Datasets:

hoanganh-bgf

/

HavardPoliticReview

like 0

U.S. Women’s Soccer: A Legacy of Athlete Activism

Kaitlyn Vu

Four Women’s World Cup trophies, four Olympic gold medals, nine CONCACAF Championship and Gold Cups, six SheBelieves Cups. The list of accolades goes on and on. Armed with an illustrious trophy cabinet, the U.S. Women’s Soccer National Team has itself as the most dominant dynasty in the world of women’s soccer.  Their accomplishments beyond the soccer pitch are just as worthy of discussion. Although the history books might remember the team for their unprecedented, on-field success, the USWNT’s off-field advocacy cements their place as the most influential women’s soccer team of all time.  The team’s fight for equal pay lies at the forefront of their impressive and influential record of athlete activism. Although the USWNT consistently more successful and popular than the Men’s National Team, the women were significantly less. In March 2019, four months before winning their fourth Women’s World Cup trophy, the USWNT the U.S. Soccer Federation for gender discrimination. The team accused the federation of systematically paying lower salaries to female players — the U.S. Men’s National Team earned 38% more per game than the women despite large disparities in on-field success and viewership revenue. One startling example in the lawsuit revealed that the men’s team earned three times more for their early loss in the 2014 World Cup than what the women’s team received for their 2015 victory. Ultimately, the USWNT in February 2022 that they had reached a $24 million settlement with the federation. The agreement allocated $22 million in compensation to the 28 USWNT players behind the suit and established a $2 million fund for women’s soccer across the nation. It also guaranteed equal pay for male and female soccer players moving forward, especially for participation in the World Cup.   The USWNT’s equal pay victory was truly groundbreaking: The case is to be the first time U.S. women athletes sued their employer for gender discrimination and succeeded.   Likewise, in June 2023, the International Federation of Association Football that it would give $49 million of the $110 million Women’s World Cup prize money directly to individual players, which was the first time such a policy was implemented. As such, the USWNT’s equal pay lawsuit set in motion a wave for greater investment in global women’s soccer.  However, there is still a long way to go in order to fully achieve equal pay for female soccer players across the world. At the 2023 Women’s World Cup, women players on average 25 cents for every dollar earned by the mens’ teams at the 2022 World Cup. And while the numbers are an improvement from 2019 when female athletes were paid less than eight cents per dollar earned by the men, there is still a lot of work left to do.  What the USWNT’s legal achievements have done, nevertheless, is other international teams — including Canada, England, South Africa, Nigeria, Colombia, Spain, and France — to increase the ferocity and urgency of their demands for equal pay. In an interview with the HPR, Henry Bushnell, a senior soccer reporter for Yahoo Sports, commented on the truly global impact of the USWNT’s equal pay lawsuit: “It totally inspires players from other nations to fight for more.” He explained the USWNT’s fight for equal pay provides both motivational and logistical inspiration: The lawsuit pushed other teams to “take a stand” while also providing key insight on the “nuts and bolts” of how collective bargaining agreements and player associations are structured. The USWNT was the first team to truly achieve equal pay, but they will certainly not be the last. Alongside its advocacy for equal pay, the USWNT has long been a supporter of LGBTQ+ rights. With a number of players on the squad identifying as members of the queer community, the USWNT has a tremendous record of LGBTQ+ inclusivity and visibility. For many queer Americans, the women’s soccer team is a source of pride. In a statement to NBC, Matilda Young, a spokeswoman for Human Rights Campaign, , “Young LGBTQ athletes, who all too frequently are made to feel unwelcome, have seen themselves reflected in these history-making champions.” The team’s outspoken support of queer rights has encouraged other women’s athletes to be more comfortable with expressing their sexuality and being who they truly are — on and off the field.  The USWNT has also championed other social justice issues such as speaking out against racial inequities. Following the murder of George Floyd in May 2020, the USWNT players took to the field for an international friendly match against the Netherlands in November training jackets with “Black Lives Matter.” Members of the team, including Alex Morgan and Kelly O’Hara, statements on social media stating that they wore the shirts to protest against systemic racial inequalities that hinder opportunities for people of color.  Most players also kneeled during the national anthem before games in 2020 and 2021. Given their long-standing history of political advocacy, the USWNT is certainly no stranger to controversy. When Megan Rapione took the knee in 2016 in solidarity with Colin Kapernick, U.S. soccer banned players from kneeling during the national anthem. The ban sharp criticism from the USWNT players themselves and other player organizations such as the U.S. Soccer Athlete Council that for an admission of wrongdoing from the federation for failing to support Black players and supporters. In June 2020, the federation the ban and asserted its commitment to supporting their players in any social justice initiatives. Dr. Keating McKeon, who teaches a writing course on sports and politics at Harvard, talked to the HPR about the controversies that arise when athletes are political: “The idea that they can somehow be kept in two sort of airtight compartments just isn’t realistic.” He argues that “the expectation imposed on athletes” is that “they exist as entertainers alone.” From this perspective, athletes who discuss politics deviate from their role as “entertainers” and subsequently receive backlash.  These days, many Americans, particularly conservatives, attack the USWNT for their athlete activism. During the 2023 Women’s World Cup, a majority of the team garnered criticism from conservative figures for not singing the anthem. Former South Carolina Gov. Nikki Haley, for instance, the players for disrespecting the flag and the armed forces who serve it. What’s more, their early Round of 16 exit this summer was seized by critics as an opportunity to claim that the USWNT lost because they were too occupied with woke and progressive political issues. Former President Donald Trump strongly the team: “Many of our players were openly hostile to America – No other country behaved in such a manner, or even close. WOKE EQUALS FAILURE. Nice shot Megan, the USA is going to Hell!!!’” Megan Rapinoe has long been for her unapologetic political advocacy and equally staunch opposition to Trump. In addition to championing racial justice, Rapinoe spearheaded the USWNT’s fight for equal pay and also worked tirelessly for the inclusion of the transgender community in sports. In an interview with the HPR, Lindsay Schnell, an award-winning sports reporter at USA TODAY, discussed the long-standing impact of Rapinoe’s activism: “She has not only set a standard for activism, for being unspoken and for being an ally but done so with so much grace.” Schnell further applauds Rapinoe for continuing to push for social justice issues in the face of scalding criticism. To that end, Rapinoe’s lasting impact on the team’s culture is profound. Schnell notes that the USWNT legend has shown younger players that “you can stand up for things, you can fight for yourself, and you can fight for other people” without losing love for either the sport or the platform.  Thus, the underlying intentions of the USWNT’s activism have always been simple: Fight for the causes you believe in and pave the way for other women around the world. Former USWNT captain and longtime defender Becky Sauerbrunn it best, “There’s never going to be a day that we can just show up and focus on soccer.” She added, “We know that we never would have been at this spot had it not been for all the work all these other generations of women have done. And our job is to do all the work and let the next generation stand on our shoulders so that they can see further.” Schnell also expanded upon the long-standing impact of the USWNT: “I think that the USWNT has shown every young girl that they belong in any and every arena that they want to be in … I just hope that all those little things make people understand that they belong.” The USWNT have done just that, propelling themselves from obscurity in the late 1980s to worldwide stardom today, all while fighting for political, social and economic equality in soccer, sports, and the world beyond. And although the continued on-field success of the USWNT is not guaranteed, Bushnell is confident the team’s activism is here to stay: “The ‘what’ of what they’re standing up for and their advocacy will probably evolve over time, but there is just a legacy of the team that they will speak about things beyond soccer … So, maybe it won’t be as fierce and as outspoken as it has been over the past half-decade, but to some extent, it’s always going to be there, for sure.” Put frankly, the team owes their success and fame to no one but themselves — the USWNT’s legacy of athlete activism will continue to evolve long after dust covers their trophy cabinet.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/u-s-womens-soccer/

America’s War on Gender-Affirming Care

Nora Sun

Gender-affirming care is by the Association of American Medical Colleges and the World Health Organization as “a range of social, psychological, behavioral, and medical interventions designed to support and affirm an individual’s gender identity when it conflicts with the gender they were assigned at birth.” This may include a wide range of services, such as counseling and therapy, speech therapy to match the vocal characteristics of gender identity, breast binding and genital tucking, hormone therapies such as puberty blockers, and surgeries such as . 2023 has seen an unprecedented increase in bans on gender-affirming care. According to the Trans Legislation Tracker, 169 bills limiting transgender healthcare so far in 2023, a steep rise from 37 bills in 2022. Many of these bills target gender-affirming care on some level: Some have created stringent guidelines preventing access to gender-affirming care, whereas others have banned it completely for individuals below the age of 18.  Notable bills include Oklahoma Senate Bill 129, which prohibits “gender transition procedures or referral services relating to such procedures to anyone under the age of 26,” and Wyoming Senate Bill 111, which does the same for anyone under 18. These bills refer to gender-affirming services as “mutilation.” In Wyoming, for example, professionals who violate this bill by providing gender-affirming services can be punished with up to ten years of imprisonment — the same sentence as — regardless of parental and child consent to the procedures.    The recent wave of anti-transgender and anti-LGBTQ+ legislation is often partially as a result of increased queer visibility in the media. The 2021-2022 GLAAD report “quick progress made” that year in intersectional television representation of LGBTQ+ characters; Netflix shows like “Heartstopper” and “Young Royals” .  Youth transgender activist and Harvard student Safara Malone ’27, who began socially transitioning during high school and medically transitioning this January, told the Harvard Political Review that the end of COVID-19 may have been a catalyst for the political targeting of transgender youth. For example, during the 2021 legislative session, though visibility of LGBTQ+ individuals had increased, local and state governments did not have the capacity to address the “issue” of LGBTQ+ individuals on top of COVID-19. However, now that the pandemic has subsided, many conservative politicians are taking advantage of transgender youth with vulnerable rights, using slogans of protecting children to further their political power.  On why transgender rights specifically are being targeted, Michael Bronski, the author of “A Queer History of the United States” and a professor of the practice in media and activism at Harvard, explained to the HPR that queer sexuality is easier for the general population to understand and accept than gender queerness: “People, even asexual individuals, understand that sex can give pleasure. The human impulse to have pleasure makes a lot of excuses for people — for example, the two ‘straight’ guys in the fraternity getting drunk and fooling around.”  Citing gender studies scholar Judith Butler, Bronski added that, “Gender is a much firmer binary; we have a far narrower range of what’s acceptable. Among the most powerful ‘speech-acts’ are ‘It’s a boy!’ and ‘It’s a girl!’ No one says, ‘How wonderful, it’s a human!’” Bronski noted that, “Literally seconds after we’re born, we’re given a gender identity, and it’s instilled and instilled and instilled.”  Malone found that conservative legislators have noticed parents, who are oftentimes Christian, becoming infuriated by the existence of transgender people. Politicians capitalize on these parents, as well as society’s general lack of understanding of transgenderism, to gain political power. “These parents are terrified of their child being transgender. Some of these legislators might feel the same way, but most just want to capitalize on the vote of these highly religious parents,” explained Malone.  Harvard student Trinity Dysis ’27, who identifies as Christian and transgender, believes that interpretations of the Bible to oppose gender-affirming care are “a gross misinterpretation of the text that has been found to be profitable,” adding that religious arguments against LGBTQ+ individuals verses targeting pedophilia and rape.  Dysis finds it more productive to follow the values of Christ to be a better person rather than to debate over semantics in the text, as the recorded text itself is imperfect. For example, the overwhelmingly popular edition of King James’ translation of the Bible verses, replacing the word “slave” with “servant.” These alterations could have been done to mislead Christians, since the type of slave trade that flourished in the American South was explicitly condemned in the Old Testament. Dysis explained that the Bible was not written by God, but was instead passed down through oral tradition and translated between many languages, allowing for thousands of years of bias to seep into the project.  Misunderstandings of science likewise play a larger role in fueling this war on gender-affirming care. Conservative parents have formed anti-transgender protest groups, such as , which pathologize transgender identity as an “epidemic” of “rapid-onset gender dysphoria.” The organization describes itself as “a group of parents whose children have suddenly — seemingly out of the blue — decided they identify strongly with the opposite sex and are at various stages in transitioning.” However, the validity of “rapid-onset gender dysphoria” has been : The median time from realization to sharing one’s gender identity with others is typically over a decade and not “rapid” as Parents of ROGD Kids suggests.   Dysis, who was repeatedly denied access to gender-affirming care by her family, found politicians’ and parent groups’ claims that flocks of adolescents are suddenly being externally influenced to transition in an “epidemic” to be baseless. In reality, public access to gender-affirming care is still . While politicians cherry pick vocal detransitioners who may have been rushed into the process without being properly informed and subsequently regret their transition, studies that the vast majority of transgender individuals who have received gender-affirming do not regret their decision. In fact, the regret rate of knee replacement surgery (6-30%) can be more than 100 times that of the regret rate of gender-affirming surgery (0.3%). Ultimately, the political atmosphere has led to other elected officials fearing the loss of support among parents if they do not actively champion transphobic legislation. This dynamic creates a dangerous competition of who can run the most anti-transgender platform. “Elections can no longer be won on the basis of racist commentary,” Dysis said. “That’s widely unacceptable. And gay rights have become less contested. However, transgender people are still a very vulnerable community to this kind of disruption.” While Dysis believes that the rights of transgender individuals should be taken seriously, she believes it has no place being appropriated as conservative politicians’ entire platform. “The ‘anti-woke platform’ — opposing transgender rights — is Desantis’ and Trump’s main running slogan,” Dysis explained. “However, transgender individuals less than 1% of the U.S. population.”  Unfortunately, the momentum of anti-transgender legislation is unlikely to stop at the state level. This spring, Malone at the Texas Capitol against House Bill 1686, the companion bill of Senate Bill 14, which bans gender-affirming care for individuals under the age of 18. Malone witnessed the Capitol legislators providing the opportunity for carefully selected detransitioners who came from out of state to speak before Texas citizens like herself, who was forced to wait 15 hours before being given the platform to testify. She felt sickened by the state’s refusal to hear the voices of transgender youth who would actually be impacted by the bill.  “Having to hear people who were supposed to be representing me in my government deny me as a person and say that all the work I have done is spreading toxic, nasty ideology — it’s just ridiculous,” Malone said. “It made me think, ‘I can’t wait to be out of this state, and I don’t want to come back.’” Malone is not alone in the sentiment of wanting to leave her conservative state. One direct consequence of states banning gender-affirming care is the of families with transgender youth temporarily or permanently to more liberal states. Because this momentum cannot stop on its own, the only political pathway to stopping the momentum of anti-transgender legislation is through cementing transgender healthcare rights and access to gender-affirming care through bills at the national level or through Supreme Court precedents.  The outcomes of the 2024 presidential election may impact gender-affirming care in a variety of ways. Malone believes that the best case scenario would be the re-election of Joe Biden. However, she does not see Biden passing the legislation required to codify gender-affirming care into national rights; she expects that such progress can happen no less than four years from now, if not longer. In Malone’s opinion, the worst case scenario is the election of Donald Trump or a similar politician, which would set back any progress by several years.  Eve Howe, a transgender lawyer who graduated from Harvard Law School, agrees that the worst case scenario is the election of Trump, which she believes may result in a national ban on gender-affirming care. In this case, she predicts a shift towards companies like , which is digitally accessible regardless of physical location. “Transgender individuals may have to go through shady back alleys, fly to another country, or take road trips down to Mexico to get hormones,” Howe explained, likening this potential scenario to the current state of abortion access.  Howe hopes that if Republicans continue to lose on this issue like they have in the past, they’ll move on. “A few years ago, access to transgender care was a non-issue, but Republicans decided to make this an issue for fundraising and get people to vote for them. Eventually, the bully will get tired of attacking one kid and move onto the next kid. And I feel bad for whoever that next kid is.” Ultimately, Bronski has a positive outlook on the long-term future of transgender care, emphasizing that change takes time. “You have to push for change sometimes very quickly, and too quickly for culture to accept it, but culture will ultimately accept it: Women in America began lobbying to have the vote in about 1840 and they didn’t get the vote until 1920,” Bronski said. “If the Republicans lose in 2024, I am optimistic for what will happen after that.”  For Malone, the normalization of transgender individuals is the first step toward turning this political state around. “In order to change the laws, we have to begin having positive and natural conversations about trans existence,” Malone said, “slowly normalizing us in modern society.”  The past two decades have been socially transformative in many ways, from the emergence of #MeToo to the legalization of gay marriage to the Black Lives Matter movement. Through continued intersectionality and allyship, America can likewise achieve tremendous progress in building a more equitable society for transgender individuals. 

