IMAGINATION: FEM Winter 2017 by FEM Newsmagazine

I M A G IN

A T I O N FEM’S Winter 2017 Publication UCLA’s Feminist Newsmagazine Since 1973

Editors Note

This is FEM’s first print issue in five years. Our theme this time around is imagination, which feels timely. I’ve been thinking about what can scare a group of white fascists (such as the ones sitting in the White House), and I’ve realized that it is the power of imagination – the power that we harness when we organize, create, and survive with our communities. And we do only survive because of our imagination. Marginalized people are resilient because we cannot afford to let go of it, to stop asking questions about what a better world might look like. I hope that FEM can be that space in which we imagine, build, and create together. I hope that the words you will read and the art you will see in this issue provoke new ideas, new visions, and new paths for you. My staff has worked incredibly hard on this issue – as I mentioned before, this is our first print issue in five years (thanks to a lack of funding from a neoliberal institution). Intersectional feminist journalism is important now more than ever, and I know that we all together have a powerful place in the resistance – this issue is only the first of many, many steps we will take together.

Tulika Varma Editor in Chief

FEM BOOK REVIEW KERRI YUND

“Crybaby,” Rutgers University graduate student Caitlyn Siehl’s second collection of poetry, opens with a simple, brave dedication: “heal loudly.” This tone of both vulnerability and strength becomes the cornerstone of her work, as she guides the reader through a journey of 56 free-verse poems about love and its limits. Siehl writes a world where the mundane is fantastical, imagining over and over the scenarios that many encounter in their lives of love, heartbreak, and self-worth. Her personal brand of feminism and empowerment pulses from the poems, but without ever being preachy, “Crybaby” feels like a healing, unflinchingly honest conversation. Siehl presents love and longing in many different forms. Her poems each feel like self-contained stories, yet they complement each other as part of a broader narrative. There is an inclusivity that is organic and universalizing as she describes moments of love between people of different sexual orientations and throughout history. There is love between women, in poems such as “When Hanna Met Margaret,” and between men in a pair of poems told from the perspectives of Greek heroes Achilles and Patroclus. Thus, when speaking of human emotion, Siehl imagines a world that is not removed from our own, but a reflection of it and our diversity of life. At “Crybaby”’s core is the concept of desire, whether it is for something that does not yet exist, or for something that is lost. Siehl is fascinated with the way desire shapes human lives.

There is impure, unsolicited desire in “Club Boys,” which describes the way women are often groped and objectified by men in clubs -- “they make a body a war/ a body a secret, / a tragedy.” Conversely, poems such as “Most of the Time” and “Flower Boy,”depict a physical desire that is consensual and shameless, as well as romantic and domestic desires. Lastly, she explores desires born from loss. Sometimes, she says, a person fantasizes about a reality that will never exist. In these cases, Siehl is patient and understanding, yet firm in stating the way forward, as seen in the poem “Handy Guide to Navigating the Fantasy.” Throughout the poem, “the fantasy” is an imagined love or relationship, and thus it is structured in a series of steps for coping when you realize that love is unattainable. These almosts and has-beens of love speak strongly to 22 year-old Siehl’s disillusioned generation. Whereas society has told her as a woman to be dependent and look down on being feminine, sexual, and over-emotional, she embraces these qualities in her work. She tells women to call themselves “living girl[s]” and that “no one alive can hurt you.” While delighting in the endless possibilities of love, “Crybaby” also knows loss and the inevitability of it. The concluding poem of the collection is titled “Loveless” where she confidently states “I always talk about love / but I’ve seen a life / where I can live without it.” This is not a solemn admission that relationships always fail, but rather an acknowledgement that there are many powerful kinds of love, and one of the most important is the type felt for yourself.

Nasty Woman Nasty Woman After President Donald Trump’s (in)famous “nasty woman” comment about his opponent Hillary Clinton, feminists across the nation embraced the label and started a conversation on the meaning of female “nastiness.” At UCLA, FEM and Indus (the pan-South Asian organization) teamed up to organize a Nasty Woman photo campaign to affirm the nastiness of the womxn-identified folks on our campus. They set up camp on Janss Steps from 2-5 PM on Friday, November 4th, with a camera; people stopped by to take photos and talk about what being a nasty woman meant to them. It was an exercise in unpacking how nastiness is often assigned to womxn of color, womxn in STEM fields, and generally in male-dominated environments. Sanjana Nidugondi, President of Indus, says that the event was mainly a response to the toxicity of the Presidential election-related discourse: “The Nasty Woman campaign was made with the intent of amplifying the narratives and experi-

ences of femme identities at UCLA. The presidential election was an incredibly toxic time and [the] debates, articles, and interviews left the struggles of femme folx behind. We hoped to use this campaign as a way to re-center the narrative and we are incredibly lucky to have had so many folx participate. We know this campaign does not fully represent all experiences and identities.” Passers-by looked both excited and uncomfortable with the ongoing campaign, which was probably a sign that the campaigners were doing their job well; it is necessary work to bring feminism out in the open where people may not be used to seeing it. At the end, the campaign produced almost 50 photos that were then shared on social media over the next few days with the subjects’ inputs on “nastiness” as the captions.The campaign received positive feedback from the community and it was a good way to decompress and support womxn of color in the week before the election.

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ARTIST SPOTLIGHT:OHMME Experimental musicians Sima Cunningham and Macie Stewart are forging their own path through the Chicago music scene Sima Cunningham and Macie Stewart of OHMME (formerly known as HOMME) are making a name for themselves in the world of music, without compromising their

“Everyone is growing and not feeling like they’re in competition with each other, adds Stewart. “It’s remarkably supportive here.”

femininity or artistic process. Amidst the hype of the vibrant Chicago music scene,

When asked if they are feminists, OHMME responded with an absolute yes. Their

these women - artists, collaborators, and best friends - push the envelope sonically

womanhood and activism has a large impact on the music they create. Stewart

and reminisce about the city and people that have fostered their musical talent and

shares, “it comes out naturally just because we are women.”

experimentalism. Since their art is centered around pushing past established boundaries, it’s natural-

Cunningham agrees, adding “it’s based off our own experiences which happen to coincide with being feminists.”

ly difficult to label OHMME’s music. When asked, Cunningham and Stewart half-jok-

For OHMME, navigating the music industry has often been a gendered experi-

ingly offer up another journalist’s label of “freaky feminist folk.” Joking as it may be,

ence, especially when it comes to gaining media coverage. According to Cunning-

this title encompasses the powerful, soft, harmonic, and eerie sounds of OHMME

ham, “a lot of male artists get featured as ‘artists’ with a big capital A. They get

and the indie, folk, avant garde, and improvisational influences of their music. More

profiled as ‘need to understand their whole world’. Women are written about more

traditionally, though, OHMME identifies as “experimental rock(-ish)”. Cunningham

as performers.”

elaborates, “I would use ‘experimental’ [to describe] so much interesting, creative music.” Cunningham and Stewart often rely only on guitar and vocals within their mu-

Stewart adds that female artists get profiled more rarely. When they do, their relationship to a male artist is often the focus. “When you see something written about a female artists it’s always propped up by a dude.”

sic. Such basic instrumentation could come across as oversimplified or lacking, yet

Cunningham continues, “we’re of course proud of our collaborations, but that feels

OHMME blends guitar and vocals alone into an incredibly full sound. Even though

like really not central to who we are as artists. We are the artists that are creating

both Cunningham and Stewart are trained pianists, they chose to leave their musical

the music we hope people are excited about and want to know about, not how it

comfort zone for a new instrument: the electric guitar. “It was exciting because we

connects to this web of male musicians.”

didn’t feel as though we had as many preconceived ideas about how we wanted to

Despite the discrimination in music journalism, both women express great joy for

play it … I think that at the beginning we were just making a lot of noise with it and

the openness and acceptance of the music scene. Stewart explains, “there is an

enjoying making noise and out of the noise emerged songs,” Cunningham explains. Stewart explains that the first song they ever wrote together, “You, Your Face,” is

incredible wealth of super diverse female musicians, and it’s incredible to be part of this scene.”

a great representation of how they work together because it, “feels like it’s about

Cunningham adds, “There’s two sides to it where, you know, it could be so much

to fall apart at any second, but definitely stays together from this core of our inter-

further, but I also feel joyfully flooded with a lot of great music being created by

twining guitars.”

women these days.”

“We’ve developed a language without speaking,” says Stewart of their process. When it comes time to voice their opinions, “we’ll throw everything out there.” Through years of creating together, the two have reached a level of comfort and trust that allows them to soar past established boundaries. After a few years working exclusively as a duet, Cunningham and Stewart invited a drummer to enter the group to help them expand their musical realm while still maintaining their artistic spirit.

