The documentary Resistance in the Redline, which played on Jan. 22 in Carrick Theater, discusses themes of racism, housing, gentrification—and the intertwined ways they contributed to redlining in Lexington.
Redlining refers to the discriminatory practice of denying financial services to a particular community. The term was first coined in the 1960s, but the practice dates back to the 1930s, when a federal agency created color-coded maps for almost every major city in the U.S. They drew red lines around communities that were considered “undesirable,” predominately Black neighborhoods, and green lines around ones that they considered to be the most worthy of investment; yellow and blue fell in between these two extremes.
Black Yarn, which produced Resistance in the Redline, is a nonprofit organization based in Lexington committed to bringing light to the systematic harms that the Black community faces. In addition to film production, the group also conducts research, creates podcasts and short videos, and organizes community events.
Resistance in the Redline presents more than 30 interviews with members of the Lexington community who have either been affected by redlining, have seen the effects of it, or have researched and examined redlining.
These first-hand accounts from Lexingtonians are what bring the film to life. Bill Wilson, for example, recounts his childhood view of larger, newer houses belonging to white people, while Black people lived in smaller houses. He asked his father about seeing a brand new house in their neighborhood that he says “look[ed] like a white person’s house.” His father explained to him that “Black people normally weren’t building houses or living in houses like that; that person was very, very lucky.”
Adrienne Thakur tells a story of her mother’s parents buying their first home, which stayed in the family for over 60 years. Her mother, then in second grade, was excited, but Thakur’s grandfather told her mother: “there probably wouldn’t be any more birthdays and there wouldn’t be any more Christmas because it was going to take everything they had to own this home.”
Wilson and Thakur lived in the very same city as people in Lexington who look like most Transy students—white people. But as the film’s narrator puts it, because of inequitable and racist systems, “shared spaces don’t always equal shared experiences.”
The Home Owner’s Loan Corporation, a federal agency originating from the New Deal, gave birth to redlining through the creation of their color-coded maps. Their ratings, ostensibly designed to evaluate investment risk, affected how resources were allocated to each district. Because of the ratings, people living in green or blue (more desirable) areas were more likely to have access to lines of credit, health care, internet, and education than those living in yellow or red (less desirable) zones.
Today, well after the Fair Housing Act of 1968 made discrimination in housing illegal, the impacts persist. An average white family living in Kentucky has 30 times the wealth of a typical Black family. The average person living in Chevy Chase has a life expectancy 16 years higher than a person living on the north side of town. White people make up 61% of Lexington homeowners while only 33% are Black people.
The imbalance of wealth is due in part to the decades of Black people being denied home loans, and the continued inequity of the mortgage process, with Black people having a higher likelihood of being denied home loans than white people.
“We think of the words in the Declaration of Independence,” says Regina Lewis, a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Kentucky Martin School of Public Policy and Administration, toward the beginning of the film. “‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’ However, all has never, in our history, included the all.”
To capture the complexities of racism in housing that still exists to this day, the film describes the “three R’s:” redlining, racially restrictive covenants, and real estate steering.
Racially restrictive covenants were written into deeds to prohibit property from being sold to people of a certain race, and real estate steering refers to realtors showing certain houses to people of certain races. Both of these practices, along with redlining, are illegal now—but the mortgage industry continues to artificially inflate the value of predominantly white neighborhoods. The median home value in Ashland Park, a predominately white Lexington neighborhood, is $504,100, while the neighborhoods along Georgetown Street, a predominately Black area, have a median home value of $74,800.
Someone living around Georgetown Street can get an education, work hard, and save up to buy a home. But the equity of their new home wouldn’t increase as much as it would if they lived in a formerly green-lined community, because local governments continuously fail to invest resources into their schools, health care, road maintenance, and other services that increase home value.
The film also traces the roots of inequity much further back than postwar redlining. After the Emancipation Proclamation, enslaved people were freed without resources, grants, land, or loans. They didn’t have the opportunity to succeed or grow wealth. They were set up for failure, and it continued for decades after emancipation.
Art Crosby, the executive director of the Kentucky Fair Housing Council, compares it to a game of Monopoly in which some players have been acquiring property through many rounds of play. “Then a new person comes in and says, ‘Okay, I want to play now,’” Crosby says. “It’s really easy to say the rules are the same [for everyone].” But the history of oppression means that some players are starting the game behind.
