Of A Certain Age

The culture of fake IDs at Yale.

Nora is anxiously awaiting a package. She is lying on her bed in her suite when she finally gets the USPS delivery notice on her iPhone. After class that afternoon, she picks up a bulky envelope from the Yale post office. Two of her friends are already waiting for her back in the suite. They eye the package impatiently. “Moment of truth,” one of them says. Nora rips open the pouch and removes a small, lilac box tied with pale purple ribbon. She flips off. . . Read more
Spencer Bokat-Lindell
For Country?

The “Renaissance” of Yale’s relationship with the U.S. military.

The seventy-five men and women in blue and black uniforms trace the perimeter of the basketball court in Payne Whitney Gymnasium with crisp, synchronized movements. As the students march, the patriotic chords of “Anchors Aweigh,” “Off We Go into the Wild Blue Yonder,” and the “Marine’s Hymn”—the traditional songs of the United States Navy, Air Force, and Marines—resonate across the gym. Row by row, the cadets and midshipmen of Yale’s Air Force and Naval Reserve Officer’s Training Corps battalions salute Yale President Peter Salovey, the. . . Read more
Jane Darby Menton
Opening the Space

With plaster and paint, New Haven students chronicle injustice.

Ruby slowly peels the tape off her canvas, exposing turquoise and red between the stripes of black running down the painting. “I don’t usually use black because it seems too harsh, but this time it seemed right,” she says. Ruby is one of eighteen New Haven high school students of color participating in Artspace’s fifteenth annual Summer Apprenticeship Program. Artspace is a nonprofit in New Haven’s Ninth Square neighborhood that connects emerging artists with audiences in the New Haven community. Every year brings a new. . . Read more
Julia Hamer-Light
See Spot Think

Even dogs take tests at Yale.

Zoe the chocolate lab stares at the two overturned white buckets on the other side of the room. A screen is placed in front of the buckets, blocking her view, and a treat is placed under one of the buckets. But which one? The dog strains against her leash, her tail twitching uncontrollably. As the screen rises, she rushes toward the buckets. Researcher Rebecca Spaulding points emphatically to the correct container, but Zoe ignores her gesture. She turns to the other bucket, trying desperately to. . . Read more
Natalie Yang
The Anthropology of One

Working through loneliness in Buenos Aires.

The woman I’m interviewing reaches across the yellowed plastic table and takes my chapped hands between her own. I’ll call her Lucía. She is middle-aged, with creases around her eyes but girlish dimples on her cheeks. We are sitting in a dimly lit café on the edge of the sprawling slum, or villa, where she lives in Buenos Aires. I have just asked if she misses her home in Peru. It’s June, winter in the Southern Hemisphere, and she pulls her thickly knit sweater tighter. . . Read more
Juliet Glazer
Drought

A poem by Malini Gandhi.

The summer of the water rationing, the zinnias in clay pots steam in the sun. The hummingbirds we usually fed with sugar water hover around the empty feeders, still thrusting their bills to drink— confused, they fly into each other, falling dazed into the dust. You sit on the windowsill eating a red fruit with your fingers, legs dangling out the window. Every twenty minutes, a plane takes off from the airfield bordering the yard and flies so low that the house is hit with. . . Read more
Malini Gandhi
Invitation

A poem by Jillian Kravatz.

1. Write your creed on a napkin, assuming you have one. 1a. If you don’t have a creed, one is provided for you here: A cholesterol breakfast, cracked egg shells on the counter. A cold breakfast of yogurt and string cheese. A continental breakfast delayed by inclement weather. Orange juice flood when the porcelain breaks. Shades of beautiful pollution in the sunrise. Orange juice filling the Grand Canyon on given Thursdays. 2. Sing your creed by the lakeside. 3. Sing your creed at dawn. 4.. . . Read more
Jillian Kravatz
Missing the Mark

Do the recent changes to the GED close an avenue for social mobility?

In the computer lab at Keefe Community Center in Hamden, Connecticut, Steven Barnes pecks at his keyboard with his right index finger. He is retyping an essay about reusable bags and the environment. Neatly dressed in a checkered blue shirt and rectangular black glasses, Barnes has the clean-cut air of a model student. He runs his own business moving heavy machinery, but he is unfamiliar with the one kind of machine that every small business owner seems to need nowadays. “The first time I sat. . . Read more
Rachel Brown
Manufacturing Cool

The trials of Yale’s fledgling pop minority.

Junior Seungju Hwang pointed to the guitar case on the floor of the recording studio in Timothy Dwight. “Open it up!” he told me. “I’ll lead, and you just jump in,” Kalaeb Tessema instructed from his seat behind the keyboard. The room was reminiscent of the home studios featured on MTV Cribs—quaint enough to suggest amateurism, yet sufficiently equipped to convince otherwise. “Uh, I don’t really know how to do that,” I responded. Hwang was gravely overestimating my guitar skills, which I mostly picked up. . . Read more
Jordan Coley
First-Name Basis

Notes from the Caroline party.

The text came through from an unknown number: “Caroline is here.” It had the ring of a pronouncement made by a footman in a Jane Austen novel. But Caroline was already here. For one, I was there. At least five other Carolines were also there. I surveyed them in my living room, tallying them up. Taking roll. Then I went to get the door. Because, well, Caroline was here. Which is to say, another Caroline was there. The other Carolines waited expectantly to sum up. . . Read more
Caroline Sydney