Penn, Interrupted
Pandemic, Protest, and Philly: Returning and Remembering in 2021
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Pandemic, Protest, and Philly: Returning and Remembering in 2021
I rang in 2021 sitting on the couch in my childhood home in White Plains, New York. It was me, a glass of sparkling apple cider, my nuclear–family–turned–COVID–bubble, and Ryan Seacrest, performing for a dystopian–looking, empty Times Square on national television. Brutal.
Like most things in my life, the center of my journalism philosophy begins with Taylor Swift: If you start taking the routine interactions of your job for granted, you ought to stop doing it.
On the eve of his 21st birthday, Evan* (C’ 18) woke to the sound of Penn Police knocking on his door. After a flurry of terse words and frantic texts, he was escorted into an ambulance bound for the Penn Emergency Evaluation Clinic (PEEC). He was hospitalized by Student Intervention Services (SIS). On paper, the decision was voluntary. But in reality, it was a lot more complicated.
Even if someone gave you directions to Slought, there’s a good chance you’d walk right by it at least once. The organization’s art gallery, located on Walnut St. between 40th and 41st streets, occupies the same building as The DP’s offices, but many of our staffers probably haven’t even noticed, let alone set foot inside. In their defense, Slought is fairly nondescript, its presence announced only in minimalist, sans serif lettering.
Professor Carol Tracy never saw it coming.
You’re lying on a bed in a dimly–lit room. Music surrounds you, and the air is soft on your skin. You slip a lozenge under your tongue. As it dissolves, you close your eyes, settling in for the experience ahead. Sitting beside you, a therapist offers a reassuring presence. If anxiety sets in, you’re prepared: deep breath in, then out. Slowly you ease into an altered state of consciousness as visions, memories, and visceral sensations wash over you in waves. Your journey begins.
Zihan Xia knew the words to every song in The Little Mermaid before she understood a word of English. Though her DVD copy had no Mandarin subtitles, she had the entire animated film memorized by the third grade. Today, she admits that she identifies more with American culture than Chinese, shifting her infatuation with The Little Mermaid to sitcoms like The Big Bang Theory and Friends. So, when Zihan arrived in the U.S. for the first time in 2021 as an International Guest Student at Penn (IGSP), she introduced herself as Drea, inspired by one of her favorite American rappers, Dr. Dre. She hoped this Westernized name would help her fit in and avoid the stress of correcting people’s pronunciations of her Chinese name.
Mike Blackwell (MLA '23) tries so hard to fit in, but he sticks out like a sore thumb. When I first met him on the benches in front of Van Pelt Library in September, where he’d been sleeping for the past few weeks, he was decked out in Penn gear from his hat, to his shirt, to his laptop stickers. He fumbled with his phone to input a classmate’s contact information—his screensaver was a big blue–and–red "P." The only indicators that he wasn’t an undergraduate student—or a well–meaning tourist—were his unshaven scruff and the four mismatched bags he carried with him everywhere. They contain all of his belongings.
Milan Chand (C '24) hid his identity for most of his life. He came out as gay after his senior year of high school, telling all of his friends and family on the same day in the summer of 2020—right in the middle of the pandemic.
COVID-19 shut down Philly’s restaurant scene for months. Now, our favorite eateries are back—but the menu looks different.
Amanda Shulman (C ’15) clinks a glass with a spoon until the room gets quiet. Her curly hair sits in a loose bun on top of her head, and she sports a lovingly worn–in black apron. For a few seconds, a hush hangs in the air as diners shift in their seats to catch a glimpse of the chef.
The first thing State Sen. Nikil Saval (D–01) learned from watching his recently immigrated Indian parents run a pizza parlor in Santa Monica was that the restaurant industry is hard. The second thing he learned was that solidarity among working–class people of color—not top–down organizing—is what gets shit done.
I can’t quite tell if we’ve returned to the land of precedented times. Last week, I babbled my way through a PowerPoint presentation in front of my political science seminar for the first time in a while—no screen sharing involved. But, barring the occasional water break, my mask stayed on the entire time. Penn’s libraries are open, but after a year of doing work at my bedroom desk, I’ve seldom sat down at my historic spot in the Van Pelt Reading Room. Every time I leave my apartment, I run through my usual mental checklist: wallet, keys, phone, mask.
It’s the club that no one asked to join.
Alexandra Hunt never planned to run for Congress.
Especially amid the trauma and isolation of the COVID–19 pandemic, many of us have gravitated toward simpler, more agrarian lifestyles, as epitomized by the rise of cottagecore. We yearn to be more connected with nature, to feel a sense of inner peace, to plant our own gardens and bake our own bread—but how many of us actually know how to grow, harvest, and prepare food?
Rick Krajewski (E ’13) isn’t your typical politician, but perhaps that’s the point. The software–developer–turned–Reclaim–Philly–organizer went grassroots after a STEM curriculum he developed at a West Philly public school was shelved when the school morphed into privately run charter academy. Since then, he's helped elect District Attorney Larry Krasner, convinced thousands of Philadelphians to pay attention to judicial elections, and ousted a 35–year establishment incumbent to become West Philly’s state representative.
Amid the COVID–19 pandemic, the severity of the housing and rent crisis in the United States is only increasing. There's a dire lack of affordable housing and rent for tenants across the country. As the pandemic continues to unemployment and loss of income for many, the rent crisis has come to the forefront of our collective consciousness.
All eyes are on Generation Z to play their part in preventing the spread of COVID–19. Even though the vaccine is currently widely available, less than 40% of those under 24are vaccinated. While this number may be surprisingly low, some important factors can explain this statistic; for instance, minors must have parental approval to get the vaccine, which they weren’t even allowed to get until May.
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