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/war-on-gender-affirming-care/

Reckoning with Icons: Frida Kahlo and Cultural Appropriation

Diana Ochoa-Chavez

Most people might not recall when or how they first encountered Frida Kahlo — yet, she is instantly recognizable. Her image appears on objects ranging from the 500 Mexican peso to earrings, clothing, mugs, phone cases, and posters. Often, in these representations, her braided hair is adorned with vibrant flowers, and she is dressed in a huipil — a traditional garment embroidered with colorful patterns belonging to indigenous groups in Mexico and Central America. Frida Kahlo will emerge whenever Mexico is represented.  Kahlo’s image, both in the world of art and popular culture, has served as a source of empowerment for Latinas and a number of other marginalized identities — including the queer, anti-capitalist, and non-able bodied communities. As the daughter of Oaxacan immigrants, wearing huipiles and jewelry crafted by Indigenous Oaxacan artisans have been ways that I remember and honor my indigenous heritage, despite my distance from Mexican citizenship or formal membership in tribal communities. Kahlo’s active choice to embrace her Mexican — over her European — heritage made her a particular figure of interest to me. At first glance, Kahlo’s embrace of her intersecting identities, particularly of her Indigenous heritage, might seem contrary to what most consider offensive. After all, she seems to have amplified Indigenous culture through her art — a culture that continues to experience threats of erasure due to enduring effects of White colonization. However, further investigation into her background and contemporary against Kahlo by Indigenous communities tell a different story.  Recently, Kahlo has become a polarizing figure in the conversation about cultural appropriation. While some express profound admiration and reverence for the artist, others passionately argue that Kahlo profited off an exoticized, calculated self-image at the expense of Indigenous people. To some, this accusation may seem like a wrongful application of the concept of cultural appropriation. After all, Kahlo was a citizen of the country from which her clothes originated, and she was immersed in Indigenous culture. Therefore, some claim that she was justified in wanting to embrace her Indigenous roots as a form of self-expression. Both supporters and critics of Kahlo engage in the wider debate on who can reclaim parts of their heritage and identity — a complex, evolving concept. To better comprehend the grievances of Indigenous Mexican communities, one must examine Kahlo’s genealogy and the way she chose to portray her identity.  Kahlo was the daughter of a German man and a mestiza woman; the term mestiza refers to a person of mixed Spanish and Indigenous descent. Kahlo’s mother tenuous ties to the Indigenous people of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, a region in the state of Oaxaca. in Coyoacan, a municipality in Mexico City, Kahlo remained distant from the rural life most Indigenous groups in Mexico during the 20th century. Given that Kahlo grew up in the city as a mixed White woman, she ultimately benefited from assimilation into colonized, Mexican society. On the other hand, the long standing effects of Spanish colonialism — colorism and racism — continued to unassimilated regions of Mexico, namely its regions with dense Indigenous populations. With regards to race, Kahlo could enjoy the privileges of her White identity and her separation from the quotidian struggles of Indigenous groups in the southern states.  ( , 1940). Furthermore, Kahlo’s image as constructed through her self-portraits may appear to some as too much of an appropriation of Indigenous culture to be considered appreciative. Some may take issue with the mythologized and exoticized portrayal of Indigenous culture in her work — as seen through jungle-like imagery present in the art depicting wild vegetation and animals. The accusations against Kahlo are motivated in part by her construction of an exotic image of “indianness.” Moreover, critics argue she sold her image, portraying an identity that was not entirely hers to claim. The ongoing debates regarding Kahlo and cultural appropriation carry larger implications beyond the Latine community. If Kahlo, a woman of many complex identities, is guilty of cultural appropriation, then those with similar diverse genealogies and upbringings may also be prompted to reexamine the ways they choose to embrace one part of their racial or ethnic identity.  In the case of people like myself — who were born in the United States but come from parents of different national origins — one essential part of keeping one’s heritage from being erased due to assimilation is through its physical form of expression. By wearing one’s traditional cultural clothing, jewelry, or adopting other forms of cultural expression, one is able to give more power to a part of their identity that historically has been suppressed by colonial efforts. In many cases, part of what allows for resistance against White supremacy is one’s ability to embrace and reconnect with historically suppressed parts of their lineage. At the same time, it seems like if we judge who can embrace these parts of their identity based on their existing proximity to it, the effort to revitalize the marginalized aspects of one’s lineage may prove to be more difficult.  While Frida Kahlo’s case appears to be one that is unrelated to the rest of us — for one because we do not share the same level of influence — the debates regarding cultural identity inspire further discussion on the topic of cultural appropriation. Identity is complex and dynamic; part of what makes us human is our ability to express our sense of self and share it with the world. Although the case of Kahlo leaves few concrete answers regarding who can choose to embrace certain parts of their cultural identity, the lesson one should take is a willingness to view their idols through a critical lens. Instead of adopting a dogmatic adoration of Kahlo — and any similar icons — we should be critical and conscious of current discussions. Moreover, we should invite Indigenous people and other marginalized communities into the discourse and comprehensively consider their objections to these powerful figures.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/reckoning-icons-appropriation/

The Freedom-Hero Fallacy

Donald Cruse

Today, many Americans hold misguided views of the Civil War. When polled, 48% of Americans the Civil War was about states’ rights, while only 38% said it was about slavery. We this misguided sentiment echoed by political leaders like Nikki Haley. Over 150 years after the Civil War, Americans still find themselves largely uneducated about the principles that caused it and the factors which resolved it. This should be alarming to anyone who subscribes to the adage that those who disregard history are doomed to repeat it. Tracing this misunderstanding of the past, it is not difficult to find its roots in public education. Everyday, with the warping of education policy that historical books and thorny history, the matter of political influences on youth education is thrust to the forefront of the national scene. It has become clear that statehouse-reliant education policy is failing in some areas to address historical truths, namely, the truth about the Civil War, Reconstruction, and figures of the time. Fortunately, this matter of ingrained ignorance can be mended. With miseducation being the issue, authentic education is the only real solution.  In an interview with the HPR, Harvard professor Dr. Myisha Eatmon stated that the largest misconception Americans hold is “that the Civil War was about states’ rights; it was about more than that. It was about slavery at the core.” Support for this claim is undeniable. Seceding states made this abundantly clear. South Carolina’s 1860 Declaration of Secession from the United States , “An increasing hostility on the part of the non-slaveholding States to the institution of slavery, has led to a disregard of their obligations, and the laws of the General Government have ceased to effect the objects of the Constitution.” From this line alone, the cause for secession is apparent: slavery. Seeing as the cause of the war is apparent, why do a plurality of Americans paint it as a dispute over states’ rights instead of a battle over one of the ugliest stains on America’s historic fabric? The answer, as with so many questions today, can be found in how we educate our youth.  The federal government strict benchmarks for how states must educate on areas like mathematics and reading; there no such country-wide benchmark for social studies or history. As a result, states and localities create their own curriculum requirements in these fields, leading to vastly diverse and contradicting versions of history. In one stark example, while California that slavery was institutionalized and continued to harm Black people after the Civil War, Florida, conversely, that slavery served in some ways to benefit enslaved Black people.  Waylon Massie, a former American history and AP US Government teacher, weighed in on the nature of education as a factor in America’s corrupted view of these historical matters. Massie noted, “Over my 20 years in social studies, we really minimized slavery. You get more into the states’ rights.” Considering Massie’s 20 years in education were spent in southern Ohio, his experience seems representative, as the eighth grade Civil War curriculum — which does not need to be revisited in high school, per Ohio curriculum — , “Disputes over the nature of federalism, complicated by economic developments in the United States, resulted in sectional issues, including slavery, which led to the American Civil War.” While slavery is mentioned, the minimized nature of it and its classification as a mere “sectional issue” confirms Massie’s experience.  Massie found himself frustrated by the constraints of curriculum, and he credits this frustration as a major factor in his decision to leave the classroom. He explained, “I think if you’re not frustrated, you’re probably not a very good teacher.” His story points toward an unfortunate trend: We are facing an extreme educator shortage in this nation. Factors such as pay and working conditions are at the forefront of this struggle, and many educators similar frustration to Massie’s about their constrained ability to teach. Texas, for example, has such low numbers of teachers that the state has lowered its standards to become a licensed teacher. That is terrifying. If the goal is to improve education, historical or otherwise, the answer is not to drive out experienced teachers and replace them with unprepared and underqualified ones. As mentioned, on top of the burden of constrained curricula, teachers are facing all sorts of other constraints. “You could almost write another article on the types of constraints,” Massie said. “We’ve got time constraints, you have financial constraints, you’ve got constraints on the abilities of your learners, and then you have cultural constraints.” As light is shed on the plight of America’s public school teachers, it is no wonder that education on history is failing: The education system is failing teachers.  Eatmon expressed her wish that American youth be taught that “The election of 1876 was only contested because of voter fraud on the part of Southern Democrats.” This point — in the realm of Civil War-era education — is intriguing, as it connects an important theme in American history to modernity; we can to historic voter intimidation today. In another vein, Harvard professor Dr. Walter Johnson said in an interview with HPR, “I would want [American youth] to understand that it was possible to be anti-slavery while still being white supremacist.” Johnson brought up an important point: All too often, historical figures, especially from this era, are portrayed as heroic and unblemished. In reality, the fallacy behind their heroism exists only in their absence of being pro-slavery.  President Abraham Lincoln is likely the most famous example of the reality Johnson laid out. Lincoln is the world over as the “Great Emancipator.” Americans consistently him as the best president in United States history, and tributes to him not only adorn our nation’s capital but can be found across the world — such as his in London’s Parliament Square.  Lincoln is the great American hero, so I’ll his 1858 words to speak for him: “I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the institution of slavery in the States where it exists … I have no purpose to introduce political and social equality between the White and the Black races.” I certainly never heard these words in school, and I am confident most others with an American public high school education did not either. Lincoln went on to add, “There is a physical difference between the two [races], which … will probably forever forbid their living together …  [I] am in favor of the race to which I belong having the superior position.”  Abraham Lincoln — the Great Emancipator — uttered those sentiments. What would be the reaction today if President Biden were to utter those words? Surely, he’d be cast as anything but a hero. While some may argue that Lincoln’s words simply echoed his environment and his time, is that a sound excuse when compared to figures like John Brown, who actively against slavery and racism, even though he was a White man? No. Lincoln should not get an excuse; he was not solely a product of his environment.  Why is it that Lincoln is painted a hero on the modern canvas? Massie says it is because “We need heroes. We need things to hang our hats on as Americans.” Especially in poor and rural areas of the country, looking to Lincoln as an example of a poor country boy making it all the way from dirt floors to the White House is nothing short of inspiring. His accomplishments in that sense were absolutely noteworthy, and we must credit him with what he did accomplish. We can no longer credit him, however, with being an anti-racist trailblazer. He was not.   Massie is spot on: We do need heroes. Fortunately, according to Eatmon and Johnson, we have them. Eatmon explains, “I definitely think it’s Black people — whether it was people who self-emancipated during the war, whether it was Black men who fought in the war … whether it was Black people who were at constitutional conventions during Reconstruction … I think Black people are agents in emancipation that we don’t traditionally talk about.” Johnson said the true heroes are, “Enslaved people, themselves, as Du Bois pointed out in Black Reconstruction. John Brown.” These responses demonstrate another great failure in the education some states provide: a lack of discussion of the actual heroes of the Civil War — many of whom were Black. When we take these truths and line them up next to what is widely accepted as true today, the difference is striking. American educators are tired of teaching a version of history that is dependent on state politics and whitewashing. But even more alarming than what they are instructed to teach in public school, is what is absent from the curriculum.  I asked Massie if, in his time as a teacher in these subjects, he was ever instructed by state standards to educate on Black agency during the Civil War and Reconstruction. His response was, “No. I don’t think I have ever seen that … The role of enslaved people is, if not absent completely, minimized.” Indeed, Black people did work to liberate themselves. How could state curricula not make that information front and center in discussions on emancipation? It this matter boils down to the political leanings of those with power over education. After all, the same Republican party that on voter intimidation and gerrymandering would surely not our youth to be educated on from over a century ago. I seem to recall something about learning history so as not to repeat it.  Massie’s words are poignant. Teachers want to teach; it’s as simple as that. So often, however, they find themselves confined to a small scope of history, or fearful of the backlash that would ensue were they to challenge the state’s narrative. Teachers are down every day and used as scapegoats for the miseducation that some state officials feed down the pipe from statehouses to classrooms. This process ultimately results in warped historical and social curriculum, in part, to advance the narratives of those in power.  If we, as a nation, mandate certain requirements for math and reading, why is it that we allow individual states to determine the version of history their youth deserve? Moreover, who benefits from propagating a history that all but removes mentions of slavery, Black agency, and self-emancipation and props up figures like Abraham Lincoln, who, at best, was a temporarily anti-slavery White supremacist? We must focus our efforts on ensuring that children across this nation are learning the truth of American history — the good, the bad, and the ugly. It is only as an educated society that we can ever truly hope to move forward socially and eliminate systemic prejudices and biases.  In the words of George Orwell, “Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.” Right now, state governments control the past through the miseducation of American history. This nation needs to prioritize accurate history, make standardized social studies education national, and, most importantly, show respect for teachers, who should be allowed to serve as deliverers of truth, not used as political pawns.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/freedom-hero-fallacy/

In the Darkness Let There Be Light: The Political Power of Black Hymns

Mikalah Hodge

For many Black children, Sunday mornings are filled with pageantry, hot combs, and gospel. But you will not hear soft melodic instrumental gospel tracks in these mahogany pews — you will hear the upbeat tempo of a people’s survival, you will hear the percussion of politics. These hymns are the physical manifestations of 400 years of history of a people’s struggle. Throughout history, African Americans have used music to communicate biblical devotion, plans of escape, and political protests. The hymns of a people denied literacy don’t just serve a religious experience; they have been used to create a community in the face of a nation that denied them basic humanity, and their legacy is intertwined in the Black experience of so many generational African Americans today. When denied access to the wider society, Black Churches became the epicenter for African American life, including the for political rights. The “Black Church” derives its meaning from what W.E.B Dubois coined the “Negro Church,” in his book by the same title and most commonly to the seven most major Black Protestant denominations. The Bible and Christianity had present in Africa from the 1st century AD and were introduced to Sub-Saharan Africa in the 15th century by Portuguese merchants. However, the vast majority of enslaved peoples were prohibited from being baptized or converting to slavery because slave holders that the Bible might incite rebellion. In fact, in the 1730s, several would-be-Confederate states anti-literacy laws that made it illegal for enslaved peoples to be taught to read. However, as the First Great Awakening and Revivals America from the 1740s through the turn of the century, Black enslaved people began to convert to Christianity. This was in large part because the Evangelicalism and Methodism of the First Great Awakening was imbued with a democratizing force by asserting that all people could be Christianized. In fact, Methodists conversions from enslaved Black people and the White working class. The relationship between enslaved peoples and the Bible was complex and used in a variety of ways, including to legitimize their humanity and subsequent freedom and to criticize their enslavement.  Without being able to widely access and engage with the Bible in its traditional written format, Black Christianity became an oral tradition. As explained in Allen Dwight Callahan’s “The Talking Book,” while there were some literate enslaved preachers, the vast majority relied on sermons taught by White missionaries or passed down from family members.  In the last few decades before the abolishment of slavery, Negro Spirtuals, or religious folksongs often retelling the stories of the Bible or popular motifs, widely popular. Some of the most popular — which are still sung in Black Churches today — include “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” Wallis Willis and “Go Down Moses,” whose composer unknown. Negro Spirtuals traditional West African musical traditions and Christian motifs. Many enslaved Africans’ native tongue tonal words that weren’t present in English; these tones that had been stripped from them were transformed into the rhythms of spirituals, and they also drew from the traditional communal aspect of singing and dancing in West African tradition.  These spirituals often encompassed stories in the Bible associated with freedom like the story of Exodus, in which the Israelites were enslaved in Egypt for 400 years and subsequently freed by God. In Albert Raboteau’s 1994 “Afro-Americans, Exodus, and the American Israel,” he explains that while most White colonists saw America as Israel or the Promised Land, many enslaved peoples viewed the White colonists as the biblical Egyptians and their forced home as Egypt land. It is important to note that the relationships between enslaved peoples and the Bible is one with complex intricacies and deeply rooted historical meaning, and this article only touches on a small portion of the expansive story. During the 19th century, Negro Spirtuals served a dual purpose: a vessel for religious devotion and a signal for escape. As the Underground Railroad ushered enslaved peoples out of the “peculiar institution” and into Northern freedom, enslaved peoples would plans for escape through the use of spirituals sung throughout their daily tasks. “Map songs” like “Follow the Drinking Gourd” enslaved peoples with the essential instructions for escape. Historians to these songs with double meanings as “coded spirituals.” Negro Spirtuals, however, did not end with the emancipation of enslaved people; they persisted throughout the late 19th century and the 20th century. Although the system of chattel slavery officially on June 19, 1865, systemic forms of abuse and racism did not. With the failure of reconstruction and of Jim Crow, Black people were still under eerily similar conditions of poverty and a lack of opportunities as pre-Civil War times. Despite being denied entrance into “polite” society, the Black religious experience became deeply rooted in the lives of newly freed enslaved peoples. In the decades following the Civil War, many large Black churches in the North thousands of missionaries to the South. As Black Christianity grew, the traditional and comforting spirituals became a center of church service. However, the solemnly slow beats were by fast paced praise dance-inducing rhythms. In fact, the Harlem Renaissance Black music by introducing jazz and blues to the already extensive musical history of Black Americans. With the Great Migration, many Black Southerners music — most specifically, early blues — developed on plantations and the postwar South to the North while in search of better jobs and less discrimination. This new coalition of Black people settled throughout the North, especially in Harlem. With the Harlem Renaissance and jazz making its way into the music collections of White Americans, the irony is that with the of jazz to White people, its Black creators were barred from enjoying the music in parlors and clubs. As the Harlem Renaissance was funded by White dollars, its music expanded beyond the gospel and freedom genre in order to appeal to a wider audience. Although Black music began to explore secular topics, it still stylistic elements of traditional spirituals like rhythmic precision and even used lyrics from spirituals. However, religious spirituals and hymns, the former of which is by its praise aspects, were still widely used throughout the Black community. This cultural touch point would be into the national spotlight during the Civil Rights Movement. The Black Church and Black religious leaders, including Dr. Martin Luther King and Reverend Ralph Abernathy, at the forefront of the movement. Through the use of widely known spirituals and hymns, preachers were able to mobilize and motivate their congregations and White Christians to join in calling for the end of Jim Crow. The emotional songs the struggles of Black Americans and dispersed their message to those who did not readily see the toll of discrimination directly. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr called music the “soul of the movement” in his 1964 book “Why We Can’t Wait ” Black Hymns and the oral traditionality of Black Christianity has long in our community. Music has united a community that has faced injustice and discrimination for 400 years, from negro spirituals to hip-hop. In light of the Black Lives Matter movement in 2013, utilizing Black music as a political message has once again emerged.  Songs like R&B artist H.E.R.’s somber blues song “I Can’t Breathe” of the messaging frequently found in Civil Rights Era songs and even traditional negro spirituals. Artists aren’t just focusing on protest music — some are advocating for the conservation and celebration of traditional Black songs. Recently, a movement to acknowledge what is colloquially known as “The Black National Anthem” has in the media, with Sherly Lee Ralph the song at the 2023 Super Bowl. The Black National Anthem to Lift Every Voice and Sing, originally a poem and hymn composed by James Weldon and Johnson in 1900. The song was later by the NAACP and used in the 1950s and 1960s as a rallying call in Black Churches and Civil Rights demonstrations. The song emerged at the turn of a century, one that many Black Americans hoped would finally be their way out of “Egypt land” and into the “promised land” they had been searching for since their arrivals on the beaches of Virginia.  Black musical politics is far from gone and its history runs parallel and oftentimes intersects with the broader American political history. From spirituals meant to connect enslaved Americans to new found religion to hip-hop and R&B songs that reflect the current lives of Black Americans, music and hymns have always deeply influenced how Black folks interact with the world. Today, however, the anthem is sung as a celebration of overcoming and has been sung by some of the most iconic Black artists of our generation, Beyoncé.  They took our language, they blinded our eyes, but they could not break our spirit. Our resilience is manifested in melodies and remembered in rhythms. What was once enslaved peoples only connection to a home most would never return to has become an anchoring point for generational African Americans who have known no other.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/in-the-darkness-let-there-be-light-the-political-power-of-black-hymns/

