The Ups and Downs of Online Learning: A Perspective

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By: Isaac Sims-Foster

“How are you dealing with online class?” 

This seems to be the question every college-age conversation starts with these days. We’re all surely calling and Facetiming and Zooming with our friends across the country and the world, and always we wonder: How’s school going? 

My answer? I haven’t quite nailed my script for the question; I’m still in a phase where my answer is different every time. Some days, online class isn’t that bad. Without having to travel to campus, more free time makes it easier to balance productivity and leisure on these long quarantine days. I feel like social pressures look very different in an online classroom, where I’m much less concerned about disrupting class when I need to check my phone, use the restroom, or speak to someone. With more control over how I’m perceived, concerns about belonging and fitting in, or satisfying someone’s expectations, are relieved. This includes pressure from systemic racism and homophobia that I would usually encounter daily. I’m overall more comfortable at school in my own room, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to learn in a classroom meant for you. 

Other days, online class feels like it’s shattering my relationship with higher education. On the personal side, finding motivation and energy to stay attentive, ask questions, and keep up with assignments is already difficult enough as a young adult, as there’s so much else on your plate even under normal circumstances. In these traumatic times, it’s a disjointing and uncomfortable experience to be house/job hunting and spending hours on the phone with landlords, employers, and insurance agents, all the while knowing you have readings and papers due and still worrying for family and friends. Watching the news stories fly by, I realize that among this virus’ victims is the facade of the American Dream. Working-class hopes of a livable wage and a flat in a new city after graduating school are crushed under the pandemic and its ability to expose the most fatal flaws in our society, from disproportionate impacts on the Black community, to the atrocious practices of the prison-industrial complex. Absorbing it all day after day leaves me faithless, wondering how to sit down for another chapter of communication theory. 

As a student of communication, I wonder what toll the pandemic will have on our relationship to technology. I’m noticing that social interaction and face-to-face contact was a large and important part of my personal learning process, and in online chat rooms the process feels much less inviting and invigorating. This transition has felt like an abrupt switch from school being the most pressing thing on my mind to school slipping through the cracks of my to-do lists and quarantine chores. Maybe teachers with strict attendance policies are onto something after all– learning feels much harder without the presence and support of others, teachers or classmates.  

One thing is clear: online class is not business as usual. Puget Sound is proud of it’s intimate classroom sizes and ratio of professors to students. It’s proud of its hyperactive clubs and community involvement and connections. Remote classes remove these selling attributes entirely and call into question the satisfaction, and thus the price tag, of my education. Furthermore, it’s difficult to look inward at our Puget Sound community and dissect the ways this pandemic is affecting us while looking outward and wondering what can be done to help other students, families, and the groups most vulnerable. I stand in solidarity with all you other students who are experiencing your own privileges and penalties due to online classes. How is this transition uplifting and/or limiting you? How do you keep on learning?  

Covid-19 – A Thief

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Written by Grace Eberhardt

I was in the San Diego airport when I heard the news. Not the news that school would be virtual for the rest of Spring Semester, nor the news of my class of 2020 graduation being held virtually, but the news that the History of Eugenics Symposium was canceled. I couldn’t help but wail, tears profusely streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to take a breath. Covid-19 took something special from me, and that was only the beginning. 

“Professors emailed me for their condolences, friends reached-out to me, and every time I re-read the news of the Symposium’s cancellation, I cried even more.”


My University inbox was flooded with the word “CANCELED.” I must have read that the symposium was canceled from 5 different sources. Professor Johnson, who was heading the symposium, an official email to all those who registered to the symposium, the biology bulletin email, and the bioethics email-chain. Professors emailed me for their condolences, friends reached-out to me, and every time I re-read the news of the Symposium’s cancellation, I cried even more. I had already felt discouraged about the re-naming of the Slater Museum because of a campus-wide email that was sent in February about a naming Committee; six months after a co-signed email was sent, which suggested to President Crawford that we needed this Committee. This email I received in February gave no recognition to those who came forth with the idea, and, it read: “the Committee will not be asked to examine any specific named building” when in fact, the Symposium was here to confront a specific building name and the Committee was only created because of the questioning of the ethics of this specific building name: the Slater Museum of Natural History. Although the creation of this Committee was progress, it still felt as though it was moving “with all deliberate speed.”

“But nonetheless, the Covid-19 World Pandemic had finally affected a nation that tries so hard to distance themselves from the rest of the world–talk about social distancing.”