With a stellar self-titled EP released last year, OHMME is bound for an exciting future. These two women bring power, feminine energy, and a challenge to the status quo with everything they create. Whatever these talented women create next, it is sure to be groundbreaking. Cunningham continues, “we’re of course proud of our collaborations, but that feels like really not central to who we are as artists. We are the artists that are creating

Throughout their artistic journey, Cunningham and Stewart have engaged in some

the music we hope people are excited about and want to know about, not how it

incredible collaborations outside of OHMME. Cunningham laughs when asked about

connects to this web of male musicians.”

her recent collaboration with Donnie Trumpet - trumpeter, producer, and frequent

Despite the discrimination in music journalism, both women express great joy

collaborator with Chance the Rapper - as they’ve been close friends since high school,

for the openness and acceptance of the music scene. Stewart explains, “there is an

and have worked together for years. “Some time in high school he wrote this long

incredible wealth of super diverse female musicians, and it’s incredible to be part

poem and brought it to me and asked me if I would sing it for him,” she remembers.

of this scene.”

This is true for many of the names and sounds coming out of their Chicago neigh-

Cunningham adds, “There’s two sides to it where, you know, it could be so much

borhoods. “We’ve known all these really talented people since they were really

further, but I also feel joyfully flooded with a lot of great music being created by

young. They’re like our brothers and sisters.” These friendships are what have made

women these days.”

collaborations so enjoyable for both. For Stewart, “it makes it easy when you’re good friends with people and you’ve shared a lot of the same experiences.” OHMME stresses the importance of the artistic atmosphere in Chicago as an especially great place for collaboration, because of the open and encouraging nature of the community. “People aren’t married to genres at all in this city,” says Cunningham.

FACES OF RESISTANCE PATTY VIRAMONTES

Our anger is not blind. It is valid and worthy of being heard. We are not weak; the strength of our ancestors travels through our blood. We carry their unfinished battles, a responsibility to continue their fight.

F A C E O R E S I S T A N C

When we stand in a crowd protesting injustice, we echo their desires for a better world. We hear their voices, we feel their spirits.

In the midst of hate, our voices radiate hope. A hope we have learned to breathe in, even when clouds of smoke try to engulf us. Our yells for justice will not be silenced. We will not cower in the face of ideologies that dehumanize us. We shall resist. Resist hatred. Resist racism.

Resist those who threaten our communities, our livelihood, our safety.

With art, education, and imagination, we look forward. Together, we imagine a world better than today. We dream as an act of survival taught to us by those who came before. Hand in hand, we grasp onto our dream. Standing Tall We do not let hatred flood our imagination as we continue to imagine equality, justice, and peace through resistance. Because when our existence is attacked, We begin to love ourselves more.

Faces of Resistence

S F E 8

y mom and I had agreed my dad should go with me to my doctor appointment. After five years of battling health issues stemming from infection with Lyme disease, tapeworms, and Candida, we had found that as little as doctors believed what we were saying, regardless of the specific condition currently at the forefront of my medical challenges, they were exceedingly more apt to take our concerns seriously when the words were coming from my dad.

“WE JUST WANT TO LIVE.”

This particular day, my dad arrived after I had begun speaking with the doctor. The male practitioner greeted him with a handshake. I had received a mere nod of the head in the direction of the exam table. Almost immediately, the blood glucose tests for which I had repeatedly been asking for the past thirty minutes had been ordered. In short, once my dad had validated my pain and himself requested the procedures, the doctor believed they were necessary and complied with his demands.

WHAT’S IN A HAND SHAKE by Megan LeGresley

At least this time the tests were performed at all. On two other occasions, I had taken myself to the emergency room when my discomfort had become so excruciating that nbvvvbvbbvbvnvbnvvbbvb bv bv I was unable to go to work or return to my dorm after class. Because of the systematic Candida overgrowth (unknown to me at the time), I presented more or less the typical acute symptoms of a urinary tract infection. The first question was always the same: have you been sexually active? To me, their look read that I had simply gotten what I deserved for ostensibly sleeping around. Have some antibiotics, we don’t need to investigate further, we think we know what’s wrong with you. The antibiotics only further destroyed what was left of the beneficial flora in my gut and worsened the candidiasis. It was the same reaction as given by the numerous medical professionals who, over the years, had continuously inquired if I was pregnant. For if I was not pregnant, what other condition could possibly distress a woman? All of my symptoms had been put in the context of my use as a woman in relation to men. I found the causes of my mental and physical pain could allegedly only be sex or pregnancy. The sexism in medicine from the perspective of a patient had become increasingly clear over time. As I fought for the diagnosis of Lyme disease, I was “just stressed.” In battling to have my consequently infected appendix removed, the prevailing question was: “When was your last menstrual cycle?” I finally came to the self-researched realization that I had Candida entrenched in my digestive system and infiltrating my bloodstream only after several rounds of antibiotics for a nonexistent UTI.

16 9

Considering Lyme disease in particular, it is difficult enough for an individual of any gender identity to achieve recognition of the bacterial illness and even a semblance of effective treatment. We also typically have to pay all of the costs for medications out of pocket. All stages of the diagnostic and recovery process are worse for women and girls because of this invalidation of pain, a flippant attitude towards our well-being, and an apparent inability to think of us as more than a presumed object that carries a child. For example, in her study “The influence of gender on the frequency of pain and sedative medication administered to postoperative patients,” researcher Karen Calderone discovered that women presenting identical symptoms to men are often issued sedatives rather than pain-relieving drugs, lengthening one’s suffering from acute pain and increasing the chances that their health further deteriorates. At least, though, to those prescribing the drugs, these women are theoretically no longer as “emotional.” Overall access to medical services and the quality of treatment received are not only gendered but also vary significantly along class and race lines. The most recent National Healthcare Quality and Disparities Report affirms those in poor households had worse access to care than people in high-income households on all attainment measures through 2013. Likewise, in addition to experiencing limited access, African-Americans, Latinxs, Native Americans, and Alaska Natives received worse care than Whites for about 40% of quality measures and Asians for 20% of measures. I am fortunate to be close to regaining full health, and I have made it my mission to increase awareness of Lyme disease, candidiasis, and other “invisible” chronic health conditions that can be cured with proper medical attention. Regardless of the acute or chronic, mental and/or physical manifestations of a disease, neither gender, class, race, nor any other component of personal identity are reasons to narrow one’s mind and scope of practice about the underlying cause. When we say we are in pain, we have no reason to lie. We just want to live. We hope that you listen before it’s too late.

Race to Neuro Left

17 10

My family traveled to Mexico so my little brother, Thomas, could receive Advanced Stem Cell Therapy for Autism on Dec. 25, 2016. I felt extremely uneasy about this therapy, despite it being entirely safe—his own stem cells were used, and it was noninvasive. However, I continued to mull over the fixed goal of this treatment: to “cure” my brother’s Autism. In the common narrative used by able-bodied, neurotypical people, Autism is seen as a condition that needs to be cured. This treatment center was no different. On their website, the World Stem Cells Clinic boasts that they have “helped hundreds of…parents get their children closer to recovery,” and states that their treatment helps heal “some of the underlying gut and brain damage.” I, along with many in the Autistic community, ask: What do Autistic people need to recover from, and why is Autism associated with damage? On their website “Autistic Hoya,” disability activist Lydia X. Z. Hoya defines Autism as “a neurological, pervasive developmental condition.” She says that it is a disability, but it is in no way a disease. Yet a shocking majority of Autism research funding focuses on finding “the cure.” According to the Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN), only 1.5% of the National Institute of Health’s funding goes toward supporting adults with Autism, and only 2.4% goes toward bettering the quality of disability services. This means that 96.1% of research funding focuses on finding a cure, rather than focusing on the needs of Autistic people which include independence, equal opportunity, housing, and education. Many people in the disabled community adhere to the social model of disability, which states that disability is not caused by a person’s differences but created by a society that is only organized for able-bodied, neurotypical people. A Western society encourages “normal” social behaviors and ways of being, so neurodiversity is seen as something that needs to be fixed. Research, for instance, has spawned therapies that can both help and harm Autistic people. Different therapies work for different people, as the Autism community strongly upholds the belief that every Autistic person is unique. However, much criticism has fallen on the practice of Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA). Because it is a longstanding, widely accepted approach, ABA therapy is often described as extremely effective. But this effectiveness is based on the level of curability the therapy seems to create. ABA therapy was created by Dr. Ivar Lovaas at UCLA in the 1950s, he developed ABA on the basis of Autism being a deficiency: “You see, you start pretty much from scratch