The film then explains how the city of Lexington executed a plan of redlining beginning in the 1920s.
Derrick White, professor of History, African and Africana Studies at the University of Kentucky, tells the story of soldiers receiving financial benefits from the federal government after they returned from World War II. Benefits included access to education and lower interest rates for home loans.
During the postwar Baby Boom, the number of suburbs in Lexington grew. Deeds either stated that these houses were only for white people or explicitly excluded Black people. While Black soldiers received benefits from the G.I. Bill, they were unable to use them in the same ways that white soldiers could.
Beginning in the 1930s, federal housing authorities funded Lexington’s first public housing project, which was segregated. Aspendale, all-black development, was separated by an eight-foot-tall, three-hundred-yard, chainlink fence from Bluegrass, an all-white development. The fence came down in 1974 and the desegregated community became known as Bluegrass-Aspendale until its demolition in the early 2000s.
In the film, Jamari Turner recounts her experience growing up in Bluegrass-Aspendale saying that there was a strong sense of community. Kids were always playing outside, she recalls; everyone knew each other, and there weren’t major conflicts among neighbors. Few of the Bluegrass-Aspendale homes that were demolished between 2002 and 2006 were replaced with genuinely affordable housing, leaving these residents with limited options once the community Turner describes was gone.
What happened to Bluegrass-Aspendale fits a pattern of displacement of Black families without giving them reasonable alternatives. The thriving, predominantly Black neighborhood Adamstown was destroyed and replaced with the University of Kentucky’s Memorial Coliseum in 1950.. Residents of Adamstown were forced to uproot from their homes for an arena and parking at a university that had zero Black students at the time.
Despite these setbacks, Black Lexingtonians built a strong middle class within their neighborhoods. After the Civil War, resilient Black communities began to form in Lexington, mainly in undesirable locations: near the railroad, flood zones, and the city jail.
Regardless of the challenges they faced, the Black population of Lexington doubled between 1860 and 1870. Black communities built their own economies, schools, and churches. Some of their developments are still visible in Lexington today, but others were erased as leaders prioritized urban development over the preservation of existing communities.
Chester Grundy, another Lexingtonian featured in the film, was one of only 60 Black students out of the University of Kentucky’s student body of 16,000 when he attended during the 1960s. To combat the feeling of unbelonging, he and other Black students frequented churches, clubs, and the Lyric Theater to find connection. In the film, he explains that they wanted to make UK more welcoming for future Black students.
In one bracing moment in the film, P.G. Peeples, president of the Urban League of Lexington-Fayette County, describes feeling blessed that his experiences growing up in Lexington benefited from the work done by prior activists in the community—even though many obstacles remained. “It still was tough times,” he says. “But we said, ‘bring it on.’”
For decades, Lexington turned a blind eye to the horrors of slavery and the various forms of legal and extralegal discrimination that followed. Resistance in the Redline highlights progress made in recent years by various activists and institutions in Lexington. Tandy Park now hosts seasonal farmers’ markets downtown; in 2018, the city finally erected a sign to explain that the park once hosted slave auctions.
The aftermath of redlining continues to harm Black Lexingtonians, but there are other signs that the city is at least beginning to reckon with its ugly past. During the Civil Rights movement the Lexington Herald avoided covering the protests, reportedly because the paper’s management believed itwould reflect poorly on the city. In 2004, the same newspaper released a series of stories about this lack of coverage.
Films like Resistance in the Redline are essential to bringing light to the challenges that Black people still face today—and to educating our community about the root causes embedded in the histories of cities like Lexington. With the work of city leaders and organizations like Black Yarn, we can take the first steps of learning our history so that we can avoid repeating problems of the past.
As Transy students we might make our own lasting roots here, or we may just be passing through for college. But at least for now, this is our home. And it’s up to all of us to work together to reckon with this history, so that we can imagine a new future: a community for all.
You’ve made it through 36 credits, dotted your i’s on your capstone. Writing intensive? Check. Upper level pairs? Check.
