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Observe and Report

Rape is not Funny

ometimes rape is okay. Wait, no, that can’t be right. Rape is never okay, is it? Wait, what if she’s super drunk? Is that okay? Only if I’m drunk too? No, that can’t be right either. Wait—now, follow me closely on this—maybe, if we’re having sex at my mom’s house and she’s super drunk and I’m not and I’m in my element and everything is going pretty well mechanically…then maybe if she mutters some drunken comment I can maybe construe to be an approval of my thrusting, perhaps then it is okay?

This is the convoluted logic of Observe and Report, the story of a bipolar Chief of Mall Security named Ronnie Barnhardt (Seth Rogen) and his deranged attempt to gain love and respect. Ronnie pursues Brandi (Anna Faris) relentlessly, finally coercing the attractive, ditsy, and presumably promiscuous makeup counter attendant into accompanying him on a date. While he dreams of spending his life with this newfound love interest, she merely tolerates his presence and is much more interested in downing shots than accepting his ongoing sexual advances. Thanks to the effects of tequila and anti-psychotic medications, Ronnie takes immediate control of their first date. Brandi staggers, vomits, staggers, vomits again and cedes complete control over to Ronnie, who is more than willing to take advantage of the situation. Predictably, the scene transitions to Ronnie’s bedroom, which is romantically located in his mother’s house. Then, the sexual adventure begins: he’s on top, she’s on bottom. She’s unconscious while he’s thrusting away, yelling, “Brandi, Brandi!” Noticing Brandi’s rather unresponsive state, Ronnie, in an apparent state of moral confusion, stops moving and looks down at her as she wakes up just long enough to mutter, “Did I tell you to stop, motherfucker?” Brandi then falls right back into her drug induced sleep and Ronnie, having effectively resolved his ethical dilemma, resumes thrusting.

So what’s the problem? After all, she consented, right? At least that’s what the defenders of the movie claim, including Seth Rogen himself. In an interview with the Washington City Paper, Rogen said, “When we’re having sex and she’s unconscious, like you can literally feel the audience thinking, like, how the fuck are they going to make this okay? Like, what can possibly be said or done that I’m not going to walk out of the movie theater in the next thirty seconds? And then she says, like, the one thing that makes it all okay.” He is, of course, referring to Brandi’s question: “Did I tell you to stop, motherfucker?” However, Brandi’s drunken mutterings do not count as consent; Ronnie raped her. It’s as simple as that.

The problem: the scene confuses the issue of consent and rape, normalizing “date rape” to a target audience most likely to engage in those acts. The joke is not without consequences. According to professor Thomas E. Ford’s (a professor of psychology and researcher at Western Carolina University) research on sexist language and humor, “The acceptance of sexist humor leads men to believe that sexist behavior falls within the bounds of social acceptability.” Ultimately, jokes about date rape make the act more socially acceptable. When the role of the “rapist” is played by such a well-liked comedic actor like Seth Rogen, it can be difficult for the audience to understand the other side of the story. Rape isn’t supposed to be funny, and when it is portrayed in a comedic light, well, people stop laughing. It’s just not funny.

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The Pirate

s the seas churned and the waves crested over the bow, spitting drops of saltwater across the deck, a man leaned over the railing as the ship split the ocean in front of him. The man drew deep breath, and the wind and the push of metal upon water made the air porous with the smell of salt. The sun bore down on the tiny vessel in the massive expanse of the Gulf of Aden, just north from the Horn of Africa. The sea drifted away in every direction, and the horizon settled in its cradle to the north, the south, the east and the west.

The horn blew. The man hesitated as he heard it, its long ring echoing through the sheets of metal lying on the deck. When it was over, the metal shook from the shock of it, and the man’s ears rung as he retrieved his rifle from the deck and made his way to the captain’s quarters. The thump of his boots on the deck grew fainter as he marched, and the gusts of wind grew more powerful with each step. The ship was moving faster. Already the waves were crashing against the hull with greater ferocity and more strength then they had a moment ago, already the ship rocked more violently as it pummeled the ocean surface with its ponderous weight.