when you work with an autistic child. You have a person in the physical sense — they have hair, a nose and a mouth — but they are not people in the psychological sense. One way to look at the job of helping autistic kids is to see it as a matter of constructing a person. You have the raw materials, but you have to build the person.” ABA was founded by a doctor who believed that Autistic people are not people. Disability activist and author Sparrow Rose Jones has written extensively about ABA on her blog, “Unstrange Mind.” Jones says that ABA’s main goal is to make an Autistic child look and act “normal.” It uses a reward system, encourages eye contact and speech, and discourages Autistic behaviors such as stimming — a natural response such as hand flapping, rocking, and vocal repetition that helps people with Autism handle overwhelming sensory input. All of these practices force Autistic people to believe that what makes them comfortable and happy is unnatural. For many people with Autism, ABA has understandably been a source of childhood trauma. My brother is in ABA therapy. For my family, ABA has helped immensely with violent behaviors such as hitting, pinching, and slapping. My brother is genuinely happy in school, but he is only one example of ABA success. Practices such as ABA and Advanced Stem Cell therapy for Autism, however, resolve or lessen a sense of fear experienced by many parents of children with Autism. My parents, like many others, desperately want what is best for their child. But they see that my 12-year-old, non-verbal Autistic brother faces an incredibly uncertain future as an adult with Autism, and they are rightfully scared. So, they turn to practices as described above, because as much as they want him to be happy, they also want him to be able to survive in a world that was not designed for Autistic people. I frequently imagine a world where my brother can be the happy, giggly, loud, and creative person he is. I dream of a society that understands that verbalization is not the only form of communication, that knows that direct eye contact is unsettling for many people with Autism, and that sees stimming as reprieve in an overstimulating world, rather than unacceptable social behavior. Many activists in the Autism community hope for the same and are working toward these goals every day. To them, Autism is another neurological type, no lesser or better than a neurotypical brain. To support this belief, disability activists are working to change the course of Autism research. There is no cure for Autism, nor do many Autistic people think they need to be cured. What they want is support in adulthood that will allow them to exist

independently and happily in the workplace, education, housing, and society. The Autistic Self Advocacy Network has a detailed description of their Autism activism goals on their website. They are striving for a world with greater understanding of people on the Autism spectrum. They want respect and inclusion. They want schools and workplaces that create an accommodating environment instead of encouraging the segregation of Autistic people in these spaces. Funding is needed for community services and supports so people with disabilities can equally participate in society. Public policy initiatives must be put in place to improve the quality of life of the Autistic community. They envision a society that accepts and nurtures differences, rather than one that encourages adherence to strict normative beliefs. All of these goals cannot be achieved if Autistic people are not first allowed the independence to make decisions for themselves. In ASAN’s guide “The Right to Make Choices: International Laws and Decision-Making by People with Disabilities,” guardianship laws are described in the United States. Currently, all 50 states have guardianship laws that vary in stature. Guardians are appointed by law to make decisions about another person’s life. However, a guardian does not have to be a parent; it can be another person, or the state government itself. Guardians have total control over big decision topics such as marriage, housing, education, and childbirth, even if the person under guardianship does not agree with their decisions. For this reason, ASAN and other disability rights activists are fighting to make “supported decision-making” the primary method by which people with disabilities are given support. Supported decision-making allows “a person with a disability [to choose] someone to help them understand or communicate a decision. The person with a disability is free to make their own decisions but has help from the supporter.” With guaranteed independence, people with disabilities will have the opportunity to flourish on their own. Thomas’s future is uncertain, as many of ours are. My biggest hope for him is that he can live a life he loves. My parents do not want Thomas to be in a dull, underfunded government home when they die. They want him in an environment where he can prosper, rather than be drained of all creativity and freedom. For this reason, it is extremely likely that Thomas will eventually fall under my care, if he needs assistance in adulthood at all. I am hopeful that when he is an adult, more accommodations will be made to support him in adulthood. In the future, I want nothing more than to be his biggest supporter.

Commander-in-chief.

Assure everyone you’re not a hipster. You won’t be able to deny this neighborhood is turning over from brown to white as affluent young college grads like yourself discover how cool it is to live in a mid-century Edwardian down the street from a taqueria, a used bookstore, and a thrift shop. But as you unlock your neon fixie from the bike-shaped bike rack outside the new whiteowned boba shop, laugh and remind everyone you’re not a hipster. Bike over to the park that sits cradled between a historically queer neighborhood and a historically poor neighborhood, and as you lounge on the freshly installed grass, admire the musky smell of marijuana, fruity and pungent and prescribed to healthy white twenty-somethings, and tell yourself you’re not a hipster. As you stand waiting for your Uber outside the corner laundromat with the flickering lights, the musty aroma of detergent wafting from the vents, and the hand-written sign in the window explaining in bad English that next weekend they’ll be closing for good, gently curse the faults of the capitalist free market economy and applaud yourself for being so progressive. Then, when the overpriced, white-owned Asian fusion eatery with aged spruce tables opens up where the laundromat used to be, take your friends there just to try it. It’s going to be good, because the chef did her apprenticeship at that famous culinary institute in Switzerland, but lament the fact that the owners of the laundromat, who used to live in the apartment upstairs, had to move to Palo Alto. It wasn’t your fault. After all, it’s not that people like you are the problem. You spend all day working hard like everyone else. You’re developing the next big app that will pick you up, do your laundry, and all those other things Mom used to do. People like you are bringing modernity and safety to these cracked, dying neighborhoods.

GENTRIFICATION

by Laura Jue

THE INVADER’S DILEMMA You understand you’re privileged (you took that social justice seminar in college), and you know that privilege might be why your hair-gelled landlord hasn’t tried to evict you to rent out your apartment as an AirBnB that he could charge more for. But you ignore the green-trimmed Victorian across the street that used to house three immigrant families, that now stands condemned after the authorities deported them to Mexico. You don’t have to think about the Salvadoran family who lived above the corner store down the block and who lost their ten-year-old daughter in the fire that left their home a sulfuric pile of burnt wood and ash. It was the fourth fire in this neighborhood in three months, but the landlord denied it was related to the fact that the apartment was rent controlled. But, as you hand your check over to your grinning landlord, remind yourself that it’s not your fault. You’re just trying to make it in this city too.

Ten years later you are a success. You got a cushy job at a startup, so you can work from home if you want. You watched the neighborhood turn over from brown to white, the streets get patched up and new geometric buildings of metal and concrete rise from dirt lots, the scrawling tags get scrubbed from garage doors. When the murals started to crack and fade, the city painted over them since the artists couldn’t afford rent anymore and the warehouses they couldn’t keep up to code went up in literal flames. The streets no longer clash with bright colors; instead they are a sleek, modern white. Reminisce about the days when the damp narrow alleys used to say something with stenciled, spray painted figures and bright red, white, and green depictions of the people who used to live here, showing miniscule onlookers the vast array of culture, music, art, and life that used to make this neighborhood thrive. Shrug, and think, “At least it doesn’t smell like piss anymore.”

Meni Nism

(696)969-6969 | overcompensation@gmail.com

Objective-

My objective is to create an environment that fosters true equality, by allowing both men and women the spaces to air their grievances and truly be themselves. Nowadays, the anarchy of feminism has quelched the traditional man from exploring his masculinity fully. Whether that means nestling in a tower of Heinekens or racing in sports cars, I’m your guy!

ExperienceMan Cave Initiative | The Stone Age-Present Since the dawn of time (my time, which is the dawn of time), Man has needed a space to himself, whether it’s to unwind after a hard day of hunting or heaving guttural screams during annual hot babes advertisements with sports breaks in between. My team and I developed a supreme man cave, packed full of prime beer and ribs from convenience stores of your choice. It’s every real man’s dream come true. The Battle of Trollgate | Advent of the Internet A few years ago, a group of buzzkill feminists got together to curb the voice of humour on the internet. It was a downright violation of the Freedom of Speech Act, a prerequisite to the world of internet jokes. During this dark time our fellow men united in the only way we knew how: by using the power of our keyboards to write really sick burns against their feminist tirades. This resulted in The Battle of Trollgate on the Meninist Facebook page. The brutal battle lasted over 48 hours, and the mass slaughtering of oversized egos lost us many men. But we emerged victorious, and continue to fight valiantly for free speech and diversity of thought.

EducationThe School of Man | Ongoing Taught primarily by my macho, masculine man of a father, I have learnt the art of making swole gains and getting laid. My plush chest hair and athletic prowess gave me the confidence to channel my anger in healthy ways, like shoving puny underclassmen into lockers. Unfortunately, oversensitive, sexist teachers and parents called it bullying. Because of this discrimination, I unfortunately got kicked out of high school. Milo Yunopolis’ School of Truth | 2012-2014 Took a two-year intensive course in analysing and debunking liberal media’s rhetorical garbage. My experience at the School of Truth opened my eyes to the rampant inequality between sexes, and the dire need for men to stand up for their rights. While at the school, I learnt how to strategize my statements with the use of necessary tools (such as hyperbole, used in the “Feminism is Cancer” event) in a way that convinces masses to believe in the righteous words of our leader.