But a liberal arts education is not defined by bureaucratic details. To truly be a bat, there are certain things you just have to do in your four years at Transy. If you know, you know. But what if you don’t know? The Rambler is here to help.
Here are the 125 things you absolutely must do before you graduate. Seniors, better hurry if your checklist has holes. Freshman, get started now. Fly, Pios, fly!
▢ 1. Foolishly do a GE in May Term and ruin Play Term. ▢ 2. Get an overdue notice for a library book you forgot checking out back when you pledged to “read more.” ▢ 3. Do the “Liberal Arts 360” while gossiping at Third Street Stuff. ▢ 4. Have a conversation with Dr. Paden in Spanish even though you don’t speak Spanish. ▢ 5. Argue with your friends about whether or not a professor is hot. ▢ 6. Cry during sorority recruitment week (or witness someone crying). ▢ 7. Get your initials posted on YikYak. ▢ 8. Challenge Carole Barnsley to a game of pickleball. ▢ 9. Give a holiday card to a Caf staffer. ▢ 10. Carve a pumpkin for Pumpkinmania that leads a family member to say it’s a good thing you aren’t an art major.
▢ 11. Receive two noise complaints at once because your RA forgot to file the first one. ▢ 12. Go to a professor’s office hours unannounced; overshare. ▢ 13. Write a CARE report about your friend instead of telling them directly. ▢ 14. Write a CARE report on yourself just to skip the line and get a therapy appointment (pro tip!). ▢ 15. Come within inches of death crossing Broadway. BONUS POINTS: Get hit by a car; survive. ▢ 16. Match on Tinder with a classmate and then never address it. ▢ 17. Get your ID taken at McCarthy’s. ▢ 18. Get strep throat more than three times in one year. BONUS POINTS: You have never had strep before college. ▢ 19. Have Scott Whiddon conclude a conversation with, “Can I be honest with you right now? I loved this. This was the best part of my day.” ▢ 20. Chat with the Flat Earth activist.
▢ 21. Explain that Transylvania University is a real school. In Kentucky, not Romania. ▢ 22. Throw up at a frat party but like in a really cool nonchalant chill way. ▢ 23. Throw up at a frat party but it’s really bad and a brother has to drive you back to your dorm. ▢ 24. See your professor at a bar and play it cool. ▢ 25. Eat fresh bread baked by Kurt Gohde. ▢ 26. Gently place a DPS parking ticket in the trash and give it over to God. ▢ 27. Slip into the elevator with randoms clearly in the middle of a heated conversation because you left your key in your room. ▢ 28. Have sex in a chapter room. ▢ 29. Cut in line at SAB’s Brinner. ▢ 30. Receive an email reply from Maurice Manning. ▢ 31. Get blacklisted from a frat. BONUS POINTS: Get blacklisted from a sorority. ▢ 32. Say you’ll never date another Transy person. Date another Transy person. ▢ 33. Speak with Kerri Hauman about a problem and immediately feel a warm balm of relief. (Kerri Hauman is mother. So mother.) ▢ 34. Have a friend drive you to get tested for an STD. ▢ 35. Be serenaded with “Happy Birthday” by Ms. Beth. ▢ 36. Go to a darty instead of Zoom classes on a snow day. ▢ 37. Steal someone’s Crimmy. ▢ 38. Visit the Monroe Moosnick Medical and Science Museum in BSC (where Ozzy Osborne once filmed for his reality show), and see a 14-inch hair ball given to the university by Abraham Lincoln’s brother-in-law. ▢ 39. Regret last night. ▢ 40. Shuffle between the baseball team’s tables at Caf to put your dishes away. ▢ 41. Experience Hazelrigg.
▢ 42. Lose it all at Keeneland. ▢ 42(0). DoorDash four Jimmy John’s subs high and forget about them until the next morning. ▢ 43. Have a love affair at Transy, get fired for your misbehavior, go mad, fall into obscurity and poverty, die alone, get buried in a potter’s field, have some portion of your remains dug up a century later, mix said remains with a young girl child’s shoulder, and live out eternity as a stop on Transy’s campus tour. It’s not too late. ▢ 44. Shoot filthy looks towards your friend’s horrible ex when you have a class together. ▢ 45. Hit your head walking into the Phi Tau basement. BONUS POINTS: Fall going down their “macbook wide” stairs. ▢ 46. Twerk in the general vicinity of a professor during Pride. ▢ 47. Roll your eyes at “performative male” behavior. ▢ 48. Lowkey wish you were wearing Olivia Fleming’s outfit. ▢ 49. Grow a mustache?