The man imagined the ocean as a black coffin—the same churning ocean so beautiful amidst the streaming light of midsummer’s afternoon could just as easily consume a man in its moonless shadow. There was no predicting, only anticipation of the worst. My family is somewhere out there, he thought, wrecked and ruined amidst the tatters of a sunken freighter. My brother, my father, my mother, eclipsed by that blackness, lost in some ocean trench. And now I’m one of them—I’ve become my family’s murderers.

But choice was not the issue, was it? I had no choice. They came with their rifles and their smiles and their plots and their murderous rage. Could I have stopped them? No. They would have killed me too. And if I don’t pick up this rifle they will slit my throat. And if I do not follow the horn’s instructions they will strangle me in my sleep. And if I launch myself overboard, it will all be for naught. Watching my family die…at least they knew I would live. But what good is this life if I send more to their doom. What good is life if I save no one from this wretched fate?

Now the captain’s quarters was closer and closer still, and as the man approached the steel outline of the hatch, the door flew open. The stench of rotted fish enveloped the man for a brief moment. He stiffened and coughed and rubbed his eyes and stung and cursed. A dark whiskered face stared. Cigarette smoke permeated the room, and through the cloud of ash the man could see the captain watching over him, his newest recruit. The man hesitated. At first he thought he was alone with the captain, whose piercing eyes never left him as he scrambled into his quarters and sat on a metallic chest that lay in the middle of the room.

The men appeared around him, drifting through the smoke, drifting into the smoke. Men with charred faces, men with scarred and torn faces. Some smiled, as jackals do. Others grimaced and scowled, as thieves do. Their withered decency were displayed for all to see—the man was hardly blind to the banality of this kind of evil. Yet some looked far-off; some looked distant and grey. It was not excitement or fear or anticipation that dogged their mind. They were simply…withdrawn. Withdrawn from the cares and the worldly enterprises of the world. None of that would suffice now. Treasure was the operative word here, the image hounding at each man with a relentlessness not unlike the slits of pain a deep, longing hunger brings upon the mind and the body.

The captain stared.

“Who is this rat, who is this…maggot?” the Captain asked.

“He is the child, of course.” Someone said.

“The child?”

“From Bari. From the last port.”

“This is the man from Bari?”

“Yes.”

“He is a rat.”

The captain looked at the man as he shivered at his powerful gaze. The man looked away, trying not to catch the captain’s pale eyes, but to no avail.

“You are a rat, no?” the Captain asked.

“Sir?”

“You are a maggot, are you not? Are you a rat or are you not?”

“Captain—”

“Because a rat scampers away at the first sign of danger. Now, you wouldn’t want to be a rat. Not in my army.”

“No sir.”

“Well, that settles nothing. You are a child, you will be trained.”

“I am not a child. I wish to go home.”

“You are a child in the way you look like a man but know nothing of being one. We’ve taken you now. There is no home. Do you understand?”

The man said nothing.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes, Captain.”

The captain broke his gaze from the man and reached behind him to close the hatch. The door slammed with a thunder that resonated throughout the room. It was enough to make the man jump. The other men observed this and laughed to themselves. The captain remained silent. It was only when the captain shot his men a look did silence capture the room. And then the man could hear it. At first it was as if the ship was aching, as if the years of misuse and mistreatment had taken the form of a chronic, degenerative illness of pain and torment. The man stopped and strained his senses. Crying. Not crying by any measure of a man crying. Crying…a child crying. Wailing, weeping, crying. Was it a child? Could it be a child? Here?

The captain grinned. He drifted into the smoke and disappeared, and the crying pierced through the room like the deafening horn had pierced his senses just a few moments ago. The wailing only grew louder, closer.

“He is American, do you see?” said the captain, but the man could only see the yellow grin and the pale eyes through the smokescreen. The man said nothing. The captain approached, and with him, nestled in a canary blanket, was a child not quite two months old, helpless and forlorn. The captain eyed it steadily, and then cast his furious gaze back at the recruit.

