Fearless Obies

April 28th, 2010

By Alex Posa

fvz-journaliste.nl

Jerry Greenland Greenfield of Ben & Jerry’s, Liz Phair, Ed Helms, and even Charles Martin Hall, Oberlin’s commonly named alumni, are nothing compared to Eduardo Mondlane, Tommie Smith, or the members of John Brown’s raid on Harpers Ferry, our badass forgotten alumni.

Eduardo Mondlane graduated in 1953 and went on to earn a Ph.D. from Harvard. Sixteen years after graduating from Oberlin, he was assassinated via a letter bomb likely sent by the Portuguese secret police. Mondlane founded the Mozambique Liberation Front, or FRELIMO, and started the Mozambican War of Independence. Yes, the man who started the Mozambique Revolution graduated from Oberlin College. Sadly, if I hadn’t researched Mozambique and socialism for my modern African history course, I would never have known this. Maybe Oberlin doesn’t broadcast Mondlane because he led a bloody war, but I would put him on the front page of our recruiting packet.

Former faculty member, Tommie Smith, the winner of the men’s 200 meter gold medal in the 1968 Summer Olympics, taught Sports Sociology and coached the track team in the 70s. After setting a world record that would stand for nearly 11 years, Smith, along with bronze medalist John Carlos, raised his fist in a black power salute at the medal ceremony. They both suffered immediate backlash; the International Olympic Committee ordered they be suspended from the US team and leave the Olympic village. After the US team refused, the I.O.C. threatened to suspend the entire U.S. track team. The U.S. broke and sent Smith and Carlos home. They both received death threats because of their actions.

In a news conference after the event, Smith said, “If I win, I am an American, not a black American. But if I did something bad then they would say ‘a Negro.’ We are black, and we are proud of being black.” We should all aspire to reach his level of courage.

Four men involved in the raid on Harpers Ferry, including John Brown (a white man) himself, had strong ties to Oberlin. The raid, which took place in 1859, was a failed attempt to start a massive slave insurrection. John Brown’s father sat on Oberlin’s board of trustees. Three black men from Oberlin died as a result of the raid: Lewis Sheridan Leary, John Anthony Copeland, Jr. and Shields Green. Green was the only Oberlin graduate, though Leary’s wife, Mary, graduated in 1964 and was the maternal grandmother of Langston Hughes.

While Oberlin is getting rid of our beloved new slogan, there is some truth to it. These men had chutzpa. Mondlane was instrumental in the Mozambique War of Independence and the members of Harpers Ferry raid surely knew there was a good chance they would be killed. Even Tommie Smith put himself in harm’s way by using an international platform to raise his fist for human rights. I can’t imagine believing in something so strongly that you are willing to die for it, and these guys weren’t just willing to die–they created situations to die in.

Nick and the Sauna Veteran Part 2

April 28th, 2010

We sat in silence for a few minutes when he became to look even more uncomfortable. He stared at me for a moment and then asked in a surprisingly defined drawl, “What year are ya?”

“First,” I gave back, smiling.

“Oh yeah, and what do you think of the College?”

I told him what I thought of the College–he didn’t presume I was a Connie, which upset me a little because I figure, to people I don’t know, I’m way more interesting if I’m a Connie. He listened, gnawing on his spit and nodding now and then. When I finished he told me his daughter was a frosh (his words), too, and was having adjustment difficulties. I gave him my sympathies and felt satisfied with the amount of communication we had, but barely after I finished speaking he asked if I have siblings. So I told him I had an older brother, and the man couldn’t stop prying. He opened up his age, his place of residence, occupation, and then he started nabbing at his future. And this is where he found a jumbo can of worms.

I mentioned that my brother was thinking about joining the Navy to pay for medical school. He grunted and frowned at me, “No. Air Force,” he said with such assertiveness I didn’t even think to question it. I sat, lost for words for a moment until he noticed I had nothing to contribute and went on to describe, in detail, the aid plans of the Air Force and how they were superior to those of the Navy. His interest in the subject drew me out a bit and I decided I was going to have to bro it out with this guy. I asked him where he served, and he told me all about Army basic training in Louisiana. And then, without being asked, he embarked on an epic tale of human fortitude and camaraderie in the face of Japanese typhoons. Literally, typhoons, that’s not a euphemism. Here were the bullet points of his story:

He and his comrades was pinned down in a barracks by the Japanese monsoon season for three months.
During these three months he ate nothing but various canned goods.
He was not particularly fond of living in a barracks where the only surplus was grumpy dudes and beans.
But he pulled through by making friends and sharing the suffering.

