In the musical Annie, the eponymous curly-haired ginger protagonist walks into a rich man’s mansion and begins to sing “I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here.” Walking into the Timothy Dwight courtyard on the first day of my freshman year at Yale, I resisted the urge to break out into Annie’s song. I did, however, in all my own curly-haired gingerhood, think I was going to like it there. The courtyard—lit by the sun and the many friendly faces of TD—perfectly embodied the manicured idealism of the East Coast I had envisioned. With the white pillared dining hall and tall white clock tower, TD represented a culture that I only vaguely understood but had longed to be a part of. The tall gingko tree in the center of the lower courtyard mirrored the green of the shuttered windows, which remain forever open—a relic of colonial architecture, there for show rather than function.

Joining the TD community meant leaving my crunchy, clog-wearing, Reconstructionist Jews of Evanston, Illinois, the Portland of the Midwest where even parents love indie rock and the plentiful coffee is always Fair Trade. But, as an American history nerd, sweater vest enthusiast, and avid To-Do list keeper, the East—buzzy and busy, steeped in history with endless American intrigue woven into its social fabric—appealed to me. I wanted a peek into the Warbucks mansion, the Old Boys’ Ivy League club that somehow manages to maintain its smoothly paved inroads into American society.

There were many Timothy Dwights. The two for whom the residential college was named were Timothy Dwights IV and V, both presidents of Yale College. The Dwight family tree includes a Jonathan Edwards branch, a Woolsey branch, and Kevin Bacon (a hilarious validation of the “Six degrees of Kevin Bacon” theory). The Dwight family papers include letters from “Your friend etc.” E. Whitney and “Your most obedient & humble servant” G. Washington.

When I ordered the boxes for my assigned archival research essay, I had no sense of what would be in them. Frederick Dwight, one of many Yale men buried within the folds of the Dwight family, left behind several thick leather-bound journals that I was lucky enough to stumble upon. “Anecdotes of F. Dwight 1930”is embossed in gold along the spine. Frederick’s anecdotes for me, an outsider, were thrilling. I read through hundreds of neatly typed, dandelion colored pages, hoping to find something about his connection to the university; instead, I found the far more interesting chronicle of his life as a wealthy well-connected man in New York in the 1920s and 30s. To Frederick, if you weren’t a “Yale Man” or a “Harvard Man” then you were a “Princeton Man” or a maybe “Williams Man,” and if you weren’t any of those then you weren’t anyone at all.

Fred casually interacted with wealth and power.  His friend Evelyn Fox owned a string of beads that she later discovered had been a gift from Napoleon to Josephine. Evelyn, Frederick nonchalantly notes, sold the beads to Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan for sixty thousand dollars. His mother’s friends foolishly passed on the opportunity to buy for ten dollars a painting that later sold to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for three thousand. Frederick’s anecdotes frequently begin at the University Club or Union League Club or with his friend Jack Mather.  In the quiet of the Manuscripts and Archives library, I found giggle-inducing entries like: “Last week I was a delegate to the Tenth General Congress of the Society of Mayflower Descendants, held at Plymouth, Massachusetts.” Frederick opposed Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s presidency, “considering him to be the emptiest and most inadequate candidate ever put forward for so high an office by one of the major parties during my lifetime.” In this, Freddy revealed the invisible C in WASP that so directly opposes my own upbringing: conservative. His rotating cast of characters included colorful names—Miss Ethel Du Bois, Miss Evelyn Fox, Eleanor Taylor, Rufus Cowing, and George Bartholomew—that still managed to highlight how blindingly vanilla his existence was. On December 16, 1923, he wrote, “The other day, when I dropped in to see Mother, Antoinette, at Mother’s suggestion, narrated an amusing anecdote of Miss Irene Bigelow which illustrates in a striking manner the kind of people one is likely at any time to encounter in this vast and heterogeneous city”—going on to describe her wild experiences paying little “street urchins” to find taxis for her. Frederick somehow managed to live a vastly homogeneous life within his vast and heterogeneous city.