“Do you see?” the captain asked.

“Yes.”

“He is American. Do you see?”

There was nothing to tell where the child was from; only its pale skin betrayed its Western origins. But the man understood what they were to do with Americans. The Americans had declared war on the people in this room, and the vendetta had been returned in kind. The Americans had slaughtered their brothers in arms, and the captain and the crew thirsted for vengeance. Every American they found would die. Every American they found…would die.

“We do not know where this child is from, captain,” the man said.

“It does not matter where you think it’s from, rat.”

“We don’t know Captain.”

“He is American, Mr. Rat. HA. That’s what I will call you now, very respectful don’t you think? Don’t you think you need respect? Do you think this thing needs respect?”

The Captain laughed as he unraveled the child and held it out with one palm of his leathered, calloused hand. The child screamed—squealing in terror and pain and trembling fright.

“Throw it overboard, Mr. Rat. Do it now.”

“Captain—“

“Do it now or I’ll gut you right here and throw you in with him,” the Captain threatened, his yellow grin growing wider until it nearly foamed in anticipation.

“Throw it overboard, Mr. Rat.”

The men in the room said nothing.

“We are thieves, not murderers. The Americans and the French have killed. We do not kill. Not children.”

“There is no decency for pirates, Mr. Rat. We kill.”

“There is decency for children, Captain.”

The Captain looked back at his men. The chil
d was wrapped up once more, and the Captain laid it down on the chest. His back turned, he now began to walk away. It was over.

“Throw them both overboard. Make sure of it,” the Captain said.

And as the mist and the smoke swallowed the captain once again, the crew slowly descended upon him. They took their time. And as the shadows grew and the light turned into night and back into the cold, dark blackness of the churning ocean, the man whisked the child into his arms and waited…and waited still…for the sea would swallow two more souls tonight, two more souls churning in this dreadful of nights.

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Pressure

.pp..ppp…ppp

Pressure

Hits your vocal cords

Like

Oh Snap!

Words stuck

Lips purse

Brain screams and shouts

Saying

Get it out

Do something

Come on

This is your life

On

The line

They’re staring

Watching

You flounder

Flop

And fish

For a synonym

Or a way out

Around

Pushing

Working

Sweating

Watching the kid in the

Corner start to giggle

Teacher starts to fiddle

With her pen

O no!

Please no

Don’t tell me you are

Gonna start drooling

Now they’ll

Really think

You’re

A weirdo

Even worse,

You’re running out of breath

You cant be stuck

Pushing one sound

Out forever

Don’t suffocate

Appreciate all those hours

Of speech therapy

Use it

There goes your

A+

In English

All they did was

Ask you to read

It!

Here you are

Trying to read your poem

And you cant even get out

The title!

Man you

…….

Wait

I see it

I see the light

At the end of

The tunnel

I see the word

Flowing out

Like water

Bursting out of

A

Spout

“Pressure”

“by”

j..jjo.jjjjjo

O come on

Not again!

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Igloo

hildren we were

architects of domed homes. Forgetting the lack

of photographs and thermostats, our ceilings glittered

in the frosted black. Living rooms of our own design,

we huddled inside, round cheeks colored by

descending whitened night. Seen breath we had

mittened hands and cold noses.

On fogged windows now we watch our sighs—

what grey skies outside are projecting high,

the image of some fine lines:

we have drawn ourselves inside.

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Executive

he doesn’t own an apron, powers up

with pantsuits and professional perfume

so she can spend nine-to-five

between four eggshell walls

making 100K. I went to school

made ready for the bake sale

with ready-made cookies, courtesy

of Greenberg’s bakery, came home

to play ponies with the babysitter, eat dinner

with my mother, tell her what I want

to be today, never dreaming of a future

that required wrapping myself in smells

from an oven to make me a woman.

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8.9.08

ost evenings last August or an August before that

rich red sauce bubbles on the stove—

spicy curls of steam are sneaking,

sneak from beneath the pot’s slanted lid.

Cornhusk eyes gleam between the geraniums, night owl

perched on the lip of the paint chipped flower-box.