Skills-

- Can create sick, infallible arguments, which frustrated people mislabel as trolling. - Great at planning events that cater to the needs of real men. - Experienced in creating memes on photoshop, which can be used to protest against vile feminists. - Overall fearless warrior against tyranny of sexist feminists. by Anandamayee Singh

STAFF ART SPREAD Cover: Staff Art

Untitled 1 by Tina Duong

Untitled 2 by Tina Duong

X-Rays by Lena Howell

Maddy M. Flower Series by Maddy Pease

Close by Lena Howell

Veil by Lena Howell

Self Salvation by Carmen Li

We Are by Kitty Hu

even half of a half of a half by Katherine Q

Space by Jenny Dodge

The United States of America was forged by the hands of foreigners on land inhabited for thousands of years by indigenous peoples. This country now calls those from other regions - including those native to the continents - “immigrants.” But it also thrives off the labor of those marked “illegal.” Human beings fleeing poverty, civil war, drug violence - issues sparked and fueled by the United States government - are stamped unprofitable, damaging to our economy, a burden on American taxpayers. What we don’t often hear are the stories of the people risking everything and making harsh sacrifices to cross the US-Mexico border. The lack of opportunity and poverty that drives millions of people to this border every year is a direct result of the United States government's manipulation of the administrations of Latin American states. Beginning with the Monroe Doctrine, the United States has intervened in nearly every conflict in Latin America and more damaging still, has covertly sparked unrest and supported totalitarian regimes to strengthen the American dollar at the expense of Central American lives. It has allowed for the creation of a large drug market in its own borders, but has aggressively inserted itself into the “war on drugs” across the border in Mexico. Most notably, the region known as the Northern Triangle faced devastating civil wars in the late twentieth century. The violence has led to grim humanitarian crises that are often overlooked by the United States’ media: genocide against the Mayan people in Guatemala, the murderous political persecution of young men in El Salvador, and severe poverty in Honduras - all of which these nations have yet to recover from. The United States’ funding and training of the military regimes re-

sponsible for the majority of the brutality in these conflicts is consistently concealed. The use of the label “illegals” to describe these individuals is incredibly damaging and dehumanizing. Latina journalist Maria Hinojosa further explains: “Illegals is not a noun… What you cannot do is to label a person illegal… I learned it from Elie Wiesel, who survived the Holocaust, who said, ‘You know what, the first thing they did was that they declared the Jews to be an illegal people.’ This is real fear.” Whether in mainstream media or in political and legislative discourse, it is crucial to remember that the “safety threats,” “illegal aliens,” and “indocumentados” are all human beings. The following dialogue is but one illustration that they are people with complex backgrounds, rich stories, and unwavering hope. Los Inmigrantes - A Conversation Between Two Mothers from Mexico Ubelina is waiting to hear back from U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services; her application to become a permanent resident was submitted months ago. Her husband recently became a U.S. citizen. She looks across the table at Irma, her close friend from the same area in the Mexican Sonoran Desert. They exchange a knowing look of hope mixed with apprehension. As we sit in Irma’s small kitchen, we discuss their experiences as immigrants to this country, how her son is doing in school, and the fears they have about the new administration. Irma received her permanent resident status three years ago. That means she can now submit her application to become a naturalized citizen. Ubelina has lived undocumented in this country for eighteen years now, during which time she has not dared leave San Diego. She describes it as a cage, but with little

resentment in her voice. Irma has lived in the United States for twenty years and has been less cautious than her friend, leaving the city, sometimes even the country, to visit family and friends. In those first years, while her visitor visa was still valid, she had more freedom. She never had to live completely undocumented, having secured a Social Security number through marriage within her first years living here. However, after divorcing her first husband before she could become a legal resident, she remained in the country, working and living illegally. Once her visa expired, she became an “illegal,” and with the political climate quickly heating up, she too was stuck in one place. ¿Qué fue tu inspiración para venir? ¿Que te motivó? // What inspired you to come? What was your motivation? Ubelina: “Mi inspiración fue un mejor trabajo, un estilo de vida mejor, y poder ayudar a mis papás. Eso fue mis intenciones más importantes… Estaba desempleada, y mis primos me dijeron nosotros te vamos ayudar a cruzar y vas a encontrar trabajo y me pintaron todo muy bonito.” “My inspiration was to find a better job, a better quality of life, and to help my parents. Those were my most important goals … I was unemployed, and my cousins told me they’d help me cross [the border] and that I’d find a job. They painted a very pretty picture.” Ubelina’s cousins painted a picture all too familiar to Latinx immigrants. Nearly all of them know by now that the journey to El Norte (the North) can be long and treacherous, but they feel it is worth it. They believe in the American Dream salaries in dollars instead of pesos,

abundant jobs, and a prosperous, financially secure life. Irma came to the US when she was 19 and pregnant, knowing her chances to make a life on her own in Mexico were limited. Pressure from her family to live at home or live with a husband gave her little room to be her own person. She saw moving to the United States as a chance to live independently and as an opportunity to provide a better life for her child. For those who make it to the border, waiting to cross means anxiously waiting to see if they’ll be given the chance they’re hoping for. Ubelina’s cousins did help her across; she came in the trunk of their car. She said: “Todo salió bien a la hora de cruzar. Por la línea en una cajuela de un carro … tenia mucho miedo. Y escuché al migra cuando dijo “A dónde vas?!” … y dijo “Puedes pasar.” Y sentí como no sabes! Pues, sentí mucho gusto!” “Everything turned out fine when it was time to cross … I was very scared. I heard el migra when he yelled ‘Where are you going?!’ … and he said ‘Go ahead’ and I felt like, you can’t even imagine… I felt very happy.” For others, it can be more complicated. Mexican and Central American immigrants still risk their lives crossing through the Rio Grande, a dangerous experience from which the racial slur ‘wetback’ was derived. Others enter by paying “coyotes” – guides – to transport them in cars or trucks; coyotes may also lead them across holes in the border, guiding them on foot through the hot desert or through tunnels. All of these forms of passage pose incredible risks - especially to women and young girls. The conditions women and young girls are fleeing in Mexico, and farther south, constitute a humanitarian crisis as much as they do a feminist catastrophe. In recent years the amount of research done on the experiences of migrants has greatly increased; concurrently, so has the knowledge of the unavoidable peril of sexual

violence. Research conducted at universities, including UCLA, exposes the prevalence of femicide in Guatemala, and persistence of gang violence in Honduras and El Salvador during and after the civil wars in these countries. Ubelina’s eyes light up at this question. She quickly says that she has so many. I ask if she’d like to return to school, and she exclaims, “Yes, of course!” She says she has many ideas for businesses and projects. More than anything, she dreams of returning home to see her parents, whom she hasn’t seen in twenty years. She hopes her son can go back to her hometown and that he can wake up in the same house where she grew up. Irma recently enrolled in community college here in the United States; after not finishing high school in her hometown, it’s a dream realized for her to go back to her education. She was even able to travel back to Sonora where she (and Ubelina) spent their childhoods. She looks over at Ubelina and tells her, “Amiga, you cannot even imagine the feeling of joy the first time you breathe the desert air again.” Immigrants are not solely giving up their hometowns or the houses in which they grew up; they are sacrificing their countries, their language, their families, and that is a very large price to pay. Even though both women have had to continuously uproot their lives and their families to follow work or to find a new place to live when rent goes up, they both acknowledge that it could have been worse. Ubelina works with many women who walk and take the bus for long distances to get to the houses where she now works. They exhaust their bodies for as little as $40 a day, with no medical insurance and no certainty of their stay in this country. When you are undocumented, you have little room and little confidence to demand better labor conditions. The label “undocumented” or “illegal immigrant” haunts many. It affects day-to-day life, imposing clear limitations on where you can go and who you can trust. Both women talk about how they share their “status” with very few people. That word is all too familiar on

our tongues. “What’s your status … illegal or not?” It shapes your experiences and can signal privilege or danger. These women are just two of an estimated 13.9 million immigrants from Mexico and Central America, roughly 11.6 million of which are undocumented. These numbers do not include the millions from Caribbean and South American nations and territories, and are believed to be underreported because of the secrecy surrounding undocumented populations. The policies of the Obama and Trump administrations alike have put these populations in danger. While President Obama has worked to guarantee more rights for DREAMers and their parents, he has also mandated the deportation of millions of people, including the surging numbers of unaccompanied minors from Central America. This wave of young migrants is a direct result of the lack of security in their home countries. Many children attempt to reunite with their families who are already in the U.S., and others flee increasing gang and domestic violence. The response to this surge was largely one of apprehension, detention, and deportation. The budget for detention centers rose, as did funding to the Mexican government for their contentious Southern Border Plan (Programa Frontera Sur) to apprehend Central Americans before they are able to reach the United States. Instead of creating avenues (such as a path to citizenship or granting asylum) that would give these children and their families hope, the Obama administration stifled their entry and sent them back to the violence they were trying to escape. The Trump administration is poised to continue this strategy - and to go even further. President Trump’s rhetoric perpetuates the stigma against immigrants in this country, painting them as rapists and criminals. The truth is that there aren’t millions of criminal immigrants in this country. Reports cited by the Wall Street Journal indicated that along with the surge in im-