Making friends with Frederick Dwight allowed me some insight into the high society of the East Coast that had long fascinated me. I had always thought that I had an East Coast personality.  My type ‘A,’ go getter attitude, I thought, suited me well to the East Coast culture I imagined—its pace, its values, its rich, dramatic history and aggressive intellectualism—the one represented by Gilmore Girls and Fitzgerald’s stories. Between Fred’s obsession with antiques and the historic plaques on the walls of TD suites, though, I realized that more than anything, what often characterizes the East Coast ethos is a reverence for the old, an obsession with an America frozen within the clutches of wealthy white families. It’s the reason almost every sweatshirt, coffee mug, and golf ball that blares “Yale” in the school’s custom typeface also boasts “1701” like a badge of honor.  You’re never fully dressed without a smile or the year your school was established, apparently. This wouldn’t be a problem if the cult of antique Americana didn’t directly oppose an environment of innovation and evolution, of change.

Over the course of last year, my first on campus, an email from an Associate Master (the then-dated and confusing title for the spouse of a head of house, now Associate Head of College) condoned cultural appropriation and a fraternity member manning the door at a Halloween party declared “white girls only.”  The fire that was sparked still burns across campus, but it is challenging to change an institution so warped by tradition.  Everything must be sent to the Yale Corporation, wrapped tightly in sticky red tape, and stacked on top of other ignored requests for change.

In the wake of the reminder that Yale may not be so inclusive a place as it would like to believe, Timothy Dwight’s female Head of College and female dean started a reading group devoted to authors of color and other marginalized perspectives. The discussions were held in the dining hall.

Many of the photos I came across in my research were of the dining hall. It looks  exactly the same, with the dark wood beams and high windows.  The one notable difference are the diners themselves. In the dated photographs, young, white men in sport coats and dinner jackets line the wooden tables. The only women in the room wear black and white serving uniforms. This is not surprising. It is, though, fascinating to peek into the Yale of old as I get to know the Yale of today. In the photo, the old boys, the company of scholars, society of friends—the Yale men—sit with white cloth napkins and toast the new Timothy Dwight College on October 25, 1935.  Though last August I sat with women and men in shorts and t-shirts and toasted the Timothy Dwight Class of 2019, I couldn’t help but believe that the Yale I see now isn’t as different from the Yale of 1935 as it should be.

I thought I would like the traditionalism of the Ivy League. I thought I would appreciate its reverence for the past and connection to history. I thought I would enjoy the legacy of the powerful families and acute Americana that surrounds the institution. And I suppose I enjoyed my peek into the life of Frederick Dwight and the culture of East Coasters the way I enjoyed watching Gilmore Girls. Walking into the dining hall, though, I’m grateful that it doesn’t look like the photo I found—that I’m not standing in a maid’s uniform serving the food—because it means, though it may be hard, change is possible. In the year since I considered singing the soundtrack of Annie, the concept of the East has been de-romanticized for me. I do like it here. But not in the same way I thought I would. I like it because I have the chance to change it, to improve it.

Frederick Dwight’s papers amused me, and the alien world he so vividly establishes—one where his friends share the names of Yale’s buildings—still captivates me. I still sit under Timothy Dwight’s bright yellow gingko tree, which predates the college itself and appears in all of the old archival photos in shades of gray rather than green and yellow. It would be nice if Yale were  more like the gingko, shedding its leaves entirely and committing to growing new ones.

When I head back to the dining hall in TD, at Yale, in Connecticut, on the East Coast of the United States, I feel more Midwestern than I ever did at home, not just because the plate in front of me is flooded with Ranch dressing or my chilled feet sit snugly in my clogs. I feel proudly Midwestern because more than I’m type A or driven or fast-talking, I’m committed to change and inspired by the students working to radically change an institution that has, since its founding in good ole 1701, evolved at a glacial pace. Looking at Frederick’s cozy life in the arms of his elite privilege, I’d rather pledge allegiance to the hard knock life.

 Even a casual fan of MTV’s long-running reality-competition show The Challenge knows the one word that can strike fear into the heart of any Challenger: Bananas.  Having watched seventeen of the twenty-eight seasons of The Challenge, I am no casual fan, so when I heard that Johnny “Bananas” Devenanzio was returning for Rivals III to be partnered with fellow Challenge heavyweight Sarah Rice, I knew the only possible outcome for this season was the two of them with a check on top of some beautiful mountain.

