How the all-encompassing question tries to take over our senior year

By CLAIRE SCHAD — cfschad@ucdavis.edu

To all my fellow fourth-years: congratulations, we have entered our final year and we are almost there!

But not so fast…

“So, what are you going to do after you graduate?”

If you’re a fourth-year like me, you are likely all too familiar with this question. As we enter the holiday season, full of gatherings with family and friends, we will probably get to experience the frustration of this question even more than we do now — if that’s possible.

Whether it’s at the Thanksgiving dinner table in front of your entire extended family or in a conversation with your friend’s parents, the question is sure to come up. For those of us who don’t have a concrete plan after graduation, this can lead to an awkward situation. For me, a political science major, this usually looks like trying to explain that one: no, I don’t plan on being president one day, and two: trying to share what I’m actually interested in, all while carefully attempting to shift the topic of conversation away from myself.

Nevertheless, this question always leads me to a place where I feel an overwhelming sense of unpreparedness, which is not actually warranted. I have worked hard in my classes, explored my areas of interest and figured out what I do (and do not) like; I’ve had internships and made lasting connections. I shouldn’t feel unprepared for life post-grad, but yet here we are.

I don’t blame those asking this all-encompassing question, but rather I appreciate that they care enough about me to ask. However, I am frustrated with the social norms surrounding post-grad life that expect us to have some clear path forward, preferably where we will make lots of money.

Sure, if you are a pre-med or pre-law student, you likely have your sights set on medical or law school for at least a couple of years and have a satisfying answer to the common question. Or, maybe you majored in electrical or mechanical engineering, which has the highest median salaries for 25 to 29-year-olds with bachelor’s degrees, and you are graduating with multiple lucrative job offers, and therefore your friends and family aren’t all too concerned with your post-grad career prospects.

However, those of us who didn’t take these paths have equally exciting reasons to look forward to post-grad life. Why don’t people realize this? Well, it’s likely because we live in a society that is heavily influenced by the amount of money that an individual makes after graduation: in other words, success is gauged on income. Those who major in the STEM field top out almost every ranking of income earned post-grad. In contrast, those who major in social sciences or arts and humanities rank among the lowest in income.

So, every time someone asks me what I am doing after graduation, there is a mutual understanding that I chose a major that doesn’t usually result in an exceptionally lucrative post-grad career. And most times, the question is solely focused on my career goals. This leads me to a place where it feels like those who ask this question are only concerned with how monetarily successful I will be post-grad.

Why don’t people ask about my undergraduate experiences or what I’m interested in, the very specific things I have been trying to figure out for the last four years? When asked, these types of questions allow us to feel excited about our accomplishments and what they could lead to in the future, rather than unprepared because of what we might not know.

So to my fellow fourth-years, even though we have reached the point in our academic career where people are far more interested in what we plan to do after graduation than what we are doing right now, I challenge you to reframe the “What are you doing post-grad?” question. Even if this means hijacking the questions that your loved ones ask you and talking about your accomplishments and interests. If we keep doing this, maybe, just maybe, we can help shift the norms surrounding post-grad expectations. After all, if they really are interested, they will be happy to hear about any developments in your exciting life, career-related or not.

Written by: Claire Schad — cfschad@ucdavis.edu 

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Reconnect to your peers, professors and education offline

By JOAQUIN WATERS —- jwat@ucdavis.edu

There’s one university that every student my age has attended. This is a school unlike any other. It has only one classroom. The walls of this classroom are either blindingly white or suffocatingly dark, depending on your preference. The desks are similarly malleable; one can hide themselves from view completely if they wish, though sometimes the professors understandably take issue with that. Distractions are many at this school, and connection with your peers is borderline impossible. I am speaking, of course, of the dreaded Zoom University.

