Even though the questions on the website fail to accurately convey the personality of the student body, at least the administration tried to cooperate with students by holding focus groups. When students were aggravated by the lack of a link to the library on the main page, the website was modified to address this concern. In fact, there will be time for many similar usability improvements: the new website design is being rolled out over a period of 12-18 months so that there will be more opportunities for the student body and faculty to suggest changes.

Of course, the most important change on the website will involve deciding the fate of the questions on the admissions section of the website. Instead of posting Facebook status updates, typing complaints on the ACB, or continuing to recycle jokes about Homer Simpson and staying up late to make friends for life, let’s take a more constructive approach to improving the way the University markets Wesleyan’s image.

We need to work with the administration to figure out how to rewrite the questions to better reflect the character of the student body. Then again, maybe the website does not need questions at all, and the attempt to define Wesleyan through questions is antithetical to Wesleyan’s mission: refusing to constrict students’ identities to particular traits and stereotypes. Whatever the solution, let’s seize the opportunity to discuss with the administration how to portray Wesleyan more accurately to prospective students.

I wrote this upon arrival in Durban, South Africa last spring, in a letter to myself that my program director would then give back to us to read at the end of the trip.

I grew up in Newton, Massachusetts, a suburb historically ranked as the safest city in America. That did not stop me—or my neurotic parents—from worrying about crime while I was growing up.  I was raised to take every precaution, to worry about sensational crimes my mother heard about on the news, and to generally live in fear.

Living in irrational fear in suburbia is nothing like living in very rational fear in South Africa.  When we first arrived in Durban, our program directors gave us a list of ‘basic’ safety precautions. Keep your money in your bra or your socks.  Don’t carry more than 80 Rand (about $8).  Keep your phone in your pocket or bra at all times, never take it out in public. Don’t walk around with an iPod or a laptop on your person.  Don’t wear a necklace in public—someone might rip it off your neck.

I lived with a homestay family in a township for most of my trip.  When I first arrived at my new home, I was told to unpack my belongings and store my suitcase above my wardrobe so that it was not visible from the window.  The windows had bars on the outside, but evidently that was not enough.

My family did their best to make me feel safe, but I slept with the light on every night, constantly texting my friend who lived across the street to ask if she had heard what I always thought was a gunshot.  Sometimes when I heard these perceived gunshots while eating dinner with my host family, I would ask about them.  My host father would casually remark that these were in fact gunshots and then point to the shacks down the hill as their source.

One afternoon, I was in my program’s van, driving through the center of Durban on our way home from our school.  There was a traffic jam, no one was stopping at red lights, and all cars in sight were stuck.  Amidst all the chaos, we suddenly heard a particularly frantic honking of a car horn next to us.  I looked over and saw that a man was standing beside it.  I saw him reach through the driver’s open window, grab the driver’s wallet from her hands, and walk away. Her jaw dropped in fear and anger as she screamed, “That man robbed me!” Her whole body visibly shook. Both driver and passenger screamed for help while honking the horn for attention. I watched silently as a street full of pedestrians continued to mill about, passing the pleading car without any recognition.

This image would come back to me later.  During the last month of our trip, our program required us to write a research paper as a culmination of our studies.  My work focused on a Durban newspaper located a quarter-mile walk from the flat I lived in for the last month.  In my project proposal, I had to allot money for transportation.  I debated whether I should walk there or take a taxi.  When I asked our director what he suggested, he told me it was safe enough to walk.  When I asked one of the program’s most trusted taxi drivers, he also said it was safe, though he casually suggested that I buy a cheap wallet to carry in case I got mugged, so I would have something to give to the potential mugger.  Weighing my options, I decided to walk.

As I set out for the newspaper on my first morning of research, the first 10 minutes of the walk were pleasant.  I strolled down a busy street crowded with restaurants and stores—the safest neighborhood I went to in all of Durban.

The last five minutes of the walk, however, entailed an isolated stretch along a road with no sign of life—deserted buildings on one side and a fenced-in dog-racing track on the other.  Walking down this stretch, I noticed a white pick-up truck slowing down next to me; soon it wasn’t just slowing down, it was following me.  I walked faster. He drove slower. I reassured myself that nothing could happen with so many cars whizzing by.

Then I recalled the image of the woman shaking in her car as her wallet was grabbed from her hands.  No one had stopped or cared then, and no one would now.  Durban’s notorious reputation as a city of violent crime and rape flashed through my mind.  I panicked and ran.  I arrived at the newspaper safe, though frazzled and embarrassingly sweaty given the 90-degree weather.