What I could not have possibly predicted was the sharp decline in quality of this season.  I have long longed for the glory days of The Challenge when there was less complaining and the challenges were more athletic.  The show started to go downhill when MTV allowed players from its reality dating/game show Are You the One? to compete in Challenges; barring a few exceptions, these kids are less athletic, less interesting, and more likely to start stupid drama and/or quit during a challenge.  Though past seasons have felt ridiculous, however, none have felt so purely fake as this one.  Justin Booth, who served as executive producer for most of the lifespan of my fandom, was replaced this season by Lisa Fletcher.  I can’t help but think that this change led to some of the phoniness of the season.  The drama of the season grew increasingly preposterous, building up to what amounted to racist and misogynistic bullying and a disgusting final twist.… But I’m getting worked up.

***

A little background for the uninitiated: The Challenge, originally The Real World: Road Rules Challenge (you see why they changed it), is a spin-off of the iconic reality series The Real World (1992 – present).  The premise of the show was to take members of old Real World casts and have them compete on a show like the Real World but with athletic competitions and for cash prizes.  They kept the nice locale, unlimited booze, and sexual tension of the original show, but added competition and money.  Genius.  And these aren’t silly, elementary school field day style challenges either.  Think more American Ninja Warrior than Disney Channel Games (RIP).  Celebrated sports analyst Bill Simmons calls The Challenge “America’s Fifth Major Sport” (which means if you watch the NFL you super can’t judge me for my fandom!).  It’s an airtight premise, but what really makes this show worth watching season after season is that though old people leave and new contestants come every season, there remains a reliable cast of players who have created a narrative arc to follow.  We follow their stats and their spats.  It’s what makes a theme like Rivals III, where competitors are partnered with people they hate, even possible.

***

Johnny Bananas is the Michael Jordan of The Challenge.  This season, Bananas snagged the elusive sixth ring (they don’t actually get rings), making him even with MJ.  Before you set this paper on fire in response to the comparison I just made, let me qualify.  The NBA and The Challenge are two different ball games in that one is not a ball game at all.  Challenges range from the impossible (scaling a 14,000 foot mountain on no sleep) to the inane (licking peanut butter off a plastic board to reveal a secret combination for your team’s lock).  Though certainly silly, the game also involves strategizing and politicking to stay out of eliminations, and occasionally great depth perception or tangram chops or some other wildcard skill.  The Challenge is unpredictable, which is why it is so extraordinary to have such a standout player.  Bananas is so good that the only time his arch nemeses, CT and Wes, have beaten him in a final is when they were partnered on Rivals II.

He’s had various Scottie Pippens along the way—Tyler on Rivals (season 21), Camilla on Battle of the Exes (season 22), his whole boat on The Island (season 16), and Sarah of course—but that’s where the MJ analogy ends.  He’s pocketed almost $700,000 in prize money over the course of his 13-season career, which is impressive for a Challenger but nothing on Michael’s career millions; he wasn’t always the MVP on his winning teams, and good ole 2-3 never stabbed his teammates in the back to win extra prize money…. But I’ll get to that.

***

Poor Sarah has been plagued by terrible Challenge partners.  After making it to the final in her very first season (and losing to a Bananas armed with a ridiculous squad) she got Vinny on Fresh Meat (season 12) who lasted two episodes, then lazy Katelynn (season 21), then Vinny again who got them DQ-ed for fighting (season 22), then Trishelle whom everyone called “Trashelle” because she’s a certified garbage human being (season 24).  Sarah’s reputation on The Challenge is the lovable camp counselor.  When everyone is bored in the house, it’s Sarah who comes up with the games and the parties to keep them occupied.  When grown-up adults are peeing themselves about doing heights or water challenges, Sarah’s telling the confessional camera how excited she is to do something she’s never done before.  And when it’s time for Sarah to get it done, she kicks ass.