Garden days have produced the most fruitful suppers,

lined long wooden tables in squash, corn, tomatoes.

Our stereo drips fuzzy tones—words are like sour water,

our barn’s leaky faucet. His hands clutch her waist,

Her skirt’s petals, these strange pleats that keep evening’s beat.

Failing floorboards and the crickets creek

(in dissonance joins the furnace groan.)

Tonight is a symphony:

we crouch on carpeted stairs.

But ten eyes between railings we are—they sway back

and forth—sway they on the cheap linoleum.

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Why We Have to Care

A Manifesto Against Apathy

ooking over the contents of this particular issue of the Dartmouth Free Press, it’s easy to be overwhelmed. With all the weighty issues facing us today, it’s simple to conclude that it’s hopeless for any of us to do anything. After all, these are huge problems facing all of human society—what can we, as individuals, do?

We progressives are often criticized for being too idealistic, for “caring too much” about things that just “can’t,” or “won’t,” change. These charges paint those who “care” as impractical, naive, and foolhardy and are leveled to cast doubt on ideas that may sound nice, but (as our friends who so proudly identify as “pragmatic” would say) are not relevant to the real world. I respectfully disagree. Let me be clear: I do not claim that every cause with a banner raised in its name demands urgent action. After all, there really are too many competing causes, too many pressing priorities, too much for us to truly give each its due. But this point is not synonymous with surrender, nor does it demand we sacrifice our idealism on the altar of pragmatic compromise.

Simply put: some big causes cannot be ignored and cannot be postponed, no matter the objections raised by so-called political realists. Environmental change and global warming, for all the political noise that now obscures their urgency, cannot be put off. We have to do something about them now if we are to do anything at all. The national debt, coming to a precipice, is ready to fall into an already cavernous hole created by Social Security and Medicare. Again, something must be done now. These big, world-changing issues do not wait, regardless of how committed we are to putting them off. We won’t magically get more time to act effectively just because we neglected to start dealing with the underlying causes early enough.

While there are many of these epic issues to deal with, many progressives focus on small, local, and personal problems. It is these small quests that many Dartmouth students find urgent and pressing. We need to be more queer-friendly. We need to create more gender neutral housing. And we need to better anticipate and respond to shameful outbreaks of bigotry: the Blarflex comic belittling a fellow student (and most minority demographics on campus); the GGMM’s failed joke about our incoming president, to name two recent examples. It wouldn’t seem that these are the issues an activist/progressive/concerned citizen should fill his or her plate with. They aren’t, well, important enough…right? Why pay attention to these when there are, frankly, so many more important causes out there? Progressivism too often falls into this perennial trap, one that prioritizes the global at the expense of the local, as does our media and our societal attention span as a whole.

Too often we turn our attention to the sexy, trendy causes of the month. The 2004 tsunami in Southeast Asia captured the attention of the world and an outpouring of support and money. And then it stopped. In 2005, Hurricane Katrina brought the world together in a grand signing of checkbooks and a flurry of brief service trips to New Orleans. And then we lost interest. These issues have not lost their relevance, nor have they been “solved” by any means. The displacement and devastation caused by the tsunami remains evident. Today, thousands of refugees from New Orleans are still languishing, scattered across nearby states in motley patches of trailer parks. These issues held our national and international attention not because of their inherent significance or our underlying concern—they held our attention because they were the issues of the day.

Yet if we don’t pay attention to the things around us, where can change be immediately and significantly affected? Issues close to home are rarely as sexy and exciting, and they also (necessarily) lack the grand human drama involved in disasters and catastrophes. We become complacent, acclimated, and apathetic. College-hopeful juniors and seniors happily take service trips to Africa, Southeast Asia, and other exotic regions to relieve poverty, but never really stop to think closer to home. At home in California, I saw many students head off to Ghana, Malawi, and the like out of an admittedly admirable desire to address poverty. Yet these exotic crusades too often ignore the all-too-close urban decay in the cities and towns nearby.