It’s sort of cheesy, but I left the sauna shortly after this tirade and found that I wanted to join the Army. Eating canned food and playing cards through a rainy day with your buddies sounds like a whole lot of fun. I would never have considered such an option, but that guy recruited the bageezus out of me. I felt like a deer three seconds after getting caught in the headlights, unceremoniously launching toward an unpredicted outcome. So remember people, life changes things pretty quickly if you decide you want it to. Go crazy.

Nick and the Sauna Veteran Part 1

April 24th, 2010

So this one time I was leaving the gym after a crushing defeat on the intramural basketball court. I fucking hate losing. I don’t care what anybody says, it’s not about fun. It’s about fucking winning. Because when you lose a game of chess or croquet or whatever it is you play there is just no way you can ever be close to that person that beat you again. He’s got it in his head that he’s better than you, and he can whip that out at anytime. You might be playing a game of FIFA later and he’ll snidely remind you of that little failure at the squash court and it brings your game down so hard.

He might play the pseudo-nobility card and pretend to be all gracious that you were such good competition. That jerk will be all, “that was really a great match, friend, but you just couldn’t quite beat me.” And he’ll say it with a British accent because it just sounds a bit more snobby. Really, listen some time to somebody who’s trying to be nice about beating you, he’s always going to have a distinct “mmmyyyyesss” quality to his voice at that particular time. I don’t like winners, and I hate being a loser. It’s a difficult paradox.

You may safely infer that I don’t lose well. You could say I slip into my grumpy pants after a loss. So I left the court alone and scowling, and went to the locker room for my post-game pee. Usually there isn’t anybody in the locker room late on a Tuesday, or really at any other time, either, but on this evening I walked past a grizzly looking middle aged man pulling up his swim trunks. Yes, I saw this man’s penis, and yes, that would make things a little weird later. When I left the stall, the man was gone but I had an overwhelming urge to swim, so I put my shoes and my shirt and my phone and my wallet and my pod in a locker and rolled on out to the pool.

I pumped out a few laps and was resting my arms on the side of the pool so I could subtlety assess arm flaccidity when the guy from the locker room walked into the pool area covered in sweat and rubbing his clearly flexing pecs. I had no idea where he had been but this guy was on top of the fucking world. His shoulders were thrown back and he was strutting along teeth flashing and just rubbing the fuck out of his chest. Dude was feeling like the shit, not caring that he was looking a little like a masturbating Wookie. (I refuse to consider that Wookies have penises or vaginas, but they might have nipples so that has to be where they masturbate.)

He popped in the pool and swam a few laps and then left again. I was just about done so I followed shortly after and that’s when I realized what had put that guy in such a good mood. Why he was feeling so great despite being covered in sweat, a state of being generally considered kind of not so great. I stepped to the glass door and tugged it open to see the sweaty man perched on the high bench of the sauna, leaning back and smiling without a care in the world. He was in swim trunks, but I sort of was reminded of seeing him naked when I walked by and may or may not have taken an impulsive glance towards the danger zone. He noticed, and gave me a look of shame so profound that I no longer care about disappointing anyone, they just could never be as upset as that dude.

Welcome to Broberlin

April 21st, 2010

There are certain things that I like that are not so hot among many Oberlin students. Jack Johnson, for one. I can’t explain why, but the man’s voice melts away my worries and just makes me want to rip off my shirt, grab a Corona and kick it in a lawnchair in the front yard. Taylor Swift has a similar effect, except that she makes me want to be a lovelorn 15 year old girl. Can’t have everything, I guess.

Growing up I played three sports a year because a) I had to, and b) I kicked ass. At age 5 my soccer team gave me a standing ovation when I showed up a little late to a game because these kids–myself included–poured their hearts and souls into the game of soccer. It didn’t matter that the team was coed, or that the league didn’t keep score, or that we weren’t actually playing on nets yet. It was the same case for every other sport, too. Sports were law and children abided. Parents didn’t dare keep their children out of a sport for any season for fear that Ken Murphy, the town sports fascist, might start asking questions at the next PTO meeting. Next thing you know half the town’s wondering if you’re in dire financial straits or, heaven forbid, you spawned a homosexual! These things are unacceptable in Hingham, Massachusetts–aka MILF City, aka Brotopia.

It did become acceptable to drop your kid out of ONE sports season if, once puberty hit, he or she developed a reputable talent. This is because parents in Hingham begin discussing college about the time the first zit pops up on their child’s face. And these people know how to get into college. So most parents will begin pushing their children to learn different skills, like drawing or music or exploitation of the weak. A couple might send their son on a trip to Spain to make room for a foreign exchange student (because everybody wants a foreigner that they can show off to their friends) and, when they switch back, the little tyke might bring back a very welcome passion for Spanish guitar. Well, the trip paid off and the kid goes Ivy and then, before you know it, he’s paying for his folks’ retirement in Fort Lauderdale.

