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Opinions & Editorial 2 Sept. 14, 2009 Get breaking news through twitter! www.twitter.com/thecampanil The Campanil welcomes public commentary on subjects of interest to the campus community, as well as feedback on the paper itself. Submissions for Open Forum should be no more than 400 words. Letters to the editor should be no more than 150 words. Submissions may be edited for length and clarity. All submissions must include the author’s name and contact infor- mation and may be submitted via e-mail or in typewritten form, accom- panied by a CD. No anonymous submissions will be accepted. Submissions must be received one week before publication date to appear in the next issue. The Campanil reserves the right to upload all content published in print, in addition to original content, on our website www.thecampanil.com. The Campanil is published every other Monday. The first copy of The Campanil is free. Additional copies are 50 cents. Students inter- ested in joining should contact the editor in chief. Jennifer Courtney Editor in Chief [email protected] Managing Editor Anna Belle Peterson Sports Editor Carrol Page Opinions Editor Nicole Vermeer Features Editor Rashida Harmon Multimedia Editor Melodie Miu Copy Chief Lacy Paap CAMPANIL THE News Editor Kim Harris Web Coordinator Maxamaris Hoppe 5000 MacArthur Blvd. Oakland, CA 94613 510.430.2246 phone 510.430.3176 fax Calendar Editor Christina Macias Assistant News Editor Morgan Ross Assistant Features Editor Tara Nelson Design Editor Lisa Bergquist After last spring’s ASMC elec- tions, the classes of 2010 and 2012 still had no officers, most senate positions were not yet filled. At first glance, the Mills community seems apathetic. Mills women are passionately involved in many things, from playing on the volley- ball court to volunteering at local high schools. So what accounts for the lack of participation in ASMC elections? Is it a lack of interest in student body government? Is it a lack of interest in Mills affairs in general? At press time, while the 10 executive board positions had been filled, applications were still avail- able for the open slots, due on Sept. 11. Maybe it is better that students wait until the fall to decide whether to run for a government postion, when their schedules have been worked out and potential candi- dates know for sure whether they have time to fulfill the duties of their role. These duties include attending weekly meetings and planning events. Fall elections are also accessible to freshwomen and transfers. But if this is the case and fall elections make more sense, then why is ASMC still holding spring elections? Presumably it is so that those elected in the spring have time to plan their upcoming semester. It does not make sense, however, to have two separate elec- tions. A student body government should function cohesively. Another downfall is low voter turnout. School administrators have said it is difficult to be able to reach all students to get the word out. Presently, voting is done in person at a booth on Adams plaza, two lunch hours during the week. This is not an effective way to reach all students. For example, commuters who are not on campus every day, or residential students who don’t fre- quent the plaza because they eat at Founders Commons could easily miss the booths. Everyone has the opportunity to be left out of the voting process. And when the votes get count- ed, many students don’t even know what the outcomes are. Forums such as student news digests, posters and The Campanil’s own opinions page are effective ways for getting the word out. ASMC should take responsibil- ity for involving all students in its elections, and make our student body government a stronger cam- pus presence. Students can take a first step this week: voting will the held in Adams plaza Sept. 16 and 17 from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. ASMC should take steps to counter apathy in student elections Editorial canning the front page of my Chronicle on Sunday morning, I try to ignore it. I open to the inside page hop- ing to get lost in Carl Noltes “Native Son” column, but I keep turning back to the picture splashed on the front page with its bold headline yelling at me: “A Tricky Feat.” In the accompany- ing article, staff writer Rachel Gordon explains “the most com- plex procedure on the Bay Bridge replacement project” is begin- ning: a portion of cement and steel the size of “a football field stadium,” which is going to be attached to the Bay Bridge while 150 ft. in the air. This will be done, she assures me, in only four days. Four days, so many things seem wrong with this. I don’t doubt Rachel Gordon’s reporting, but what instantly has me sweat- ing is that this monstrosity, so hastily slapped together, can’t be safe to drive on. Driving across the Bay Bridge for me always feels like a supreme act of bravery. While sitting through traffic