Timeline at the Slater Natural History Museum Without Mention of Eugenics (Photo Credit: Grace Eberhardt)

Once we came back from an “extended” Spring break, slowly but surely, our questions were answered. Yes, school would continue remotely for the rest of the school year, yes, graduation would be held virtually, yes, your meal plan can be re-funded, yes, credit-no-credit options are available for classes, yes, in-person graduation would be held in 2021, and no, there are no intentions of holding the class of 20 and class of 21 ceremonies separately. Not all the answers to these questions were what we wanted to hear, especially us, the class of 2020. But nonetheless, the Covid-19 World Pandemic had finally affected a nation that tries so hard to distance themselves from the rest of the world–talk about social distancing. The United States has finally been forced to confront the realities the rest of the world has faced, and luckily, we were able to learn from actions that the rest of the world had already taken. We saw our future in nations who were affected first, and our future seemed grim.  

Covid-19 has taken over much of my life, much of our lives. I sometimes wake up with my heart racing, practically being ripped out my chest as I try to collect myself. The hard reality that I would be completing my African American Studies Thesis virtually, the zoo study we were conducting in my Animal Behavior course was cut short when Point Defiance Zoo closed, and my work that had revolved around the naming of the Slater museum would come to a halt. But alas, we as people are strong and these enormously privileged tragedies I face are no comparison to the sharp peaks displayed on the news as we see Covid-19 surge nation-wide. 

“As the era of the World Pandemic continues to linger, so does our will to conquer these small-scale hardships.”

As a graduating senior heavily involved in the History of Eugenics Symposium, an African American Studies and Biology double-major who was hoping to leave a mark in how our University confronts our ugly past, and as a biology student of Color who was hoping to increase awareness of scientific maladies and in turn, provide a more welcoming environment to those who historically and presently endure racial inequalities in the sciences, Covid-19 seemed to take this all away. I am not trying to say that I would have solved all these problems in one 20 minute presentation, but rather, I was hoping the symposium would publicize these issues and spark conversation amongst the greater Puget Sound Community. That being said, in case you were wondering, yes, the Symposium will be turned into a permanent website with talks embedded in the site with the hopes of reaching even more people, conducting public scholarship ourselves. Although this virtual alternative may or may not have the same impact as the in-person Symposium, what else can we do? As the era of the World Pandemic continues to linger, so does our will to conquer these small-scale hardships.

Picture of the Hallways Outside of The Slater Natural History Museum at The University of Puget Sound (Photo Credit: Grace Eberhardt)

Grace Maria Eberhardt is a senior at the University of Puget Sound earning her Bachelors of Science in Biology and African American studies with an emphasis in bioethics. Her last year at the University of Puget Sound has proven to be integral in her approach to intertwining her two majors: Biology and African American Studies. Grace completed her 2019 summer research on the Slater Museum of Natural History: The History and Ethics of a Name, in which she asks if the name of the natural history museum on campus should be changed since Professor Slater taught eugenics well after the end of WWII. During the 2019-2020 winter break, Grace traveled with African American Studies course African Diaspora International Experience to Ghana for 3-weeks. This life-changing trip helped Grace better navigate her own racial identity and when she returned to the States, she was prompted to seek community in the sciences by regularly attending Visible Spectrum Meetings, an identity-based club for STEM students of Color.

Regard the Mountain: Remembering Logger Crew

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By Monica Schweitz, class of 2020

This article is dedicated to all senior athletes whose last season was cut short by the covid-19 pandemic.

“Regard the mountain.”

These are the words that my coach, Aaron Benson, would say whenever we rowed past Mt. Rainer during a particularly glorious sunrise on American Lake. Whether we were warming up, cooling down, or merely on a thirty-second pause between sprints, he never failed to remind us to stop, to breathe, to appreciate the beauty of the moment we have been given, and to be grateful.

It would be impossible for me to sum up in one little article all the ways that crew has fundamentally changed my life. So, I won’t attempt that. Instead, I want to take this space to acknowledge and be grateful for my experience. The purpose of this article, then, is to pause and simply recognize, appreciate, and celebrate Logger Women’s Crew. In other words, to regard the mountain.

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Logger women at Western Intercollegiate Rowing Association Championships (WIRA) 2019

Crew isn’t one of those sports that gets a lot of attention around campus, and though that has never necessarily bothered me, it has always confused me. Logger Women’s Crew has entailed getting up at 4:20 AM and pushing through twelve to fifteen kilometers of water before the sun comes up. Add afternoon lifting, workouts on the ergometer, and something called academics and the result is, in a word, exhausting. And in another word, badass. Rowing at our university is not something you do on a whim. Maybe you start on a whim freshman year, like I and so many others did, but you stick with it because, in the midst of the grueling practices, bloody hands, frozen backsplash, and burning legs and lungs, you realize that you have fallen in love with the sport and found your best friends.