Tip O’Neill once said that “all politics is local.” So is change. We always reach for the grand sweeping changes because they are most noticeable, and we imagine they will be the most broadly felt. But if we do not first attend to issues crippling us at a local level, are we really in any state to help others? Can we, as starry-eyed, self-consciously idealistic college students, eradicate poverty in Africa if we don’t have the formula to do so in America?

We have to pay attention. The end of apathy does not simply come when one is moved by the pleas of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA), Greenpeace, or any number of advocacy groups. Even the causes dear to me, on a personal level—those of the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF), or the Universities Allied for Essential Medicines (UAEM)—I realize are not as immediately pressing as others worth participation and energy. My two dollars could do little to help these causes. Yet those same two dollars, used instead to buy ice cream for a low income child I tutored in my area (while explaining the physics behind salt, water, and ice cream), made an immediate, and I hope, somewhat lasting impact in at least one life. We often forget all of the little things that we can do by virtue of action rather than abstract concern. This is not to say that the big issues are to be ignored. It’s simply to say that, on an individual level, the small ones can take us far further, and collectively have far more of an impact than our dedication to a thousand “big” causes.

Each of us has different talents, different abilities, and different capabilities for change. Whether it’s something big, like the ability to create national awareness about global warming, or small, like the ability to organize a fundraiser for renovations to a local school, or yet smaller, like the ability to spark a child’s interest in science where none existed before, we can all do something. Of course, the “big” issues will continue to be important. But in everyday life, we all too often forget about—and are therefore apathetic towards— the pressing, local issues we’ve become blind to. Activism, and progressivism, have for too long been defined in unsuitably narrow terms. Whether it be the Civil Rights Movement, which began with humble community organizing in Birmingham, Alabama, or the small, decentralized, and eminently local effort to fundraise and elect Obama, the roots of large change have always grown from small acts. In this day and age, overextended as we are and easily distracted by shiny, new causes, it’s important to remember this. Those who complain that individuals cannot effect change are looking to the wrong end. There is a great deal, however small it may be, that each person can do to make our world a better place to live in. Really, it begins at home.

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Obsessed with Fabrication

Islamophobia returns to Dartmouth

id you know that evangelical Christians are more likely to buy lottery tickets and less likely to recycle? And that Jehovah’s Witnesses seldom have computers? And the only safe sex is between husband and wife? How do I know these things? I found them on the Internet. Got a problem with that? You shouldn’t. The film Obsession: Radical Islam’s War against the West was shown in part on CNN and Fox, won prizes at three film festivals and was distributed with 70 U.S. newspapers. And believe it or not, one of its sources was the Internet… In fact, the movie even displayed a subtitle saying, “Source: Internet.”

My daily paper, the Los Angeles Times, did not include a free copy of Obsession. I got my copy at the Dartmouth Review sponsored lecture: “Understanding Radical Islam.” More about the Obsession “documentary” (if you can call it that) later—first let us discuss the finer points of Paul Marshall’s Dartmouth lecture.

Dr. Paul Marshall is a senior fellow at the Center for Religious Freedom at the Hudson Institute, a neo-conservative think-tank devoted to such worthy causes as attacking organic farming and advocating the bombing of Iran. Dr. Marshall has written over 20 books, which would appear to be quite the academic achievement, at least until you actually look over them. Unfortunately, with titles like Radical Islam’s Rules: the Worldwide Spread of Extreme Sharia Law (2005), The Rise of Hindu Extremism (2003), Islam at the Crossroads (2002), it becomes immediately obvious that these are the kind of under-researched and over-the-top fear-mongering books that the right-wing pumps out on a weekly basis for Fox News aficionados. Now, to be honest, I have not read a single one of his twenty books. As far as I know, they may be well written and insightful, but if his lecture was an accurate preview, they are likely nothing more than a misguided attempt to package an unbelievably biased conservative-warped history into respectable academic opinion by parading a bunch of fancy degrees and accreditations in front of it.