When I finished my research for the day, I immediately called a taxi for a ride home. As we sailed through that isolated stretch, I heaved a sigh of relief that I was safe in a taxi instead of vulnerable on the street. I realized that the moment with the pick-up truck was the first time in my life I had been in a situation with imminent danger. The irrational fears that had characterized my upbringing had been just that—entirely irrational. At home in my sheltered community, I had always been made fun of for being unnecessarily afraid of just about everything.  Coming to Durban, I had wanted to prove to myself that I could triumph over my fears. But as I got out of the taxi in front of my flat that day, I no longer cared how others might judge me.

From then on, I took a taxi everyday.  I knew the taxi drivers probably thought I was a paranoid American to call them for a quarter-mile drive.  I did not care. I knew everyone on my trip thought I was a “neurotic Jewish girl” to pay for a taxi for such a short trip. I also did not care. My own peace of mind mattered more to me than what others thought of me. I had finally learned to trust my own discretion.

As we boarded the plane to fly home in May, our director handed us our letters from the first week of the trip.  Reading my morbid prediction of my own death, I could only laugh. I had become so accustomed to constantly worrying about my safety on a daily basis that I had forgotten how much I had taken personal safety for granted my whole life.

On the flight home, I felt guilty that after only four months in South Africa I had the privilege to return to my safe community, while those who had taken care of me during my stay had to continue to live in fear.  I realized that issues of safety are relative and vary globally.

But upon returning to the United States, I found that attempting to rank different safety concerns hierarchically is not productive. In the end, trusting your own instincts is.

ADMISSIONS:

Are You Wesleyan?

Do you contemplate infinity for the fun of it? If so, ask us about Eclectic, where you can not only contemplate infinity, but depending on how much you can afford to spend on controlled substances, you can see it as regularly as every week!

Do you have a new favorite book every week?

Do you have a new favorite genre every week?

Do you have a new favorite self every week?

If you answered yes to the first question, ask us about the College of Letters, where your interest in every favorite book you’ve ever had will be slowly and agonizingly slaughtered.

If you answered yes to the second question, ask us about the Film Department, where everyone’s lives are henceforth defined by either the tragedy or comedy genre depending on what shoes they wore when they first met Jeanine Basinger.

If you answered yes to the last question, ask us about the Office of Behavioral Health.

Do you quote Hume, Hegel and Homer Simpson accurately, but intentionally misquote fellow students with whom you disagree? If so, Wesleyan’ chapter of Students for a Democratic Society would love to have you!

If you were an automobile, would you be a converted hybrid? If so, would you be interested in participating in our new “Cap & Gown for Clunkers” Exchange student program?

Do neuroscience, dance and history seem like a logical combination? If so, have fun finding an advisor for your senior thesis on “The Psychology of Restless Leg Syndrome as a Cultural Artifact of Riverdance.”

Also expect to only get honors on it. And expect nobody to read it. Not even your thesis readers.

Do you surf the library? Can you understand how to use the library website? If so, congratulations, you have just been hired as an IMS technician!

Do you find patterns in complexity? If so, does our housing system make ANY sense to you?!

Would you stay up all night to make friends for life? Would you spend that night in bed with the person you’re trying to make friends for life with? If so, prepare to become famous on the Anonymous Confession Board. Oh, and ask us about Westco.

Do you expect to spend your whole life learning? If so, we do not recommend a career in academia, so consider getting your degree in something which will actually help you in the job market.

Are you actually qualified to attend this school? If so, get ready to spend the next four years feeling guilty for being such a tool of the patriarchal, racist, classist, heterosexist, monoculturalist, religion-obsessed, speciesist, Eurocentric system. Or join the College Republicans.

Are you the sort of person whose accomplishments are so vast that they can’t be summed up in two-minute over-produced video clip? Watch us try anyway!

CAMPUS LIFE:

Most Wesleyan students probably do about seven things at one time, and have great difficulty knowing which of them to put on their resume. Three might be academic tasks, such as skimming the reading, doing work the night before it’s due, and requesting extensions because you have a protest tomorrow. Two of them might involve student organizations, such as WesKINK and Advocates for Satan, and two might be community service or political engagement, either of which could involve drawing dildos on the sidewalk or campaigning for nonstarter local candidates.