migrants populations, there was a decrease in criminal rates. CNN Politics further examined the conflation of criminality and immigration status, arguing (as does PolitiFact) that this conflation is largely unbased in fact and statistics. The focus should then be shifted to the millions of hardworking women, men, and children who are dreaming for a better future, in order to conceive a humanitarian solutions to this crisis. But there have been glimpses of hope. The University of California system, along with many other campuses and universities, has vowed to protect undocumented students. Sanctuary cities, including Los Angeles, have promised to do the same and have been outspoken in their criticism of Trump’s bombast. The State of California will soon vote on legislation that would ensure greater legal representation for undocumented immigrants facing deportation. All of these efforts are important and necessary in protecting the rights of millions. Most important is for all of us to continue to see these people as humans with individual struggles and sacrifices. They are not a great threat to national security; they are facing personal threats to their lives, dignity, and well-being which have driven them to our country. The United States has the responsibility and the ability to open its doors instead of building more walls. I am the daughter of a young woman who was once deemed “illegal,” someone who crossed the very path others want to block with a wall, a woman who is a number in the statistics thrown at us about immigrants in this country. What I want others to see is that she, along with the millions of other young women and girls who come to this country, are strong mothers and daughters, fearless individuals whose sacrifices are made towards the future they’ve imagined as only being possible in the United States.

Founded in 2015, The Lavender Health Alliance is a studentrun organization at UCLA that focuses on issues the health industry poses to members of the LGBTQ+ community, as patients and as aspiring health care practitioners. Accessible healthcare is a problem now more than ever for Americans, but LGBTQ+ individuals face unique health disparities. Research from the Office of Disease Prevention and Health Promotion suggests that these disparities have led to high rates of substance abuse, psychiatric disorders, risk of STDs/HIV and suicide amongst LGBTQ+ individuals. A member of the Lavender Health Alliance, who wished to remain anonymous, agreed to talk about the organization with FEM. FEM: What organization are you a part of and what does the organization advocate for? LHA: The Lavender Health Alliance [LHA] is dedicated to exploring the intersections of Health Care, the LGBTQ Community, and any person’s career-oriented identity. LHA was founded in 2015 on the principle that every LGBTQ+ individual deserves health equity. FEM: How does your program specifically relate and adhere to the LGBTQ+ community? LHA: We seek to learn about the pressing health issues that LGBTQ+ individuals face, to educate others about these issues, and to align ourselves with current and prospective LGBTQ+ health practitioners. The color lavender represents the historical combination of the purple triangle for lesbian women and pink for gay men during the Holocaust. The mixing of these colors also symbolizes our organization’s value in fluidity of genders and sexualities; there is no black and white, only gray. FEM: Do you feel your organization is important to today’s society, and if so why? LHA: In addition to educating the campus community on the health disparities facing the LGBTQ+ community, LHA prides itself in being a source of mentorship for queer youth specifically interested in the STEM field: science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. We partner with the queer medical student organization, MedGLO, at the David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA; they provide medical student mentors to our undergraduate students. Personally, this has

been immensely helpful for in figuring out my path in the health field and how my queer identity may have an impact in my professional undertakings. So overall, our mentorship program by extension is enabling the development of a community filled with well rounded health care practitioners [who are] knowledgeable about LGBTQ+ issues. FEM: What do you think of when you hear the word “imagination” and how do you think it relates to your program? LHA: This program began on the imagination of UCLA students who believed in a future of equity in health care for all people regardless of sex, sexual orientation, or any other aspect of that person’s identity. [LHA] was [founded] on the belief that members of our community will no longer face discrimination while trying to meet their health care needs. FEM: Are there any events that your organization is planning to host in the future? LHA: Since the start, LHA has raised concerns regarding the inequalities facing the LGBTQ+ community specifically regarding the realm of health. For example, the FDA has long deferred “men who have sex with men,” or MSMs, from donating blood indefinitely. As of 2015, they have lifted this MSM ban and replaced it with a 1 year deferral period. This is problematic because it reinforces the stigma that gay men are the main sources of HIV/AIDs in the global community. However, it does not effectively screen for the disease and ends up being a more socially harmful heuristic than a simple precautionary measure. So, each year LHA hosts a blood drive where non-MSMs eligible to donate, to remain legal in our efforts, sign petitions and write letters to governing bodies in protest of the unjust deferral practice. This is also coupled with a social media campaign to raise awareness among our peers in hopes of reducing the stigma around the gay community and sexually transmitted diseases. On a more intimate scale, we will be hosting networking events with medical/healthcare students in the form of panels, socials, and professional workshops. Our meetings are casual and all inclusive; anyone can join regardless of sexuality or career interests. So come to learn, better yourself, and meet some friendly and passionate individuals.

Reductress: How to Win at Feminism by Sophia Galluccio

On November 10th, FEM and the Cultural

only to parody the way media talks down to

Affairs Commission hosted an event at UCLA

women, but also as a vehicle for jokes about

with Reductress, the first and only feminist news

women’s day-to-day experiences. Pappalardo

satire magazine. Reductress was founded in 2013

further expanded that Reductress began as a

by Beth Newell and Sarah Pappalardo, who

way to satirize the media that we as a culture

were looking for a way to spin the outdated

are inundated with throughout our lives. Re-

perspectives and condescending tones of much

ductress became a way to create space for this

of popular women’s media. The event was a

kind of satirical comedy that would also allow

panel that included book signing and the pro-

more women to be a part of the process of

motion of Newell and Pappalardo’s new book,

deconstructing and critiquing popular culture.

“How to Win at Feminism: The Definitive Guide To Having It All - And Then Some!” “How To Win At Feminism” follows the same satirical writing style and themes that make up Reductress. It includes graphic illustrations and segments such as “How to Love Your Body Even Though Hers is Better,” “How to Get Catcalled for Your Personality,” and “The 9 Circles of Hell for Women Who Don’t Help Other Women.” During the panel, Newell and Pappalardo talked about how they came to found and create Reductress, the mainstreaming of feminism in pop culture, women in comedy, and how feminism overall has been perceived in 2016. Newell spoke of how the Reductress website is used not

BECOMING WHITE JESSICA WAITE

“

I HAD IMAGINED I WOULD FIND SOME MISSING PART OF ME IN KOREA.

“

For the first time in my life, I am white. That’s not entirely true. My father has been a second generation Scottish-American my whole life, regaling me with stories of choking down haggis at the dinner table. Yet my semester in Korea is the first time no one has stopped me on the street to ask me what race I am. “I don’t know, Jessie. You and your brother have always seemed pretty half-and-half to me,” my cousin reassures me in English as we head down the side of a mountain in Seoul. “But no one knows that here,” I argue. “People are stunned when they find out I’m Korean. I had to show my professor pictures, and then he agreed I look a lot like my mom. I’m a white person here.” My cousin, born in Korea, immigrated to California with the rest of his family when he was five years old, long before I was born. Throughout college, he had struggled to find some sort of path to follow and moved back to Korea as an ex-expat upon graduation. Korea held some place in his imagination as a land that was waiting for him, as his home, as a place where his opportunities lay. He was supposed to teach English here for just one year. Now it’d been six years and he still hadn’t moved back.