I regularly have visions of a massive explo- sion where the top deck crumbles, or the structural integrity of the bridge gives way via earthquake or tidal wave, sending my little blue Toyota Matrix plummeting into frigid unforgiving bay waters below. I know this neurotic bridge breakdown is post-traumatic stress induced from watching too many Michael Bay Films, but the fear lingers, so I decide to keep an eye on things. Thursday around 6 p.m., the day the bridge is set to close at 8 p.m., I Mapquest Middle Shoreline Park, which I am told by Google has a perfect, clear view of the bridge, and, following cyber-America’s suggestions, take the 580 to the 80 and swerve across four lanes of traffic to exit. My heart is starting to skip and I’m sitting forward in the dri- ver’s seat. Where is the Maritime street turn? This doesn’t seem right. I am driving onto the Bay Bridge, somehow there is no Maritime St. Apparently, it no longer exists. I look to my left realizing I have somehow ended up on a service road, going around the tollbooths and onto the Bay Bridge. I am now a criminal; a rouge motorist sneaking on without paying. An accidental outlaw headed straight onto the beast. I curse Mapquest, think happy thoughts and take the Treasure Island exit off the bridge. As I near the bridge’s entrance I am face to face with the the cruel underbelly of east bound, rush-hour bridge traffic; to my right are construction workers on parked cranes waiting to go to work. I make the sign of the cross and merge with authority, onto the Bay Bridge driving as fast as I can back to Oakland. I decide I will check on progress tomorrow. Late Friday morning, I pour my Folgers Select into my neon pink thermos and drive through downtown traffic. Pulling into the park I am struck by the view of San Francisco. From here you can see the entire grey-blue city. Along the waterfront are three Viewers which look right onto the bridge. I walk up to the viewer and turn it towards what appear to be faint construction vehicles. Nothing on the bridge seems to be moving. Looking through the lenses I see men in white hats and bright orange vests standing near a Port-o-Potty. Just above the 7th Street terminal signs, more men in neon yellow vests are standing on scaffolding, but from this vantage point it does not appear like anything is happening. I can see what looks like a large football field-sized piece of some- thing, but the ends drop off into nowhere. Helicopters are circling like flies over the steel skeletal structure. I watch the bridge, and the men on the bridge stand there. I feel sure they will not make their deadline. I declare the project doomed and I am vindicated. I stand staring through the viewer. Suddenly I am aware their is someone next to me. I look over and a scruffy curly headed cyclist is pulling out a pair of binoculars. He smiles a handsome smile. I write on my reporter’s notebook and act like I’m ignoring him. “Are you a reporter?” He asks gesturing towards my tan notepad. I answer yes. But the yes ends more like a question mark, because I think today I am half reporter, half paranoid citizen. I return to the viewer and my notepad. Trying to look official. Aware I am blushing. As I stare through the lenses at the orange and white-headed men standing around the bridge, it occurs to me, perhaps this is fate. Perhaps my obsession with my impending death via Bay Bridge was merely a vehicle to bring me here to meet this attractive, fellow neurotic Bay Bridge watcher. But when I look up from the viewer, he is gone. I decide, walking to my car, perhaps I will trust Rachel Gordon and my Chronicle. My fear of falling off the bridge in a whirl of fiery doom is just the stuff of bad action films, Just as the chance meeting of two lonely neurotics set against the lush backdrop of ocean front urban sprawl is just the stuff of bad romantic comedies. here’s nothing like an exciting first day of starting a new school to make you feel awkward and downright stupid. Even at the young adult age of 22 and tons of first days under my belt, I still have a hard time navigating new places. As I walked down the tree-lined street I recognized from the online pictures, it finally hit me: I’m a graduate student at Mills College. After months of announcing it to family and friends, going to gradu- ate school became a reality. Great. Now, where the hell do I go? Looking like the typical new student, I roamed around campus with my Mills map in hand. Finally, I found the building I was looking for, Reinhart Hall, home of the public policy program. How come all the signs on the building say, “MBA program”? Come to find out the public policy program just moved there. I wasn’t lost after all. Meeting all the women in the program was great. Being around people with comparable career interests and passion for bringing change to the world was refreshing. I know in the next two years we’ll grow into a little Public Policy family. Once I ventured