At his lecture, Dr. Marshall spun a half-hour history of the entire Middle East using a neatly formulated, if not highly simplistic and suspect, worldview of Muslims: “When we were good and faithful Muslims, we succeeded. When we stopped being good and faithful Muslims, we failed.” He claimed that the Islamic world had about “1,000 years of stunning success” followed by “300 years of crushing failure.” This failure—caused by things like political repression, lack of economic development, and human rights abuses—is what led some of “the Muslims” to become extremists and regress back to the Islam of the seventh century. Accordingly, extremist reactions such as terrorism have nothing to do with United States foreign policies or the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. And these issues also couldn’t possibly have to do with the 65 years of history that Dr. Marshall chose to completely skip over—from World War I to the first Iraq War—when the Ottoman Empire disintegrated, and Europe and the United States decided they could randomly draw national boundaries and choose Middle Eastern leaders based on their own interests. Even though I am only a junior AMES major, I am pretty sure this was an integral period in the formation of the current Middle East and its present problems.

Its not like I wasn’t expecting this kind of hidden-agenda fact twisting in order to reinforce the extremist/terrorist stereotype of Muslims. A blitz in my inbox from the former Review Editor-in-Chief entitled “Islamism and the West” could only mean as much. One of Dr. Marshall’s first statements was that Muslims exposed to American higher education are more likely to become terrorists. Thankfully, I think the three Muslim friends sitting around me were able to laugh this off as ridiculous fear-mongering rhetoric. Before coming to the lecture, I had hoped that Dartmouth College students, supposedly smart Ivy Leaguers that they are, would have the sense to be critical of Dr. Marshall. I was pleasantly surprised to find an audience that I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about—mainly AMES and Arabic majors, or at least familiar faces from my classes. I didn’t, however, have as much hope for the hundreds of thousands of Americans who received a free copy of Obsession in their daily papers.

Unfortunately, watching Obsession without criticism will make you walk away fearing all Muslims. The producers thankfully made it easy to suspect the integrity of their collaborators. The first “expert” to enlighten the audience was Walid Shoebat—a former PLO terrorist. This incited comment from everyone in the group watching the film with me. Former PLO terrorist?! Why is he not in jail? How in the world has he now become a staunch right-wing, Israel-supporting, Islamophobic, evangelical Christian?! After minimal research we found that Walid Shoebat claims to have bombed an Israeli bank, except the bank insists that no such bombing occurred. Sounds a little suspicious, no? Why would you claim to be a former terrorist? I can only suggest insanity. Obsession “expert” number one is sufficiently disredited.

Then there are the rest of the “expert” contributors. Nonie Darwish, daughter of a Shahid (martyr), is pro-Israel Arab whose Egyptian army officer father was assassinated by the Israeli military. Then we meet Kaled Abu Toameh—a Palestinian journalist, although Israeli-Arab working for the Jerusalem Post would be much more accurate description. Daniel Pipes, director of the Middle East Forum, organized Campus Watch to check anti-Israeli or pro-Palestinian rhetoric by professors at U.S. Universities. Lastly, Steve Emerson, investigative journalist, suggested that there was a “Middle-Eastern” element to the Oklahoma City bombing.

The heavy criticism of Dr. Paul Marshall and the spurious cast of Obsession is not intended to make light of terrorism. My aim is to dispel its current entanglement with Islam. Yes, terrorists may use Islamic religious rhetoric, but Christians could easily make use of the Bible to support unnecessary killing of innocents—and they have. Terrorism will never be eradicated if we don’t address the real historical reasons for its support. The Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt and its offspring organizations across the world, like Hamas, gained their support by distributing food and other supplies to needy people. Perhaps we should focus on this fact, rather then simply believing that 95 percent of Muslims hate America (as an interviewee in Obsession states). Of course, Terrorism is inexcusable. Killing of any innocent human beings is unacceptable. But it is also unacceptable, to a lesser degree, for media undertakings like Obsession (and pretty much any FOX News Programming) and neo-conservative think-tanks like the one Dr. Paul Marshall is part of, to propagate the all “Muslims as terrorists” stereotype that has led to so much harassment, hate and discrimination.