▢ 50. Witness Eva Csuhai dissecting the failings of men, including her ex-husband (“the coffee cup does not walk its way to the sink and wash itself”). ▢ 51. Survive Pizzapocalypse. ▢ 52. Wait in line at Gratz only to hear, “sorry, the machine is broken.” ▢ 53. Join three or more clubs’ GroupMe chats, never attend a meeting. ▢ 54. Change your major AT LEAST once. BONUS POINTS: You change it after taking the first prerequisite. ▢ 55. Dance with the performers at the Transy Drag Show. ▢ 56. Take Kremena Todorova’s Writing for Writing’s Sake May Term class and become obsessed with going to Kenwick Table, hoping you run into her. ▢ 57. Struggle to print. ▢ 58. Attend an Orientation event hungover. ▢ 59. Make a Freshman Year Friend Group that ultimately falls apart. ▢ 60. Go see a band at The Burl, tell everyone that it’s your new spot, never go back. ▢ 61. Steal just a little bit of toothpaste from your roommate, because you ran out. ▢ 62. Suddenly notice whoever’s on aux in Caf is feeling emo today. ▢ 63. “Sniff test” a piece of clothing before running to class late. ▢ 64. Get an alert that your account balance is in the red after your Spring Break trip. BONUS POINTS: Happens during your Spring Break trip. ▢ 65. Endure a middle-of-the-night fire alarm. ▢ 66. Discover you can swap coleslaw for an extra Texas Toast on your Canes order. ▢ 67. Meet Olive, Ellen Furlong’s dog. ▢ 68. Have your car get broken into in the Bourbon lot.
▢ 69. Bang on your ceiling to tell your upstairs neighbors to quit fucking so loud. ▢ 70. Pie a Phi, Chi, Tri, or Pi, or get pied. ▢ 71. Manically refresh your email in the hopes they’ll call a Snow Day (they won’t). ▢ 72. Pay off the ref in an intramural basketball game. ▢ 73. Watch people flirt on the Transy Discord before you’ve even started Orientation. ▢ 74. Get lost in Old Morrison. As a senior. ▢ 75. Light all manner of illicit candles in your dorm. ▢ 76. Make a shot book page even though you have no idea what a shot book is. ▢ 77. Trash talk Centre.
▢ 78. Buy beer with your Transy refund check. ▢ 79. Get called “baby” by Miss Cass in Caf <3. ▢ 80. Cut or dye your hair in the dorms. BONUS POINTS: You’re a girl doing the Canon Event Big Chop. ▢ 81. Fuck up a chem lab so bad you cry. ▢ 82. Bask in the sun on Alumni Plaza on a spring day and do nothing at all. ▢ 83. Submit multiple papers at 11:59. ▢ 84. Walk out of the campus center into back circle to see children in speedos doing high knees and crabwalks. ▢ 85. Give yourself a hickey and convince your friend it’s from someone else. ▢ 86. Sit awkwardly and feel old while a campus tour walks by. ▢ 87. “Shut up, Frank!” ▢ 88. Watch someone do the walk of shame through Back Circle. BONUS POINTS: It’s you. ▢ 89. Find your laundry littered about the laundry room because they were in the dryer for five minutes. ▢ 90. Investigate the mysterious Pooletergeist glow in Poole Residence Center. ▢ 91. Take the long way to avoid eye contact with someone you’re beefing with. ▢ 92. Harbor a stray in your dorm without getting it ESA certified. ▢ 93. Cook carrots five different ways or track your food intake for a week for Health and Wellness. ▢ 94. Open the UK transfer portal ▢ 95. Find your professor’s Facebook or Instagram. ▢ 96. Attend a lacrosse game and wonder why the hell they are playing behind the goal. ▢ 97. Instead of going to therapy, write about it for your Creative Nonfiction class. ▢ 98. Get recruited for a sports team and quit, becoming a NARP by junior year. ▢ 99. Bust ass on ice. ▢ 100. Pick up a package in the mailroom and realize you requested the wrong work study. ▢ 101. Carve someone else’s initials into the wooden desks in the stacks. ▢ 102. Catch yourself singing “a pirate’s life for me” when you score a textbook on LibGen or Anna’s Archive. ▢ 103. Wear pajamas during finals to signal to everyone how stressed you are.