Classics Are at a Crossroads

Livingston Zug

The classics — the poems, myths, philosophies, and histories from Ancient Greece and Rome — portray a society struggling with war, disease, climate change, social inequality, unrest, and autocracy. Just like us, but also not like us at all. The classics are at once beautiful paeans to humanity and an inspiration for Mussolini, and this is not justification for their relegation or promotion. Nonetheless, as with many books in recent years, the classics have also politicized. Under the auspices of editor Roger Kimball, the right-wing, high-brow culture magazine The New Criterion has a series of essays since September 2021 collectively titled “Western Civilization at the Crossroads.” In these essays, various authors argue that western civilization has begun to falter as American society changes, with fewer Americans church and communities more racially diverse. To quote the introductory essay of the series: “If one were inclined to sum up the moral of this introductory essay, one might … say that its message is that civilization depends on tradition, that which is handed down, traditum, from the past.” Note that the central idea, “tradition,” is expressed in Latin a few words later, signaling the importance of the Greek and Roman classics to this vision.  Case in point: The “crossroads” in the title of the essay series come from the Greek tragedian Sophocles’ “Oedipus the King.” The authors chose the crossroads — that wooded place where Oedipus kills his father and begins to journey down a swift road to his doom — because they wish to evoke the image of a choice that will decide the fate of this project, “Western Civilization.” They depict the Greek and Roman classics as quintessential vessels of tradition, venerability, and strength. Here is a perspective that conceives of the classics as a set of texts, ideas, and historical events perfect enough to be used as models upon which to base our future practices. Not only is such a stance reflective of a superficial understanding of the material, but it also propagates a dangerous view — that who we were is who we should become.  After all, with some exceptions, those who wrote the poems and inspired the ideas beloved by The New Criterion essayists often owned slaves, enforced the patriarchy, and grew rich off imperial domination. Seneca, the famous stoic philosopher, supported modesty while being one of the richest men in Rome; Ovid’s “Ars Amatoria” comes close to endorsing misogynistic dating strategies; Demosthenes, who provoked Athens to war against Macedon, helped undermine the city’s democracy after it lost. This sounds eerily similar to the world we live in today, where some of the figures most central to the American story, like Thomas Jefferson, owned slaves while advocating for freedom from tyranny. Given this, how can we believe that the world illustrated by classics should by American society’s cynosure going forward?  The left has an alternative viewpoint, and Princeton Classics Professor Dan-el Padilla Peralta is one of the loudest voices behind its critiques. The New Criterion a scathing profile of Peralta in March 2021 in response to an oppositely complimentary in The New York Times just one month earlier. In the article, Kimball viciously objects to Peralta’s assertion that the classics must dramatically grapple with the legacy of oppression and its hand in it. Kimball also lodges cruel insults against Rachel Poser, the author of the piece, and sounds off about preserving the purity of the classics.  In essence, Peralta argues that the historical deemphasis of the dark side of the classics — the slavery, nationalism, xenophobia, classism, sexism, homophobia — has marred the discipline to the point where it has been rendered meaningless. Though he doesn’t exactly clarify how, he claims that that stance has led, in Poser’s paraphrase, to “justifications of slavery, race science, colonialism, [and] Nazism,” among other evils. Thus, the field has to strenuously reevaluate itself, or justly perish for its sins. Like Kimball’s, Peralta’s outlook is fundamentally an extremist perspective on the classics. It also stands in furtherance of an unsavory viewpoint: that the classics, far from being worth everything, as those at The New Criterion would have it, have nothing left to give us. If it’s all dead white men, there’s little reason to bother with it anymore. His burn-it-all-down rhetoric is aggressive. Kimball and his staff are justified in defending the classics as a “fertile source of wisdom and aesthetic delectation.” Yet, for a that’s “on the front lines of the battle for culture” and committed to aesthetics, their March 2021 essay reeks with a most unaesthetic venom: In angrily defending themselves against critiques from the left, they fail to consider that, in their moderate forms, the aggressive aims of the left and the defensive stance of the right have intellectual and societal merit. Besides, using big words, especially those from other languages — like traditum — and gratuitously humiliating one’s fellow scholars does not make one an enlightened person.  The tendency on the right — especially on the erudite right but also, worryingly, on the Proud Boys and extremist side of conservative politics — to idealize the classics elevates them to the pinnacle of morality. It plays out in articles in The New Criterion, yes, but also in banners the Spartans on January 6th, social media influencers touting ancient rape culture as worth emulating by incels (see Donna Zuckerberg’s book “Not All Dead White Men”), and the recent discovery that non-classics-professor men about the Roman Empire rather often. Such misinterpretation and appropriation of the classics, however it manifests, is reprehensible.  As represented by Peralta and company, though, the fringes of the left are equally foolish for their wholesale demolition effort. The New Criterion’s article cites several educators’ diatribes about canceling, or otherwise destroying, the classics as a discipline. Dissolving the field, eliminating its endowments, firing its professors, and removing its texts and topics from curricula are all excessive, unwarranted steps.  There is no doubt that the present moment demands a challenge of the norms of western civilization. One need look no further than to rising authoritarianism in Hungary, violent assaults on the Capitol, or the battlefields of Ukraine to see that the democratic project is under threat. The classics have little to do with this. The solution is not to search two-thousand-year-old texts for suggestions on how to organize society today. The classics cannot explain something so far beyond its bounds, and ought not to be asked to do so.  Western civilization may be at a crossroads, or it might not be. Either way, the left, right, and their academic and social arms have a choice between honestly and appreciatively working with the classics or distorting them to fit a political agenda. As for our larger civilizational questions, we will have to find our way by some other path — one that does not rely solely on traditum nor necessitate its absence.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/classics-are-at-a-crossroads/

Progressive Gender Politics Have Become Suffocating: The Case Against Reclamation

Luke O'Brien

I’ve undergone a kind of case study since coming here last August. When I arrived, I had pink hair so bright that the Class of 2027 photo resembles a Where’s Wally game. But I was hit with a disastrous gene: male pattern baldness. Gone went the pink, out of fear that I was damaging the precious hairline that was beginning to recede. Gone, too, it seemed, was the respect for the fact that I might not conform to all male stereotypes. There was a marked difference in the way that people treated me — especially from those in or allied with the queer community. I felt as if I were no longer a member of an in-group, as if I’d now been flung back out into the “normal” public. A part of this change was refreshing — and not just because CVS had been extorting me for pink hair dye. I was faced with fewer stereotypes. Fewer weird looks from people walking through campus. Fewer assumptions about who I was, how I would act, and what political opinions I might hold. No longer was I the worst nightmare of a Fox News anchor. But there has been a more frustrating element. Since donning the forbidden natural hair, people have felt no shame in applying more male stereotypes to me — in assuming that I approach friendship and relationships like most men or that my brain functions in some essentially male way.  What frustrated me most, though, was who made these assumptions. It wasn’t the traditional, masculine men wanting to welcome me back into the fold, so to speak; it was the progressives who were supposedly on my side. And increasingly, it was the queer community. The creation of a strong community has been essential to combating discrimination. It allows queer people not only to form a kind of alliance with others but to learn the appropriate tools to fight prejudice. For some, this may involve scolding the offender as their mother would; you sit them down and tell them that what they said was wrong and ignorant and offensive. Objectively, this seems like the most reasonable response. After all, the offenders should learn why they erred. But such a response can be exhausting. It shouldn’t always be the job of the one facing discrimination to explain why that discrimination is wrong, to soft-parent people into acceptance. And more importantly, it might not even work. In the face of irrational belittlement, a rational explanation is rarely effective. The alternative is not to parent the offender; it is to reclaim what they used against you. If pink hair is socially ridiculous, for example, then maybe I’ll just dye my hair the brightest of the bright pinks available. An act like this weakens the arsenal of prejudice. Beforehand it was something that caused shame; once reclaimed, the tools of discrimination become an element of culture that strengthens your identity. These acts of reclamation are, generally speaking, the foundation of queer norms and trends. In other words, dying your hair pink or following any other trends in the queer community are born not from some common genetic trait, but from reclamation. Often we talk about reclamation only in regards to slurs or offensive terms. But it can apply to any kind of stereotyped behaviors, fashion, or modes of speech. Consider the surge in popularity of the septum piercing. Having one wasn’t imposed on the queer community in the way that slurs were; homophobes weren’t strolling the streets armed with a piercing gun. But when the septum piercing became a target of ridicule, the community responded by embracing it, by owning it. A mere piercing became a marker of one’s identity, a symbol of one’s pride against the discrimination they faced. And this is the sense in which I use “reclamation” — an act that tries to take ownership of something that once invited ridicule so that it becomes central to the queer identity. This, I argue, is the darker side of reclamation. If our main tool against stereotypes is to reclaim them, we risk developing a sense of identity that is just as shallow as the one ascribed to us by others, of repeating the very prejudices we try to fight. My hair conformed well to the norms of the community because it was slightly outrageous and, more importantly, because it was feminine. That’s what signaled to others that I was a member of this in-group. That’s what enabled the mutual recognition with other members that we were alike. But ever since my hair returned to its natural state, it has been expected that I’ll return to mine: namely, my biological sex. And here is where the community has inadvertently committed a kind of biological essentialism. The original script of gender that you must dress, speak, and act in accordance with your assigned sex. If you were born male, you must be manly; if you were born female, you must be womanly. And so, when people had gender identities that erred from the norm, they inevitably dressed and spoke and acted in ways that subverted the original script — namely, those assigned male would present more feminine and those assigned female more masculine. With reclamation, then, this subversion became the norm among trans and nonbinary people. And although this has enabled more fluidity in expression, it has also reduced, in some ways, one’s gender identity to these superficial signals. Adherence to these norms has been conflated with one’s internal experience. To gain respect for your gender identity, you must still act in accordance with your sex but in an unorthodox way; you’re flipping the script while repeating its mistakes.  The natural extension of these norms is that you must conceal your biology — which is a part of the reason why, for a long time, I shaved every shadow of hair left on my body, shaved my face so obsessively that specks of blood would litter my chin. Of course, the other part was gender dysphoria, which isn’t so easily shaped by the norms of a community. My claim here is not that people should stop trying to conceal their sex regardless of dysphoria; it is that our respect for their identity shouldn’t depend on their adherence to these norms. That respect often hinges on our adherence to norms, moreover, can exacerbate those feelings of gender dysphoria. Not only must you grapple with the discomfort of exposing your assigned sex; you must navigate the assumptions that you’re now following the original script of gender. Consider why we’ve tried to move away from the original script — consider, for example, the gender politics of the 1950s. Women were to assume domestic duties, to be a symbol of an infantilising femininity, to serve the men in their lives. Their agency was restricted by their gender, their individuality suffocated by their assigned sex. Albeit less harmfully, the queer community has repeated the prejudiced thinking behind this discrimination. The expectation to subvert the traditional norms attached to your sex is just another form of obedience. Put differently, the principle of your assigned sex consuming your personal identity has persisted. We must soften our reliance on reclamation. Yes, it can be powerful. And yes, it can enable a sense of confidence that was once fragile. But it carries the risk of repeating the prejudice of the stereotypes we reclaim, of committing biological essentialism in a slightly prettier font. One’s individuality must be respected more than it is now. This requires a shift in how everyone, not just the queer community, is treated. One’s presentation doesn’t necessarily reflect their inner thoughts; we cannot dive into their mind and figure out exactly what they mean by their pleated skirt or their winged eyeliner. And if we did believe that the external always reflects the internal, the norms of the queer community would only become more restrictive and oppressive. To respect individuality, we must give everyone the license to have internal experiences that may misalign with their presentation, to be a person before they are a man or woman or non-binary. The liberation movement has been misguided. So focused has it been on reclamation that it seems to have forgotten what the real aim should be: to liberate queer people. Of course, liberation will never be achieved if societal discrimination persists, but we must develop other ways to respond to discrimination than reclamation alone. We must at least try to bolster a respect for individuality — a respect to which everyone is entitled. Instead of flipping the script, let’s just chuck it out.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/progressive-gender-politics-have-become-suffocating/

Ardor et Stabilitas: Latin in U.S. Universities and Secondary Schools

Livingston Zug

The first six months of 2021 were tough for the classics. In April, Howard University its decision to reorganize its Classics department and instead offer its courses as a minor within its Interdisciplinary Humanities and World Languages departments. In late May, Princeton University its degree requirements to no longer require Latin and Greek proficiency as a degree qualification in its Classics department. In February — in an unrelated moment — the New York Times an article about Princeton professor Dan-el Padilla Peralta and his view that the classics might have to be abolished as a discipline because of underlying racism and sexism within the field. According to Times Higher Education later that year, the number of annual graduating classics majors has steadily, as has the number of universities offering classics programs.  Howard’s announcement sparked widespread news coverage, much of it ranging from disappointed to furious, in , , and a host of other publications. The event and subsequent reaction are illustrative of the moment, as classics programs in secondary schools, colleges, and universities are under scrutiny. Nevertheless, as the events of spring 2021 continue to ripple, one thing remains clear: Far from fading, dying, or being reduced to political talking points, the classics are thriving.  In April, I spoke with Howard professor Dr. Molly Levine, who has taught classics, particularly Latin, at Howard since 1984. Our conversation made clear that, contrary to much of the initial, vituperative coverage, Howard did not eliminate the likes of Virgil and Sappho wholesale. The classics are indelible. As long as professors are excited to teach and students are eager to study, the material will flourish.  Dr. Levine stated that, regardless of departmental reorganization, the core elements of the classics remain just as true today as they did long before 2021, and Howard remains staunchly committed to intellectual inquiry. “Students come to the classics for the same reasons they’ve always done,” she told the HPR. “They fell in love with it, and that has not changed and will never change.” Moreover, she says, classics departments are special because of generally small enrollments and associated opportunities for mentorship and the feeling of a home away from home. “Good teaching and small [class] sizes make for a good education.”  Nevertheless, Dr. Levine says enrollment in her Latin courses has risen steadily since 2021, as has the number of other classics-related curricular options. Even though classics courses are dispersed between Howard’s Interdisciplinary Studies and World Languages departments, Dr. Levine is confident that Latin, Greek, and the history, philosophy, and literature of the ancient world will always have a place at Howard. “You can’t kill the classics.” Illustrative of this sentiment is an article in the New York Times from May 2, 2021 that against a written by former philosophy professor Cornel West. West claimed that the loss of classics was a harbinger for the collapse of humanistic inquiry at Howard. In other words, losing the department would cause irreparable harm to the university. The Times authors — who work at Howard — fired back, writing that “there is no spiritual catastrophe unfolding on Howard’s campus … students and faculty are in the midst of a Renaissance replete with all the accompanying spiritual and intellectual affirmations.”  It is worth remembering, as Dr. Levine often says, that Latin and Ancient Greek were among the university’s first curricular offerings when Howard was founded in 1867. The Latin and Ancient Greek departments merged in the 20th century to constitute a unified classics unit. Classics have been a core component of American education since its earliest beginnings, so the decision to dissolve the department and disperse its offerings was understandably challenging.  Funding matters. Enrollment matters. The number of tenured faculty and the academic vitality in a department — how much research is being published — matter. The university administrations making the hard choices are not at fault. As many commentators rightly in 2021, Howard, as a Historically Black College and University (HBCU), has never had access to the same financial luxuries as its much older, historically White, all-male peer institutions. Howard’s endowment is just a billion dollars, while Harvard’s is fifty times . With money comes the ability to attract new professors, pay generously, and retain a sizable teaching faculty, even if the department does not attract massive numbers of students. In this very real sense, the wealth and resources of the university can determine the available classics options for students.  The classics are not uniformly accessible to students, but Dr. Levine is right. Where they do exist, they exist because of the organic passion the professors and students bring to the seminar room. She says, “if you love teaching it, the students will love learning it.” A particularly bright spot in Howard’s Classics landscape is student engagement. Dr. Levine noted that her students are passionate and increasing in number; one of these is Mila Hill, a junior at Howard who double majors in classics and English while pursuing a minor in Latin.  When I spoke to Hill, she was about to walk her dog. She told the HPR that she became interested in the classics after reading the Percy Jackson books, Rick Riordan’s pair of famous book series about Greek and Roman mythology, and though she took Spanish in high school she launched into Latin at Howard.  “I have had the opportunity to get a solid Classics education,” Hill told the HPR. “All our professors are very hands-on in making sure that the Classics we have are as strong as they can be. They know their material and are doing their best to provide as much of a traditional experience as they can for us.” According to Hill, classics at Howard are thriving because of the dedicated efforts of a handful of tenured faculty members, including Dr. Levine, who do their best to enrich students’ academic journeys. “It’s more of a bottom-up effort than it would be if we had more institutional support,” she says, but the indelibility of classics and the faculty’s constant commitment have made her time at Howard positive.  Hill says that Howard’s decentralized model for teaching the Classics might become more common at small institutions. “The Ivies will always have classics departments, but in terms of smaller endowments, classics isn’t the only department at risk … universities might continue to devalue programs like English and the other thought-heavy disciplines that don’t produce things you can see.” She’s completely right. All the intellectual vitality and student engagement in the world cannot help if schools lack the funds and institutional support to maintain a department. The classics are too permanent to disappear, as Dr. Levine and Hill point out, but more schools might find themselves making tough choices. Overall, Hill says, “it’s a privilege to study the classics.” Even without the infrastructure of a typical classics department, students like Hill continue to thrive in an excellent academic program.  The seeds of positive college and university experiences with the classics are sown in secondary schools, where kids first read Rick Riordan and watch Gladiator. When one talks about classics education in universities, one is usually referring to courses in Latin, Ancient Greek, Roman and Greek history, and sometimes even Sanskrit. Classics education in secondary schools, however, almost always means Latin, sometimes with ancient history tacked on. There are a few schools — mostly elite private ones — that teach Ancient Greek, but the reality is that for most students, Latin is their primary exposure to the classics before college. The statistics that secondary school Latin programs are not dying — at least not en masse, but they’re not growing explosively either. Similar to what transpired at Howard, the headline is: Nothing is changing particularly quickly or dramatically. The most recent data, however, is from 2017. Not only is it not up to date, but it’s also not comprehensive, with several states failing to report their numbers. Nevertheless, in 2017 more than 210,000 students were taking Latin, only behind Spanish, French, German, and Mandarin. While 60 schools reported that they were considering discontinuing their Latin programs, 50 said they were considering adding Latin to their curricula. French (of all languages) is losing more ground than Latin.  Even if programs aren’t fading away or growing, they are always evolving. In 2018, the administration at Sidwell Friends School in Washington, D.C. announced it was official AP classes. Although students may still register for the exams, this means their Latin program is no longer beholden to a rigid, externally imposed curriculum. I spoke with Latin teacher Leigh Gilman, who has taught in Sidwell’s Upper School for decades. Gilman told the HPR that besides the Latin AP test not being an adequate estimate of Latin learning, the AP system was disruptive to the school calendar, with half the school leaving to take exams for two weeks in May, and inhibited teacher autonomy. She says that she can better cater to student interests without the shadow of the AP exam. I enjoy being flexible and the opportunity to keep reinventing the material,” she said in an interview with the HPR.  Gilman describes her student constituency as “a small but very excited group of kids.” This sentiment mirrors those of Hill and Dr. Levine, that the excellence of classics programs comes, in part, from student passion and permanence. Part of Gilman’s students’ interest in classics stems, as Hill had also shared, from Rick Riordan and early exposure to fantastical mythology. “The classical retellings [recent books by Natalie Haynes and Madeline Miller] are breathing new life into the discipline” and attracting more students. “I am used to embracing whoever walks in my door,” Gilman says. At Sidwell, Latin class is one of many spaces where students can express themselves. The idea of an inclusive, welcoming Latin classroom is crucial to Gilman. She wants students to know that “Latin and Ancient Rome can be seen as representative … if Latin could shake its ‘dead white men’ reputation, that could do a lot for the field.” She constantly reinforces to students and parents the myriad ways Latin continues to have relevance, particularly since learning Latin can help students learn a separate Romance language in the future.  Sidwell’s Latin program is “small but mighty,” according to Gilman, but the future looks bright. Everyone interviewed for this piece expressed this same sentiment. The classics will thrive as long as students and teachers are emotionally invested in them — and there is no shortage of emotional investment, as the flurry of coverage around Howard demonstrates. Gilman says, “It ebbs and flows, but it will never go away. There will always be a place for Latin.” Sidwell is a well-endowed, prestigious private school, and the experience there is not necessarily representative of the diversity of the classics experience in secondary schools. No article can address every standpoint or find every nuance in the issue, but those who have predicted the unilateral demise of the classics have been soundly proven wrong.  Irrespective of whether knowing Ancient Greek or the date of the Battle of Cannae becomes tangibly relevant to one’s life, the skills that one gains via the rigorous study and appreciation of texts, languages, histories, and cultures will always be relevant. There is humanistic value in any inquiry that exposes students to patterns of thought, learning, and feeling beyond their own. The hexameters of Homer have nearly made me cry, as have the fragments of Sappho and the anguished meditations of Marcus Aurelius. If these subjects have the potential to enrich souls so deeply, it cannot be that they are not worth teaching.  In my recent article for the Harvard Political Review, I that the American left and right, equally, should leave the classics out of their culture wars precisely because they are, like so much art is, “beautiful paeans to humanity.” Putting aside the vituperative rhetoric surrounding Howard, Professor Peralta, and that spring 2021 epoch, the work of the classics continues. In high school classrooms and university seminar rooms across the United States, students continue to learn and love the classics, in ways both new and old.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/ardor-et-stabilitas/