out onto cam- pus, I realized being a new gradu- ate student is a different experi- ence. I wasn’t an incoming fresh- woman meeting my roommate, hastily trying the cafeteria food or returning to friends I hadn’t seen all summer. Suddenly, I became undergraduate home-sick. All the welcome activities, school spirit builders and first-year mixers were four years and 15 pounds ago. Before I could get too nostal- gic, the blaring emergency exit siren startled me and everyone else in the computer lab. Wrong door. I love first days. All the activities incoming students participate in are meant to make Mills feel like mov- ing into a brand new home. Somehow I feel like I’m subletting — especially since I’m a com- muter student. Where do graduate students fit in? I saw a huge sign saying “Welcome Graduate Students,” but aside from my own program being excited to see us new students, it didn’t seem like anyone else was. Maybe graduate students are supposed to be older and more mature. Settling into a new school should be easy. Ice breakers and get-to-know-you games shouldn’t be important to feeling at home in a new school. First days don’t last forever. Sure, I can’t find a bathroom right away or where I’m supposed to pick up a parking pass today, but I bet a month from now I’ll feel right at home napping on the lawn between classes. As I stepped off the NL at Richard’s gate today the Mills College Beulah Gate greeted me most proudly glistening in the sun. That radiance of warmth and love surrounding me I felt deeply as if I was to embark upon the four most precious years of my life 42 years ago. The only con- stant we have in life is remembering who we are and what we represent. Mills College Beulah Gate well exemplifies the enactment of these words. Thank you my dearest Mills College for so caringly acting upon my fer- vent plea, from a most grateful alumna. — Stephanie Lincoln, Class of 1971 Letter to the Editor A beat behind: DOING WHAT MY CHRONICLE TELLS ME by Tara Nelson by Carla Hansen G r ad N o t e S T S
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by Carla Hansen lack of interest in Mills affairs in general? At press time, while the 10 executive board positions had been filled, applications were still avail- able for the open slots, due on Sept. 11. Maybe it is better that students wait until the fall to decide whether to run for a government postion, when their schedules have been worked out and potential candi- dates know for sure whether they have time to fulfill the duties of their role. These duties include attending Editorial
Transcript of 09_14_2009 Page 2
Opinions & Editorial22 SSee pp tt .. 11 44 ,, 22 00 00 99
Get breaking news through twitter! www.twitter.com/thecampanil
The Campanil welcomes public commentary on subjects of interestto the campus community, as well as feedback on the paper itself.Submissions for Open Forum should be no more than 400 words.Letters to the editor should be no more than 150 words. Submissionsmay be edited for length and clarity.
All submissions must include the author’s name and contact infor-mation and may be submitted via e-mail or in typewritten form, accom-panied by a CD. No anonymous submissions will be accepted.Submissions must be received one week before publication date toappear in the next issue.
The Campanil reserves the right to upload all content published inprint, in addition to original content, on our websitewww.thecampanil.com.
The Campanil is published every other Monday. The first copy ofThe Campanil is free. Additional copies are 50 cents. Students inter-ested in joining should contact the editor in chief.
Jennifer CourtneyEditor in Chief
Managing Editor Anna Belle Peterson Sports Editor Carrol Page
Opinions Editor Nicole Vermeer
Features Editor Rashida Harmon
Multimedia Editor Melodie Miu
Copy Chief Lacy Paap
CAMPANILTHENews Editor Kim Harris
Web Coordinator Maxamaris Hoppe
5000 MacArthur Blvd.Oakland, CA 94613510.430.2246 phone
510.430.3176 fax
Calendar Editor Christina Macias
Assistant News Editor Morgan Ross
Assistant Features Editor Tara Nelson
Design Editor Lisa Bergquist
After last spring’s ASMC elec-tions, the classes of 2010 and 2012still had no officers, most senatepositions were not yet filled. Atfirst glance, the Mills communityseems apathetic. Mills women arepassionately involved in manythings, from playing on the volley-ball court to volunteering at localhigh schools. So what accounts forthe lack of participation in ASMCelections? Is it a lack of interest instudent body government? Is it a
lack of interest in Mills affairs in general?
At press time, while the 10executive board positions had beenfilled, applications were still avail-able for the open slots, due on Sept.11. Maybe it is better that studentswait until the fall to decide whetherto run for a government postion,when their schedules have beenworked out and potential candi-dates know for sure whether theyhave time to fulfill the duties oftheir role.