It is undeniable that something crucial was lost in the quick shift to online learning at the onset of the pandemic. Much as we tried, stiff disinterest and awkwardness infected Zoom U almost immediately. The professors struggled with the technology. The students (myself included) struggled with distractions. One by one, those little squares displaying our “smiling faces” went black, now displaying only our name and the occasional emoji to indicate we were still there. One by one, the professors stopped caring whether we turned the video back on. Everyone stopped caring. And like that, my high school years petered out with a whimper.

I am entering my third year at UC Davis, and (other than a mercifully brief period in January 2021) Zoom U is a thing of the past. And yet, I still find consistent reminders of it everywhere I look. It struck me early on in my freshman year that though we may have left Zoom itself behind, the Zoom mentality did not leave us. The disinterest and awkwardness that were its hallmarks can be found, on some level, in all of my early classes. And though this has waned in recent years, I still feel its influence. Students (even friends) still tend to sit apart from one another in lecture halls, almost as if unconsciously recreating those little squares. Lab discussions can take an excruciatingly long time to get going, if they ever do; every time I hear a TA awkwardly dismiss students early after realizing that nobody wants to speak, I am uncomfortably reminded of the moment in Zoom U when I observed a breakout room full of black boxes, all of whom have collectively decided to stay silent until the five-minute “discussion time” was up.

It must be said, of course, that this is not entirely a symptom of the pandemic. The teacher-student relationship has always been defined by a give-and-take and one that frequently collapses if too little effort is given by either party. Regardless, Zoom University — necessary though it was — cultivated an environment that discouraged passion. Teachers and students alike were given reasons to contribute less in a scenario that necessitated more. Education suffered greatly as a result. We may have widely left Zoom U behind, but it hasn’t left us behind.

So how can this be fixed? In my opinion, there is a simple (but deceptively difficult) solution: a widespread return to hands-on learning. At the risk of sounding antiquated, years of the Zoom mentality have led me to the conclusion that the most effective form of education is still the kind that forces us to engage intimately with what we are studying. One can’t be expected to truly understand a subject like botany solely through PowerPoint lectures and discussion posts on Canvas. A guided trek through the Arboretum would be much more conducive. The same goes for broader things, like note-taking. Many of my professors have admirably tried to adjust to the times by allowing and even encouraging note-taking on our laptops, but I still find that, for me, writing physical pen-and-paper notes drills things into my head far more effectively than jotting the same concepts down on a Google Doc. The allure of opening another tab —- another thing cultivated by online learning —- is too strong. Some may argue that one can still get distracted while writing physical notes, which is true but is doodling in the margins really comparable to opening up YouTube?

This is not to say that classrooms should ignore modern technology entirely. That is simply not realistic. Nor is it meant to downplay the work done by so many in a virtual setting. Online classes should be an option; there are many who are genuinely helped by the format being available, and many who, for whatever reason, have no other option. I would never suggest that the option be removed. All this is only to say that the time spent learning entirely through a screen has given us the false assumption that it is a suitable replacement for learning through experience. Time has proven that it is not. Balance is required. Just as we need to feel the wind in our hair and hear the chirping of birds to remember what it is to be alive, we need to feel the ruled paper between our fingers and hear the squeak of a marker on the whiteboard to remember what it is to learn.

Written by: Joaquin Waters — jwat@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Show up for yourself before you show up for your midterms

By MOLLY THOMPSON — mmtthompson@ucdavis.edu

It’s November. The sun sets earlier, but you go to bed later. Assignments roll in like the fog on ever-cooling mornings, flooding your Canvas dashboard like the floor of a faulty dorm shower stall. You’ve spent enough time in the library to consider bolting yourself in one of those timed locking study rooms for good, and there’s more caffeine in your body than serotonin (Peet’s Coffee is rolling in your Aggie Cash). Welcome to midterm season: you’ve fully submitted yourself to the grind. But before you get your next refill of mediocre, dining-hall coffee, consider the following. This is my case for you to ditch the “grindset”— your body, brain and GPA will thank you.