Two seasons before Rivals III was Battle of the Exes II (season 26), and Sarah and her badass, one-handed partner Jordan were dominating.  Sarah & Jordan and Bananas & Nany were the frontrunners out of the gate, and I expected to see both teams in the final.  But in the final elimination, Sarah had the chance to basically guarantee a win by sending her friend and ally Bananas in.  So she threw him into a physical elimination against a much bigger team, and Bananas and Nany lost and went home.  Bananas famously once said, “This is a dirty game, bro.  I’ve always said, all is fair in love, war, and Challenges.”  He must have forgotten that after Sarah’s power play because after he lost the elimination, there was bad blood.

When Bananas and Sarah returned for Rivals III, they were portrayed as mortal enemies because of the Exes backstab.  I saw through it from moment one; that was the first red flag. I didn’t think twice about it before the season began, but when the premier started I immediately sensed the difference. Johnny was butt hurt, which makes sense; he had lost a lot of money.  But he now had the best female partner currently in the Challenge game, and if he didn’t like her anymore he certainly still respected her.  Bananas and Sarah weren’t even good at pretending to still hate each other on camera, but the producers still followed that storyline.  There are plenty of reasonable critiques I could have leveled at the Challenge over the years, but contrived drama was not one that would have even crossed my mind.  With the entirely phony fights that spontaneously erupted throughout Rivals III to the fact that Bananas and Sarah dominated almost every Challenge, this season was mishandled.

That brings me to the twist.  The producers decided that in the final challenge, the Challengers would not only be competing against other teams in the final but also against their partners.  The partner with the most individual points at the end would get to decide whether to split the prize money with their partner or take it all for themselves.  This twist was incendiary but ultimately stupid and could have a real-life effect on the spurned partner.  For all three teams, the male partner ended up with more points, which made the end reveal of split it or just split feel grossly gendered.  Spoiler alert: Johnny took the money.  He left Sarah crying at the top of a mountain with zero dollars.  After an entire season spent “repairing” their “broken” relationship, which was broken because Sarah threw Johnny into an elimination, Johnny acted the hypocrite and stabbed her right back.  If it was real, it’s all kinds of wrong, mostly because within the framework of the show there’s nothing really condemning this obviously terrible act.  But it also looked so fake.  I would bet the value of the many hours I’ve spent watching this show on the fact that Fletcher took Bananas aside and said, “If you take the money we’ll pay it all and give Sarah her share too,” just to create drama.

I was fine with a show where people got drunk and yelled at each other or threw their best friends into physical combat, but I’m not really okay with a production that allows for the emotional terrorizing and actual robbery that took place this season.  With Bananas’ likely retirement post-cash out, it may be time for this Challenge fan to hang up her jersey as well.  If truly all is fair in love, war, and MTV Challenges, maybe I’ll start watching Unreal instead.   

That’s Veronica. She’s worth over a million dollars,” the young woman behind the counter at Arethusa Dairy told me. She pointed to the large, framed photo of a cow that hangs on the wall of the black and white dairy shop that opened in March on Chapel. All of the dairy in the shop comes from the hundreds of cows at Arethusa Farm in Litchfield Hills, CT, and everything that isn’t from the farm is imported from Italy. The cows of Arethusa, who churn out everything from rich ice cream to savory hard cheeses, are spoiled: “We treat our cows like family here—we know the name, personality and specialized needs of every lady in the barn or on the field,” their website boasts. Clearly, happy cows make happy people; everyone you pass in the immaculate cow-themed shop seems to be in a daze of delicious dairy.

When I first stopped in, I got a waffle cone of the mint chocolate chip. For $3.25, they pile a small mountain of ice cream into a crispy waffle cone—certainly more than a single scoop, but I was not complaining. Upon taking my first bite, I was overcome. I almost had to lie down on the checkered floor to take it all in, but I didn’t want to embarrass the people I was with. So instead, I ran around the shop sampling everything they had laid out. (Pro tip: you can sample anything in the store—cheese, milk, ice cream, their own brioche bread. All fair game). In addition to the heavenly ice cream, the Bella Bantam cheese and the coffee milk were definitely highlights of that first visit.

I went back two days later to grab one of their five-dollar grilled cheeses. They make it with their three main hard cheeses (Bella Bantam, Crybaby, and Europa) on brioche bread, and grease the grill with Arethusa butter. I chatted with the friendly staff and watched it melt on the griddle before I let it melt in my mouth. Absolutely unreal. I stopped someone on Old Campus and made her try—it it was that good. (A little swissy maybe, but warm and melty).