These duties include attending
weekly meetings and planningevents. Fall elections are alsoaccessible to freshwomen andtransfers. But if this is the case andfall elections make more sense,then why is ASMC still holdingspring elections? Presumably it isso that those elected in the springhave time to plan their upcomingsemester. It does not make sense,however, to have two separate elec-tions. A student body governmentshould function cohesively.
Another downfall is low voterturnout. School administrators
have said it is difficult to be able toreach all students to get the wordout. Presently, voting is done inperson at a booth on Adams plaza,two lunch hours during the week.This is not an effective way toreach all students.
For example, commuters whoare not on campus every day, orresidential students who don’t fre-quent the plaza because they eat atFounders Commons could easilymiss the booths. Everyone has theopportunity to be left out of thevoting process.
And when the votes get count-ed, many students don’t even knowwhat the outcomes are. Forumssuch as student news digests,posters and The Campanil’s ownopinions page are effective waysfor getting the word out.
ASMC should take responsibil-ity for involving all students in itselections, and make our studentbody government a stronger cam-pus presence. Students can take afirst step this week: voting will theheld in Adams plaza Sept. 16 and17 from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.
ASMC should take steps to counter apathy in student electionsEditorial
canningthe frontpage of myChronicle onS u n d a ymorning, Itry to ignoreit. I open to the inside page hop-ing to get lost in Carl Noltes“Native Son” column, but I keepturning back to the picturesplashed on the front page with itsbold headline yelling at me: “ATricky Feat.” In the accompany-ing article, staff writer RachelGordon explains “the most com-plex procedure on the Bay Bridgereplacement project” is begin-ning: a portion of cement andsteel the size of “a football fieldstadium,” which is going to beattached to the Bay Bridge while150 ft. in the air. This will bedone, she assures me, in only four days.
Four days, so many thingsseem wrong with this. I don’tdoubt Rachel Gordon’s reporting,but what instantly has me sweat-ing is that this monstrosity, sohastily slapped together, can’t besafe to drive on.
Driving across the Bay Bridgefor me always feels like asupreme act of bravery. Whilesitting through traffic I regularlyhave visions of a massive explo-sion where the top deck crumbles,or the structural integrity of thebridge gives way via earthquakeor tidal wave, sending my littleblue Toyota Matrix plummetinginto frigid unforgiving bay waters below.
I know this neurotic bridgebreakdown is post-traumaticstress induced from watching toomany Michael Bay Films, but thefear lingers, so I decide to keep aneye on things.
Thursday around 6 p.m., theday the bridge is set to close at 8p.m., I Mapquest Middle
Shoreline Park, which I am toldby Google has a perfect, clearview of the bridge, and, followingcyber-America’s suggestions,take the 580 to the 80 and swerveacross four lanes of traffic to exit.
My heart is starting to skipand I’m sitting forward in the dri-ver’s seat. Where is the Maritimestreet turn? This doesn’t seemright. I am driving onto the BayBridge, somehow there is noMaritime St. Apparently, it nolonger exists. I look to my leftrealizing I have somehow endedup on a service road, goingaround the tollbooths and onto theBay Bridge. I am now a criminal;a rouge motorist sneaking onwithout paying. An accidentaloutlaw headed straight onto thebeast. I curse Mapquest, thinkhappy thoughts and take theTreasure Island exit off thebridge. As I near the bridge’sentrance I am face to face with thethe cruel underbelly of eastbound, rush-hour bridge traffic; tomy right are construction workerson parked cranes waiting to go towork. I make the sign of the crossand merge with authority, onto theBay Bridge driving as fast as I canback to Oakland. I decide I willcheck on progress tomorrow.
Late Friday morning, I pourmy Folgers Select into my neonpink thermos and drive throughdowntown traffic.
Pulling into the park I amstruck by the view of SanFrancisco. From here you cansee the entire grey-blue city.Along the waterfront are threeViewers which look right onto thebridge. I walk up to the viewerand turn it towards what appear tobe faint construction vehicles.