Another endeavor might be playing on one of Wesleyan's athletic teams or club sports, but really, we’d rather not talk about that because most of us got picked last in gym class anyway. Or just having a cup of Joe in the Usdan Center, and then feeling embarrassed that the website authors never learned the definition of a sentence fragment. Or maybe it’s cooking a vegan potluck and then having no one want to eat any of it…watching a film in one of the country’s best projection facilities which can’t even get the sound right sometimes…using WiFi (or hallucinogens, whichever’s easiest to pay for) while watching a baseball game from Foss Hill. Or meditating and exploring religious and spiritual activities, but since this campus routinely gets ranked one of the most atheist in the country, we doubt you’ll be doing that unless you’re a “stupid, backwoods Christian hick.” Or create your own favorite activities for multitasking.

That’s what Wesleyan students do.

*Actually, this document is wholly a work of fiction—given that no Admissions office employee would ever draft anything so honest, even in jest.

These problems were exacerbated last weekend when students could not call the Ride’s drivers. It was irresponsible of the Ride not to anticipate the issues students had with calling them this weekend because of Connecticut’s switch to ten digit numbers. The failure of the Ride to effectively anticipate the implications of the switch to ten digit numbers points to larger concerns about whether the Ride is really assisting students as well as they could be.

The fact that students couldn’t access the Ride outside of its regular route highlighted a larger issue: since its route is largely in the center of campus, it doesn’t serve students who live on the outskirts of campus as effectively. In fact, many students have tried to flag down the Ride while off its regular route, and drivers have refused to pull over. In other cases, drivers have complained about picking up students off of their regular route even though the administration has told students that this is a service the Ride provides.

All of these issues occur because the Ride has not been clear about what its job actually is. Is the Ride a bus service that is only supposed to stay within a particular route, or is it a taxi service that is supposed to pick up students wherever they are on campus? If the Ride does not want to be a taxi service, then the route must be extended beyond the center of campus so that students who need transportation the most have better access to it. However, if its role is to pick up all students, not just those on a particular route, then drivers need to embrace this policy and not complain when students call to get picked up off of the route.

When students couldn’t call the Ride this weekend, it wasn’t just an inconvenience; it also made Wesleyan’s campus less safe. One student chose to walk last weekend, and got assaulted on the street. It is imperative that the role of the Ride is clarified through communication among the student body, administration, and the Ride itself so that the Ride can more effectively accomplish its primary job: help protect Wesleyan’s student body from assault.

It’s an ambitious plan, but we want to facilitate a dialog—one that all members of the Wesleyan community can take part in. We created an email account for people to send in thoughts, reactions, a responses to questions that have been posted around campus, or questions of your own. We’ve been hoping that words, images, quotes and pictures that were submitted could then be hung up and used to re-start the cycle of inquiry and response. But that hasn’t happened yet. Only three people have written in since the campaign began in Mid-October, but that doesn’t mean we’re giving up. However, it does mean that I have been trying to evaluate what went wrong. Was it a matter of visibility? Do Wes students just not care or have the time? Or—and I think this is most likely—is there something about us all that makes those questions impossible to answer? Are they too hard, require too much work and introspection? Probably. And I understand that.

In fact, I feel like a hypocrite most of the time, doing the kind of activist work that I do. I am involved with FemNet, a group that is deeply invested in promoting positive self-image and sexuality through sex toy workshops, body-awareness campaigns, and radical models of consent that rely on completely open communication. But still here I am, a kid who is almost completely unable to hold meaningful conversations except through e-mails, and who can barely work up the nerve to hold someone’s hand. So who am I to tell others anything about their bodies, their relationships, or the sex that they’re having? I’m not sure.

I only know why I do it anyway; I’ve struggled with body image and identity for a long time and I’m tired of being mean to my body, I’m tired of thinking about it as though it’s something that needs fixing, and I’m especially tired of pretending that I don’t love it. I do, even though I’m not supposed to. That’s strange to read, right?—being told not to love our bodies, that being kind to ourselves is somehow a deviant or radical life philosophy. I suspect it has a lot to do with capitalism (because if we were all comfortable in our own skins, imagine how many industries would be out of luck), but don’t worry—dismantling capitalism is not the goal of the Body Image Campaign.

The goal of the Campaign, for me, is in line with what I hope to get out of most things I’m actively involved in: I want to hear your stories. I want to know how you feel about the mole on your right cheek, about the politics of your haircut, about your relationship with the treadmill in the corner of the gym. I want to know if you think that you’re beautiful. And, if you do, I want (and need) to know how you got there. And, if you don’t, I want to convince you that you’re wrong. But I’m realizing that that’s selfish—asking for you stories and not offering up my own.