I swear I wasn’t trying to butter the staff up for free food, and I don’t want to milk this too much. But I promise, if you can tolerate lactose, Arethusa Dairy will be a rich experience. Even if you think that’s cheesy.

In the timeless classic 10 Things I Hate About You, Bianca sulks in her room in front of a TV playing an episode of The Real World: Seattle. Bianca dolefully indulges in a teenager’s secret desire: every now and then we want to watch people get wasted and yell at each other on TV.

While The Real World is an excellent source for catty fights and drunken hookups, it’s spin-off series The Challenge (originally The Real World Road Rules Challenge, say that five times fast) is the secret gem of MTV. The network, once reigning champion of reality TV, is rebuilding itself around fictional series like Teen Wolf and Awkward and moving away from Teen Mom and Jersey Shore—for the better probably. But before you turn up your Ivy League nose at my trashy taste, get a load of the premise.

The Challenge takes people who were on The Real World (and now instead of Road Rules, their competitive dating show Are You the One?) and puts them in a house on some kind of team. Sometimes it’s pairs, sometimes it’s two big groups, sometimes it’s a bunch of little groups. Throughout the season, the cast gets up to the classic Real World antics—drinking, fighting, hooking up—but they also have to compete in athletic challenges and eliminate people every week in crazy physical smackdowns as they each attempt to walk away with the final cash prize. It’s The Real World meets Survivor meets Wipeout. What’s not to love?

The coming season, which premiers on May 4, is “The Challenge: Rivals III.” Rivals seasons have been some of the strongest because the storylines so often involve returning worst enemies becoming best friends, and I’m a sucker for reconciliation (Elle and Vivian anyone?). This season I’m looking forward to the reappearance of Challenge vet Wes, and I’m hoping Johnny Bananas and Sarah can mend their relationship after Sarah, in a move inspired by Johnny’s own infamous backstabbing, got Johnny eliminated right before the final on Battle of the Exes 2.

This season will certainly involve the classic Challenge combination of blood, sweat, booze, and tears, but I hope Rivals III will also create some opportunities for The Challenge: Besties someday. Set your DVRs for May 4, and may the fourth be with the Challengers.

This weekend, the Elm City will be flooded with drunk college students and Bain employees alike. Our peers and the few hip alums will try relentlessly to get on the Ivy League Snapchat Story. Only some will succeed. Here are the five types of snaps we will hastily tap our way through this weekend when we can’t make any more small talk at the tailgate.

Graphic by Alex Swanson

1. The teams themselves

The young men suiting up to take on their sworn enemies in a battle of wit, will, and patriotism will at some point whip out their phones to capture the tense but excited moments in the locker room.

Graphic by Alex Swanson

2. The ones who are above it all

These are the people reflecting into their selfie cameras about how this rivalry is a silly construct and how it’s ridiculous to participate in this dick measuring contest when both schools are so well endowed. These are the ones that most people will skip almost immediately because HUCK FARVARD.

Graphic by Alex Swanson

3. The woo people

Simple. These are people that are “woo”ing in the crowd for one team or another. They are decked out in school colors and cheek tattoos. Very few will watch these for the full ten seconds of shrill cheering, but many will wonder why someone else’s basic “woo”ing was chosen over their own. Nobody knows, people. Nobody knows.

Graphic by Alex Swanson

4. The trashed alum who downloaded Snapchat “to see what all the fuss was about” but who actually downloaded it because he wants to relive the glory days of being a college student (The Bright College Years, if you will)

This one may include some silly self-aware commentary like “How do you work this thing?” or “Is this thing on?” It will almost definitely include a class year and residential college shout out. The true gems are the unseen snaps sent to the story but not published of confused looking alums who accidentally took a picture instead of a video because they didn’t know they had to hold the button.

Graphic by Natalie Schultz-Henry

5. The one with a dog

The first person to find Handsome Dan and snap a picture gets on the story. Don’t hurt yourselves for this one, kids. It’s Snap glory not the afikoman.