“And when the coxswain makes my favorite call in her trademark growl-whisper, “it’s time to go,” you need to trust every woman in your boat to, with composure and relentless power, find that extra gear and just go.”

As a freshman coming from a competitive dance background, the concept of a team sport was totally lost on me. In rowing, you need your teammates to be at their best in order to achieve group success. You can (and should) be as competitive as you want with your teammates on the erg, but as soon as you get into the boat together, your fate is linked. Her success is your success, and your failure is hers. And when the coxswain makes my favorite call in her trademark growl-whisper, “it’s time to go,” you need to trust every woman in your boat to, with composure and relentless power, find that extra gear and just go. That’s why (and this is one of my favorite things about this sport) there is very little personal glory in rowing. You win together or not at all.

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WIRA 2019

This is not to say every day is a win. Sometimes, as with all things, there are external factors that negatively affect performance. During a rough practice, when everything seems to be going wrong, my coach always reminds us: just put your blade in the water and pull. You can’t control the speed of your opponent, you can’t control the weather or the wind, and you can’t really control the other women in your boat. The only things always in your control are your attitude and effort—getting the blade of the oar in the water and pulling on it hard. So, during one of those less-than-beautiful practices, when for some reason your lineup just isn’t clicking, you are
being stomped on by the other boat, and the head wind makes it feel like you are pulling through wet cement, we remember: put your blade in the water and pull. And it always helps.

This advice has never been more applicable to general life than it is right now. Speaking for myself, what is happening right now with covid-19 is one hell of a bad practice, like, the worst practice ever. For my teammates and I, the routine that gave us structure and stability and the pursuits that gave us purpose and identity have been taken away overnight and without warning. And none of it was in our control. Personally, the only way I’ve found to cope with the sudden loss of crew is to take it one day at a time and focus on what I can control: how I treat others and how I treat myself. If my teammates have taught me anything, it is that you need to treat yourself with grace in order to access your grit. No one ever achieved peak performance by berating themselves. Likewise, I’ve learned that riding out this crisis will only be possible if I remember to control what I can and be kind to myself about what I can’t, as hard as that may be.

“There’s really no feeling like it. The pure adrenaline of going toe-to-toe with another boat all the way down the course, daring each other to be better, to find the limit and break it, the feeling of all eight blades slinging through the water in perfect harmony, and hearing my coxswain growl my fellow seniors’ names, reminding me who I’m pushing through hell for”

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As incredibly difficult as the loss of crew is and will be for some time, the bonds of friendship, camaraderie, and trust that my senior teammates and I have built with each other is not something that goes away when you take away racing. We have compelled each other to be better versions of ourselves every day for the past four years. We have won, lost, and suffered together and that has made our friendships incredibly strong and resilient in the face of challenges. Nowhere is this better exemplified than in the last 500 meters of a 2k race, when everything in your body is telling you to stop, that you can’t breathe, that it hurts too much, and you must be dying. And just when it gets to be too much, the coxswain calls the sprint. There’s really no feeling like it. The pure adrenaline of going toe-to-toe with another boat all the way down the course, daring each other to be better, to find the limit and break it, the feeling of all eight blades slinging through the water in perfect harmony, and hearing my coxswain growl my fellow seniors’ names, reminding me who I’m pushing through hell for: Elena. Emily. Hannah. Jill. Katia. Katie. Leslie. Phoebe. Sarah. Monica. Louisa. And then steadily breaking through the other boat and taking the lead. There’s no greater feeling than that.

Except maybe when you cross the finish line and finally get to rest.

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Crossing the finish line after a 2k at WIRA 2018

Déjà Food: Everyday Tastes the Same…

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The University of Puget Sound, in response to the COVID-19 outbreak has turned the rest of the semester into a virtual phenomenon. The university has been accommodating, and more lenient in terms of finances and academics for students. Yet, campus life for the students who chose to stay on has drastically changed; resources that were available for students prior have been depleted and have limited hours. The Diner, which previously encompassed: Wok, Grill, Deli, Pasta, Allergy Friendly, Chef’s Table and Tortilla station has now been reduced to Pasta and Chef’s Table. Having only these two stations with the same rotation of food choices, you get tired of eating there quickly. This reduction has impacted the variety of food options available for students, and it makes me concerned for anyone who relied heavily on the Allergy Friendly station.