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Interview With Frank Warren

PostSecret

efore Post Secret became so popular and a full-time job, what did you do? Do you plan on continuing to pursue it after Post Secret?

I was a small business owner for 20 years. I sold the business, and now spend 50-60 hrs a week on Post Secret, so it takes up all of my time.

How did Post Secret get started and what was your inspiration for it?

It started as an art project four years ago. The business I had was monotonous, so when I was at work I would think about creative projects to do. I think everyone has a fascination with secrets that is borne in childhood, so one of them was self-addressed postcards. I started handing them out to strangers and inviting them to mail them back to me with a secret on it. They were special to me, and I was shocked how they resonated with other people too There have been over quarter of a billion visitors to the Post Secret website, five Post Secret books, and Post Secret confessions on such topics as life, death and god.

Did you expect anything close to the response you got? How long do you intend to continue the project?

Secrets have always been fascinating to me, but I was shocked that so many other people felt a connection too. My initial goal was to receive 365 postcards in one year, but in the first year I got well over 10,000.

When did you realize how popular Post Secret was getting?

I found out when I stopped printing and passing out postcards, but still was receiving them. The idea had already spread virally across country; people in different states began to buy and create their own postcards. I was getting postmarks from all over.

How has the purpose of Post Secret evolved over time since it started and where do you see it heading in the future?

From the very start, I did not want paid advertising on the website. Instead, I used the popularity of Post Secret to promote suicide prevention, and to help raise funds for suicide prevention. Over the past 4 years, $250,000 has been raised for suicide prevention.

How do you choose the secrets to put on the website or in your books?

One of the proven ways that people can deal with the issues that can lead to suicide is to share feelings of depression and isolation before they wall us in. My hope is when people can release their secret on a postcard, can give it a physical presence, maybe that can spark further action taken on that secret, maybe even action that can make the secret true or false. I like the secrets that surprise me, that are funny, sexual, or hopeful, and I try to arrange them every week in a way that tells a story about us. Sometimes it seems like the secrets are having conversations. I get about 200 every day, they come to my home, and I read them all and keep them all; I think each one is precious. And, there are two art exhibits that tour the country with postcards.

What do you think appeals to people most about Post Secret?

People come to the website initially out of curiosity, but eventually you come across that secret that really speaks to you, that might articulate a secret you’re keeping from yourself, that builds a connection between you and the stranger and the project in general. I think that’s why 1 million people come back to the site every week.

Do you think the secrets people write about are true? Does it matter if they are or not?

I think of the secrets as literature or works of art. Sometimes when you walk into a bookstore, the book that changes your life is the one in the fiction section. So I think when you’re talking about personal revelation, there are different revelations from truth and false[hood]. When we write our secrets we may think of them as true or false, and when we see them on the website we might realize the opposite.

How did you choose the medium of a postcard and why do you think that is important?

I liked the idea of connecting a very old form of communication, postcards, with a very modern form, the blog. I also have had a special relation with postcards all of my life; I think they’re pretty special. They can carry so much more than we imagine.

Have you published any of your own secrets?

There is one of mine in every book.

What is your favorite or most memorable secret?

The most memorable I’ve received was on a Starbucks coffee cup, “I serve decaf to customers that are rude to me.”

Have you received any criticisms of Post Secret?

The only criticism I’ve really heard is from religious people who say that the only person you should share your secrets with is God $mdash; but I haven’t really received any aside from that.

Are you excited to be coming to Dartmouth?

I’m really looking forward to coming to campus. My favorite part is sharing the stories behind the secrets and showing images of postcards that were banned from the books by the publisher. What’s really fascinating for me is that at the end of the talk, young people come up to the microphone and share their own secrets in front of their classmates. It’s not anonymous there. And I’m very pleased to be associated with Active Minds. I wish it had been around when I was in school.

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Obama's Student Loan Proposal

A No-Brainer

hen even the most rabid free-market economists are in favor of government intervention, you know things are bad. No, I’m not referring to bank nationalization (though there does seem to be an awful lot of chatter leaning in that direction). I’m talking about Obama’s plan to reform the federal student loan program by cutting out private lenders.