Here’s the thing: you will, objectively, perform better if you have a healthy balance between your schoolwork and the rest of your life than if you don’t. No ifs, ands or buts. Firstly, sleep. Yes, Health, Wellness and You was right. The fact of the matter is, when you sleep (and I’m talking seven-to-eight hours, full R.E.M. cycle, dream-that-your-kindergarten-crush-is-proctoring-your-drivers-test sleep), your brain goes through and flushes out all the icky gunk that you built up in there all day. All of the things you didn’t know you took in and won’t remember tomorrow? Gone. It’s beautiful. Even better, all the important things that you actually need? They get tucked in nice and cozy, safely seatbelted for the long haul. If you don’t sleep, that gross build-up will get in the way of the good stuff, and you won’t do well on your tests. Cramming isn’t going to do you any good if you can’t remember any of what you read — go to sleep.

Similarly, you need to take breaks. I know it feels like you’re procrastinating, but breaks are crucial. Experts vary in their verdicts on how long the human brain can focus without a break, but the general consensus is that you’re actually more productive if you work for shorter periods of time with substantial breaks in between. As counterintuitive as it seems, that means no more long blocks of hours on end at your desk. Go get a hot chocolate. Go see the cows. Give Peet’s Coffee more of your Aggie Cash. I don’t care what you do, just set the work aside for a bit. Then open your computer again — you’ll be amazed at how much more approachable your workload seems from fresh eyes. Your productivity will improve, your quality of work will improve, your understanding of the material will improve and (get this) you’ll probably be happier too.

The bottom line is that you have to take care of yourself. If nothing else, let your motivation be that your performance will only benefit from it. We all hear those sentiments from everybody right around this time of the quarter — professors, TAs and even the UC Davis Instagram page. They all say “drink water, get enough sleep, spend time with your friends and go to the ARC,” but you can see behind their eyes that asterisk that means “only after you finish that midterm paper.” In reality, your degree doesn’t mean anything if you’re not in a state to do anything with it, and you won’t be if you don’t start being your own best influence. Be nice to yourself. Be gentle. Here’s the tough love (emphasis on the love): you have to come before your school work, you have to eat food, you have to drink water, you have to sleep and you have to relax. Live your life. Do your best. Ditch the “grindset.”

Written by: Molly Thompson — mmtthompson@ucdavis.edu

We should call it fall quarter session II instead 

By ANDIE TARABZOONI — rmtarabzooni@ucdavis.edu

Getting out of the festive, “it’s the most wonderful time of the year” mindset and entering winter quarter at the University of California, Davis is the most whiplashing set of events that can occur to an individual. Instead of being blown away by the bright lights and homey feeling during winter break, I am instead blown away by the wind gusts that attempt to return me to my humble abode.

You would expect to encounter comforting events and retreats; in turn you are locked in the Shields Library prisons until you’re free from the 20-unit course load that you thought would be a “good idea” midway through your midterm-ridden fall quarter. The problem with winter quarter is the fact that no one knows what to do, ever. One day the sun is shining and hope is restored in the world, the next day the rain has flooded your room and left you for dead to spiral into the abyss.

None of the fun holidays occur in winter quarter, except for St. Patrick’s Day (shoutout to the Irish). What fun is there to be bombarded by the candy grams crowd outside the Memorial Union on Valentine’s Day? Even if you were in a relationship, what exactly can you do when it’s 40 degrees outside and the grass is just there to fool you into stepping in mud?

The timing really sucks. Winter quarter compensates for the fact that you’re so far away from summer break, (and any break really) by giving you two long weekends, yippee!  But seriously, you get winter break — which makes you realize maybe you’ve romanticized your family dynamic a bit too much — only to go through a dreadful three months of gloom, the wind’s reign of tyranny and the most evil professors you’ve ever met. Then, once you’re finally free and survive the most character building months of the year, you only get a week off to recover and reload.

Electronics are not your friend in winter either. This might be more personal, but last year, despite using an umbrella and having a protective laptop case, the rain broke my laptop and made me use the open access computer labs on campus for a month. It was really sad. Along with that, my power cut out three times which again, not great when you’re in an academic session.