Parents recognized when they’d lost the battle with a sport, so all the little ones with chronic asthma were taken off the ice and given a piano to pass the time with. But they did not get to take another season off. I was one of the majority stock that never learned a skill of repute. I can’t play an instrument, I can’t sing, I can’t act, I can’t draw. So I played sports. And through sports I grew to appreciate the adrenaline rush from chasing frantically after a guy kicking a ball, and learned that the greatest compliment one can ever receive is a firm slap on the ass after a solid RBI single.

So it came to pass that I bought into the sports culture and started rocking loose-tongued Timbalands with sweatpants and a pseudo-flannel for the rest of my adolescent life. With the style came the tastes and I found myself chasing the sweet, narcissistic girls who would flirt your face off all night when they were drunk but then never mention it again. I am very easily negatively impressed, so when girls started breaking my heart I started ridiculing them, and my bros and I passed four years of lunches complaining about women’s suffrage and ordering our various female acquaintances to make us sandwiches. (Note: I don’t really have a problem with women voting.)

There’s a very brief summation of my life up to this point. Today, my appreciation of Jack Johnson’s music is complemented by an ardent desire to take the sleeves off all my t-shirts, and wear my flat-brimmed Red Sox hat tilted up just like my boy Sam Adams. These things had been staples in my life until I arrived at Oberlin. It seems, however, that the things I like are decidedly “not cool” here. Which makes no sense because to everyone living outside the zip code of 44074 (approximately 6,692,022,277 people) that’s all hot shit! I love you people, but you make me look crazy sometimes.

So now that you know a little about me, I’d like to invite you into the world of Broberlin, where everything that I once considered “normal” is suddenly offbeat, weird, even. Episode 1 of the Brofiles: Nick and the Sauna Veteran will be here shortly.

Breed, and Die: Analysis of a Visit from the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement

February 18th, 2010

By Nick Perry

solarnavigator.net

For all those who wish to one day be married and raise a family of little hippies and hipsters, well, you may need to adjust your core values as a human being.

Such was the message Tuesday night of lecturer Les Knight, “finder” (Knight does not like term, ‘founder,’ because he does not believe his ideas to be wholly unique) of the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement (VHEMT). Knight’s presentation, “Thank You For Not Breeding,” was presented by Oberlin Animal Rights to a near capacity West Lecture Hall.

Knight, a public school teacher from Portland, OR, educated Oberlin community members on the movement he claims will solve the Earth’s environmental problems. And population problems. And, you know, general living problems.

VHEMT promotes a voluntary cessation of human breeding due to the amount of species extinction and damage to the biosphere rendered by human evolution and expansion. According to Knight, “Biodiversity is lost wherever we move in,” a development that seems entirely unnatural to VHEMT.

Without giving any exact numbers, Knight proposed that if the human race was to load on to one side of a scale, and all the species that became extinct because of us were to climb into the other side, the extinct species would overwhelmingly outweigh humanity. However, he failed to offer a way to a) determine which species have become extinct due to direct human influence, and b) raise those species from Extinct Species Heaven to get on the scale.

Knight insisted that since before Homo Sapiens was Homo Sapiens, his slovenly, ecology-hating ancestor Homo Erectus had been altering the Earth’s biosphere. This semi-evolved mongoloid performed this grotesquely malevolent act by slamming a couple of rocks one day and setting ablaze half of his jungle paradise. Since that fateful day, the Homo genus has procreated indiscriminately and utilized its cunning–and fire!– to develop new, more efficient ways to pillage the biosphere. As such, subsequent procreation becomes more dangerous for the Earth.

Beyond humanity’s environmental impact, Knight examined the detrimental effect of humans on themselves. Citing the 100,000 40,000 daily infant deaths around the world, he asserted that, at the very least, contraceptive practices are in need of fixing. Many of these deaths, Knight argued, were a result of poor education and the second-hand status of women in many countries around the world. Despite policy amendments by the United Nations in 1979 and 2000 to benefit women’s liberty, the world’s population continues to grow as husbands internationally forget to follow the UN’s new rules and keep swinging for sons.

Knight suggested that the world community needs to re-evaluate its core values to include non-humans in its realm of concern, so we must stop the breeding and allow a gradual, controlled extinction of humanity.

However, before we do, I insist we pass the torch of biological hegemony. To bears.

To learn more about Les Knight and his organization, visit www.vhemt.org. And don’t be discouraged by the Cold War-propaganda-esque insignia.

Safer Sex Night: His Perspective

November 19th, 2009

By Nick Perry

Photo by Sybil Levine.

At 6:54 p.m. on Thursday, November 12, 2009, I texted my girlfriend at home, “This is going to be the weirdest night of my life.” At 11:53 a.m. on November 13, 2009, I texted, “It wasn’t that weird.”

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Safer Sex Night: Her Perspective