The American Flag: A Symbol for Some or All?

James McAffrey

Last week, I was driving down the highway when I noticed a striking view. The highway had a curve coming up, but at the edge of that curve, straight down the road, there was an enormous American flag blowing mightily in the wind. I could see the stars and stripes clearly waving back and forth. Then I reached the turn and realized that I should probably watch the road. But after that sight, I was struck by another realization: I felt conflicted. The American flag does not seem like a symbol of hope, freedom, and life anymore. Now when I see the flag, it’s typically in an article about another “Make America Great Again” rally or in a bumper sticker on a truck. The American flag has become a symbol of the conservative American, not of shared American values. As I continued driving along the road, I thought to myself: “Does it have to be that way?” The flag is a symbol, and symbols change. The flag — which is meant to represent an entire people — should not simply be the symbol of one party. It should embody the ideas that this country was founded and built on, the ideas that we all share. But recently, most media to associate this American symbol with extremists, as can be seen with pictures of the Jan. 6 riots that feature different permutations of the flag with Trump’s name. Some rioters even down an American flag and replaced it with a Trump flag. This tendency to partner the flag with un-American values is not simply a media problem.  Back in 2007, when Barack Obama was running for president, a reporter noticed that he hadn’t been wearing an American flag pin. Obama by explaining that the flag pin “became a substitute for… true patriotism.” This led him to avoid such false displays. “I decided I won’t wear that pin on my chest; instead I’m gonna try to tell the American people what I believe will make this country great, and hopefully that will be a testimony to my patriotism.” This response provoked a discussion of what Obama’s “true patriotism” meant. Some thought that Obama was his own version of patriotism above that of individuals who wear flag pins or that he wasn’t good patriotism by not wearing it at all. Others found it understandable because they felt that speaking out against war was a form of showing patriotism. But now, the flag has been entirely reduced to a display of fake patriotism instead of a dynamic symbol of what patriotism itself can be. These days, following Obama’s lead, liberal politicians often do not honor or present the flag without occasion. In one story, a graduate student from Harvard an American flag to a protest of the Iraq War. When she arrived, she noticed that many of the protesters couldn’t tell if she was part of the protest or a counter-protester. This just shows the extent of liberal Americans’ negative view of the flag. This distrust of the flag has become a problem for the flag as a symbol. Part of this issue is that the symbol has been taken by conservative politicians and embraced as a true symbol of patriotism while liberal politicians allow their patriotism to shine without an actual symbol. This is problematic because now the American flag does not appear as a symbol of the American dream, but rather of the conservative dream. The American flag should represent the shared identity of its citizens. We may disagree on a thousand things, but in general we share a love of democracy and an appreciation for freedom for all. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” This is America’s , and this is what the flag should represent. Some may contest the rigor of our beliefs in practice, pointing to the fact that the Declaration of Independence omitted women from representation and considered some people as three fifths of a person. But the American ideal is far greater than those founding documents.  In 1961, John F. Kennedy gave his great inaugural address in which he the American people to “ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.” He was emphasizing that America is not simply an inanimate government serving the people. It is the people working hand in hand with the government that help maintain these unalienable rights. We, the people, must help grow and improve our country because without us, the government is nothing. These are just some of the most famous interpretations of the American dream. These help us understand not only our relationship with the government, but also our relationships with each other. When I do well, my neighbor does better, too. When my neighbor does well, I do better, too. This mutual benefit is better understood under the common interest the flag can represent. Liberal politicians and leaders should embrace the American flag as a symbol of all these ideas and more. The American flag can and should represent the ideals of equality and pride that Black Lives Matter and pride flags encourage. We can either make the American flag a symbol of the sins of the present and past. Or it can be a symbol of the hope that Americans have for the future. I know which choice I would want. There are massive problems with this country: The education system isn’t , voting rights are , human rights are , children aren’t , and the list goes on. We cannot solve these problems while at each other’s throats. We have to come together under a shared identity. Through all our differences and experiences, we must cultivate a shared American identity. Notice, I say “we.” Because if one thing is true, it is this: We are not just White Americans, we are not just Black Americans, we are not just Indigenous Americans, we are not just Asian Americans, we are not just LGBTQ+ Americans — we are Americans. It is essential that we realize that, whether we like it or not, our fates are tied together.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/the-american-flag-a-symbol-for-some-or-all/

What Do They Call Me: A Personal Narrative from a Generational African American Student at Harvard College

Gabrielle Greene

It is no secret that the history of a generational African American person is one intrinsically tied to pain, betrayal, and separation. It’s a history that is remembered quite well. However, heavily associated with African American experiences is the concept of fragments, pieces of history that make up our being. And what a beautiful, fragmented history it is — filled with card games, southern gospel, artwork, and dancing. In light of the recent efforts in the U.S. to African American history from school curriculums, it is important that our personal stories are told, now more than ever.  As a young adult, I am slowly coming to terms with my own identity and understanding my place in the world. Although I was ecstatic to become the first member of my family to attend Harvard University and grateful for the opportunities it would bring, I couldn’t help but think about how much had been sacrificed on my behalf in order for me to reach this moment.  The pressure to succeed weighed heavily on me — the pressure to trailblaze on behalf of others in your community, the pressure to be an example, not to fail, and not to waiver in a commitment to education and knowledge-seeking.  Before college, I was fairly secure in my identity as a Black woman. I had a keen interest in politics throughout high school and participated in several initiatives to foster diversity in education and fairness in disciplinary policies. I knew that my ancestors were slaves, which placed its own limits on discovering my heritage. That always unsettled me just a little bit.  Perhaps that is why I gravitated to studying history in college. I am fascinated by the cultures of others, from the wonderful artistic of the Ming Dynasty, to Mayan traditions, to, of course, the oral histories of the Sudanese and Ghanaian regions. However, I hesitated to fully investigate my own history, always approaching it with a certain shyness. Movies like “Twelve Years A Slave” and “The Butler” had shown me the systemic violence against generational African Americans: heartbreak, pain, and abuse inflicted by White individuals. I simply assumed there wouldn’t be much else to explore.  That is until I actually stepped foot on campus. I remember attending an event held by the Generational African American Students Association during Visitas 2023, Harvard’s admitted students weekend. I saw a group of people in full celebration of their heritage as African Americans: a room filled with music, laughter, and dancing.  At first, it was hard to reconcile my previous experiences with a space like this. Coming from a predominantly White high school, I had never seen such an expansive African American community in an academic setting before. And yet, I saw the nation’s brightest, most accomplished minds all joined together in celebration. It was beautiful. And as I sat there, I let my mind transport me back to Fourth of July barbecues, chatter during Thanksgiving dinner, and Saturday all-day block parties. As Beyonce’s “Before I Let Go” reverberated throughout the room, I started to raise my hands and tap my feet. Suddenly, I stood, crossed my feet over each other, and began to clap. Feeling safe in the company of my community, I joined in with the other voices as we screamed at the top of our lungs, “I would never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, let you go before I go!” I’m so grateful I took part.  I found this experience to be so healing that I kept going back to GAASA events. As a current member of the organization, I’ve learned how to Spades — although I am a work in progress — and other such games as well as discussed issues surrounding my identity. I simply have been able to access a safe space where I can be myself. I feel such pride to be a part of an organization that is dedicated to fostering community on campus. Because of the Generational African American Students Association, I fully embraced the meaning of being African American.  And thus began my quest to learn more. My aunt, Dr. Beverly Greene, aside from being an outstanding university professor, is also an incredibly skilled photographer. She’s been keeping record of my existence through thousands of photographs taken during my childhood. Likewise, she has detailed our family lineage to the best of her ability. I reached out and messaged her, and with one text she became my storyteller.  During our conversation, I learned that I can trace my paternal heritage to the Cumberland Creek and Swift Creek regions of North Carolina, “where many of the earlier slaves were deposited,” she said. They then migrated to Georgia and Claiborne County in Mississippi, where they endured many years of turmoil in the Jim Crow South. Although a house fire destroyed a literal Bible of birth year records — essential information pertaining to my ancestors’ identities — I know for certain that the green fields of Georgia, Mississippi, and North Carolina’s rivers have felt the touch of my ancestors. Embedded within the Earth are their footprints, traveling from South to North during the Great migration.  Similarly, objects carry their experiences as well. I imagine that a wooden hammer, similar to the one resting in my dad’s toolbox in the family garage in Philadelphia, molded itself to fit the grasp of my great-great-grandfather’s hands as he constructed a local turpentine distillery. On the tape measure that my father frequently uses, I can find the markings made by my grandfather. He used this tool to measure the home he built for my father and his siblings, just an hour and a half from where I grew up.  I now see traces of history throughout my family home, in the art, where before they were simply beautiful paintings that complimented my living and dining room furniture —  “The Banjo Lesson” by Henry Ossawa Tanner and “Blessings II” by John Holyfield. Many more were unnamed paintings that told vivid stories —  one of a Black woman cradling her sick child, a painting of an older woman standing in front of cotton fields covered in the pink of the sunset, another of a woman in a beautiful white cape, symbolizing freedom and purity, a canvas depicting a Black bride and groom jumping a wooden broom, and another with three Black soldiers standing back to back, with doves coming out of the barrels of their guns. These paintings portray strong African American stories of struggle and perseverance, as well as intimate, miniscule moments, away from a world of hatred. These paintings tell stories that are uniquely ours. However, it can be difficult to find connections between and chronology through it all — constructing a discernible narrative through the objects, the paintings, the stories. Part of this journey is understanding that all history can be incredibly fragmented. Some historical puzzles are more challenging than others. As a generational African American, I have accepted that my ancestry consists of little fragments of life that tell expansive stories. Although I may never get the full picture, I’ve somehow found a totality within the pieces. I am extremely proud of that.  I made a promise to myself when I committed to Harvard that I intend on keeping: expanding the opportunities of discovery for the generations after me and illuminating the history of the generations before me. By gathering around a circular table and playing spades after the sun has set and the food has settled. By staying connected to my faith as a Christian woman, internalizing the old, southern hymns of the Black church that have made their way hundreds of miles up North. By embracing the Black experience of jazz music — of Nina Simone, Ella Fitzgerald, The Ink Spots, and Nat King Cole. When I open my mouth to sing “Cry Me A River,” I’ll sing it like it means something, because it does.  Although the struggles and pain of my ancestors are remembered quite well, I will choose to honor them with a curious disposition toward a history that is still being uncovered. I have a strong desire to preserve it — the storytelling, the games, the art, and the music. I will do so with an abundance of joy that will remain during my four years at Harvard and beyond.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/what-do-they-call-me-a-personal-narrative-from-a-generational-african-american-student-at-harvard-college/