I was born on moving day and didn’t have a crib for the first few days of my life. I slept in a dresser drawer. That, I think, determined the course of the next two decades of my life [almost sounded a little awk in terms of how the sentence flowed; let’s just say two decades, or you could put the exact number of years you mean]. A lot of my life has been spent in things that weren’t necessarily made for my body to inhabit: a dresser drawer, my father’s shirts, a worn, grey sweatshirt that hung to my knees every day of seventh grade. I’m also a self-identified nomad, always living with an extra toothbrush in my backpack and a wild refusal to put down roots. I’ve lived in a lot of different places, and have crossed a lot of state lines. Somewhere in there I came out as trans [briefly describe what trans ‘means’ – in journalism unfortunately you always have to assume that the reader doesn’t know anything] and began another kind of crossing, out of the ‘female’ check box and into, well, somewhere else. Trans is an umbrella term for anyone who falls outside of socially recognized categories of male and female, woman and man. It’s a word that means different things to different people, but, for me, has always meant that I operate in the world as some kind of boy, despite my anatomy. People here often assume trans is a political identity, and that the female-assigned trans folk on this campus are really just dykes trying to prove a point about the constructed nature of gender. But if that were the case, I probably wouldn’t be this invested in sharing my story and publicizing the Campaign.

For me (and a lot of, but certainly not all, other trans people), being trans has translated into a complicated mess of body-related anxiety. Before I had the word ‘trans,’ all I knew was that I didn’t like the way I looked in a mirror. I spent the majority of my childhood as a gymnast, and consequently, in a leotard, which didn’t make things any easier. I was always aware of my body and all of its curves and wobbling and softness just as much as any female-socialized adolescent is, and I hated it. I just didn’t know why. And as much as I’d like to be able to look back and believe that it was because I was just struggling with the dissonance that comes from feeling like a boy but looking like a girl, I think that’s over-simplifying. As a gymnast, I was supposed to be small and cute and flexible, but I was always stocky compared to all of my peers. Strength was important, but in the end it was never as important as looking a certain way. So I tried to lose weight, because I knew something had to change and maybe that was it; because maybe if I didn’t have to work so hard to suck in my gut and tuck in my butt it would be easier to smile at the judges at gymnastics meets. And maybe I wouldn’t always feel like I was faking it.

The summer after ninth grade came and I went off to camp and decided I wasn’t going to eat meat anymore. And, because I knew that the kitchen staff was historically bad at actually producing vegetarian options, that was really code for going on a salad and peanut butter diet. Which turned into just a salad diet. Which turned into something I can now recognize as some kind of an eating disorder.

I came home that summer and stopped eating anything that was made with animal products, that wasn’t organic, and that contained ingredients I couldn’t pronounce or didn’t recognize. It wasn’t difficult to claim that I was just being “health conscious,” because my mother, in theory, invests in the organic-vegan lifestyle (though in reality only eats raisins) and my father has always been content to let me eat only cheerios for months on end. But because I wasn’t responsible for the grocery shopping, all of those ‘standards’ boiled down to my not eating much at all.

I don’t know how long that lasted. It’s not a dramatic story; the ending really isn’t that climactic. I’m pretty sure it was always more about feeling ok with what was going into my body than the pounds that were coming off of it. I probably lost 20-30 pounds that summer and fall, which, on my body didn’t look very different. Or maybe I just didn’t notice. But, one day something changed. Maybe I ate cheese and remembered how good it was. Maybe I recognized that I was being a little insane. Definitely I quit gymnastics and started playing rugby, a sport where your body weight is useful, and that values power over grace in all bodies—not just male ones. So, I think I just “snapped out” of my eating issues. Well, kind of.

I still can’t eat meat. But I also don’t want to. And sometimes I still fall back into habits that are more conventionally recognized as disordered eating and self-harm, because (and this is one of those places where the ideologies I live by and the way I live don’t quite match up yet) I still sometimes think that something would be better if my body were a different shape. Also my body is where I store up all of my stress and where I try to deal with it. Sometimes that means going to the gym. Sometimes that means baking cookies. And sometimes that means eating only vegetables and coffee with soy milk. Or hurting myself, my body in other ways.