The concept behind permitting private lenders into education was that the government could pay small amounts to subsidize those loans, instead of lending the whole amount itself, making student loans more attractive. Banks were expected to then leap in and flood the market with loans, amplifying the government’s reach. In practice, however, this system has served as a big favor to banks and the financial services industry (representative beneficiaries: Bank of America and Citigroup); the vast majority of loans made by “private lenders” involved little more than their doling out government money. The “amplification” concept rarely came to fruition, and when good times turned to bad, the “amplified” loans were the first to disappear. As a result, the government’s direct-loan program has ended up forking out most of the money while private lenders use government dollars to fill their pockets.

“Services” Rendered

If private lenders and their services had added (any) substantial benefit to the student loan process, one could argue that they deserved a cut of the money. As it stands, however, not only do the loans propagated by such companies have default rates of over seven percent (government ones, by comparison, clock in around 5.8 percent), they also fail to provide the enhanced “service and amenities” claimed by their extensive marketing. The “services” that the majority of lenders provide are along the lines of call centers in India and the distribution of fancy brochures. The rest of the money went to bribes—I mean, “gifts”—for student loan officers to fill out the companies’ own bottom lines.

It may sound as though I’m painting with too broad a brush, or being sensationalist. If only. New York Attorney General Andrew Cuomo first uncovered this cozy relationship between loan officers and lenders, and since then it’s been exposed all over the nation.

In an effort to persuade Obama of the program’s worth, Sallie Mae, the biggest private lender in the program, apparently brought 2,000 overseas jobs back to America. But does bringing 2,000, most likely minimum wage, call center jobs back to the U.S. justify the decision to keep funneling money into an exploitative cartel? Are 2,000 call center jobs worth an estimated $94 billion over ten years, not to mention the shameless exploitation of college students?

The answer is quite clear. That $94 billion distributed over ten years, largely wasted even before this economic crisis destroyed its fragile façade of purpose, would have been better off in a federal loan program than in the wallets of Sallie Mae and Co. Simply put, it’s wiser to provide students with more financial aid than to cynically purchase 2,000 minimum wage jobs at a call center in Utah.

A Hard Fight

Why, then, does Obama’s proposal face so much opposition? Think of it this way: if you stood to lose $9.4 billion a year of easy, virtually risk-free money, wouldn’t you be willing to spend big to keep it? And spending is exactly what the private lenders are doing. They are hiring big names like Tony Podesta (brother of one John Podesta, part of Obama’s transition team) and John Gorelick to lobby for their bottom lines. Aside from such influential connections, the private sector companies have little in the way of an argument. Even the most conservative papers have yet refrained from coming out in support of the private sector—the reason being that this entire program, a testament to the so called “free market,” was a travesty. In fact, it was hardly free market, as the government’s money and fingerprints are all over it. But this program’s failures also clearly are connected to the private sector’s involvement. These disingenuous folks have racked up a damning track record, and reaped gargantuan profits doing so.

Even with the other side standing to lose $94 billion and spending every penny to maintain the status quo, the Obama plan will most likely succeed. Lawmakers are aware that this situation is a serious indictment of private lenders (many of whom are already being handed money in the banking bailout). Additionally, Obama has the necessary star power to get his message across. And to top it off, the other side lacks a strong argument (to say the least) in support of continued privatization.

A Bellweather

Money does talk, however, and a lot of it is on the table. If this proposal loses, we’ll find that not much has changed in American politics; Capital Hill will continue to be there for the taking­—assuming, at least, that one has the capital, connections, and influence to master it. Yet the circumstances of this situation may yet lay our most jaded fears to rest. Yes, buckets of money are at stake, but with things as bad as they are there is hope that the government will take action on behalf of the common good.

We need to support future generations, who already have to deal with the results of the economic collapse, climate change, and countless other serious issues. With so much at stake, $94 billion for students to attend college is a sound investment. If nothing else, it’s a start.

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