The Legacy of Critical Whiteness Studies

Diana Ochoa-Chavez

When one learns of the field “Critical Whiteness Studies,” it’s natural to feel confusion and perhaps even discomfort. While this label might prompt one to believe that its field of study centers on White individuals and culture, this would be a mischaracterization. Instead, CWS analyzes the systems that create and uphold White supremacy. In most cases, the core ideas of CWS appear in tandem with conversations about race and ethnicity.  Given the importance of addressing institutional racism in order to achieve social justice, it might seem useful to have academics engage with the topic of White supremacy in a standalone manner. After all, this singular focus could highlight the structures of racism that are often ignored or dismissed in academia. However, the academic institutions’ de-emphasis on CWS in favor of the broader field of ethnic studies is a step toward more inclusive, critical conversations. This shift allows for increased attention toward the historical and current challenges faced by silenced and marginalized ethno-racial groups.  Critical Whiteness Studies gained prominence in the 1990s, emerging as a critical examination of race that beyond traditional frameworks. Whereas earlier approaches, such as primordialism, understand race as a biological category found in nature, CWS argues race is a social construct. On the one hand, the former commits to a view of race as independent of cultural contexts and inherent to humans. The latter is a radical departure from this view. For the constructivist, race is contingent on historical and cultural contexts because it is an artificial categorization. The chief focus of CWS is this construction and the implications of Whiteness as a social category; the field scrutinizes how Whiteness functions as a normative, and often invisible, identity. One aspect of CWS centers on the acknowledgement of White privilege; however, scholars’ approaches vary. Some approaches challenge societal norms and urge for a reevaluation of the role of Whiteness in shaping individual and collective identities. One early work was authored by Berkeley Law professor Ian Haney Lopez, a pioneer in the field, called “White by Law: The Legal Construction of Race.” In the text, Haney Lopez that White individuals should renounce their racial identity in the interest of social justice. While this seems to imply the erasure of personal identity, it’s crucial to dispel this common misinterpretation of Haney Lopez’s work. By advocating for the renunciation of Whiteness, Haney Lopez does not call for individuals to sever ties with their ethnic heritages, such as being Italian or Irish. Instead, his focus is on dismantling the historical and structural foundations upon which Whiteness is viewed as superior to other races. In particular, he argues that individuals should oppose the systemic othering of racial minorities and recognize that the construction of a White race has ties to discriminatory practices.  Such instances of discrimination are prominent in U.S. immigration law: In his work, Haney Lopez discusses a series of cases from 1878 to 1952 that required immigrants to be “free White persons” to naturalize. He writes, “Applicants from Hawaii, China, Japan, Burma, and the Philippines, as well as all mixed-race applicants, failed in their arguments. Conversely, courts ruled that applicants from Mexico and Armenia were ‘white,’ but vacillated over the Whiteness of petitioners from Syria, India, and Arabia.” By deciding who did, and who did not, count as White, courts actively participated in racial construction. At their core, these cases point to the inherent ambiguities and imprecisions that accompany attempts to categorize groups into racial binaries: White or nonwhite. In reviewing cases, courts deliberately applied contradictory rationales to deny the naturalization of most immigrants. Recognizing the origins of such claims to Whiteness among some groups and not others, Haney Lopez argues, is more important than erasing one’s connections to any particular White ethnicity. In an interview with the Harvard Political Review, professor Américo Mendoza–Mori, a lecturer in Latinx studies from Harvard’s Ethnicity, Migration, Rights department, illustrates a similar way of thinking about CWS. She explained to the Harvard Political Review that the field of Critical Whiteness Studies “doesn’t focus specifically on White individuals, but the effects of a narrative-creating a hierarchy and reflecting on the factors that created it … We can think of coloniality, we can think of slavery, we can think of different gaps that foster inequality that are rooted in concrete aspects that didn’t happen just in an instantaneous way. It’s part of this, let’s say, historical legacy.” Rather than centering on the individual, the ultimate aim of CWS is to grapple with the realities of racism and discrimination. It investigates the legacy that privileged White populations in the first place. CWS is a valuable approach because it allows White individuals to understand that discussions of racism are not intended to attack them personally, allowing for more productive antiracist conversations which emphasize the roles of history and institutions. To understand the significance and contemporary relevance of CWS, it’s crucial to situate the field within the broader socio-political landscape of the United States. For one, people of color have increased political visibility since CWS’ peak, as demonstrated by the ascent of high-profile political figures such as Barack Obama, Kamala Harris, and Ketanji Brown Jackson. Some might perceive these milestones, alongside racial justice movements like Black Lives Matter, as indicators of progress — as departures from the deeply entrenched roots of White supremacy. However, this optimism can lead to a dangerous oversight: a form of colorblindness that denies or trivializes the ongoing struggles of various ethno-racial communities. Colorblindness, in this context, refers to the tendency to disregard or deny the existence of racism by asserting that one does not “see” race. While seemingly well-intentioned, this approach inadvertently erases the experiences of racialized individuals and fosters an environment where systemic issues go unaddressed. Therefore, milestones, while undoubtedly historic, should not be misconstrued as marking a definitive end to racial inequality. The danger lies in assuming that the nation has overcome its deeply rooted racial issues, subsequently fostering a narrative that dismisses the experiences of marginalized communities. The connection between CWS and this evolving socio-political landscape is evident. Without proper examinations of privilege and race, colorblind attitudes could offset antiracist efforts. Therefore, one must inquire how the ideas of CWS and its efforts to acknowledge privilege translate to today’s college classrooms. Within the Harvard community, it’s not uncommon to discussions on topics such as privilege, slavery, and colonization. However, we don’t typically consider these to be in service of the resurrection of a dying CWS field. Nonetheless, just because we don’t recognize the technical label anymore doesn’t mean conversations on these topics have also stopped in academia. In reality, the ideas from CWS appear in connection to other disciplines, such as ethnic and decolonial studies, both of which are gaining attention.  In an interview with the HPR, Dr. Jorge Sánchez Cruz, a lecturer in Harvard’s History and Literature department, commented on his work teaching decolonial topics. He first defined decolonial studies as a foreground to how colonial histories have oppressed groups, specifically Indigenous groups. Then he expressed what questions guide his pedagogy, explaining, “When I teach decolonial courses I emphasize: How do we grapple or how do we bring it into conversation with Indigenous philosophies, histories, and theories?”  Moreover, he expressed decolonial study’s role in rethinking “the idea of nation citizenship, geographies, peace, and identity from underrepresented histories.” Sánchez Cruz highlights that instead of seeking to destroy the Western canon and White ideological histories, decolonial studies put diverse thoughts in conversation with each other. In his view, “They have different worldviews and different conceptions of being, humanity, and of man, but they’re in relation.” Sánchez Cruz believes that understanding these canons ultimately allows for the application of a decolonial lens. It’s not meant to destroy European culture. “That would be counterproductive or contradictory because then we’d be implementing the same logic of erasure the other side implements,” he explained to the HPR.  Evidently, the discussions about privilege and power that take root in CWS translate into other disciplines. However, unlike CWS, ethnic studies places marginalized groups at the center of the conversation. This amplifies the voices of underrepresented populations, allowing inclusive, critical conversations about systemic racism and furthering progress for antiracist efforts.  Another scholar, California State University, Monterey Bay Professor Emerita Christine Sleeter, worries about conversations that prioritize White identity and sideline the struggles of other ethno-racial groups. In an interview with the Harvard Political Review, Sleeter reflected on her experiences as an active instructor and her journey grappling with her White privilege. Recalling conversations with previous White students on identity, she noted that “The main concern is that there’s a tendency for White people to want to focus on White people. You can do that, I guess, productively as a part of struggles against racism as long as you know you’re doing it and don’t get too into focusing on yourself … To think of Whiteness studies as being an entity in itself, disconnected from its legacy, makes actual connection with the work of people of color really limited.”  While CWS can be “a way of opening the door for White people who want to engage with ethnic studies,” Sleeter agrees that the focus of conversations should remain on tackling racism and the experiences of underrepresented communities.  By analyzing the systems that oppress racial groups while also exploring the histories of resistance and resilience across different communities, conversations can become more hopeful. To avoid losing sight of the larger issues at hand — such as the increasing gaps in living standards across communities — conversations on privilege, oppression, and coloniality should intersect with diverse fields of thought. Instead of viewing these conversations as assaults on individual identity, one should listen to those who continue hurting. After all, understanding and empathy make way for healing. While CWS offers key frameworks to question the legacies of oppression, the shift in focus from White-centered conversations to marginalized ethnic and racial groups benefits antiracist movements. Recognizing the benefits of having these conversations and teaching ethnic studies in classrooms is one thing; executing this feat in the face of oppressive systems is another. When considering the future of ethnic studies, Sleeter told the HPR that “There’s going to be another wave of attacks because anything that challenges power in the U.S. does get attacked, and ethnic studies is about challenging power.” She also described a mixed vision for the future of ethnic studies. On the one hand, Sleeter doesn’t think that “ethnic studies is going to go away” and she celebrates milestones in its integration across school curricula. At the same time, she thinks that there will be a “push and pull because it does challenge power.” One concern is that, in becoming a requirement in educational systems receiving state funding, the state will “water down or trim out some of the more radical pieces” that might accompany courses. Despite the triumphs, one should remain wary of not becoming content too quickly regarding progress. Certainly, one should be able to admire progress, while not allowing that admiration to blind them from the reality that there is still work to be done.  Sánchez Cruz explains how students and those interested in fighting inequality can approach these challenges: “Everyone regardless of their origin, ethnic identity, or sexual orientation, has experienced some sort of loss …We all have felt that in some way or another, so perhaps that can be a coalition of practice between different populations,” Sánchez Cruz shared.  Indeed, by developing a sense of understanding for a shared experience, communities can find it less difficult to empathize with one another. Similarly, Dr. Mendoza-Mori proposed to the HPR that “keeping that balance of empathy and an active search for new perspectives could be great tools for advancing society with constructive mechanisms.”  When we listen and care about the vibrancy of communities that differ from our own — not just as passing thoughts, but with genuine curiosity and commitments to research — empathy can guide us toward a more loving future. We can allow others to be their authentic selves by appreciating their languages, respecting their culture, and listening to their histories. Through this, a more democratic, just, understanding society will be created — one from which we will all benefit.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/legacy-critical-whiteness-studies/

Shifting Tongues

Author

“Therefore, do not be afraid, be steadfast in love for the land and be united in one thought, to protest forever the annexation of Hawai’i to America until the very last Hawaiian patriot.” Many Native Hawaiians employed their language as a means of active resistance. For example, in the 1897 Ku’e Petitions, 38,000 out of 40,000 total native Hawaiians, signed a petition in opposition to annexation. The petitions, presented in Hawaiian and English, were used in an appeal to the U.S. Congress, but to no avail.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/shifting-tongues/

To Be Young, Gifted, and Black at Harvard

Jaylen Cocklin

In her 1970 song “Young, Gifted, and Black,” Nina Simone sings:  As I reflect on this song and my experience at Harvard as a Black American, I ask myself — what does it mean to be young, gifted, and Black at Harvard? I find myself wrestling with the significance of my existence within this institution. Let it not be forgotten that Harvard is an institution profoundly shaped by the labor of enslaved people on land stolen from the people. At its roots, Harvard was built on exclusivity and exploitation. This institution was created primarily for affluent White men and has a history of exploiting Indigenous and Black people. According to the Report of the Presidential Committee on Harvard & the Legacy of Slavery, “over nearly 150 years, from the University’s founding in 1636 until the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court found slavery unlawful, Harvard presidents and other leaders, as well as its faculty and staff, more than 70 individuals, some of whom labored on campus.” Harvard, the university in the world with an endowment of $50.9 billion, has financially from the proceeds of chattel slavery.  Knowing that the same institution I attend today made its fortune through the exploitation of my ancestors alarms me. This hard truth sometimes causes me to feel a sense of guilt. Sometimes, I feel guilty for being in a space that has flourished so much from brutality against and oppression of Black people. I feel guilty for the opportunities and privileges that I am afforded at this institution. And I feel guilty knowing that some of these same opportunities are products of the horrid conditions forced upon my ancestors.  I then recall that I live in America, a country literally built by forced Black labor. Being in spaces that flourished off the abuse and subjugation of Black people is almost inescapable in this country. I seek refuge in knowing that those who came before me fought and died for my right to be in these spaces, that my ancestors made sacrifices for my existence today. These sacrifices were actions of love. My faith, something that is really important to me, in the Book of John that the greatest form of love a person can ever show is to lay down their life for the wellbeing of others. I don’t take this lightly. I try to honor the sacrifice of my people by being a practitioner of love and inclusion while being in spaces like Harvard.  While walking to class, I encounter undergraduate dorms, statues, and buildings that honor the legacy of slave owners, those who profited off of slavery, and those who spread racist ideologies. For example, both Winthrop and Mather House, are after enslavers Governor John Winthrop and Increase and Cotton Mather. Eliot and Lowell House are named after Charles William Eliot and Abbott Lawrence Lowell, individuals who racist beliefs and structures like eugenics, the inferiority of Black people, and segregation. The continued commemoration of slave owners, those who profited from slavery, and those who spread racist beliefs at this University pains me.  In the past, students have and called on the University to address this issue, but the University has either performative actions that fall short of student’s wishes or has ignored students’ demands altogether. The University’s continued protection of those who have spread and profited off of racism and hatred is startling. For a university that a diverse student body, one must question the extent to which Harvard cares about its Black student population. Do they see us as the gifted students we are, or as mere diversity tokens?  When Black students are accepted into institutions like Harvard, our merit and giftedness are often questioned. I, along with other Black students, have often been told that the only reason that I am at this prestigious university is because of the color of my skin or programs like affirmative action. People love trying to undermine the accomplishments and talent of minority students. I am tired of having all the hard work of me and my family be diminished and reduced to nothing more than the color of my skin. There are students on campus that think opportunity is just handed to historically oppressed and underrepresented people, suggesting that these people are not worthy of what they rightly achieve. That is one of the reasons why it is so important for Harvard to make sure Black students feel welcomed. Actions speak louder than words, and the University’s actions, or lack thereof, are telling.  While entering a classroom, I often reminisce on the fact that I am learning in the same spaces that were once used by Harvard professors to spread racist ideologies questioning my very own existence. I first learned of and his work during my freshman year at Harvard while taking a class at Harvard’s Museum of Zoology. Agassiz, a professor of zoology and geology at Harvard from 1859 to 1873, was known for being a prominent supporter of White supremacy, Black inferiority, and race science. As part of his research to justify Black inferiority, Agassiz commissioned images of 17 enslaved individuals that are as “haunting and voyeuristic.” These images were at a studio in my hometown of Columbia, South Carolina. After coming across these photographs, my stomach immediately turned. Agassiz had left these images at Harvard and they were in the attic of the Peabody Museum in 1976. These photos, which are owned by Harvard, were mass produced, with the University profiting off of them.  Currently, Harvard finds itself in legal proceedings with Tamara Lanier, a descendant of Renty Taylor and his daughter Delia: two of the enslaved individuals from the group of 17 who were forced to have their picture taken. Lanier is for the University to turn over the ownership of the images of the two Taylors to their descendants. The lawsuit also highlights the fact that Harvard the remains of over 7,000 Indigenous people and the remains of at least 15 people of African descent. Harvard’s refusal to turn over ownership of the images of Renty and Delia to their descendants and its commitment to continuing legal proceedings highlights the University’s continued practice of putting profit over oppressed people like me.  When I think of the horrid images of Renty and Delia, I examine my own ancestry. I am a Generational African American, meaning that I am a descendant of enslaved people. My great-great-great-great grandmother was an enslaved person on one of the many plantations located in the lowcountry of South Carolina. Her name was Middy. I honestly never really understood the importance of a name until I learned of hers. A name plays an important role in acknowledging a person as a person, something Middy would not have been seen as in the eyes of figures like Lowell, Eliot, and Agassiz.  Recently, a petition by the Generational African American Students Association, with the support of the Natives at Harvard College and in partnership with student activists, is calling on Harvard to dename Winthrop House. While I passionately support their efforts, I believe we cannot stop here. Furthermore, while the University has $100 million to “redress” its ties to slavery, that is simply not enough to right the wrongs of Havard’s dark past. This is pocket change for a university like Harvard. Though the University can never truly come to terms with its ties to centuries of slavery, discrimination, and racism, Harvard can do more to show that they care about Black people. I am calling on Harvard to stop the commemoration of slave owners, those who profited from slavery, and those who spread racist beliefs. Rather than performatively renaming houses and buildings and removing statues that memorialize hateful, racist individuals, Harvard should begin to honor the names and legacies of individuals like , Harvard’s first Black graduate in 1870; , the first Black woman to graduate from Radcliffe College in 1898; , a civil rights activist and the first Black person to obtain a PhD from Harvard in 1895; or , a member of the Wampanoag tribe and the first Native American graduate of Harvard in 1665. These individuals serve as representatives of those who accomplished what was deemed unimaginable despite the hate ingrained into this institution. These are the people we ought to celebrate and memorialize. The University must also remains and return artifacts to Indigenous and Black communities. Harvard must commit itself to creating a more diverse faculty and encouraging existing faculty to include more underrepresented authors in their syllabi. Harvard must also invest in more safe spaces dedicated to Black and Brown students so that students can effectively build a community to support one another.  As I suggest that Harvard take these actions, I still want to emphasize that Black people are not monolithic. Black America encompasses a diverse range of cultures, ethnicities, beliefs, perspectives, and backgrounds. That being said, while there is no one way to be Black at Harvard, there is one way Black students exist in America and at institutions within it. Black students are unified by the way our skin is understood and perceived. Because no matter our background, culture, or beliefs, Black people are often viewed as threats — even at Harvard.  I remember my own experience being racially profiled by a White student during my freshman year at the College. I was entering my friend’s freshman dorm one afternoon when I was suddenly stopped by another student who asked to see my identification. The student attempted to act like he had authority over me. When I refused, he then proceeded to ask me questions relating to why I was there. After finally realizing that I was a student, he then attempted to justify his actions by saying that there had been a series of thefts on campus that week and that I had looked “suspicious.”  I remember returning to my dorm room that day confused and immediately contacted my proctor. I then proceeded to rerun the scene in my head. It didn’t feel real. I am not a thief. I have never stolen anything in my life. Questions started rolling through my head. Why would this student ask to see my identification? What about my appearance would cause him to doubt my enrollment as a student? If I was White, would this have happened? This was one of many moments when I did not feel like I belonged at Harvard. This question of belonging at Harvard is one I confront daily. As someone who doesn’t come from a privileged background, navigating a space fueled by entitlement can be a struggle. On the one hand you feel a pressure to fit in, while on the other, you know you never will.  As I reflect on my original question about the significance of being Black at Harvard, I conclude that to be Black at an institution like Harvard is to engage in the practice of resistance. By merely existing at Harvard, I, along with other Black students, am defying the racist origins of the University while pushing it to be more inclusive and benevolent. Black students here have proved that we belong here despite the history and the actions tied to the University that have attempted to keep us out. Black students across this country are making sure that institutions like Harvard realize their full potential and promise. We are young, we are gifted, we are proudly Black, and that is not going to change. We will not be price tagged, ignored, or silenced by this institution. We know Harvard can do more. The only question that remains is whether Harvard is courageous enough to do it.  .