And that’s where all of this anxiety I have about body activism comes from. Yes, I adore my body. I recognize that it does some pretty amazing things, allows me to connect with the world and with people. It bends. It grows. It adapts. And sometimes it makes people want to get to know me. But despite all that, all my insistence that people should value and honor the bodies they have, I still spent $8,000 this summer to get top surgery (basically a mastectomy but to construct a male-appearing chest) and am still constantly asking myself what makes that ok? Why is changing my body in that way any different from other kinds of plastic surgery? I don’t think it is. And that’s made me reevaluate and revalue plastic surgery in this “love your body” ideology. Maybe it’s ok. I don’t know. I especially don’t know for myself because, somewhere along the line someone managed to convince me that my discomfort with my body is just a mirror of my father’s. You can always tell how happy is by how much he weighs. But that’s not the point.

Regardless of the ways I’ve changed my body, I’ve still managed to find a way to love my scars, my shoulders, the birthmark on my belly, my collarbone, my knees. The way I always wake up in the perfect position, the way something in my body refuses to let me sleep much past 7:30am, the way my legs can carry me wherever I need to go. And some people’s bodies can’t do that, so I try not to take it for granted, though I still do on rainy days and in the wintertime. I’m also learning and relearning how to share my body with other people. Sex has often been an uncomfortable thing for me because at times I’ve felt so disconnected and/or at odds with parts of myself that it was pretty impossible to be naked around someone else without panicking. And that’s annoying. For me, anyway—maybe others never even noticed.

So while I struggle to reconcile my behavior with my beliefs, I’m trying. And that’s all I ever ask of anyone—just to try. So try this: ask yourself what you love about your body. If that’s too hard, or if you think the answer is “nothing” try these: What does your body do for you? How do you feel in your body? What makes your body feel good? What about your body isn’t normally appreciated? Promise me you’ll at least think about it. And if you feel inspired to send us your thoughts in the form of a rant, a story, a poem, a photograph, or anything else, please do. The email is wesbody@gmail.com. I—and our community—are looking forward to hearing your story.

Since faculty were angered by the original decision of a salary freeze, we are pleased to hear that they, for the most part, have been more accepting of the decision to extend the salary freeze for a second year. In fact, senior faculty have stressed that they are willing to sacrifice their wealth in order to protect colleagues with lower salaries while helping Wesleyan reduce its debt. Michael Roth has also been cooperative. Last year, he did not get a pay increase or receive a bonus, and his salary has also been frozen.

As encouraging as it is that faculty have been so cooperative, the salary freeze is merely a long-term solution for solving Wesleyan’s financial troubles. The Board of Trustees will have its November meeting in two weeks, and it is likely that they will discuss whether Wesleyan should remain need-blind. This is not a time for students to be apathetic—it would not be far-fetched for them to vote in favor of abolishing our need-blind status at some point, since this is not the first time the Board of Trustees has considered cutting financial aid in the past.

In the 1980s, the Board of Trustees anticipated a recession and considered eliminating our need-blind status, but they decided not to. In the 1990s, however, they cut financial aid in response to a financial crisis much less dire than Wesleyan’s current troubles. Not only are we facing the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression, but Wesleyan has never had a large endowment—the Board proposed a plan for a five year budget cut before the Stock Market crashed.

In light of this troubling situation, uproar over Roth’s salary is the least of our problems. Vilifying Roth and the administration is not only unjust, since they are graciously accepting salary freezes, but also unproductive: of all the possible results of Wesleyan’s budget cuts, a financial aid reduction would have the largest impact on the student body.

Therefore, let’s direct our energies not on petty arguments about salaries, but on proving to the Board how important Wesleyan’s diverse culture is to its students. Let’s fight to preserve the diversity that has been so crucial to Wesleyan’s identity.

The fact that the program has not actually prevented layoffs has precipitated a culture of fear not just among staff, but also throughout the University community. The unexpected layoffs prove that the administration is not admitting to the serious effects of the financial crisis on the integrity of our University.

There’s clearly something wrong with the administration’s plans for addressing the financial crisis if a staff member who has worked at Wesleyan for 23 years is laid off after declining the VSP. As helpful as the VSP has been for those staff desiring to retire, it seems that the package was not as voluntary as it first seemed. The firing of such an experienced staff member will clearly have an impact on the dynamics of the staff, in addition to the staff’s morale as the security of their jobs comes into question.

