does not look good for you. So, the best thing you can do is to just take your pills from now on.” I just go to “dialysis”, in Navajo it probably translates into “boiling your blood.” This is the only place I can go that is going to keep me alive. All my hopes to be well and healthy again are gone. There is no place I can go where I can regain my health so I just go to my appointments.

Then my breathing is the same way.

“Your breathing is not strong. You must use oxygen tanks from now on. You have to turn the oxygen on to the right levels so that the machine can help you breathe while you are sleeping. These 34

Fall 2015

oxygen tanks will help you breath as normal as the way you used to breathe,” I was told. Every night before I go to sleep I put a tube by my nose to help me breathe right. Even though this probably costs a lot of money to keep the oxygen going all night for me to keep breathing normal and I can get a good night’s sleep. This is how it helps me. And for my heart, I have this thing I think that is called a “defibrillator” that they implanted inside of me.4 I was told that this helps me when my heart is about to stop the defibrillator will send a shock to it. When it sends a shock it will get my heart to start pumping again. This is how the defibrillator was implanted so that even if my heart starts beating fast the defibrillator will send a shock to bring my heart rate back to a normal pace. I was told this implant keeps my heart going so I wear the defibrillator everywhere. This is how I am living. When I go to sleep at night I 35

Fall 2015

can have heart trouble and while I am still asleep it sends a shock that throws me up in the middle of night. When it throws me up I know my heart was in trouble. The doctors at the hospital monitor this when I go to the hospital they read my heart’s activity.

“Did you have a heart attack?” They will ask me.

“Yes.” I say.

“The reports say that the defibrillator shocked you.” I was told, “Take care of your heart.”

So this is what happened. I am also hard of hearing now. To this day we all have to deal with different kinds of disabilities that has taken the lives of many of the Elders in our communities. It seems like their lives were cut short. This is what I have seen with my own eyes when I think of all that has happened.

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Fall 2015 Sarah Alisabeth Fox’s informative history of downwinders in her 2014 book Downwind: A People’s History of the Nuclear West discusses how affected Navajo family members began to share their stories with one another about living near uranium mines that finally set off a wave of concern as more people became sick and died. The exposure to radiation became more evident as traditional Navajo ranchers saw their sheep that were stillborn or born deformed from season to season. As the risks from long-term exposure became visually evident, the voices from the affected communities became louder.

In order to make sense of the Navajo legacy of uranium, the affected communities organized, collected information with activists who heard their stories, partnered with scientists, researchers, nearby universities, and demanded an investigation into the problem of the now-abandoned uranium mines widespread throughout Navajo land. Slowly, it was the stories and concerns of Navajo mine workers and their families who got sick through time that built into a momentum that eventually led to Navajo people to want to tell their story to the greater public.

1

VCA Number Two: also known as Monument # 2, a uranium mine company leased out by Vanadium Corporation of America (VCA) from the Navajo Nation near Cane Valley, AZ beginning on August 3, 1943.

2

According to Arizona Geologic Services website Monument 2 produced more uranium from 1947 to 1970 than any other mine in the state of Arizona, with estimates ranging from 773,132 tons to 766,998 tons according to production history records. Cited from repository.azgs.az.govIcategory/place-keywords/cane-valley

3

The New England Journal of Medicine published a June 1984 report documenting that 72% of 32 lung cancer cases in the New Mexico Tumor Registry were attributed to Navajo men who worked in uranium mines.

4

Implantable cardioverter defibrillator (lCD): this medical device for heart patients have this surgically implanted in the chest for in the abdomen. A defibrillator is used by doctors to treat patients who have arrhythmias (irregular heartbeats) or have sudden cardiac arrest. http:ljwww.nhlbi.nih.gov/heatth/heatth-topics/topics/icd

Works Cited Fox, Sarah A. A People’s History of the Nuclear West. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014.

Samuel, Jonathan M., M.D., M.S., and Kutviri, Donald M., B.A, Waxweller, Richard J. Ph.D. “Uranium Mining and Lung Cancer in Navajo Men”: The New England Journal of Medicine, Volume 310 (1984); 1481-1484.