I would be lying if I said Korea hadn’t held the same special promise for me too. For all of my childhood, Korea had been a land of tigers and magic, where my mom grew up and roofs were still thatched with straw. I grew up and learned the tigers and magic were less common than I thought, and that Seoul was a busy industrial city, but I kept Korea in my heart as a promise. It was my fairytale. Arriving in Korea, I was surprised at how similar to LA it was. I was surprised at the sheer population density. I was surprised to learn that, here, I was white. There was no specific moment that “deemed” me white, but there was the constant surprise when people found out I was Korean. There was the constant surprise from my family when I knew about Korean food or could spit out a few sentences in Korean. I had imagined I would find some missing part of me in Korea. I would find whatever was missing when I wasn’t white enough for white groups in America, and when I wasn’t Korean enough for Korean-Americans. I would find some vital part of me, something to make me feel whole. I ultimately found more uncertainty: not white enough in America, not Korean enough in Korea. What am I missing? I thought to myself, as I sat inside my room. Outside on the streets, people were protesting for the removal of Korea’s first female president. Hillary Clinton had just lost the election. My contemporary Korean literature professor had asked us to draw parallels between the two political climates, and for the first time in a long time, all I felt was emptiness. “Why are women unfit to lead? What makes people think that?” he asked. “How could Hillary lose an election to Trump?” I sank further into my seat. I had imagined Korea as a break from reality. I had not prepared myself to deal with sexism here, too. I read a booklet my professor gave the class that the Korean government had created as a guide for multicultural families living in Korea. All I could think was, this does not help me. It did not tell me how to prepare for people discounting my Korean identity, for being looked down upon for not being fluent in Korean, and for the way women in the grocery store asked my mother who I was. I have been forced to navigate my biracial identity for my entire life. My cousins often told me that because I am white, I cannot possibly imagine the difficulty they had faced as immigrants. I want to tell them they’re right, but they don’t know what it’s like for me either.

It seems like no one really knows. I’m not the only one who has felt lost between homeland and hostland, between two races; there are other people who are also trying to describe the biracial experience. Author and activist Sharon S. Chang argues in her article “Why Mixed with White isn’t White” that her half-white children will never be white, and her argument brings me back to my childhood. She writes about her son, “who barely has any children’s books that reflect his racial image, who is constantly scanned and assessed aloud based on ‘how Asian’ he looks, my son who has had many more white teachers than teachers of color.” Strangers complimented my parents at the grocery store for having kids who looked so “half-and-half,” but kids at school teased me for having seaweed in my lunch next to my PB&J. I was constantly told by others how I wasn’t really Korean, but would be asked by strangers what race I was. In college, my mom finally asked me why I always answer with “half-Korean” instead of “half-white.” I thought about it for months when it finally hit me--if I was white, they wouldn’t be asking. In her article “Don’t Erase My Race,” writer Aliya Khan reveals similar experiences, saying, “How I understood my identity was secondary; I would only be questioned when others were trying to make sense of it in any given situation.” At UCLA, I had finally begun to reclaim my identity. I was half-Korean, but I knew what it meant there. I found acceptance in my Korean language and history classes, and was finally able to find the words to describe being an Asian-American woman. I had accepted my identity. I felt comfortable in my skin, and confident in calling myself both biracial and Korean-American. Coming to Korea shattered everything. There was no longer a potential place for me. There was simply the confirmation that there was nowhere I fit in. My childish fantasy, gone. Coming to Korea has not been awful for me. I made friends. I learned loads. My Korean improved by miles. But when I came to Korea, I thought I would learn more about what it meant to be Korean. All I have learned is more about what it means to be me, one foot here, the other foot there. I know I am not alone. For anyone else who struggles with their mixedrace identity, I recommend reading independent scholar and psychologist Maria Root’s piece, “Bill of Rights for People of Mixed Heritage.”

Fists up for Peace: The Defense for Self-Defense in K-12 Schools by Sarah Barukh

Before I started college, I came across a statistic released by the Bureau of Justice Statistics that would shape every day for the next four years: 1 in 5 women on college campuses have been sexually assaulted during their undergraduate careers. This statistic has come under question due to the fact that sexual assault is widely underreported and the answer could vary depending on the specific questions asked, but nonetheless, I was shocked that gender-directed violence was so prevalent. During orientation we discussed consent at great length, and during the school year I’ve seen valiant efforts by school groups to more forcefully bring the issue to light. However, the dialogue in these spaces oftentimes felt like an attempt to put a Band-Aid on a much deeper wound. American culture widely functions on the idea of the gender binary, which is two categories of gender, decided by the sex of a newborn. This arbitrary assignment then determines the individual’s social standing and societal expectations. Although there have been waves of change within this concept, the difference in socialization still exists. One of them, if not the greatest issue to come out of the gender binary is toxic masculinity, the socially constructed sentiment that encourages violent and unemotional behavior. In James Hamblin’s piece “Toxic Masculinity and Murder” for The Atlantic, he explains the progression of how toxic masculinity can be translated into violent acts: “When men seek that control—when we feel it’s our due—and don’t achieve it, we can resent and hate. Toxic masculinity sets expectations that prime us for disappointment. We turn that disappointment on ourselves and others as anger and hatred.” Although this sentiment is not inherently violent, it creates a culture in which men must prove their heightened status through the deprecation of others not within that category, in which in extreme cases, the desire for dominance can be translated into a number of violent acts, one of which being sexual assault on college campuses. The question remains: how do we tackle the problem of toxic masculinity rather than addressing its effects? The answer: a feminist approach to self-defense. If self-defense were taught in K-12 schools, in a setting where everyone regardless of their gender identity could participate, and where they are taught when self-defense strategies should be used, children everywhere would gain a newfound respect for each other that would translate into their adult years. If young women and non-conforming young people learned self-defense early on, the social construction of anything less than a toxic notion of masculinity wouldn’t be immediately deemed or seen as ‘weak’. In short, young boys would grow to see their peers as equal in physical strength, and the number of gender-related violence would initially drop. Ellen Snortland, author, lawyer, and journalist, is nothing short of an expert on self-defense. After receiving her B.A. in Theater and Film at UC Irvine, Snortland attended law school at Loyola. From there, she has “been a broadcast and print journalist specializing in so-called women’s issues, including the movement to achieve gender balance in institutions, women in history, reducing violence against women, as well as childhood and adult sexual harassment problems being exposed in society,” as stated on her website. Snortland published her book “Beauty Bites Beast” in 1998 to step away from the already extensively discussed question of “how to” defend oneself. Instead, she focused in on a more pressing matter of “how come?” In the book, she critically analyzes how family, history, news, and entertainment are used to make women believe that they are defenseless. A large part of her book is also dedicated to proving that the only one way such a belief holds legitimacy is through these institutions and the ways in which they are purposefully constructed to make women believe it is true. In the last year, a documentary based on the book has come out; Snortland and her crew travel the world to teach women how to defend themselves. Snortland’s work with self-defense does not end there. Since 1993, Snortland has been a trained instructor at IMPACT, an organization that trains men, women and children effective self-defense that anyone can carry out regardless of their size, strength or age. Why is it important that we know how to defend ourselves? “It’s a sentient being’s first prerogative: to survive. And all the other animals start their offspring off with teaching them or at least not impeding play, which is a form of rehearsal for real life. All the

other species do not segregate their offspring by gender, teaching only males survival skills,” Snortland said. “Regardless of gender, all the offspring learn how to fight, hunt, survive…The self-defense classes we do at IMPACT are co-ed and it’s a great equalizer because girls get to witness boys being vulnerable; boys get to watch girls be as capable as they are and they see, without even having to articulate it that girls are just as potentially ‘dangerous as boys are; that self-protection is a trait that is not gendered per se.” “Beauty Bites Beast” presents the importance of self-defense as a question of literacy. If you were to ask a room full of people if they were able to read, you’d see an ocean of raised hands before you. But if you were to change the question to self-defense, it would be a different story. If we don’t discuss the issue of violence within a school setting, what other choice will students have but to piece together an understanding through the other influences that surround them? Higher institutions decide what is important for us to learn and what can be passed over. But what argument could there be for prioritizing dodge ball over learning how to get out of a harmful situation? The main argument against self-defense comes from the fear that teaching self-defense will promote the use of violence in future confrontations. However, putting this practice into use would prove just the opposite. In schools, bullies pick on easy targets, more specifically those whom they know will not be able to defend themselves. This same decision-making is applied by criminals choosing who to target. Now envision if there were no easy targets. The most violent offenses would be de-escalated simply because one person would not be able to inflict harm upon the other. Every self-defense guide follows the same principles: exude confidence, pay attention to one’s surroundings, and be prepared both mentally and physically. Although these are all actions that most individuals see: (able-bodied) can practice, many do not practice them out of ignorance. If children grew up knowing that everyone, no matter what their gender identity, had the ability to defend themselves, they wouldn’t be able to perceive women or non-conforming individuals as being “easy targets” in the first place. Providing the simple tool of self-defense lessons throughout a child’s K-12 experience has the potential to radically change the essence of gender-directed violence in future generations. Another issue arises when we consider who should take the extra effort in confronting the prevalence of sexual assault. I’ve often heard frustration from friends who identify as women as they try to comprehend why it is their responsibility to take extra precautions against sexual assault, when the blame falls on society for raising violent men. In a world that widely operates under the gender binary, victim blaming remains a significant problem. As seen in the case against Brock Turner in 2016, and countless other cases dealing with sexual assault and rape, all the “right things” can be done, all the evidence can be clear cut, and yet in the end, we may not receive justice for our efforts against sexual assault. While it is important to give women the tools to battle against sexual assault, whether that be self-defense or to support post-sexual assault victims, we must still look towards young boys and men to hope for a fully peaceful and nonviolent future, free of sexual assault and rape. Teaching self-defense will not rid the world of gender-directed violence overnight. The truth is that an individual may have gone through self-defense training and still be ill-prepared for the situation they find themselves in. This is not their fault. No individual should have to walk through the world constantly looking over their shoulder. But if we are to truly get to the source of the problem, we must acknowledge and confront the issues our society faces head on. We must give everyone the tools to defend themselves while also creating a world in which they will not have to use them in the future. Imagine a world where everyone has the tools to protect themselves. Every person, regardless of their gender identity, learns these skills together, and by doing so, learns that they are just as capable of their own protection as everyone else. If we choose to provide the next generation with the ability to defend themselves while simultaneously fostering a respect for others, we may not have to imagine much longer.