Shirley Lawrence, a venerable staff member who has been involved with the East Asian Studies program since its inception, took the VSP out of fear of being laid off. If such a crucial member of the staff feared for her job, it is logical to assume that this fear has gripped many other staff members, as well.

This also brings into question the administration’s commitment to maintaining an experienced staff: according to Lawrence, she is being replaced by someone who will not only be working for fewer hours, but will also have less experience, which could significantly impede the operations of the East Asian Studies program.

The administration’s lack of upfront communication about their financial plans has created an insecure environment that promotes the belief that the University has become more impersonal and business oriented than ever before.

Even if the administration is telling the truth when they say that the VSP has nothing to do with subsequent layoffs, they should be assuring the staff that their jobs are actually safe. The administration should better utilize the insights of the University community to find other solutions to its financial troubles. Now, more than ever, the administration must prove that the University’s integrity will not be sacrificed for monetary reasons.

As Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi recently confided to the American people through tears, today’s political climate has keen parallels with the late 1970’s—not just in Ms. Pelosi’s San Francisco district, but also all over the country. The curious cohabitation of liberalism in power and liberalism in decline has really not been seen with such evidence since the dark days of Jimmy Carter, and really, who can say they are surprised? Obama’s level of incompetence is such that he cannot even induce his own base to agree with him, so it’s no surprise that his lending of support to Democratic candidates this fall lacked the visceral kick which it possessed a scant few months ago. As evidence of this, I refer my readers to the anemic antiwar rally which took place last Sunday, at which guest speaker Jeremy Scahill bemoaned the “fact” that Obama’s justice department was “worse” (that is to say, harder on terrorism) than Bush’s Justice Department. I suppose when you ignore the fact that Attorney General Holder’s former law partners are now taking on the defense of Guantanamo detainees, and being aided in that effort by the politicized release of confidential memos, Mr. Scahill’s case could be made. However, disregarding the validity of invalidity of his claim, surely it says something when even a rally composed of Left-wing students and former flower children turned deflowered fossils find the President’s performance unsatisfactory.

But perhaps most importantly for this column’s purpose, what of the moderate, blue collar liberals of Middletown, one of whom angrily told this author over the phone on WESU’s “The Business Buzz” that the past eight years were a disaster, and that Obama had a vision? Apparently this “vision” wasn’t sufficient to galvanize Obama’s levels of support for that famous apostle of Waterfront utopianism, Dan Drew, who found himself quickly drowned by votes for the real leadership of Middletown mayor Sebastian Giuliano. In fact, even with all the College Democrats’ railroaded voter registration drives, a measly fraction of the 700 registered students actually showed up to the polls, and some of them apparently even cast a vote for Giuliano, rather than Drew. As Pat Buchanan once said of Bill Clinton, “where do they find these leaders?” Though perhaps a more appropriate question would be, where could they find any voters?

Thankfully, however, despite the paltry showing of Wesleyan students at the polls, this Tuesday’s mayoral election marks the beginning of a new level of Wesleyan involvement in Middletown – one which is unique in that it cuts across party lines. While the College Democrats did their very best to make Wesleyan’s support for Dan Drew look monolithic (an endeavor in which they catastrophically failed, given the results), the College Republicans also made their first jump into Middletown politics by inviting the Mayor to speak on-campus, aiding in voter registration and phone banking for Giuliano at his headquarters on Main St, thus inaugurating what could prove to be a much more cordial relationship between the city’s government and the student body.

Mayor Giuliano was often criticized, especially in the desperate final days of the campaign, for ignoring Wesleyan in the past. While this was largely untrue, it unfortunately made intuitive sense. Politically, one can’t deny that in the past, the idea of a Republican mayor quoting the votes of Wesleyan students would make about as much sense as Darth Vader quoting the votes of Alderaan’s refugees. In fact, it was up against the wall of College Democrat support for Middletown’s previous incumbent that Mayor Giuliano won his first term – a campaign scenario which could only lend itself to resentment against the school responsible.

Fortunately for Mayor Giuliano, Wesleyan and Middletown generally, it has now become clear that the College Democrats do not speak for all of us – in fact, they only speak for that small, politically ambitious but unprincipled segment of the Wesleyan population which will vote for any sentient being with a (D) next to their name, rather than consider the importance of their vote. Their defeat should ring sweet in every student’s ear, especially given that some of Drew’s supporters took to threatening their peers with political irrelevance if they didn’t support Drew, a threat which was neither idle nor hyperbolic, given the latter’s cosmetic similarities to Barack Obama.