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Fall 2015

Bebe Makena

A Discussion of Individualism, Collectivism, and the Ecological Model

I

ndividualism and collectivism are two concepts that I have struggled with throughout my studies. My issue has not been the concepts contained in these theories; it has been the characterization of Westerners as predominantly individualistic. I have been frequently reminded of ways that Western families operate collectively, regardless of their ethnic or cultural orientation. The description provided by Gardiner and Kosmitzki (2011) helped me understand why Westerners have earned this label. According to the authors, individualistic cultures do focus on their families, but simply do not tend to extend their attention beyond this level. Collectivist cultures, in contrast, expand that focus to include their communities. Matsumoto and Juang (2008) state that this expanded focus is provided as an exchange for the loyalty of each individual member, which may be true, but brings up memories of mafia and gangland movies. I found a slightly different characterization of collectivism in an article on suicide by Range, et al. (1999). In it, the authors describe a Western response to suicide as wondering what was wrong with the person who attempted the act.

Conversely, a collectivist response wondered who in the community had influenced the person to make the attempt.

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Individualism and collectivism involve the interactions of systems such as would be found in Bronfenbrenner’s (1979) ecological model.

The ecological model seems to me to have been inspired by general systems theory, which states that a human being exists within, and is influenced by, internal biological subsystems and external environmental suprasystems. The original ecological model focused its attention on four external systems: the microsystem, mesosystem, exosystem, and macrosystem.

The chronosystem was later added as a fifth element. The microsystem describes the initial systems with which an individual comes into contact, such as the immediate family. Each system past that juncture describes larger and larger external systems ranging from extended family to cultural values. The chronosystem describes how these systems have patterned themselves over time.

At first glance, the concept of collectivism and the ecological model seem supportive of one another. The ecological model attempts to outline all aspects of the human experience, drawing the viewer’s attention to how the elements interact with one another to influence the development of a human being. Truly, per the model, a person’s development cannot be separated from the shaping guidance of any

Fall 2015 component. However, there are differences that identify the ecological model as a design derived from a Western perspective.

One simple difference is that a collectivist culture might not consider the individual as the center of any explanatory-exploratory model, which is precisely where the ecological model places the individual. Additionally, the ecological model, while focused on the external systems, acknowledges the internal systems of the individual, such as biology and personality.

A collectivist culture might take issue with this, giving rise to a second difference. A potent example of these differences can be seen in healthcare. Ubuntu is a dominant, collectivist South African ideology. Broadly, if any one person in a community behaves inappropriately or is physically ailing, the whole community is considered ill and health is restored only when all members are well (Krog, 2008; Washington, 2010). In contrast, an individualistic culture would consider the health of the individual as independent of the state of the community.

As often experienced within the Western medical model, curing the ailing person would primarily be a task focused only on the patient, and particularly on his or her biology. Social advocates within an individualist culture might consider using the ecological model to explain how one person’s well-being can impact, and be impacted by, the external systems within which she or he resides. In this way, the ecological model could be used to create a type of collectivism.

A third potential difference rests within the analytical features of the ecological model’s design. Gardiner and Kosmitzki (2011) describe the model as the embodiment of a theory that is closer to a philosophical guide than a practically applicable template. This can be an

issue in a Western culture that has embraced empirical evidence and scientific experiments.

Despite this Western concern, it is still an analytical perspective of systems that will have an effect upon an individual’s development. It assigns groups of people to different layers and interjects time as a context for patterns.

When I consider this last difference, I am reminded of my status as a Westernized outsider within my husband’s community. My husband is Native American. Time, extended family, and cultural values are not viewed in the same manner that I have experienced. Initially, I was inclined to examine his culture from an etic perspective, applying concepts inherent to the ecological model and individualistic approach.

While it was comforting to my sense of culture shock to use the familiar tools of analysis, I was failing to notice my husband’s emic perspective and, frankly, missing the validity of his culture’s worldview. Based on this experience,

...the design of the ecological model misses important concepts related to human development that are unique to each culture. it seems to me that an apples-to-apples type of analytical comparison assumes a universality of experience that expects every culture to have its own version of an apple. My husband’s culture did contain some parallel concepts, but it also contained concepts of which I had 39

Fall 2015 no knowledge, nor had I ever conceived. This tells me that the design of the ecological model misses important concepts related to human development that are unique to each culture.