by Christine Nguyen

by tulika varma This quarter, FEM and BCC (Bruin Consent Coalition) teamed up to organize the first-ever Feminist Friday meetup, a space for student leaders, organizers, and feminist-minded folks to meet and spend a Friday afternoon together over mocktails. It was held on the hill near the Janss steps on Friday, Nov. 4, from 12-1 PM. The students who attended came from diverse backgrounds and various oncampus organizations – FEM, BCC, SJP (Students for Justice in Palestine), CAC (Cultural Affairs Commission), and USAC (Undergraduate Students Association Council), to name a few. The meetup was an informal space for student leaders and organizers to get to know each other, discuss their work, and share their experiences.

E VENT REC AP Jacqueline Pei, FEM’s Community Outreach Director, says that this space was meant to combat the exhaustion of being a student activist: “Events and spaces like

The process of changing an

this allow community activists

institution for the better is always

to connect with one another,

a long and daunting one, and

creating new opportunities for

sheer exhaustion is a common

organizing. Sometimes it feels

tactic used by institutions to

like institutions will always

discourage student activists. But

disappoint us, and that it is too

we hope that student activists

difficult to do enough to change

at UCLA can continue to find

something. These spaces are just

comfort and solidarity in each

one way we can help college

other, and building spaces like

activists and organizers feel

the Feminist Friday meetup was

more supported and invigorated

only one of many meaningful

than fatigued and discouraged.”

steps we can take together.

orror films have a knack for gripping audiences: they shock and disturb, prodding at our notions of the unacceptable and the radical. The genre’s commercial success derives from its ability to pull from pervasive societal fears and allow viewers to forgo moral obligation, and revel in the unnatural and inhumane. Because of this, women in particular have a complicated history with horror movies. Often steeped in a deeply-rooted misogyny, these films feature many female protagonists. Furthermore, a character’s gender is usually inseparable from their fate in the film, usually in a way that dooms femininity. It is this unusual link between horror films and femininity that allows for the identification and mapping of cultural attitudes towards gender and female empowerment throughout history. Though all films reflect values, customs, and fears specific to the time period of their release, the genre’s focus on the feminine provides a valuable key to understanding the evolution of women’s liberation in culture.

ed the popularization of the genre often ignored the female narrative. This exclusion was most likely a result of women’s limited power in the industry. Popular films — like “The Bride of Frankenstein” (1935) and “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” (1956) — instead revolved around the fear of emerging technologies, science, and political ideologies. Predictably, the 1960s saw a radical change in women’s roles in horror films. With the release of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho,” gender entered the main stage as it never had before. Though the movie’s claim to fame was its antagonist, Norman Bates, its female lead, Marion Crane, is perhaps the most radical aspect of the film: Crane’s promiscuity and criminality The Rise of Women are established in the first few scenes, Second-WaveFeminism marking her as one of horror’s first fe(1960s-1970s) male transgressors. The film’s release in 1960 coincided In the first half of the 20th century, with a changing political landscape, classic horror films that springboard- and her character reflected a compliOften steeped in a deeply-rooted misogyny, these films feature many female protagonists. Furthermore, a character’s gender is usually inseparable from their fate in the film, usually in a way that dooms femininity. It is this unusual link between horror films and femininity that allows for the identification and mapping of cultural attitudes towards gender and female empowerment throughout history. Though all films exhibit and reflect values, customs, and fears specific to the time period of their release, the genre’s focus on the feminine provides a valuable key to understanding the evolution of women’s liberation in culture.

cated reaction to the social changes of the time. The following decades saw both the conceptualization and popularization of second-wave feminism, a movement for sexual, social, and cultural liberation. Women began emerging from their restrictive gender roles and entering the public and economic spheres, and horror films began to both mirror and resist this narrative of change. Of course, as the popularity of feminism rose, so did the backlash against it. Many fought against progressive legislative and social changes, like Roe v. Wade (1973) and the introduction of the oral contraceptive. Horror films took note. The themes in “Rosemary’s Baby,” released in 1968, were centered on the ambivalent politics of motherhood. In “‘Rosemary’s Baby,’ Gothic Pregnancy, and Fetal Subjects” published by the “College Literature Journal,” Karyn Valerius argues that the film’s narrative is a direct reaction to the abortion debate of the time. Similarly, “The Exorcist” (1973) is one of the first films to revolve around a divorced mother and her decision to return to the workforce.

Though the context for films of this time were still problematic, they hinted at the possibility of discussion. This progress, however, would soon be rewritten with the rise of the 1980s slasher. Blood, Guts, & Boobs The Slasher Genre (1970s-1980s) As audiences began to grow and diversify in the 70s, filmmakers catered to the new primary consumers of horror films: teenagers. As rock and pop music became more perceivably sexual and violent, conservative parents railed against pop culture machines like MTV. Suddenly teens — especially girls — were being scrutinized heavily for their participation in a new sex-driven culture. Movies, too, began featuring “vulgar” themes. The premier of slasher film “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” in 1974 signified a prominent shift in the intended audience of horror films due to its gruesome themes. As the slasher subgenre matured, casting directors replaced older female protagonists with younger ones. Teen girls were now front and center in almost every film — from “Friday the 13th” (1980) to “A Nightmare on Elm Street” (1984). Slasher films, whose popularity peaked in the 80s, relied heavily on a new and marketable fear: the degradation of American culture and moral corruption of youth. Filmmakers

tempered this fear of moral decline by punishing transgressing characters. Teens who displayed even the slightest hint of sexuality were usually the first to be killed. In order to survive, female protagonists had to resist temptation. In “Halloween” (1978), for instance, Jamie Lee Curtis’ character is the only of her friends to survive — she is also the only one who refuses to give in to sexual temptation. Although viewers are unlikely to internalize such a radical association between female sexuality and violence, the films’ underlying message promotes sex-shaming and dehumanizes women who openly express their sexuality. Slasher movies perhaps represented the ultimate antithesis to feminist horror, though their decline in the coming decade hints at eventual progress. Feminist Films: Contemporary Horror (1990s-2010s) After years of degrading slasher films, the horror genre began to fragment in the 1990s, leading to an array of various and distinct subgenres. The new “feminist” subgenre, including films like “Ginger Snaps” (2000) and “The Descent” (2005), aimed to diminish the power and presence of traditional horror gender roles and highlighted a quickly changing social consciousness. The Japanese film “The Audition” (1999) was one of the first of the new horror era to toy with the themes of third-wave feminism. Through its haunting use of dream sequence and graphic portrayals of torture, it explores in depth the horrifying ways humans perceive and create gender dynamics and imbalances. Its feminist twist is allowing its female antagonist to reject male characters’ expectations, defy traditional gender tropes, and ultimately “overthrow” male power — in a very literal way. Building off its predecessor’s, “We Are What We Are” (2013) similarly takes “overthrowing the patriarchy” quite literally in its protagonists’ grotesque and vio-

lent means of claiming a u t o n o m y. Like “The Audition,” the film’s messages are explicit. But not all feminist horror films follow the same mold: though some may assert their message overtly, others utilize the subliminal and the subconscious. “The Babadook” (2014) is one of the rare commercially successful horror films to be written and directed by a woman. Its female protagonist is flawed, nuanced, and rich in subtleties as an individual and a mother. Perhaps that is what has most impacted the growth of the feminist horror subgenre: the ability for women to reclaim their stories and narratives. In other words, “The Babadook” reads as a real narrative of motherhood, a story about a deeply complicated woman. It is perhaps the most feminist film mentioned so far in that it exists as a piece of art — a recreation of the tragic experience of what it means to be a woman — to live, to love, to nurture, to resist, and to lose — to be wrong and to be flawed. It is stories like these, told by and for women, that contribute to the feminist art lineage. It has taken nearly a century for women to reclaim the power of their narratives in horror cinema. Today women, as moviegoers and directors and screenwriters, have more of a say than ever in how their bodies and stories are to be used on screen. The increase in popular female directors like Ana Lily Amirpour, as well as an increasingly progressive social climate, is helping to spearhead the return of political discussion in horror films.