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/young-gifted-black/

President's Note: Literary Supplement

Author

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/presidents-note/

Gender Inequality in Para Hockey

Allaura Osborne

Men, Women, and “Sled.” These are the three options on the USA Hockey . Though sled, or para ice hockey, is supposed to include both men and women, the photo used to represent the sled category contains only men. Unsurprisingly, women are not represented equally in the sport. Para ice hockey is subject to decades of gender inequality, and little has been done to fight this by USA Hockey itself. Moreover, this is just one of many para athletic institutions that are inhibiting women from playing at the international level. In 1948, Dr. Ludwig Guttman started the Stoke Mandeville Games to include injured servicemen and women in athletic events such as . The Paralympics, as it later became known, debuted in Rome in 1960, less than a week after the closing of the . The International Sport Organization for the Disabled was then created and began to offer opportunities to athletes who could not affiliate with the International Stoke Mandeville Games, including those who were visually impaired, amputees, those with cerebral palsy, and people with paraplegia. Other organizations were created to try to fill any remaining gaps, but in 1989 the International Paralympics Committee was founded to all athletes with disabilities. In 1960, Swedish hockey players invented , also known as sledge or sled Hockey, in a rehabilitation center in Stockholm. Their goal was to be able to continue to play ice hockey despite being in wheelchairs. By 1969, Stockholm had a league with five teams that included players with and without physical disabilities. Just a few years later in 1976, Sweden played Norway in an exhibition that is considered to be the first Paralympics para ice hockey game. Over the decade, the two teams continued to go head-to-head. Great Britain and Canada soon created groups in the early 1980s, followed by the U.S., Estonia, and Japan in 1993. After the creation of these five new teams demonstrated to the Paralympic Committee that there was international interest in the sport, para ice hockey became an official Paralympics event in 1994. Today, there are 15 national para ice hockey teams. While perhaps inclusive of disabilities, para ice hockey has had its fair share of gender inequality. Since the introduction of para ice hockey in 1994, the number of players has doubled, yet women remain an extreme minority when teams reach the Paralympic . Only three women have ever played since the official introduction of para ice hockey. In 1994, there were 56 male players at the Paralympics and one female player. Similarly, in 2018 there were 134 male players and only one female, and in 2022, 116 male players and one female player. Erica Mitchell, a sled hockey player of over 20 years, has faced inequality at almost every step of her athletic career. In 2004, at 18, Mitchell was asked to try out for the Men’s National Development Team and was successful. She was the only girl on the team and was the first and only female captain when selected in 2006. Mitchell, encouraged by her success in a male-dominated space, tried out for the U.S. Men’s National Team but was told at the very start she would not be able to make the team due to her .  Even though the International Paralympic Committee officially deemed the sport co-ed in 2010, more must be done to increase female representation. In 2007, the Paralympics created a rule maxing out teams at 17 players, only allowing an 18th player if it is a female. This rule was supposed to help women gain more access to para ice hockey at the highest level but has instead continued to inhibit female representation. According to Peggy Assinck, a Canadian Women’s Team member, the rule women a spot on the team as only a mere checkmark for diversity. For instance, also in 2007, Erica McKee by the U.S. National Team staff that she was unable to make the team due to being a woman. Eleven years later, the U.S. Women’s para ice hockey team was moved under the USA Hockey umbrella and retitled as a “development team.” This effectively means the players have no U.S. Women’s National Team to move up to and get no official recognition. Kelsey DiClaudio, once a member of the U.S. Men’s National Development Sled Hockey Team and one of the best sled hockey players in the world, notes that the label of co-ed inhibits women from getting an officially recognized sport of women’s sled hockey by the International Paralympic Committee. Until this label is and sled hockey is seen for what it is — a male space — women will not be allowed to have an area of their own. DiClaudio played on both the U.S. Women’s National Team (while it existed) and the U.S. Men’s National Development Team, working twice as hard to try and fight for the opportunity to represent her country at the Paralympics. However, after 11 years, she has still not been allowed the chance.  Women in sled hockey fight to bring international attention to gender inequality in their beloved sport. During the summer of 2022, the first-ever Women’s Worlds Challenge in Green Bay, Wisc. The event was used to show the international stage that women’s para ice hockey exists and to encourage disabled women of all ages not to let their physical impairment prevent them from participating in sports. So far, only three nations have women’s para ice teams: the U.S., Canada, and Great Britain. As a result, there are not enough women involved internationally to successfully advocate for a division of gender in the Paralympics. These women recognize that other countries will need to create women’s para ice teams to help ensure the inclusion of a women’s division in the Paralympics.  A lack of gender diversity is not unique to para ice hockey but is seen across the Paralympics. Dr. Andrea Bundon, an assistant professor of kinesiology at the University of British Columbia School of Kinesiology, a 3 to 1 ratio between men and women paralympic competitors. Dr. Bundon, who participated as a guide in the Paralympics for the visually impaired in the 2010 and 2014 games, noted that few initiatives target women with disabilities and encourage their engagement in accessible sports. Similarly, the United Nations found that only one-third of athletes at the international competition level are women and that 93% of women with disabilities are not involved in . Another major challenge is that because many of the events in the Paralympics are listed as co-ed or mixed sports, it leads to unequal funding since women’s teams are not getting funded or developed as much as the “co-ed” teams. Women may be eligible to compete in these sports, but few make national teams and even fewer play at the Paralympics.  So, what can we do to close this gap? We must advocate that para ice hockey organizations, like USA Hockey, pour funding into development and marketing for women’s teams specifically and hold training camps for women para ice hockey players from all over. USA Hockey should also increase the roster size for the sport and hold yearly tryouts for both new and returning members. Finally, they should introduce a women’s division or exhibition for para ice hockey at the next Winter Paralympics. Suppose the number of players is insufficient for particular countries to have a team. In that case, provisions can allow them to group by location or continent for equal access and opportunity.  Women with disabilities deserve an equal opportunity to represent their country at the Paralympics. They also deserve a chance to play sports despite their physical impairments. The future is accessible, but that future must focus more on gender equality. Fighting for women’s space in Paralympics events like para ice hockey would be a significant step towards a fairer world.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/gender-inequality-in-para-hockey/

Demography, Destiny, and Delusion: The Racism of Pandering

Stephanie Wang

It has been a longstanding tradition for political candidates to leverage identity as a tool to win votes, with one of the most popular elements of identity being race. Yet we seem to take for granted the unusual practice of treating racial groups as monolithic voting blocs. In exit polls, we tend to analyze the “Black vote” or the “Hispanic vote” and believe these racial subsets provide us with invaluable voting data. There is no doubt that there are patterns in the way that different races of voters lean, but we must approach these trends in a nuanced fashion. Seeing identity-based divisions as a be-all and end-all encourages political pandering by politicians, whereas neglecting it entirely reinforces systemic racism that needs to be addressed. We must create substantive policy changes based on voting patterns among racial groups, but we must also actively discourage politicians from disingenuously leveraging race as a pandering tool for political campaigns. Policy, after all, is different from politics. There is no denying that racial groups tend to vote in similar patterns. A Pew Research Group poll that Democrats lead by almost eight-to-one among Blacks, lead by close to three-to-one among Asian Americans, and by more than two-to-one among Hispanics. This data suggests that people of color are overwhelmingly attracted to the Democratic Party, while White voters lean more towards the Republican Party. Since the 1960s, Black voters have tended to be the most loyal Democratic voting bloc. Politicians have picked up on these voting patterns and have weaponized race to their advantage with one goal in mind: pandering to get votes on the ballot. Candidates have strategically tapped into the “Black vote” or the “Hispanic vote” by treating racial minorities as a homogeneous voting group — a naive and facetious approach to campaigning. Although there are differences in lived experiences faced by minority groups, their political views are by no means determined solely by their race.  Unfortunately, treating racial minorities homogeneously happens all too often on both sides of the political aisle. A prominent example that hit the airwaves with controversy during Biden’s 2020 presidential campaign was when he a radio host that black voters conflicted between voting for him and Trump “ain’t black.” The phrase “you ain’t black” is a glaring example of the racial prejudice that remains prevalent in politicians’ endeavors for political capital. By viewing all Black voters as a singular voting conglomerate, Biden drew an equivalence between race and voting habits, treating all Black Americans as interchangeable. This perspective is deeply troubling, as it strips Black Americans of their deserved individuality and conforms them into homogeneous groupthink. Even if the phrase was uttered by virtue of a moment of frustration, the pandering message that it sends to the rest of the nation is loud, clear, and dangerous.  Another example was Senator Elizabeth Warren’s (D-MA) to indigenous heritage during her 2020 presidential campaign, which was completely by the results of her DNA test. Her misleading claim of indigenous heritage and subsequent doubling down of that claim with the DNA test were as offensive and stereotypical by many indigenous communities, including by the Cherokee Nation as “inappropriate and wrong.” While it is unclear whether her intentions were to gain Native American votes during her 2020 presidential campaign, it is impossible not to point out the egregious optics of the situation. Throughout American history, Republicans also have not failed to weaponize racial divisions for electoral gain, perhaps most notoriously with their Southern strategy of the mid-1900s. The Southern strategy pre-existing racial grievances among White southerners in order to win the heavily-Democratic South. This historic pandering has extended to the present day, as some political analysts that Trump’s election in 2016 was in part due to racial resentment among working-class White voters — a resentment that Trump did not hesitate to on. While Biden’s “you ain’t black” fiasco and Republicans’ appeal to White voters may be extremely well-publicized, there have also been smaller moments that lend credence to the burgeoning prevalence of racial pandering. For instance, Beto O’Rourke suddenly and awkwardly began Spanish during the 2019 Democratic Primary debates, ostensibly to connect with Spanish-speaking audience members. This prompted Senator Cory Booker to attempt the same later in the debate. Amid his abrupt Spanish-speaking attempt, O’Rourke never actually answered the question soundly, which captures the essence of pandering quite well: superficial political ruses to distract from genuine policy proposals. It is patronizing and offensive, making it seem like votes can be bought without substantive backing or promises. Ultimately, pandering elevates stereotypes to prominence, broadcasting them as the valid representation and characterization of a particular racial group. Once you strip away the flowery language, pandering is thinly veiled racism. Yet, therein lies a predicament — race remains an influential political determinant. Especially amid the racial reckoning in the summer of 2020 with the murder of George Floyd, few topics in public discourse were as prominent as the topic of race. Furthermore, the COVID-19 pandemic disproportionately Black Americans, bringing racial inequities into stark relief. De-emphasizing race in politics — in political campaigns, for instance — would be similarly injurious to these communities, neglecting pressing issues rooted in racism that ought to be readily addressed.  Hence, it is not enough just to identify racial disparities: This identification must be followed by substantive policy proposals that acknowledge minority voting patterns while also recognizing the political heterogeneity within them. Policies like the Affordable Care Act, for instance, have disparities in health outcomes for Black and Hispanic individuals. The American Rescue Plan is another such piece of legislation, Black child poverty by 33.3%. These are examples of substantive policies that assist minority communities in tangible ways and extend beyond the lip service delivered by politicians. These policies recognize that the root causes for racial voting trends lie in concrete issues that affect people’s daily lives, rather than the vote being inherently tied to identity. In this way, racial politics would greatly benefit from added substance to abstract political goals.  On a final note, it is important to note that voting trends stratified by race are not static and fixed; minority votes are shaped by events. Voters are not permanently loyal to a single political party; their vote depends on their concerns. Political scientist Ruy Teixeira and journalist John B. Judis made the mistake of as a decisive political factor in their book “The Emerging Democratic Majority” in which they argued that Democrats were poised to dominate American politics in the foreseeable future due to the growth in underrepresented groups who tend to consistently vote for Democrats. This forecast was proved woefully inaccurate when voters of color, especially Hispanics, by an 8-point margin to the GOP between the 2016 and 2020 elections. Some political scientists attribute this shift to Trump’s and a general with the Democratic cultural platform. The ensuing outcry from communities of color should not be shocking. After all, treating voters of color as a monolithic bloc — the same framework through which politicians pander — is offensive and ineffective. Demography is not destiny. The true litmus test for morally sound, effective political action is whether it addresses the inequalities that persist along racial lines in American society. Awkwardly speaking Spanish to appeal to Hispanic voters or claiming Indigenous ancestry accomplishes nothing except the derision of the very communities pandering politicians seek to appease.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/demography-destiny-delusion/

Race Across Borders: My Reclamation of Indigeneity | PRE X Culture

Sebastián Ramírez Feune

As students sat bubbling in the pre-exam demographic questions on their standardized tests, I shot my hand up. My fifth-grade teacher marched through the aisles, making her way towards me.  “What’s the issue?” she asked.  “The survey is asking me for my race, but I don’t see Latino as an option,” I responded, struggling to conceive how I was supposed to answer this mandatory survey question. “Oh, that’s because Hispanic isn’t a race,” she said. “I’m Latina too, and I would suggest selecting ‘Other.’ I usually just put White.” Her response left me more confused than before. Select White? Not once in my life had I been called White. The names most often attributed to me were “Mexican,” “Latino,” and “Hispanic.”  I went home that day with a minor identity crisis. What was I? I asked my parents, as most kids do, but I ended up right where I’d started: “Mexican,” “Latino,” “Hispanic,”all identities that never appeared on demographic survey questions as races. It was not until high school that I fully gained a better understanding of race in Latin America. Being Latino informs and complicates my understanding of my race. I look at myself and never have a definitive answer. That said, as I have met more Latines on campus, I have heard their stories and found that my experience is not that uncommon. The racialization of my Latinidad shapes one perception of my identity in the United States. Latinidad is seen as a racial category here. However, if and when we Latines return to Latin America, we can find ourselves stripped of the racialized Latinidad and thrust into a society with a completely different perception of race. In Latin American societies, race becomes a more fluid structure informed by histories of colonialism and racial mixing. This variance in racial perspectives is due to the fact that race is a . Different societies have come into frequent contact with specific communities that have influenced how they perceive the idea of race. The United States has often categorized race into broad mega-races, with the U.S. census providing options of “Asian,” “Black,” “Native American,” “White,” “Pacific Islander,” and “Other.” These rigid social structures institutionalize race in an oversimplified, reductive manner.  The rigidity in the of race in the United States can be traced back to the “one-drop rule,” claiming that anyone without 100% Caucasian blood would be considered non-White. As recently as 1924, the Racial Integrity Act, enacted by the Virginia General Assembly, classified a White person as one “who has no trace whatsoever of any blood other than Caucasian.” The one-drop rule generated a racial standard that extended beyond the scope of one’s phenotype, establishing an aversion against any affiliation with Blackness or Indigeneity. On the other hand, the social conception of race in Latin America drastically differs from its North American counterpart. But, before I dive into explaining the racial structures of the region, I must qualify that Latin America is replete with racism. In 2019, eight of ten Brazilians by the police were Black or “pardo,” which means mixed-race. In Bolivia and Peru, hundreds of thousands of Indigenous women have been or . These targeted attacks against the most marginalized communities in Latin America are terribly frequent.  In Latin America, however, these strictly defined racial groups are much more absent, with phenotype-based identity overshadowing genotype, contradicting the North American “one-drop rule.” It is a concept derived from the history of countries south of the U.S. border. While Asian immigrants have become more prominent in recent years, the origins of “Latinidad” — the pan-Latin American identity — are the result of the intersection between African, Indigenous, and European cultures, histories, and traditions. The arrival of the Spanish, French, and Portuguese in what is now Latin America marked the decimation of Indigenous communities and the enslavement and forced migration of African people.  While British settler colonies in the Americas cleared out Indigenous American communities, drawing strict racial lines between racial groups, in Latin American colonies, miscegenation was used to control Indigenous and Afro-descendent groups, resulting in diverse racial hierarchies. Racial mixes between Black, Indigenous, and Caucasian peoples led to different racial categories, something unlike anything in the United States: “Peninsulares” (European-born in the Iberian Peninsula), “Criollos” (European-born in Latin America), “Mestizos” (European and Indigenous), “Mulatos” (African and European), “Indígenas” (Indigenous), “Negros” (African), and “Zambos” (Indigenous and African). In this racial order, enslaved African and Indigenous people were placed at the bottom, with any association with Whiteness associated with social esteem and privilege. Remnants of this “casta” system are still visible in today’s Latin American society, as individuals are referred to based on physical features over general racial categories. So, to Latines like me, it can often be challenging to find a racial group with which to identify. Due to our community’s mixed-race histories, questions of racial percentages become less significant. Rather, we generally identify most with how we look. From this emphasis on physical appearance comes the problem of colorism: the illusion that Whiteness is aspirational. Whiteness is associated with wealth and status, while darker skin tones are affiliated with poverty and ignorance — harmful stereotypes that have been perpetuated since colonial times. If there are two people, one of whom is Black and the other of mixed-racial heritage, the mixed-race person would almost certainly be the recipient of colorist . Colorist treatment isn’t just predicated on skin color; it can also reflect biases associated with facial features and hair texture.  Every Latine person has their own journey to discovering their racial identity. Many make the misinformed — yet understandable — decision of racially identifying as Latino, Latine, or Latinx, without acknowledging that Latinidad in and of itself is an ethnic identity. However, due to mass genocide and racial discrimination, many Latines do not have the resources to truly know and understand their racial identity. Latines of mixed-race, like me, have to engage in historiographical research to uncover their racial ancestry. Fortunately, my grandfather, whom I call Tito, was my primary source of knowledge for all things related to Mexican culture, history, and music. From Tito, I learned that I was a descendant of the Otomí community from Central México. While Tito only knew a few words in Otomí, he was undoubtedly Indigenous. While I had always seen myself as a brown Latino, Tito provided a sense of security in my identity, as both a person of color and Indigenous man. My reclamation of indigeneity, however, was not without conflict. When I referred to my grandfather or myself as Indigenous, some family members would take offense, retorting, “Nosotros no somos indios:” “We are not Indians.” I struggled to understand how this identity could be so contentious. After all, if my family had distinctly Indigenous roots, then we were indubitably Indigenous. Nonetheless, I realized that the aversive reactions to this identity had been formed through colonial-era social constructs of the undesirability of Black and brown identities. My reclamation of Indigeneity has fueled my passion to fight and resist Latin American colorist standards of rejecting African and Indigenous ancestry. Fear of being called Indigenous or Black amongst Latines of mixed-race heritage is a symptom of the plague of colorism. In claiming our Blackness and/or Indigeneity, Latines resist the seeming ubiquity of Eurocentrism. I ask you to embrace your roots.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/race-across-borders-my-reclamation-of-indigeneity-pre-x-culture/

Harmful Representation: Arranged Marriage in Netflix’s “Indian Matchmaking”