In summary, the individualistic approach meshes well with the ecological model. Three similarities are: a.) the individual is placed in the center of the nested systems; b.) the subsystems of the individual are viewed within the context of the human being who marks the point of intersection between internal and external influences; and c.) the design of the model employs analytical tools that isolate system components into different hierarchical layers, placing the immediate family closest to the individual and thereby more likely to be considered as important to the individual. The three differences rest in the collectivist aspect of the model. They are: a.) the community, or other culturally relevant subject, is not the center of the model; b.) the sub-systems of the individual may be more dependent on the health of the community than the health of the person, making their placement in the hierarchical design questionable; and c.) the hierarchical and analytical aspect of the model’s overall design reflect a predominantly Western approach to understanding the overall context of the human experience.

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Works Cited Bronfenbrenner, U. (1979). The ecology of human development: Experiments by nature and design. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Gardiner, H. W., Mutter, J. D., & Kosmitzki, C. (2001). Lives across cultures: Cross-cultural human development. Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon.

Krog, A. (2008). ‘...if it means he gets his humanity back...’: The worldview underpinning the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Journal of Multicultural Discourses, 3(3), 204-220. doi:10.1080/17447140802406891 Matsumoto, D., & Juang, L. (2008). Culture and psychology (4th ed.). Belmont, CA: Thompson Wadsworth.

Range, L. M., Leach, M. M., McIntyre, D., Posey-Deters, P. B., Marion, M. S., Kovac, S. H., Banos, J. H., and Vigil, J. (1999). Multicultural perspectives on suicide. Aggression and Violent Behavior, 4(4), 413430.

Washington, K. (2010). Zulu traditional healing, Afrikan worldview and the practice of Ubuntu: Deep thought for Afrikan/Black psychology.

Journal of Pan African Studies, 3(8), 24-39.

Aaron Kelly Anderson

Fall 2015

Lifeblood Runs Thin ..

Healing Through Tales of Trauma

I

t was during high school when I first heard one of the four chief folktales of Chinese tradition: all about a woman who shattered a monument with her sorrow. Long ago, a man died of exhaustion while working on the Great Wall of China. His wife’s grief was so intense that her tears continued for days on end, eventually soaking into the stone of the Wall and cracking it open—revealing the bones of her husband buried inside. In the introduction to his book, Idema (2008) discusses how this national legend is “an embodiment of all the suffering of the people in the old society” (p. 21). In other words, this was not about the crippling trauma of one fictional character, but of many actual human beings. The story fulfilled the purpose of many folktales of its kind—it featured an essential truth accepted by the masses. Grief and the resulting trauma are unifying experiences; we can all relate to them somehow. For a while now, I have been fascinated by how we capture our traumatic moments in narrative form, and I am even more interested in how techniques of curanderismo can be used for healing that trauma. In this essay, I trace the development of the trauma narrative through a few key tales and then propose a potential approach for curanderos/as in treating that trauma through a kind of spiritual listening.

Now, of course, “grief ” and “trauma” are not one and the same. The latter is the leftover emotional instability from the former or from another cause altogether: injury, witnessing violence, and so on. Supposedly, it is a concept as old as humanity itself. The legend of the wailing lady, named Meng Jiang, is roughly 2,500 years old (Idema, 2008, p. 5), but we can extend even farther back in time to see how storytelling has been used to express—and perhaps even assuage—a traumatic experience. Practitioners of Santeria, for example, will tell you all about Osain, the severely scarred god of vegetation.

His name is conjured in their healing rituals, where many medicinal herbs are used, and is said to represent a half-complete kind of natural world—the kind that is still ignored by much of the human race. In fact, the “twisted branch [that Osain uses to help him walk] has become the symbol by which he is usually recognized” (De La Torre, 2004, p. 77). There are a few various versions of the tale where Osain originally became deformed, losing an arm and a leg and damaging his ears—by a lightning bolt, a collapsing house, or something else entirely. He was the victim of a catastrophe, and his injuries are a constant reminder of that trauma. Yet, his capacity as a healer is still embraced and celebrated today. It is an

41

Fall 2015 interesting connection, how a deity marked by trauma is an emblem for healing powers. Osain is an orisha (god-manifestation) of the Yoruba, who apparently derived from tribes that existed as far back as the seventh century BC. His backstory is fraught with trauma, but continues to speak to many human beings on a spiritual level and give us fortitude.