Two events this past week exposed the realities of racial divides on campus. In their aftermath, a forum, titled “Addressing Appropriation and the Power of Language,” brought hundreds of students to the Afro-American Cultural Center on Wed., Nov. 4. It gave students a platform to voice their experiences of exclusion at Yale.

The first incident occurred on Fri., Oct. 30 at 12:38 a.m., when Associate Master of Silliman College Erika Christakis sent Silliman students an email about oversensitivity towards cultural appropriation in the context of Halloween costumes. Later that Friday, students waiting to enter an open party at Sigma Alpha Epsilon heard a brother at the door announcing “white girls only.”

At the Af-Am House, Dean of Student Engagement Burgwell Howard began by outlining the goals of the discussion, which were to understand people’s stories, exchange ideas, and problem solve. Many shared moving testimonies of incidences of racism and misogyny that they have experienced throughout their lives and through their time at Yale. The talk at the House was a safe space for sharing, and any words printed here are done so only with the express permission of their speaker.

Wounds have been uncovered, exposed, and made raw. The forum at the House acknowledged that addressing these events is not the end of the road, not by a long shot.

People of color, especially women of color, do not feel safe at Yale—not just this week. It was that pervasive experience of exclusion that was constantly highlighted in the words of students who spoke at the Af-Am House. After Associate Master Christakis defended her email and devotion to freedom of speech, noting that in the “big bad world” the Constitution will ultimately protect people in the fight against racism, Naivasha Harris, SM ’16, responded, “This institution was not made for me. I am black and native. I am a woman. The government tried to kill off one half of me and enslave the other half, so I think it’s funny when Associate Master Christakis suggests that when I go out into ‘The Big Bad World’ that the U.S. government is there to protect me.” Though Associate Master Christakis was no longer in the room to hear Harris’ response, Harris’s point resonated with the audience that was present. More audible whoops and applause replaced the appreciative snaps that had underscored the first parts of her statement. Themes from Harris’s commentary were repeated throughout the evening: “This institution was not made for me,” “I am not safe.”

Many felt that the simple request to feel safe implicit in the original Intercultural Affairs Council email was undercut by Associate Master Christakis’ response. Micah Jones, TD ’16, stood up to address the purported “coddling” of oppressed peoples when they fight for a safe space. “When have black children ever been coddled?” she questioned. Snaps echoed around the room. “What we are asking from our community is to value us,” she continued. According to Jones, in labeling a safe space for people of color as “coddling,” individuals and institutions protect and maintain a safe space for privilege. Others echoed Jones’ points, noting the presence of Confederate flags on campus and returning to the image and name of John C. Calhoun. Native women relayed horror stories of thoughtless appropriation that they witnessed on campus daily, not just on Oct. 31.

***

A safe campus culture requires the participation of all its members. A number of women who spoke emphasized the need for the acknowledgement and support of intersectionality at Yale. Kimberlé Crenshaw, a law professor at UCLA and Columbia, first established the term in 1989 to describe the overlapping experiences of oppressed groups—people of different identities experience varying and connected degrees of discrimination. She argues that white feminism and white liberalism are unproductive, since they pose as being supportive of but actually exclude women, and people, of color.

At the Af-Am House on Wednesday, women raised their voices, calling on white women, black men, anyone who hides behind liberalism to stand up with them and fight against the daily oppression they face at Yale. The many women who stood up at the Af-Am House on Wednesday already amount to more than a few isolated voices, but they cannot stand alone.

To effect the kind of change called for on Wednesday, Yale needs an army of allies—committed, effective, educated allies. In describing a good ally, Emily van Alst, SM ’16, who spoke at the Af-Am discussion said, “A good ally listens to the people they are supporting. And if they do decide to speak, they do not make it about themselves and their experiences…People need to ask us about our culture in a respectful way.” Ashia Ajani, TD ’19, who participated in the discussion at the Af-Am house from the Founder’s Room, outlined a similar template for an effective ally: “It’s really important to stop taking a passive stance. You need to start attending the rallies. Send out an email to Professor Christakis. Make sure you’re standing by your friends of color. Saying and pretending you know what racism is isn’t enough. I need to see the action behind it.” She continued, “If you are confused by something, Google it or read a book by a person of color, but reference it back to us. It’s great that you know what you’re talking about, but at the end of the day, we’re going to know more.” Ajani’s point is simple: raise your voice, but not so loud that it drowns out the people you’re allied with; educate yourself, but don’t pretend to be the expert.