Those similarities are now no longer sufficient to win elections, as the American people, and the people of Middletown, appear to have caught on to the fact that fresh faced, idealistic and aspiration-minded naïveté is still incompetence in a pretty package. Moreover, given their involvement in the winning campaign, the Wesleyan College Republicans now have the opportunity to present a more diverse and bipartisan picture of the school to the city government, and create a positive image among people who might have previously dismissed us as the pack of freaks on the hill.

And to the losers in this fight, I must say: The hand of conservatism may have pierced the Wesleyan bubble, but if you prove willing to hear our case, there will be no need for it to strangle you.

McNair Research Talks presents Wesleyan Biology Professor Gloster Aaron to talk about his research. Grab your lunch and a friend and join us on Tuesday, November 10 at NOON, Exley Science Center, Room 121. For more information, please contact Valerie Marinelli at vmarinelli@wesleyan.edu.

Marinelli is an administrative assistant.

2. Operation Wallacea

Dr. James Saunders, Senior Marine Scientist in Honduras, will give an initial presentation to provide an overview of the programs; the following week Dr. Caine Delacy, Senior Marine Scientist in Mozambique, will give an in-depth presentation of site-specific research opportunities. Following that discussion, there will be a third meeting to discuss how expeditions may be financed through eligible grants and scholarships as well as fundraising opportunities.

Date: November 5, 2009

Time: 4-5pm

Location: Usdan 108

For more information, please contact Valerie Marinelli, vmarinelli@wesleyan.edu.

Marinelli is an administrative assistant.

3. Where On Earth Are We Going? Symposium

On Saturday, Nov. 7, three climate experts will speak on “Global Environmental Change And Freshwater Resources: Hope For The Best Or Change To Prepare For The Worst?” during the annual Where On Earth Are We Going? Symposium. The event is sponsored by the Robert Schumann Lecture Series in the Environmental Studies Program.

At 9 a.m., Patrick L. Osborne, executive director of the Harris World Ecology Center at the University of Missouri-St. Louis, will look at ways climate change and global warming have altered river and lake function and the water resources on which humans rely. He has 30 years experience in tropical ecology research, education and environmental consultancy and was the head of the biology department at the University of Papua New Guinea and deputy director of the Water Research Center at the University of Western Sydney in Australia.

At 10:15 a.m., Frank H. McCormick, program manager of Air, Water and Aquatic Environments at the Rocky Mountain Research Station, will speak on “Water in a Changing Climate-The Role of the National Forests in the Water Infrastructure.”

Osborne’s and McCormick’s talks will be held inside the Exley Science Center in the Tishler Lecture Hall, Room 150.

In conjunction with the 17th Annual Dwight L. Greene Symposium, at 4 p.m., Majora Carter ’88, founder of the Sustainable South Bronx and River Heroes, host of Eco-Heroes on Sundance Channel and The Promised Land on National Public Radio, will speak on “Green the Ghetto and How Much It Won’t Cost Us.” Carter founded and led Sustainable South Bronx from 2001 to 2008, and is currently president of her own economic development consulting group.

After decades of increasing and unprecedented philanthropic giving in the US, public health, income disparities, educational outcomes, and incarceration and recidivism are all getting worse. People attempting to fit into society after traumatic combat and/or prison experiences, or from generational poverty are some of our most expensive citizens.

Carter will explain how horticultural infrastructure is a key component of successful and efficient storm water run off management. Where and to whom jobs are distributed in horticultural engineering can have multiple social, economic and environmental impacts if it’s done with intelligence and care.

Carter will speak at the Memorial Chapel.

For more information on “Where Are We Going?” contact Valerie Marinelli, administrative assistant of the Environmental Studies Program, at vmarinelli@wesleyan.edu or 800-685-3733.

There is something strangely—but significantly—slippery about the idea of a "profession" and what it means to have one. There is, no doubt, a lot of symbolic status that comes with professional identity, and sometimes considerable money. But I'm wondering if it is worth the bread. Professionals seem to work without end—long hours that stretch into night, workweeks that infiltrate weekends, and obligations that vitiate vacations. If all that work is simply the unavoidable path to a fat paycheck, so be it. But there may be signs that professionals aren't even in it for the dough so much as an identity. That is, professionals don't do a job—they are a job. This may be a symptom of privilege, but it might also turn out to represent a pretense for profound exploitation, class dogma that masks an increasingly raw deal.