Much of the student population who utilized the Diner have been forced to purchase groceries and order out, while their dining dollars sit unused. If the university knew this was how the Diner was going to function, they should have provided a refund option for the students on campus which would allow students to make purchases of food for themselves, it can be expected that many students will have large balances of unused dining dollars at the end of this year, and the university policy would only allow $25 out of the remaining dining dollars to transfer over to the next semester — It would be plausible to have more of the unused dining dollars transferred than to let it waste away as semester comes to an end. Students pay for their dining dollars, who gets to keep what is left over? The University? What do they do with it?

The Cellar in the Sub? Yes, We Just don’t have the Good Stuff

 Are you missing the Cellar pizza? Or maybe your favorite beverages from Diversions, Oppenhimer and Lillis Cafe? While we appreciate and value non-student employees (bless their souls) for their service, this pandemic has truly shown how much we miss the access to, and the vitality of, our student staffed resources on campus. It is more noticeable now than ever that student employment is needed in the various campus food places in order to sustain them to their fullest extent. Or the university needs to provide more funds to pay additional staff. I know some of us students on campus might be reminiscing about the good ole days at the Cellar, how we would like to indulge and savor the taste of pizza or a Moose Track smoothie — I know I sure am.

This is Temporary for some of Us, Permanent for Many: The Hypervisibility of America’s Institutionalized Oppressions during Covid-19

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By Emma Piorier

Closed!!!

The first day of class following the closure of campus, African American Studies 399 met online to proceed with our scheduled discussion about Patricia Hill Collins and her text On Intellectual Activism. Immediately, it became clear to both our professor and ourselves, that we were visibly and communally working through the adversity of transition, the stress of pandemic and the toll of grief. The abrupt transition back to the “classroom” would not lend itself to a “business as usual” discussion and instead, our virtual classroom became a space to process this transitory time.

Despite not completing the planned conversation, I found us continuing to use the themes, language, and perspectives that we had cultivated in class to discuss and process the events engulfing us. 

We dissected the language the university uses to discuss policy changes, the emails the administration sends us and the messages from President Crawford. We shared about the diverse factors affecting ourselves and our peers as we navigate online learning. Dr. Brackett took the time to explain the credit/no credit approach to grading that was being offered as an alternative in our spring semester. Additionally, we examined why policy changes are necessary within the reality of resource discrepancy. We talked about the experience so many of us were currently sharing: life on a campus with only the people who can’t, or for endless reasons, chose not to go home.

This process makes me think about positionality constantly. Perhaps,  just as I observe the new and visibilized forms of privilege and oppression around me, I also feel more conflicted about my own sense of stability and privilege. 

Oppression

This week, I’ve observed my peers flee for home, abandon houses, and continue to pay rent on homes they aren’t living in. 

We’ve all seen the hoarding of supplies at grocery stores, the shock, fear and “how is this possible?” reaction by white America in particular. 

I am consumed by a deep rooted desperateness since losing my housing, not knowing how to create money for rent, and the on-going possibility of losing my job.

I’ve felt blaringly aware of my own  privilege; to receive a reimbursement from the university, to still have a job, to be easily isolated at this time, to continue classes, to have this feeling of uncertainty be temporary, to be in response to a crisis and not a reality of my day-to-day.

Amidst these adjustments, I also feel angry. Angry with the shock I see in my family; they can’t imagine a disease killing people so unapologetically, as if we haven’t seen diseases destroy entire communities. 

Angry, with systems of greed that prevent the supplies hospitals need so desperately from existing. 

Angry with Trump and politics and opportunism.

I am sad. I grieve the classroom; the pride and commitment I felt to those fluorescent rooms. I built a sense of self through navigating the university, through learning the systems, through existing and thriving in ways my family has never known.

I cry for my team that worked so tirelessly and fearlessly. I miss being an athlete.

 I feel abandoned by my peers, left on a dead campus.

I am frustrated. On social media my peers repost quotes declaring that “now is a time we see the working of oppression most clearly”. Like, what hasn’t been clear about racism? What is invisible about classism, wage inequality, poverty? Have you not observed the discrepancies in education? Not experienced gender discrimination?  Is this the first time you’ve realized there are people in this country without healthcare? 

I click through their story: the next slides say “quarantine ab-workout for the perfect body”, “if everyone just stayed home we wouldn’t be having this problem”, and a picture of newly ordered “stay at home goodies” wrapped in clearly recognizable Amazon packaging.

I have so many questions.

If now is the first time you are seeing oppression, how are you changing? Why haven’t you changed already? How will you change when this is over?

Fist

I’ll be here when you come back.