***

Moving forward, students of color want to see more than just increased awareness and sensitivity. That cultural change needs to be established as a part of how Yale educates, to ensure that future classes do not feel marginalized, and that their classmates develop an awareness of their privilege and the politics of inclusion.

Van Alst outlined what her vision of this necessary institutional change looks like. She wrote, “I would like to see more diverse faculty and staff, specifically Native women academics.” Her demands extend beyond the classroom. “I would like to see consistent funding to the Cultural Centers. I would also like to see adequate and specialized mental health services for Native Students and Students of Color.”

Ajani mentioned that since discussions with Dean Holloway on Cross Campus and President Peter Salovey, GRD ’86, on Thurs., Nov. 5, students have begun to find a more productive outlet for their conversations, translating experiences into collective action. “Things are looking better in terms of what the institution can do,” she said, but she still echoed many of the demands that were brought up on Wednesday. “People want information about who Yale will be hiring. People feel in the dark,” she said, noting her frustrations about the University’s struggle to retain faculty members of color. She posits that requiring a course in the African American Studies department, or Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, or even having an Asian American Studies department would attract and encourage faculty to stay, elevating demand for their courses and increasing attention to their academic discipline.

That education must begin before freshmen move-in day. Ajani supported an idea that was mentioned in the Founder’s Room on Wednesday that, like the alcohol training Think About It that students complete in the summer, there would be a racial sensitivity training for students before they come to campus. The Black Student Alliance at Yale is working to coordinate these calls for institutional change and the changes that individuals can make in their assumptions and relationships. As voiced by BSAY President Lex Barlowe, BR ’17, BSAY proposed what the Yale community needs to do in order to heal: black women request the support of black men, acknowledgement of injury from SAE and the Yale administration, establishment of a space to report discrimination, required reading of black feminist texts, and transparency in how masters are trained and appointed. These are concrete steps the Yale community can take, but they won’t become reality until the administration—which has the power to enact these measures—listens.

***

On Thurs., Nov. 5, Dean Holloway stood before students on the Women’s Table, built to commemorate the 1979 arrival of women at Yale. Mostly, he listened to anger, pain, frustration. But he did speak and made a promise. “I’ll do better,” he said.

Holloway’s promise should be Yale’s promise. It is the simplified version of all of the demands repeated throughout the discussion at the House: do better. This campus can engage in dialogue about our first amendment right to freedom of speech. It can and should examine what it means to occupy positions of privilege and the responsibility of the privileged to educate themselves about the perspectives of those who don’t share their privilege. It can debate the merits and shortcomings of the Greek system on campus and how it wants Yale’s Greek organizations to respond to these and other reported incidences. What is not up for debate, however, what is not open to challenge, are the experiences of oppressed peoples on this campus. In many ways, this last week was unexceptional in that instances of insensitivity, aggression, and discrimination are common here. But now Yale has the exceptional opportunity to continue the conversation that these events ignited. Now it has to listen.

When I visited Yale as a high schooler in 2013, my father did that horrible, embarrassing thing where he asks a stranger for food recommendations. (Why do you do that, dads? No one likes that.) Almost without hesitation, the stranger responded, “Claire’s.” Trusting him, we walked into the little shop on the corner of Chapel and College and were met with the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. There were handwritten signs everywhere and college students slurping soup. The staff was smiley and enthusiastic. This warm, comfortable environment is exactly what Claire LaPia envisioned when she opened Claire’s Corner Copia forty years ago.

LaPia and her husband, Frank Criscuolo, opened the doors to their little restaurant on the corner of College and Chapel on Sept. 17, 1975. In the years since opening, the mission at Claire’s Corner Copia to bring real food to a loving community “hasn’t changed at all,” LaPia told me.

LaPia was inspired to open the restaurant when she noticed a proliferation of processed and unwholesome foods replacing healthier, more nutritious predecessors while eating out. “I was seeing bottle dressings and soups that weren’t fresh and breads that weren’t homemade,” she recalled. In opening her own restaurant, she wanted to break that trend, provide healthy, delicious food for New Haven, and weave a restaurant into the fabric of the community. She has accomplished all that, and more.