And that is the major point when observing the link between trauma and storytelling traditions. It is present in cultural mythologies, nationally recognized folktales, and other areas. But what about those moments when the connection is made? Let’s return to that comparison between “grief ” and “trauma.” We do assign a great deal of metaphors to those experiences that lead us to grieve, and those reflections can enlighten us in terms of how trauma works and fits into narrative forms. For example, Jones (2013) discusses how she used to steer clear of the term “grief ” whenever she felt any hint of sadness. Furthermore, she refers to a “fool” character of Somali folklore, Igal Shidaad, and the tale of his lion hunt. Igal comes across an imposing shadow in the middle of the night and stays awake until dawn, crouching in fear.

In the morning, that same shadow reveals itself to be a tree stump. For Jones, the shadow is the

before confronting her grief, she carried it around like a moderate traumatic reaction... term “grief,” which is actually a stumpy object that we need not fear. With a counselor’s help, 42

she realized that her grief was the result of her children returning to Kenya for school, and she could move past the confusion of her unnamed feelings. Jones had this same experience every year, when the break ended and her kids had to start school once again. Before confronting her grief, she carried it around like a moderate traumatic reaction; it rocked her spiritual core each time.

Whenever someone has a trauma burning away at them—affecting their physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual health—it needs to be captured and released. Sculpting that trauma into a story is a crucial skill that can help many people like a soothing ointment. Sunwolf (2013) has studied the role of folktales in this capacity and concludes that not only storytelling, but “story-listening” as well, can have healing effects on anyone from grieving relatives to AIDS patients. It is not a miracle cure-all, of course, but it eases the discomfort of an ailment that someone has to drag around every day. For her part, Sunwolf links the treatment of grief, trauma, or illness to several many storytelling traditions: The Arabian Nights, the Cinderella tale of “Donkeyskin,” and even the wisdom of Leslie Marmon Silko. All of them have references to coping with routine troubles or the intense tragedies that cause more profound grief. We can either relate our own stories, refer to tales stretching back to antiquity, or listen intently to the stories of our peers. Any which way, according to Sunwolf, you embark on a path of efficient healing. That is why we need to share our daily storytelling traditions much more consciously and use them more often as medicine. This is the idea for curanderismo that I will propose in a moment—to share the storytelling process face-to-face for healing purposes.

Fall 2015 In terms of how we create that storytelling experience, there is always a firm sense of community attached to it. Whenever it’s a tale that means a lot to you, you draw from the lifeblood of your family or your cultural lineage—and trauma causes that lifeblood to run thinner.

Your worldview is deformed by that traumatic event, and making sense of it is a rigorous chore. Once you feel comfortable enough to recount that experience, though, you engage in a very important meaning-making activity.

Denham (2008) takes a psychiatric approach and speaks to the Si John family of the Coeur d’Alene tribe, victimized by Jesuit missionaries who arrived in the mid-1800s. Each member of the family has a particular traumatic experience to narrate, like when the daughter had to stay in Europe and was so overwhelmed by the cross-cultural conflict; she states that it was her grandparents’ voices that encouraged her to keep soldiering along (Denham, 2008, p. 407).

The stories are already there, coursing through that legacy, that bloodline. The fact that it is a shared experience, sometimes for hundreds of years, means that your trauma narrative may not only belong to you. But that is exactly how other storytellers can be present with you on a spiritual level and lead you towards that path of healing. In that context, Mills (2006) has constructed an activity where her students become familiar with an ancient Hawaiian tale about the human soul being a “bowl of light” and then sculpt their own bowls to represent their spiritual fulfillment. By hearing that story and re-creating one of its central images, healing is achieved at least on an individual level—but then a community still evolves from a willing group of students sculpting together and sharing this narrative experience. In the same light, the “family trauma narrative process”

prescribed by Kiser, Baumgardner, and Dorado (2010, p. 246) connects to the example of the Si Johns in Denham’s article and can serve as an outlet for families to sort through a shared traumatic event.