Ruhi Nayak

With the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, the popularity of streaming services are at an all-time high. However, as viewership grows, so too can the impact of released content. In particular, global shows can have an outsize influence given the impressionability of their Western audience, many of whom have little to no exposure to the cultures depicted. Depictions of unfamiliar cultures can cause audiences to internalize inaccurate information that generalizes entire populations and traditions.  Netflix’s Emmy-nominated show “Indian Matchmaking” constitutes an example of a distorted depiction of foreign customs. At first glance, the series represents a similar genre of reality show to its counterparts “Love is Blind” and “The Bachelor” in that it follows the relationships of individuals as they search for a spouse. However, upon closer examination, the show glosses over the tumultuous history behind arranged marriage and glorifies it as a harmless, entertaining alternative to dating. In its attempt to portray arranged marriages in a palatable way to Western audiences, the Netflix show “Indian Matchmaking” dangerously endorses harmful double standards based on gender, excessive familial influence in romantic relationships, colorism, and casteism. With the show’s second season recently being released by Netflix, it is important to dive into these potential implications. The show follows Sima Taparia, a renowned matchmaker from Mumbai, as she flies across the globe introducing clients to prospective spouses. Marriage constitutes a societal expectation in Indian societies, yet the task of finding a suitable spouse can be time-consuming and troublesome. As such, the numerous challenges posed by dating have created a strong demand for matchmakers like Taparia. A group of psychologists whether it is indeed possible to predict unique romantic desire before two individuals have met and found that though it may be possible, even advanced machine learning algorithms find it challenging to predict the “compatibility elements of human mating.” Thus, in order to craft the best matches, Taparia utilizes “biodatas” — pseudo-dating profiles that include facts ranging from age to family background to height. In this sense, Taparia’s matchmaking methods are comparable to those used by dating apps, which are quite popular in the Western world. Thus, the show normalizes arranged marriages in the eyes of Western viewers by illustrating the matchmaking process as similar to swiping through Tinder or Hinge until finding a match. While “Indian Matchmaking” may have been America’s first exposure to the practice of arranged marriages, in India, the phenomenon is as prevalent as Western dating apps, if not more. In fact, approximately 90 percent of the marriages in India today are to be arranged marriages. “Arranged marriage” refers to a practice in which two individuals are set up by a matchmaker, friends, or family, with the intention of marriage. In this process, families often partner choices and marital decisions on behalf of their children, with the children merely consenting to the decisions of their elders. Consequently, most men and women who enter into such marriages have very limited pre-marital contact with one other. With that being said, as mentioned in the second season of “Indian Matchmaking,” arranged marriages have evolved to provide individuals with increased agency and time to determine whether or not a proposed partner constitutes a good match. However, upon closer analysis, “Indian Matchmaking” normalizes certain practices that are detrimental to achieving satisfaction with relationships and those within arranged marriages. Throughout the series, female clients are advised to “adjust and compromise,” even if such actions consist of radically changing one’s lifestyle following marriage, moving across the country, or abandoning their own career pursuits. Notably, the men in the show are not told to adapt, which exposes the double standards that exist between men and women in relationships derived from arranged marriages. Such double standards suggest that the onus of sustaining a relationship falls solely on women. The several instances in which women are encouraged to change underscore the series’ endorsement of harmful gender roles that are damaging both to individuals and the relationship in general. Contradictorily to advice given in the show, studies have that attempts to alter one’s self-image for others only harms one’s relationships and self-esteem. Thus, in advising women to modify their self-image and personal goals to match those of a potential spouse, Taparia supports a practice that may damage the women’s self-esteem and result in problems within the given romantic relationship. In addition, there are both emotional and relationship when people suppress their emotions, especially when they believe that their sacrifices are not an authentic reflection of their true selves. These costs include worsening personal emotional well-being, as well as anxieties about their own relationships. For this reason, urging women to sacrifice their own desires and goals for the sake of their romantic relationships can result in more harm than good.  Another risk of normalizing arranged marriages is the justification of decreased individual agency in choosing a romantic partner. In the first season of the show, Akshay’s mother Preeti is not shy about voicing the characteristics that she would like to see in her future daughter-in-law. Though the show plays off Preeti’s insistence on her daughter-in-law being able to cook and clean as almost comical, Taparia nonetheless takes Preeti’s demands into consideration. Here lies one of the most important aspects of arranged marriages — family approval. In Indian society, the is a strong agent of socialization, and family unity is often prioritized over individual goals. As a result, the family expects to exercise great influence on an individual’s spouse-selection process, and this influence is manifested in what we know as ‘arranged marriages.” That being said, family involvement in modern matchmaking processes varies widely and the process does not necessitate a complete stripping of individual agency. However, in downplaying the numerous demands made by clients’ families, “Indian Matchmaking” can lead Western viewers to underestimate family influence during arranged marriages and, more importantly, the lack of agency in choosing their own spouse.  Even more alarming than the excessive familial influence is the reinforcement of casteism and colorism imbued within the show’s storylines. The practice of arranged marriage has its roots in enforcing the predominance of upper-caste South Asians and its normalization continues to support exclusionary caste homogeny under the guise of ensuring partners’ “compatibility.” Even today, of South Asian marriages take place within one’s own caste. In “Indian Matchmaking,” each biodata notes a client’s “community background.” Taparia even acknowledges caste’s importance in the matchmaking process by stating in the first episode that “in India, we have to see the caste, we have to see the height, we have to see the age.” Furthermore, Taparia emphasizes how girls ought to be “fair,” which normalizes blatant colorism and the idealization of lighter features. Such idealization from centuries of Whiteness being upheld as the standard for beauty, intelligence, and status across the globe as well as colonization and imperialism. Thus, the show’s casual emphasis of “fairness” and “caste” both upholds these forms of discrimination as well and obscures the violent reality faced by darker-skinned and lower-caste individuals in India. When analyzing “Indian Matchmaking” more critically, it is evident that the show normalizes colorist ideology, caste supremacy, harmful double standards based on gender, and excessive familial influence in arranged marriages. Such normalization is dangerous as it promotes practices that weaken relationships, damage self-esteem, and contribute to the systemic oppression of marginalized populations in South Asia. Given Netflix’s large Western audience, the show’s portrayal of arranged marriage as akin to dating ignores the potential harm caused by arranged marriage and normalizes the practice in the Western world.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/harmful-representation-arranged-marriage-in-netflixs-indian-matchmaking/

From Burqas To Bikinis: Freeing Feminism

Shruthi Kumar

You have most likely never heard of her, and probably never will. She was never written about in historical records nor inducted into Western society’s cultural hall of fame. But Nangeli was a rebel. She was an Ezhava woman who on the coasts of Kerala in British-ruled India during the 19th century, and she was a badass.  As a young adult, Nangeli faced a caste-based “breast-tax” called , which had been imposed by the then State of Travancore, prohibiting lower-caste women from covering their breasts. Failure to comply resulted in heavy taxation.  When I first investigated the story of Nangeli, I viewed the breast tax as primarily a mechanism to satisfy the sexual desires of upper-caste men, and therefore, Nangeli’s story was one of feminism and resistance to patriarchy. It was only after unearthing layers of caste, religion, and colonization that I discovered her story was just that and so much more. Nangeli’s life account alongside a parallel analysis of the contemporary #Freethenipple movement brings to light how centering narratives of male sexual desire have silenced other motivations for resistance. From burquas to bikinis, a woman’s choice of clothing has always been deeply interconnected with concepts of feminism and modesty that respond to the male gaze. But, in order to shift social power dynamics and ensure the public safety of women in our modern patriarchy, feminism must be redefined as an inclusive movement empowered by female autonomy — independent of the eyes of men. During Nangeli’s time, the Mulakaram, or breast tax, served two purposes: first, to maintain India’s deeply-rooted caste system, and second, to appease the male gaze. Indeed, while some say the tax was standardized for all women, others say it was determined based on the size and attractiveness of the woman’s breasts, a clear example of patriarchal and dehumanizing misogyny. Regardless, Nangeli acted against Travancore’s injustice by covering her breasts without paying the tax. Eventually, when a tax collector arrived at her door and demanded she pay, Nangeli cut off her breasts, placed them on his tray, and bled to death in protest. Her sacrifice the famous Channar Revolt, also known as the Breast Cloth Rebellion, in which, from 1813 to 1859, lower-caste women from the district of Travancore fought for the right to wear upper-body coverings. Eventually, the Maharaja (King) of Travancore annulled the repressive law and made a Royal Proclamation in 1859 permitting lower-caste women to cover their breasts. Nangeli’s story has endured from generation to generation as oral history, but only Kerala locals knew of her until the Dalit awakening in the 1990s. Outside of Dalit circles, Nangeli’s story was largely dismissed as a myth or tall tale. Why? For many, the real complexities of anti-caste resistance and colonial conceptions of modesty were too dangerous. Nangeli’s bold actions threatened the power of the powerful, and they still do. To suppress this very threat, the resistance of Dalit women against oppressive law has been purposefully omitted from history: a 2016 decision from the Madras High Court “objectionable content” from school curricula which resulted in the omission of a section titled “Caste, Conflict, and Dress Change” from the Class IX Social Science syllabus, silencing the efforts of Dalit women in early-1880s India. Artist T Murali was interested in Nangeli’s story and visited Mulachhipuram, where Nangeli’s old house remains. He met with her descendants and relatives and was inspired to create artwork to preserve her legacy. Murali explains the importance of sharing Nangeli’s story and ensuring that education portrays the real truth. He said, in an interview with the HPR, “When people write original and truthful history, only then can we have proper culture.” His insights foreshadow the modern patriarchal condition that results from the erasure of stories like Nangeli’s. Given that she sought to protect herself from being sexualized and objectified by the patriarchy’s lustful eyes, on the surface, Nangeli’s story is a feminist one. However, the need for “modesty” in India did not arise solely or even originally from the breast tax, but rather was fueled by the expectations of missionaries and colonizers. At the time in South India, going bare-chested was neither shameful nor noteworthy. Rather, people simply chose to wear minimal clothing to allow for evaporation of sweat and prevent overheating in the hot, humid climate. No one cared to look, and no one was bothered by it. Women’s breasts were not sexualized in India until the arrival of missionaries. Dr. Jayakumari Devika, a Malayali historian from Kerala and professor at the Centre for Development Studies at Thiruvananthapuram explained to the HPR that London missionary societies came to South Travancore and were shocked to see bare-chested women in church. To the pastor, the woman’s bare chest was sinful. Therefore, the women were told that, if they wanted to attend church, they would have to cover up with imported blouses from England. The people needed the support of the missionaries in their anti-caste struggles against the Bhramincal monarchy, and therefore, were willing to do whatever it took to appease them. The patriarchal elements of modesty and caste dignity became intertwined as Colonel John Munro in 1813 an order that granted the Christian-converted women the right to wear an upper garment. As Dr. Devika noted, “The missionaries wanted modesty, and the people wanted caste dignity. So they struck a deal.” Influenced by colonial religious doctrine, women began to view their own bodies as sinful. Consequently, the social sexualization and objectification of women’s breasts became deeply rooted in Indian culture, and ultimately manifested to reinforce an enduring fixture in Indian society: the caste system. Indeed, we must acknowledge that the full purpose of the breast tax was to maintain a caste-based social order. Although popular and historiographical interpretations of her story filter caste defiance and focus more on the role of the male gaze on religious syncretism respectively, Nangeli’s resistance to patriarchal oppression must be viewed in conjunction with her resistance to the caste system. Nangeli was from the Ezhava caste, which was not the Untouchable (Dalit) caste but one above it. The Brahmins were considered the highest caste of people, the order closest to God. Therefore, all actions taken by regional rulers were in the interest of continuing the Brahminical order. Anything unproductive to the Brahmanical order was to be removed. In the extreme case of Kerala, the lowest caste was not just untouchable: it was unseeable. So dire was the injustice that a Dalit person standing in the path of a Brahmin could be legally murdered. In the case of Nangeli, her caste was granted conditional humanity through the payment of taxes. Anything which was not functional for the reproduction of Brahmins was taxed: Thalakaram (hair tax), Meeshakaram (mustache tax), and Mulakaram (breast tax) among others. Regarding the Mulakaram, standing bare-chested was considered a sign of respect towards the “superior” castes for both lower caste men and women. However, the tax was mainly enforced on Avarna (lower caste) women who wanted to cover their breasts. Just like the Brahmanical system at large, the goal of the Mulakaram was to use social and political power to extract any kind of labor (or visual pleasure) from lower-caste populations while keeping them powerless. Dr. Devika told the HPR that Nangeli’s story has nothing to do with covering the breast. Rather, Nangeli was telling the government that she did not want a body nor breasts if she had to pay for her humanity and if the Dalit caste was not granted a socially recognized body at all. Thus, struggles for the upper cloth have less to do with modesty and more to do with taking possession of one’s dignity and self-respect and keeping it away from oppressive societal powers. “By her act of defiance, Nangeli established herself as a bodily being,” Devika said. “In my mind, therefore, she is the mother of all civil rights movements and all kinds of struggles for freedom.” Not only does Nangeli’s story exemplify India’s 19th-century feminist uprising at large, but it also signifies the salience of deconstructing classism in progressive movements. As a member of one of India’s most oppressed castes, Nangeli represents the inclusivity of feminism: freedom cannot only be granted to the privileged. Instead, it must be inspired by those with little to no societal power in the status quo. Centuries ago, Nangeli fought for the right to cover up, to shield herself from the male gaze. Today, that same spirit of resistance manifests differently in the West: here, instead, women are fighting for the right to uncover. in 2012 by New York City filmmaker Lina Esco, who argued that it should be culturally and legally acceptable for women to be topless in public, the now national #Freethenipple (FTN) movement began as a campaign to protest the censorship of female breasts. Nangeli’s motive to resist oppression was clear, but what is the aim of FTN? Contrary to popular understanding, FTN not to display women’s breasts, but rather, to desexualize and demobilize them as instruments for female objectification. Moreover, the movement intends to relocate power to women: a woman should be the only one with the authority to sexualize her own body. However, many, especially men, have misconstrued the #Freethenipple movement’s intended effect, statements like, “#Freethenipple? I wouldn’t complain.” It is clear, then, that the male gaze continuously centers itself in feminist movements, making it all the more difficult to extract feminism from the reigning social narrative dominated by the eyes of men.  The fact is that it is socially acceptable to pay to see women topless in pornography or at strip clubs, often at the request and for the pleasure of men, but if a woman owns her body and wants to be topless of her own volition, it causes social discomfort. Why is that? How can we redefine feminism not as a reaction to the male gaze but as an egalitarian and inclusive movement meant to recognize the autonomy of women and their choices?  Nangeli was an empowered woman, yet she chose to cover up. A woman participating in the #Freethenipple movement is also empowered, yet she chooses to undress. Feminist empowerment, thus, cannot be defined by the quantity of a woman’s clothing.  Unfortunately, though, society’s toxic preoccupation with a woman’s status of dress or undress reinforces and reflects the desires and standards of men. Indeed, while the tale of Nangeli and FTN differ, the history and context of these two phenomena demonstrate a single truth: feminism has always been defined in reaction to the male gaze. In Nangeli’s time, the breast tax was instituted to ensure men could lust over bare-chested women in the streets much in the same way that men seem to enjoy the #Freethenipple trend on social media.  Consider discussions regarding the wage gap as an example. The language society uses, even in progressive circles, to address the subject is always relative to the male experience:  “women need to be paid as much as men.” But why must men be the standard? Feminist objectives and messaging should, instead, be approached from an objective standpoint. Women should seek not to be paid the same as men but rather to be paid the same as others who perform the same quality and quantity of work. Setting a male-influenced standard based on the expectations of an unjust status quo is not as potent as demanding objective and independent empowerment. Our definition of an empowered woman must, thus, be derived from a place that is not reactionary to male expectations. Ideas of modesty and dignity are, more often than not, prescribed to women by society so that women act in accordance with male sexual desire. However, centering the conversation on a woman’s right to choice of clothing rather than the clothing itself, minimizes the importance of the male gaze and redefines feminism as independent of patriarchal priorities. So why does all of this matter? What’s concerning are like this: “India’s tourism minister advises female tourists not to wear skirts to avoid being raped.” Society still asserts that harm against a woman is predicated on her state of dress, so when authorities attempt to mitigate sexual abuse, they tell girls what to wear. But that isn’t the answer. Sexual misconduct and harassment have only one solution: stop placing responsibility on girls, and start educating men. Teach boys that their sexual desire is not the center of every story. Teach boys to respect women in light of any clothing choice. Let the headline read: “India’s tourism minister advises female tourists to be cautious of men’s lack of decency and respect.”  Maybe then we can finally actualize Nangeli’s pursuit of justice, creating a world in which my daughter and her daughters can walk the streets (day or night) freely and fearlessly.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/from-burqas-to-bikinis-freeing-feminism/

Kritika Nagappa

A 12-year-old girl rides in the backseat of a van to a remote location. She is unaware of where she is going, how much further is left, and when she will arrive. She sits quietly next to her mother. There aren’t enough tears left within to cry any longer. The girl , “What does he think about this marriage? How does he feel about marrying a child?” Her father nonchalantly replies from the front seat, “Oh, he’s done it before.” This is a very real tale of the Fundamentalist Church of Latter-Day Saints community in the United States. The experiences of FLDS children, including but not limited to brainwashing, coercion, and most notably, child marriages, resulted in harrowing effects on their childhoods. Issues such as child marriage are not only the reality for FLDS children but also tens of thousands of children around the nation. Today, under specific conditions, child marriage is legal in 44 U.S. states, due to extensive loopholes that put children in danger of predators, assault, and trauma. The FLDS is one example of what can occur when legislation doesn’t prioritize the rights and safety of young people. To better understand the larger conversation on national child marriage, it is imperative to look into such groups and observe how the law enables such a heinous crime. The Fundamentalist Church of Latter-Day Saints, initially founded in 1856, branched off from the Mormon faith to ensure its followers could practice polygamy. Today, however, the Southern Poverty Law Center FLDS a “white-supremacist, homophobic, anti-government, totalitarian cult.” Young boys are raised to believe that it is their right to have multiple wives, and young girls are taught that their life’s purpose is to obey their husbands. The church’s modern leaders, the late Rulon Jeffs, and his son, convicted predator Warren Jeffs, are for normalizing this thought process. Both Rulon and Warren Jeffs have held the position of Prophet — the man believed to have been called on by God to lead the FLDS community away from eternal damnation. With this power over the community, both created a culture of fear, especially among the women he dominated. To Warren Jeffs and other FLDS men, young women were simply seen as methods to produce a lineage and attain salvation. One of the most appalling FLDS traditions is forced child marriages to older male predators. Parents would present their daughters to Warren as soon as God deemed them ready for marriage — a heavily plagued meter controlled by FLDS men and Warren himself. Devout mothers and fathers allowed their middle-school-aged daughters into nonconsensual unities. The FLDS violated these girls and their rights, stripped them of their innocence, and forced upon their lives they did not wish to live. The most well-known instance in 2006 to 12-year-old Merrianne Jessop, Warren Jeffs’ youngest wife. When investigators took over the Yearning for Zion Ranch in El Dorado, Texas, they found the temple bed Warren used to consummate his marriage with Merrianne. Warren, who was 50 years old at the time, raped Merriane, a 12-year-old, and allowed a number of his other wives to watch this “ .”  While Merriane’s story is jarring, it is not the only one within the FLDS or even within the greater United States. Countless young girls fall victim to marriages with significantly older, oftentimes abusive, men. Though child marriage has been declared a human rights abuse by the U.S. State Department, it is under certain circumstances in 44 U.S. states. Among these states, 20 have no minimum age for marriage if conducted with a parental or judicial waiver, and over 300,000 child marriages taken place since 2000. In some of these states, children can be pressured into marriage by their families, abusers, and even religious leaders — as seen in the FLDS community.  For instance, in California, children can be at any age as long as one parent and one judge approve, even if the marriage is to an adult several years older. Judges rarely have enough information to determine if parental approval is actually parental coercion. This issue is often worsened when a teen becomes pregnant. Adults can be driven to support child marriages out of social fears and pressures like the stigma surrounding pregnancies out of wedlock. Not to mention, the financial strain of supporting a teen parent may dramatically impact family savings. Together, these influencing factors coerce parents into supporting child marriages that they otherwise would not, which overworked, unconcerned judges find convincing enough to approve. What’s more egregious — in many states, child marriage waivers for legal statutory rape, where one of the parties involved in sexual activity is younger than the age of consent. What should be considered a heinous crime is sanctioned by law if the people engaging in sexual activity are married to each other? Despite the fact that child marriage exists in law books and practice, most Americans have no idea about its prevalence. A recent survey that nearly half of the Americans polled believed that child marriage was already illegal throughout the U.S., suggesting a false understanding that child marriages don’t occur within the United States. However, this is a matter with a long history in this country — the supposed global champion of human rights. How can the United States hold other countries accountable for their human rights violations when it overlooks its own?  The FLDS community and its leaders provide a small but important look into the many legal atrocities that occur every day within the “freest country” in the world. While it is easy to blame FLDS predators for the atrocities they’ve committed toward minors, and rightfully so, it is equally the fault of the legislators enabling these actions. To protect our children and their rights, we must support legislators who have the best interest of all Americans at heart.  .