When I walked in on Monday, this time as a student, the shop was once again bustling with students typing away on laptops, older couples sharing scones, business meetings over fresh coffee, and all sorts of lovely people being served lovely food. I introduced myself to the woman behind the register and asked if I could meet with Claire whenever convenient. I was nervous to meet someone who was clearly so important to a community I was very new to, but I was ushered immediately into the kitchen with smiles and welcomes. I found LaPia in her office—the kitchen—joking with staff and sautéing steaming onions.

My backpack and I occupied a significant amount of space in the small kitchen. Employees apologized and excused themselves while moving around me as if I were not the one actually in their way. LaPia didn’t offer a hand. She was busy chopping organic zucchini. She offered a warm smile, instead, and told me to feel free to talk to staff and make myself at home.

As I was getting settled in the kitchen, the woman from the register came back to tell LaPia that someone was going to be a little late to work. “Oh, he’s never late,” she rolled her eyes, smiling—the matriarch of a tight-knit family. “We certainly are quirky,” she remarked at one point. “We’re goonies, I always say.”

LaPia and her goonies celebrated forty years of quirk and deliciousness last Thursday with a “Party and Presents All Day!” LaPia’s forty-year mission to provide healthy food to the community has included cookbooks, kosher certification, gluten-free and vegan options. Claire’s has won praise and awards for supporting organic farmers and making quality quiche, soups, and desserts, and it’s the go-to bakery for Yalies celebrating birthdays, holidays, or a simple cake craving. LaPia and her restaurant alike are deeply embedded in the community. A Calhoun Fellow, LaPia has taught cooking classes in the college and has shared her love of organic cuisine with the students. “I’ve always wanted to go to Yale, and in another life I would go,” she told me from her post in the kitchen.

Ask LaPia about the Yale community and the New Haven community as a whole, and she lights up. “We love the New Haven nonprofits,” she gushes. She tells stories of staff members’ children getting reading help from New Haven Reads. She raves about the Yale University Art Gallery and the many free music events on campus. LaPia is New Haven’s biggest fan, and the sentiment is clearly mutual.

When you walk into Claire’s, the first thing you see is a marble topped table covered in community event information, from volunteer opportunities to religious events to arts shows. The restaurant’s charity of the month is the Yale Chapter of Habitat for Humanity. LaPia commits to the things she’s passionate about: healthy eating, community involvement, and people. In a quote from the “About” section of their website, she explains, “Our bottom line is people, and when you care about people, you want to feed them real food.”

I ask LaPia what her hopes are for the next forty years, and she already has an answer. With one hand holding a dish and the other cracking eggs, she lays out her plan to start a program that helps people who don’t live healthy lifestyles because of the way they eat. “I want people to figure out a way to eat that promotes health. We’re going to start something as soon as the dust settles from this anniversary,” she says.

It seems as if the dust never quite settles at Claire’s. LaPia and her staff are in constant motion, preparing food and hustling around the restaurant. Not wanting to overstay my welcome (though they probably would have let me stay all day), I thanked LaPia for her time and for letting me into the kitchen—“the office,” she reminded me, smiling.

Before I left, LaPia had introduced me to Emily Ward, CC ’15. “A Yalie herself, and an Emily, too!” LaPia announced with a laugh (I am not technically an Emily, but it was loud in the kitchen, and she was too excited and kind for me to correct). Ward, a new employee as of a few weeks ago, said that what drew her to Claire’s was the community it has always provided. When she decided she wanted to take a break before jumping into grad school, Claire’s seemed like the perfect place to work. “It’s more of a family,” she told me.

Looking around one last time before leaving, I noticed how right Ward was. I noted the signs on the walls, the event table by the door, the students curled up with their coffee and their laptops in the nooks of the sunny restaurant. Her sentiment rings true for everyone—the staff, the patrons, Yale, and New Haven. LaPia has accomplished her goal of making a culinary home in and for the community. At Claire’s, as the sign reads, “No minimum on credit cards. No maximum on Love.”