That is precisely the dynamic I explore through the lens of curanderismo practices. One healer meets with a visitor, who has a trauma

the key is to ascertain the trauma that burns away inside a person and extract it by concentrated narrative means. narrative to tell. The curandero/a listens with intention, hand-in-hand with the visitor, and helps to harness as much comforting energy as possible from the exchange. The key is to ascertain the trauma that burns away inside a person and extract it by concentrated narrative means. In his book Healing with Herbs and Rituals, Torres (2006) discusses a form of “magical fright,” or susto, which sounds eerily like how a patient or practitioner of Western medicine would explain the spiritual effects of trauma: “Receiving bad news can cause susto, as can any bad scare. It is thought such a scare can temporarily drive the person’s spirit or soul from the body” (p. 14). Simply put, trauma threatens to split a person in two. It is the responsibility of the healer to keep those two in sync, but it is also the victim’s responsibility to put effort into that same process. Both the healer and the subject must work in tandem, with solid intention. Even though traditional remedies usually involve a broom or an egg 43

Fall 2015 (Torres, 2006, pp. 24-26), there are other options available in terms of why it may be possible to use the narrative method.

The healer must sit face-to-face with the visitor, in comfortable positions, and give that person a reassuring disclaimer—that they are not required to share anything especially painful to them. Then, the healer leads the visitor in a few stretching and loosening exercises, to calm that person even further. Even before someone begins their narrative, it is necessary to make the body rested and secure. Van der Kolk (2014) holds that traumatic experiences can manifest as harmful bodily sensations, like the general numbness felt by one Vietnam veteran (p. 14).

Once the visitor feels more serene, they will also feel more prepared to share the narrative.

This person and the healer join hands and close their eyes, before the visitor eases into the story and explores whatever details are comfortable to them. As far as whether this process will work effectively for trauma victims, only time and repeated attempts will tell.

This approach will hopefully be a new frontier in the link between trauma narration and healing methods, particularly for these folk healing traditions. In this essay, we have a few examples of how folktales and other stories can have restorative effects for the teller or the listener—some of them extend centuries back and have many cross-cultural implications.

That discussion leads into more current examples with families and other cultural units and their systems of creating narratives based on shared trauma. How we think of “trauma” in Western science actually has a solid link with how we describe “magical fright” in curanderismo, but the narrative approach is perhaps not yet connected to susto treatment in that tradition. At the very least, we do know 44

of storytelling as a natural remedy used by the masses, transcending our ideas of culture and community. So, whether the trauma has occurred on an individual or societal level, we can tap into a certain legacy by calmly sharing our tales with someone prepared to engage in meaningful story-listening. Healing is therefore achieved by connecting through the palpable energy in our hands, the compassionate intention in our hearts, and the complex rhythms in our voices.

Works Cited De La Torre, M. A. (2004). Santeria: The beliefs and rituals of a growing religion in America. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing.

Denham, A. R. (2008). Rethinking historical trauma: Narratives of resilience. Transcultural Psychiatry, 45(3), 391-414. http://dx.doi. org/10.1177/1363461508094673 Idema, W. L. (2008). Meng Jiangnü brings down the Great Wall: Ten versions of a Chinese legend. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press.

Jones, R. P. (2013, April 24). So this is grief. Retrieved from http://www. djiboutijones.com/2013/04/so-this-is-grief/ Kiser, L. J., Baumgardner, B., & Dorado, J. (2010). Who are we, but for the stories we tell: Family stories and healing. Psychological Trauma, 2(3), 243-249. http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/a0019893 Mills, J. (2006). The Bowl of Light: A story-craft for healing. In L. Carey (Ed.), Expressive and creative arts methods for trauma survivors (pp. 207-213). London, England, UK: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

Sunwolf. (2013, October 8). Grief tales: The therapeutic power of folktales to heal bereavement and loss. Retrieved from http://healingstory. org/grief-tales-the-therapeutic-power-of-folktales-to-healbereavement-and-loss/ Torres, E. (2006). Healing with herbs and rituals: A Mexican tradition. T. L. Sawyer (Ed.). Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press.

Van der Kolk, B. (2014). The body keeps the score: Brain, mind, and body in the healing of trauma. New York, NY: Penguin.

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