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/crimes-by-flds/

Alejandro Escobar

At the close of each Olympic cycle, it’s easy to guess which nations brought home the most medals, and last year’s Tokyo 2021 Summer Olympic Games were no exception. The United States, Russia, China, and the United Kingdom undoubtedly topped the charts, while others, such as Panama, Mozambique, and Laos trailed the pack. This is surprising to no one. The talent some athletes from the higher-performing nations have is impossible to deny. American swimmer Katie Ledecky’s speed is jaw-dropping; Argentinian soccer player Lionel Messi’s prowess on the pitch is inspiring and responsible for his most recent World Cup victory. Nonetheless, these people aren’t once-in-a-lifetime prodigies; before Ledecky, the Americans had Phelps, and before Messi, the Argentines had Maradonna. The star power in these nations’ rosters is ever-present, helping them excel generation after generation. Meanwhile, dozens of countries struggle to raise a single virtuoso or snag their first gold medal.  With fewer than ten countries almost 50% of all Olympic medals, there is a clear systemic anomaly in the distribution of Olympic achievement. Based on such jarring numbers, the public consensus has normalized that only a few nations are athletically successful. Yet, while many have attempted to resolve the question of why this strange and recurrent phenomenon even exists — often attributing athletic mediocrity to low national incomes or instability —  the true answer may not be so simple. Contrary to general trends already discussed, there are some sports in which developing nations manage to squeeze their way onto the podium. Sports like volleyball and water polo are not only dominated by the usual champions but also by underdogs such as and , respectively.  Although varied, most of the sports in which less-medaled nations thrive are group sports. This makes sense: On a tighter budget, when it’s time for developing nations to invest in sports, they logically choose to favor whatever will benefit the most people. When deciding between building a tennis court or a soccer field, the soccer field would be the wiser choice, as dozens could play at a time, whereas a tennis court would only serve four or fewer. Therefore, team sports are the usual beneficiaries of government support. Conversely, athletes from developing nations who compete in individual rather than team sports are left unattended, and their chances of gold are far slimmer. Having little governmental support, they face systemic barriers at times too high for them to surmount, including lack of access to equipment or infrastructure, coaches with enough expertise, and a community that will support their pursuit. As a result, most individual sports remain led by traditionally successful countries.  However, there are solo sports in which poorer nations surprisingly thrive. In track and field at the 2016 Olympic games, for instance, the charts detailing the countries with the most medals were by Kenya, Jamaica, and Ethiopia. Yet, this exception is surprisingly easy to explain. Needing little to no infrastructure, running opens its doors for everyone to train regardless of a country’s wealth or resources. Although all professional athletes eventually train with expensive machinery and skilled trainers, the sport’s simplicity allows all interested participants a foot in the door and makes earning a gold medal boil down to hard work and raw talent. On the other hand, sports that heavy infrastructure or equipment such as gymnastics, horseback riding, and swimming the podium from both countries and individual athletes who are unable to afford it. In an interview with the HPR, former Harvard baseball player Matt Thomas mentioned that this was an obstacle for many athletes, saying, “The wealthier you are, the more opportunities you have. Think of sports like golf or baseball, where you need to buy a lot of equipment to be able to perform and play the sport.”  From a macroscopic view, national low-income status also exacerbates this shortage. Since many countries can’t afford to build several gymnasiums or pools for aspiring Olympians, athletes are sadly denied proper training, leaving their talent unrealized. Therefore, results in such sports continue to reflect a positive correlation between GDP and success, with wealthier countries like the United Kingdom, the United States, and Germany monopolizing victory.  Colombia’s Minister of Sport Ernesto Lucena concurred in an interview with the HPR, saying, “Great nations, the ones with big budgets, who additionally have great infrastructure to help all areas of their country, where not a single person lacks the budget to explore their talent, are definitely the ones you see secure top spots.” Aware of the scarce opportunities in their home countries, especially for those playing solo, many athletes choose to emigrate and seek a professional career elsewhere, where their talent can be fully nurtured. This phenomenon can be clearly seen in soccer leagues; regardless of where they come from, all of the world’s soccer stars end up in Europe, where the highest level of the sport is. Everybody wants to further their career and acquire the, often monetary, resources to do so, many sacrifice their homeland.  Not only do athletes find better and more numerous coaches, equipment, teammates, and infrastructure when they leave, but also, perhaps most importantly, a better quality of life. For many, sport is the ticket out of problem-ridden nations that being drafted or hired somewhere else allows them to leave behind Coming from Venezuela at 16 to play baseball, Gold Glove recipient Ozzie Guillen lived this reality, telling the HPR that it was common for people to “want to leave your neighborhood and your poverty behind, and provide for your family.” After all, when leaving for countries that can afford to invest in sports, athletes’ salaries can from hundreds to millions of dollars. The offer is simply too good to pass up.  As such, athletes end up building better lives elsewhere and seldom return to their home countries. This has massive implications for the development of sports. When retired, most athletes into managerial roles or use their expertise and resources to expand the specific sport they’re interested in. Slowly but surely, these athletes build the backbone of a country’s sports program. When athletes stay in already well-resourced countries around the world, those nations ultimately continue receiving the best training while underfunded sports in often developing countries continue to struggle. Even though social mobility and better quality of life are incredible news for the athletes, it’s a pattern that feeds the system which upholds traditional winners and subdues the rest, contributing to a lack of role models, experts in the fields, and future coaches.  Demonstratively, when asked what opportunities athletes in countries such as Venezuela have to succeed, Guillen’s answer was simple: “None.” Those unable to leave their home country and find better opportunities in a foreign land often face an obstacle too difficult to overcome: Athletes interested in pursuing both an academic and athletic career, only have access to undernourished collegiate programs that don’t allow them to go professional. On the other hand, affluent countries, particularly the United States, have created a system for their athletes to succeed both academically and athletically. College sports have become incredibly popular, and schools constantly invest in bettering their programs. Associations and conferences such as the NCAA and the Ivy League have been built to support this booming culture, proving collegiate sports are not a hobby but rather a training ground for professionals. University funding also helps the strain on the government to finance sports and produce world-class athletes. The cultural and athletic salience of the college-to-professional pipeline is most observable in U.S. men’s basketball. For instance, nicknamed March Madness for its popularity, college basketball’s annual tournament an average of more than 15 million viewers per game. For those wanting to go professional, playing at this collegiate level is the right step to take: Almost 85% of all NBA players college, confirming that university athletics feed into professional leagues in wealthy nations with high athletic performance. Naturally, this benefits such countries in international competitions, like the Olympics. For Lucena, “Countries who have bet on a good university system for sports have also become dominant.” In other countries, though, that potential is lost: The lack of a sports culture in college makes funding for young athletes rest entirely on the government’s shoulders, leading to underfunded and incompetent sports programs. As so much of international athletic success is dependent on investment, it’s important to look at why successful countries spend so much on sports in the first place. The answer is exceedingly simple: Sports are a profitable investment, so the greater the input, the greater the output. Sports move people, elicit strong emotions, and create die-hard fans; they’re a central part of the entire world’s culture. Soccer star Cristiano Ronaldo and Leo Messi’s positions as the first- and second-most followed people on Instagram, boasting over 520 million and 400 million followers respectively, the magnitude of this phenomenon. Considering their exceedingly large following, the athletic industry is incredibly lucrative and moves colossal sums of money. Tickets, merchandise, advertisements, meet and greets, among many others are a constant, heavy stream of revenue. What’s more, by creating millions of jobs, requiring infrastructure, and transporting so much capital, the industry has become an economy in and of itself, a market size of 83 billion dollars in North America alone. Thus, it’s no surprise that, when able, countries invest so heavily in this area, as it’s almost a given the investment will be returned. Unfortunately, however, this profitability cements the power dynamics in sports and upholds the current system of winners and losers. Whenever a country earns money through sports, it can then invest it back and grow its athletics programs quickly. In Thomas’ eye, this also happens at the collegiate level, where “at certain schools, [sports] are part of the economics. They depend on the money they make from football season, for example.” Consequently, they continue winning. A positive feedback loop is generated in which some countries continue to dominate generation after generation. Meanwhile, the rest valiantly, yet unrealistically try to break a cycle that works against them. In Guillen’s words “we’re swimming against the current.” At first glance, this issue might seem easy to solve. Since it’s such a profitable investment, developing nations with tighter budgets should try and spare some change for their athletics department; after all, this will benefit them in the long run. However, it’s important to note that this is a long-term investment, and many of these countries can’t afford to spend on projects that will only come to fruition ten or twenty years later. Instead, they operate on a more day-to-day basis and must solve immediate problems faced by their populations. Hence, sports are not a priority, and the decades-old pattern remains intact. Wealth distribution and inequality play a major role in all areas of life, including sports. Without a doubt, all athletes work hard and train strenuously to achieve success; yet, systemic barriers place additional obstacles in the way of many. The disproportionate number of wins wealthier countries have relative to worse-off others is a clear demonstration of this unbalanced structure. It’s disheartening to think that there might be incredible athletes out there who are waiting to set a new world record or discover new techniques but just lack the opportunity to do so. There are, however, glimmers of light that progress is approaching: For instance, Morocco blew the world away with its top-four finish in the 2022 World Cup, declaring to the globe that African players playing for African countries have a place among the best in the world.  One can only hope that the world of sports will, however gradually, continue this transition toward equity and justice and that the race for number one becomes a nail-biter that includes all nations — even those who have yet to clinch their first gold model.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/tit-for-tat-gold-for-gold/

Appreciation, Resistance, and Intentional Action: A Review of “How to Do Nothing”

Naomi Corlette

In the world of politics, it’s rarely a good idea to do nothing. How could you when there are such pressing issues to address? But Jenny Odell’s book, “ ,” contrary to the title, is neither a how-to guide nor a suggestion that we do nothing. Instead, she offers a compelling case that resisting the urge to act rashly or constantly make progress can actually be the greatest catalyst for change.  “How to Do Nothing” reflects on how the modern economy, which capitalizes on our attention, has conditioned us to prioritize sometimes needless productivity over introspection. It inspires a call to action for individuals hoping to reclaim their autonomy and reimagine their relationship with the world around them. “I would be surprised,” Odell says, “if anyone who bought this book actually wants to do nothing. Only the most nihilist and coldhearted of us feels that there is nothing to be done.”  The book itself acts as a case study of what Odell means by doing nothing — “to hold yourself still so that you can perceive what is actually there.” Odell explains that she finds “existing things infinitely more interesting than anything I could possibly make,” and she stays true to her word. By drawing from a wide variety of sources, including indigenous philosophy, contemporary art, and numerous books and essays, she pieces together the collage that is “How to Do Nothing.” Each section brings something new, and there is something for a wide variety of audiences to connect with, ranging from activists and artists to those in the tech and business world. For those of us who feel the urgency of social action, calling for less productivity may seem confusing. Odell provides an example: In 2015, San Clemente decided to that had stood for over 100 years and restore the natural habitat. This demolition did not provide instant gratification but was rather a slow and arduous process of dismantling the dam and putting the environment back together piece by piece. Odell argues that perceptions of this decision as regressive destruction have it all wrong. What if, instead, the construction of the dam was seen as destruction of the ecosystem? Viewing land as a blank slate for development is often blocking the way for the more careful remediation that should really be happening. In approaching such a project with intention and forethought, the city was able to restore a lost habitat. Similarly, Odell lauds intentional civil disobedience. To explain this, she tells the story of Diogenes, a fourth-century Greek philosopher who aimed to shock people out of their mindless habits through public displays of refusal. He claimed that, although many of his actions may have seemed insane to a passerby, any “sane” person is insane for continuing to uphold systems and standards that perpetuate the world’s wrongs. Following politics can lead to despair, and it can be tempting to leave it all behind. But Diogenes demonstrates that there are ways to participate in the world that challenge the systems in power. Although sometimes difficult, he shows that we must continue to invest ourselves in working towards a more just world. Jumping forward to the 1934 West Coast Waterfront Strike, Odell provides a more modern example of refusing injustice. Subject to the whims of their bosses and the economy at large, longshoremen created the International Longshoremen’s Association and began to build up workers’ power. Their determination ultimately inspired 150,000 people to walk off the job. This refusal to assimilate and belief in the power of community is still applicable to today’s politics, with ongoing and . We must learn from the activists of the past in order to be successful in the modern-day fight for labor rights. Odell sees social media as an important aspect of this modern collective action. She explains that social media platforms are a way for people to communally share what they believe is important without regulation. So why has it so difficult to focus and connect with others? Odell argues that “context collapse,” the need to appeal to a wide-ranging audience without background information, is what has ruined these platforms, particularly for political discussion. Further, the of our attention has made these platforms incredibly addictive. She recommends that we work on returning to the one-on-one conversations, closed group chats and meetings, and slow speed communication that political activists have continually found to be the most effective throughout history. Despite her argument, Odell admits that this way of doing nothing is not accessible to everyone. She acknowledges that it is a privilege to be able to sit still, listen to the birds, and spend hours admiring contemporary art. Many of us have to act without much time for contemplation, and this isn’t always a bad thing. But at the end of the day, the book is not one about retreat from the world, which is what makes it so accessible.  Odell asserts that we must approach today’s most pressing issues, from technological advancement to climate change, with purpose. Yet in order to do this, the book teaches that we must learn to appreciate indigenous environmental wisdom, philosophical and artistic models of civil disobedience, organizing strategies of historical movements, and the power of our community. Ultimately, “How to Do Nothing” is a call to stop doing something just to do something and, instead, to understand what has already been done and where we can go from there. Odell concludes, “if we have only so much attention to give, and only so much time on this earth, we might want to think about reinfusing our attention and our communication with the intention that both deserve.”

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/how-to-do-nothing/

Just How Feminist is Your “Girl Power” T-Shirt?

Zoe Yu

No matter where my friends and I started shopping, middle school retail therapy always ended the same way — at the mall, in a clothing store, competing to see who could find the most ridiculous graphic tee. With a Spongebob shirt in one hand and an “I vote pizza” hoodie slung over a shoulder, I was sifting through the racks when I spotted a top with chunky lettering: “Smash the Patriarchy.” Then another — “Wild feminist” — and a third — “Empowered women empower women.” Unlike the silly tees that we’d been searching for, these shirts were ones that we’d actually buy. It probably had something to do with how they weren’t just shirts to us but polyester proof that we were gutsy enough to wear our hearts (literally) on our sleeves — and, in the spirit of “ ” and “ ,” broadcast our very fashionable politics out to the world. Or maybe it was the star-studded lineup that made it cool: Emma Watson a “Girls Just Wanna Have Fundamental Human Rights” jacket on Instagram, Bella Hadid down the runway with “The Future is Female” on her chest, and we wanted to be just like them. Whatever it was, empowerment or trendiness, we swiped our cards and walked out of the store feeling like feminists with a capital F. With a chic “GRL PWR” crewneck, we were taking a stand — and dressing the part. At least, that’s how it’s sold. Because tangled up in the shopping tags and glossy receipts was the real, unmarketable truth: Most feminist shirts are made in a way that’s entirely at odds with what the movement stands for. And it’s a truth that’s slowly coming out in the wash. In 2020, the fashion titan Boohoo, which owns brands like Pretty Little Thing, MissPap, and Nasty Gal, was for paying workers as little as $4.40 an hour — less than half of the national in Britain. (Nevermind that Nasty Gal was by the original “#girlboss” Sophia Amoruso, who a bestselling memoir of the same name pitched to publishers as scripture for women “seeking ownership of their careers and futures.”) And Forever 21, which launches collections to celebrate International Women’s Day nearly every year, was for using factories that grossly underpaid its workers by a margin of $1.1 million in lost wages. It isn’t just one chain or one line, Sam Maher of workers’ rights campaign Labour Behind the Label to The Guardian. “It’s an entire system of exploitation.” But this tragic system is also a very profitable one. For every candy brand that cashes in during Halloween and florist who makes most of their sales on Valentine’s Day, there’s a company that off of Women’s History Month and the trillion dollars of . It’s gotten to a point where terms like “ ” and “ ” have been added to the corporate dictionary to describe businesses that invest in women as a cheap advertising gimmick, just to make a quick buck. There are Women’s March activists who sell and shop for manufactured by Gildan, a company with a long history of . There’s a founder and CEO of a huge feminist brand who is an . Consumers, too, don’t have a free pass from the outward grandstanding. Like my middle school friends and I, some buy into this twisted progressive branding either to make a publicly feminist statement or to jump onto the feminist fashion bandwagon (or both, or neither). And when we buy into it, we also buy into the wave of feminism that places optics above all else. “Were you even at the rally if you didn’t post in a pink shirt? Do you even support reproductive rights if you don’t have a hoodie with a uterus on it?” What we need to understand is this: What you wear as a consumer, and what you sell as a company, doesn’t make you more or less of a feminist. Not when are women. Not when earn a living wage. Not when every study, report, article, testimony, and investigation that the nauseating abuse garment workers face behind the sewing machine all thread the same message: There are more ways, and better ways, to be a feminist than to wear a shirt that says you are one. Who are we “empow-her”-ing when we buy a feminist shirt? And how can the future be female when the women making these shirts can’t even afford to buy them? To retailers, who will slap on money-making slogans without a second thought about what they represent, it’s enough to look like a feminist. It’s up to us to actually be one.

https://theharvardpoliticalreview.com/feminism-and-fast-fashion/