This is not to say that winter quarter provides nothing, I actually really enjoy winter quarter. But, you have to lock the door and throw away the key to any plans or expectations you have for winter. Winter quarter chooses what happens to you, not you. If you really feel like your life is crashing down during winter, maybe it’s time to leave the Shields cells and get some Black Bear Diner Hot Chocolate or buy yourself some candy grams. The world is not ending; the sun just hasn’t shined in 40 days, but it will.

Written by: Andie Tarabzooni— rmtarabzooni@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Western presentations of colonialism say the quiet part out loud when they don’t say anything at all

By GEETIKA MAHAJAN — giamahajan@ucdavis.edu

The story of colonization is over-simplified and over-sanitized in almost every retelling: Native Americans “died out” because of “disease”; the British “modernized” the people and technologies of India; the French “influenced” the culture and food of Vietnam. This is the kind of slippery and vague language that dominates most presentations of colonialism, disguising the brutality of occupation by making all of its consequences sound like they were a matter of circumstance. In actuality, nothing about colonization is passive, i.e. no part of it “just happens.” It takes violence to be able to seize control over an external territory, it takes violence to be able to maintain a presence there and it takes violence to be able to effectively resist occupation.

When I was in high school, the history textbooks that were used in class neglected this last part. Vague references to “Gandhi” and “ahimsa” essentially gave readers the impression that empires would occupy a land for a period of time, and then retreat after facing some amount of resistance. Empires, however, do not fade into obscurity. The issue with this presentation of colonialism is that it fundamentally misrepresents what the purpose and motives of the empire are: not humanitarianism, or benefitting its own people — its loyalty is primarily to expanding its own influence through the acquisition of land and wealth. The goal of colonialism, both in the past and in the more disguised form it takes today, has always been to expand Western hegemony.

Peaceful, non-disruptive methods of protest are not useful in this context. Kwame Ture, a prominent civil rights organizer, expressed that “in order for non-violence to work, your oppressor has to have a conscience.” The very act of entering a foreign land and manipulating its socio-economic systems for the benefit of another nation is evidence of the empire’s lack of conscience when it came to the colonized people. As such, nonviolent protest was never an option for those who sought the liberation of their country. Narratives of colonialism that fail to take this into account distort not only what an independence movement looks like, but the nature of the colonizer. To present any empire or Western power as an entity that would just leave a colony assigns them an undue amount of grace and humanity.

The issue with this misrepresentation is not just how it affects perceptions of past events; it also colors our view of current events. When “safe” figures like Martin Luther King and Gandhi are celebrated as catalysts of change, while equally important, but perhaps more divisive leaders in liberation movements get a sentence or two dedicated to their efforts, it’s easy to believe that the path to change resides in quiet, peaceful resistance. But systemic issues are deeply ingrained into the way a country functions — oftentimes, there are people who are harmed by these issues, but there are also those that profit off of the systems in place.

Colonialism is the most obvious example of this, which is why decolonization has always been a violent process. The British, French, German or American empires did not leave any of their former colonies because they were asked politely, but it is often presented as though it was a peaceful resistance that resulted in the end of colonization, or that the empire eroded away with time. This portrayal lacks both nuance and historical accuracy; it does not acknowledge that colonialism in and of itself is an act of violence. The actions of resistance movements cannot be viewed in a bubble because they are symptoms of the original act of violence, perpetrated by the colonial state.

I believe that it is important to keep this in mind, even in the present day. Though the empires of the past have fallen, Western hegemony is still very much a goal for most Western leaders, even as methods of expanding this sphere of influence grow more subtle and the media uses veiled rhetoric to avoid identifying who the real perpetrators of violence are. It’s important to think about the story of colonialism and who tells it, what kind of language they use and which governments seem to sound more like purposefully vague history textbooks. It’s important because, no matter how much the mouthpieces of the West obfuscate it, it’s a very simple story and it always ends the same way.

Written by: Geetika Mahajan — giamahajan@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.