Nothing on the bridge seemsto be moving. Looking throughthe lenses I see men in white hatsand bright orange vests standingnear a Port-o-Potty. Just above the
7th Street terminal signs, moremen in neon yellow vests arestanding on scaffolding, but fromthis vantage point it does notappear like anything is happening.I can see what looks like a largefootball field-sized piece of some-thing, but the ends drop off intonowhere. Helicopters are circlinglike flies over the steel skeletalstructure. I watch the bridge, andthe men on the bridge stand there.I feel sure they will not make theirdeadline. I declare the projectdoomed and I am vindicated. Istand staring through the viewer.Suddenly I am aware their issomeone next to me. I look overand a scruffy curly headed cyclistis pulling out a pair of binoculars.He smiles a handsome smile. Iwrite on my reporter’s notebookand act like I’m ignoring him.
“Are you a reporter?” He asksgesturing towards my tannotepad. I answer yes. But the yesends more like a question mark,because I think today I am halfreporter, half paranoid citizen. Ireturn to the viewer and mynotepad. Trying to look official.Aware I am blushing.
As I stare through the lenses atthe orange and white-headed menstanding around the bridge, itoccurs to me, perhaps this is fate.Perhaps my obsession with myimpending death via Bay Bridgewas merely a vehicle to bring mehere to meet this attractive, fellowneurotic Bay Bridge watcher. Butwhen I look up from the viewer,he is gone. I decide, walking tomy car, perhaps I will trust RachelGordon and my Chronicle. Myfear of falling off the bridge in awhirl of fiery doom is just thestuff of bad action films, Just asthe chance meeting of two lonelyneurotics set against the lushbackdrop of ocean front urbansprawl is just the stuff of badromantic comedies.
here’snothing likean excitingfirst day ofstarting anew school tomake you feelawkward andd o w n r i g h tstupid. Even at the young adult ageof 22 and tons of first days undermy belt, I still have a hard timenavigating new places.
As I walked down the tree-linedstreet I recognized from the onlinepictures, it finally hit me: I’m agraduate student at Mills College.After months of announcing it tofamily and friends, going to gradu-ate school became a reality. Great.Now, where the hell do I go?
Looking like the typical newstudent, I roamed around campuswith my Mills map in hand. Finally,I found the building I was lookingfor, Reinhart Hall, home of thepublic policy program. How comeall the signs on the building say,“MBA program”? Come to find outthe public policy program justmoved there. I wasn’t lost after all.
Meeting all the women in theprogram was great. Being aroundpeople with comparable careerinterests and passion for bringingchange to the world was refreshing.I know in the next two years we’llgrow into a little Public Policy family.
Once I ventured out onto cam-pus, I realized being a new gradu-
ate student is a different experi-ence. I wasn’t an incoming fresh-woman meeting my roommate,hastily trying the cafeteria food orreturning to friends I hadn’t seen allsummer. Suddenly, I becameundergraduate home-sick. All thewelcome activities, school spiritbuilders and first-year mixers werefour years and 15 pounds ago.
Before I could get too nostal-gic, the blaring emergency exitsiren startled me and everyone elsein the computer lab. Wrong door. Ilove first days. All the activitiesincoming students participate in aremeant to make Mills feel like mov-ing into a brand new home.Somehow I feel like I’m subletting— especially since I’m a com-muter student.
Where do graduate students fitin? I saw a huge sign saying“Welcome Graduate Students,” butaside from my own program beingexcited to see us new students, itdidn’t seem like anyone else was.
Maybe graduate students aresupposed to be older and moremature. Settling into a new schoolshould be easy. Ice breakers andget-to-know-you games shouldn’tbe important to feeling at home in anew school.
First days don’t last forever.Sure, I can’t find a bathroom rightaway or where I’m supposed topick up a parking pass today, but Ibet a month from now I’ll feel rightat home napping on the lawnbetween classes.
As I stepped off the NL at Richard’s gate today the Mills CollegeBeulah Gate greeted me most proudly glistening in the sun. That radianceof warmth and love surrounding me I felt deeply as if I was to embarkupon the four most precious years of my life 42 years ago. The only con-stant we have in life is remembering who we are and what we represent.Mills College Beulah Gate well exemplifies the enactment of these words.Thank you my dearest Mills College for so caringly acting upon my fer-vent plea, from a most grateful alumna.
— Stephanie Lincoln, Class of 1971
Letter to the EditorA beat behind:DOING WHAT MY CHRONICLE TELLS ME
by Tara Nelson
by Carla Hansen
Grad NoteS
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