In some contexts, professional activity appears to be all about getting paid, as in the distinction between the unpaid amateur and the professional. The world of professional sports and entertainment seems to be unabashedly about big money and neither professional athletes nor media celebrities are particularly shy about it. Many sports professionals hire agents and/or belong to labor unions with the understanding that both agent and union are supposed to drive a hard bargain to win the big money. It’s Jerry Maguire’s, "Show me the money." You remember.

Most of the time, however, the idea of the professional suggests the exact opposite: lofty indifference to the profane world of money and the market. Inside and outside of academia, all professionals are really professors; they profess a kind of sacred public vow, a religious or quasi-religious calling that implies a notion of service. Professional "ethics" trump the all-mighty dollar. Isn't this at least one of the reasons why most professionals and professional institutions—unlike business-types and commercial enterprises—traditionally stay clear of advertising? Sure, there is Dr. Zizmor, the self-promoting NYC subway dermatologist, and all the ambulance-chasing attorneys who ply their trade on television. But everyone knows that these are the fallen angels willing to sell their professional birthright for a mess of pottage.

Professional status also signifies a collar color. Blue-collar workers do manual labor; white-collar professionals engage in more cerebral activities and bring to bear advanced knowledge. Blue-collar-workers join labor unions, at least in the iconography of the collar wars. Professionals go to college. Although the whole aloof orientation of college ostensibly abjures the instrumentalism of trade unionism, college may actually be the one place where professionals sometimes adopt some of the practices of traditional guilds. Trade unions issued membership cards that afforded access to lucrative work, at least insofar as the unions were able to effectively limit the supply of membership cards on the market. Within the skilled trades, the difficulty is not getting paid so much as getting in; membership was necessarily exclusive because the whole market strategy required minimizing labor supply relative to demand. Admission was always the site of the greatest contention and bitterness, especially insofar as the easiest way to become a member of the guild is to be the child of a member. Contemporary colleges operate according to an almost identical logic: they issue membership cards (diplomas); admission is both necessarily and intentionally limited; admission is the site of the most contentious and bitter battles; and parental membership ("legacy") remains a relevant admission criterion.

There is, however, one crucial way in which professionals depart dramatically from the strategic logic of the guild. Guilds always put tight controls on the hours of labor. They knew that a labor supply logic demanded shorter hours. Less work and more pay; it was the rallying cry of every trade union. Professionals don't watch the clock. In fact, professionals negotiate pay, but never even discuss hours. With great pride and fanfare, professionals boast about being paid an annual salary instead of an hourly wage. It is precisely the annual salary, however, that lays the foundation for endless work because pay is fixed even if work hours are dramatically inflated. This is hardly the stuff of trade unionism, although employers could be forgiven for being delighted.

In fact, within the United States, this attribute of professionalism is inscribed in law. The Fair Labor Standards Act features some very specific language about what it means to be a professional. According to the most recent Labor Department definitions, a professional must perform work "requiring advanced knowledge, defined as work which is predominantly intellectual in character and which includes work requiring the consistent exercise of discretion and judgment." In order to distinguish between blue-collar skilled trades and white collar professionals, the law also specifies that the advanced knowledge "must be in a field of science or learning" and such knowledge "must be customarily acquired by a prolonged course of specialized intellectual instruction."

The government didn't get in to the business of defining professional work in order to congratulate those who fit the bill. The Fair Labor Standards Act is the law that enshrines the forty-hour week as the social norm, but not for professionals. Professionals are special. They have the privilege of being exempt from the wage and hours law. Everyone else earns premium pay for any hours worked beyond the forty-hour weekly standard, a provision that effectively discourages endless work. Little wonder that employers are eager to "concede" professional status to anyone who will accept it.

As a technical matter, it wouldn't be that difficult for professionals to get back into the trade union game. Although many professionals are exempt from the National Labor Relations Act that provides the legal framework for unionization, this isn't even necessarily the key legislative domain. Formal recognition of professional unions would be an important step, but even more immediate consequences would flow from a few small amendments to the Fair Labor Standards Act: end the professional exemption and—just to take it out for a spin—amend the law to provide overtime after 30 hours, rather than 40.

Employer opposition to these amendments would be tremendous, and maybe professionals would lose more battles than they would win in a fight for shorter hours and higher wages. But the real barriers to change are neither technical nor political. The battle cannot be won so long as professionals refuse to take up a cause that challenges the dogma of work and the cultural politics of disinterested professionalism. Work shmirk, job shmob. Show me the money.