In striving to create change, many activists have a driving force behind the work that they do. I found that driving force in a class setting. One day during lecture, a teaching assistant for my History of Mass Imprisonment course asked our class how many people would like to dedicate their lives to promoting social good through activism. Nearly every hand in the room went up. “And how many of you feel like you’ll be able to make a living doing that?” Nearly every hand in the room fell. He told us that we don’t live in a world where people are rewarded for doing good things. He also told us that it was up to our generation to change that. That sentiment is now what fuels me to try to be the best activist I can be. His statements have never felt as true as they did in the month after the 2016 presidential election. When speaking to fellow student activists, they told me that they felt hopeless post-election day. They felt that the beliefs they had advocated for had been ignored and that they wish they’d done more. But what could they have done? These are students juggling heavy course loads, work, internships, extracurriculars, and activism, sometimes alongside serious mental health issues. Despite the responsibilities they’re overloaded with, in the wake of this hopelessness, I still saw these same students marching on and off campus with cries of “love trumps hate.” As for myself, I sometimes feel as though I’m shouting into a void when I try to effect change. When it comes to activism, it’s hard to know that an impact is being made. Though it is frequently tiring, thankless work, it’s certainly a better solution than ignorance. Holocaust

survivor Elie Wiesel said in his 1986 Nobel Peace Prize lecture, “Hope, Despair, and Memory,” “there may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.” We would do well to heed that advice. Perhaps one of the more discouraging parts of participating in student activism is that students have little access to resources that would make for tangible change. It’s easy to say that tangible change comes from donations to reputable charity organizations, but there are students that may not be able to afford to donate more than a few dollars. This is especially true for students facing financial instability. According to Anthony P. Carnevale, director of the Georgetown Center on Education and the Workforce, “Today, almost every college student works, but you can’t work your way through college anymore… Even if you work, you have to take out loans and take on debt.” A report by the same center in Oct. 2015 showed that around 70 percent of students work while in college, and about 40 percent of undergraduates work more than 30 hours per week. Affordability can definitely be an issue for students when considering donating. However, if students still wish to give money, they can be empowered in knowing that though small donations feel like a drop in a bucket, the smallest contributions represent progress. To support the LGBTQ community, you might start with the Trevor Project, an organization with a mission to combat suicide in LGBTQ youth. To support the immigrant community, consider donating to the National Immigration Law Center, which works to protect the rights of low income immigrants. To support women’s

reproductive rights, Planned Parenthood is always seeking donations to fund reproductive health services such as accessible birth control, safe abortions, cancer screenings, and STI testing. Students who cannot use money to amplify their voices should not be discouraged. There are many other ways to create social change, one of which is political protest, which may range from walkouts to boycotts, as well as other forms of dissent. Protests signify a changing status quo. Political protests are popular on college campuses as students’ proximity to each other creates a strong community to draw from. This sense of community makes protesting easier, as it requires less time and organization. Recent examples are student protests against the 2016 election results, reported by student publications at institutions such as Texas State University, Yale University, and UCLA. There are some individuals who criticize college students for being “too sensitive” when discussing their affinity to protest. In particular, Christine Flowers of the Philadelphia Daily News penned an opinion piece in Nov. 2016 that referred to protests of the 2016 election results by Bryn Mawr college students as “the social justice engagement of the precious little pop tarts who decided to skip class to march.” Critics like Flowers should remember that student activism was and continues to be an important force in creating social change. They should also remember that student activism has been happening for centuries. Some of the most revolutionary American protests have been student-led, including anti-war protests of the 1960s and even colonial protests against the British Empire, according to an article by Sarah Simon of USA Today. Political protests come in various forms, but recently even the most “peaceful,” non-disruptive protests have come under fire. An example of a highly criticized political protest in 2016 is NFL player Colin Kaepernick’s ongoing protest against the national anthem, which he began to raise awareness of police brutality and violent racism against black Americans and people of color; Kaepernick simply kneels during the national anthem, instead of standing. It has proven to be an inspirational approach that has many student athletes across the United States protesting at their own games as well. Tarek Fattal of the LA Daily News reported that many Southern Californian high school athletes were also kneeling for the national anthem at sporting events in Oct. 2016. Despite the support that Kaepernick has received, he continues to face constant criticism of his non-disruptive protest. He has been accused by many of disrespecting his country. Just one example is conservative journalist Tomi Lahren, who responded to Kaepernick’s protest on her show, “Tomi for TheBlaze,” by telling him, “If this country disgusts you so much, leave.”

However, these arguments don’t address the larger conversation that Kaepernick has started. Bryan Armen Graham and Les Carpenter of The Guardian, in their article, “Colin Kaepernick’s critics are ignoring the target of his protest,” point out that most of these criticisms against Kaepernick’s supposed lack of patriotism are presented as productive dialogue, but are simply thinly veiled contempt for an open discussion of race in America. As is the case with a lot of social progress, the issue that critics have is not the method of protest but the subject matter and demand for change. Political protest is effective, but there are plenty of people who feel that more steps need to be taken beyond protest, and they’re not wrong. Students should remember that change happens when protesters actively opposing harmful social norms in everyday situations through other forms of activism. Students can look toward their college campuses for tools and resources that help them engage in activism and fight for equality. One form of activism is in forming student organizations that advocate for specific social causes. These groups are also great spaces for student activists to connect with their peers in a curated safe space. At UCLA, for example, organizations like Bruin Consent Coalition, Queer Alliance, All of Us, and Afrikan Student Union consist of students addressing specific social issues on UCLA’s campus and beyond. Bruin Consent Coalition states that their mission is “to create a safe, inclusive campus for students of all gender expressions and sexual orientations by educating our campus community on sexual assault.” Likewise, Queer Alliance at UCLA also seeks to create a safe space for marginalized groups by bringing together different student organizations to build a strong community that advocates for LGBTQIA+ students at UCLA. All of Us is a student organization UCLA that seeks to break stigmas surrounding mental health through educational programs, workshops, and events in the UCLA community. Afrikan Student Union has existed at UCLA since 1966 and aims to be a resource for students by seeking to “promote, protect, and serve the interests and educational rights of the individual and collective needs of the Afrikan student body.” While these organizations are specific to UCLA, equivalent organizations can be found on most college campuses. Student organizations such as these exist not only to advocate for change on a larger level, but to first and foremost provide a community for those students who seek that type of resource. Creative work can also be utilized as a tool to create positive social change. Student activists with an interest in writing or the arts can look towards student publications as a way to elevate their voices. At UCLA,

for example, student-run newsmagazines work to address issues affecting disenfranchised communities through journalism. Al-Talib gives perspectives on issues that affect Muslim communities. FEM is based in intersectional feminist dialogue. Ha’am provides views on Jewish experiences on and off UCLA’s campus. La Gente calls for representation and advocacy for Latinx and Chicanx population on campus. NOMMO focuses on the issues and stories surrounding the community from Afrikan descent. OutWrite gives voices to the LGBTQ+ community at UCLA. Pacific Ties discusses the Asian Pacific Islander community. These organizations all seek student contributions, whether that includes creative writing and art submissions, staff writers and editors, or an art and design team. Non-journalistic organizations also seek student work regarding social justice. One example is Westwind, UCLA’s Journal of the rts, which accepts art, music, poetry, and short stories all school-year long from UCLA students, staff, faculty, or anyone in the LA area. There’s also VoidLab, an “intersectional feminist collective for women, non-binary, gender nonconforming, trans and queer people to express individual identities through arts and technologies.” Getting involved in such organizations allows students to not only amplify their voices, but to also feel connected to their fellow student activists and the causes they fight for. Activism can also be as simple as having conversations with people in everyday life. Speaking to family and friends about microaggressions, internalized misogyny, or even the consequences of how they vote is the first step towards change. Social issues first present themselves at low levels in intimate social circles, so this is where dialogue must begin. Though these conversations can be uncomfortable, they’re important to have. There is no perfect solution to the feeling of disempowerment that many young people feel in this political and social climate. However, social movements become endangered when activists “lose steam,” so to speak. Activists are first and foremost human, and while they have immense power to create change, individuals should not bear the weight of changing the world alone. You might be a feminist, but it’s not your job to dismantle the patriarchy by yourself. There’s a balance that students in particular have to find between self-care, education, and activism, as all are important in creating change. If students seek to preserve the well-being and rights of people like themselves, they can begin first by giving themselves opportunity to thrive. We can pick and choose our battles, but we have to remember that in times like these, survival in itself can be an act of resistance.

Varma

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