▢ 104. Call DPS to let you into your dorm. BONUS POINTS: Ask them to unclog your toilet. ▢ 105. Have a good cry early on in Winter Semester ▢ 106. Go back home for dinner. ▢ 107. Get invited to a professor’s book club. ▢ 108. Wake up to your roommate vomiting into a trash can while sitting on the commode. ▢ 109. Nab hella food from the student pantry. ▢ 110. Pull an all-nighter in the MFA DArt Lab. ▢ 111. Use the same water bottle for an entire year without cleaning it. ▢ 112. Play sand volleyball until it’s dark. ▢ 113. Do the macarena with President Brien Lewis. (If you can keep up.) (You can’t keep up.) ▢ 114. Grow apart, not on purpose, from your high school friends. ▢ 115. Screenshot your professor’s Zoom class and post the image on YikYak. ▢ 116. Comfort your pre-med friend, sobbing, considering no-med. ▢ 117. Do each of the following at least once: Lexington Legends game, karaoke at Night Kitty, pool at the Green Lantern, ICB at Molly Brooke’s, get a Big Blue Weiner on Main. ▢ 118. Stay in Shearer past midnight. BONUS POINTS: You have no artistic instincts but will finish that pottery or die trying. ▢ 119. Go to CRU’s midnight pancakes because you haven’t found God yet but are very hungry. ▢ 120. Hide your face so no one will see you’re tearing up at the chorus concert. ▢ 121. Make bingo cards about your professors’ sayings and habits and have your classmates fill them out live during class. ▢ 122. Fall in love by complete accident. ▢ 123. Meet one of Zoe Strecker’s chickens. ▢ 124. Write your last college paper. ▢ 125. Realize you lost the coin given during Orientation.
In seventh grade, I looked down at my legs on a chair, the way all girls do, and saw my thighs spread out and realized I had a body. There is a term for coming to an understanding that you have a mind and can think, this idea of “gaining sentience,” but I cannot come up with the word for learning that you have a body. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe it’s just puberty, which some adults refer to as “blossoming.” I was not a blossomer. Of this I was sure. I did not blossom. But I did look at my thighs splayed out below me, and I hated them. That is how girls realize. The moment they realize their bodies they begin to hate.
My younger sister realized before me and always talked about outlining rolls of fat on her stomach with Sharpie and taking scissors to cut them right off, and so I imagined the same. I would hunch over to make and find a roll and then grab it and picture the scissors and the gushing of the blood and the strip of skin in my other hand. And then I couldn’t stop imagining, so I imagined cutting my fingers off too, and then my ears, and then my chest, even though I didn’t hate them. Maybe because I didn’t hate them.
I did like my calves, which were always strong but which grew stronger and larger when I started Irish dancing halfway through middle school. I never imagined cutting my calves off. Instead, I flexed them in social studies, noticing as they grew in size and hardness over time, and tracing the muscle with my finger. They were what I liked about my legs. It was a relief to get over the exhausting exercise of hatred. No one is born to hate.
“Earthly Vanity and Divine Salvation,” Hans Memling, 1485.
My Catholic school choir friend Amelia told me the girls in my class talked about how I never shaved my legs. She told them I did. I loved Amelia, but she was a liar. I didn’t shave my legs, not then, and she knew that. She was a liar because she loved me, too.
It was Amelia who made me realize people can love you even if you’re weird and they aren’t. Not like you. Come watch Descendants on my parents’ bedroom floor. Tell me a secret. I’ll hold your hand if you hold mine.
I shaved a strip of hair up my leg in the shower with my dad’s razor and immediately told my sister. I always felt guilty for something. I was in seventh grade, and my mom got mad at me, and I still don’t know why. I am 21 years old, and I always feel guilty for something. Guilt never goes away if you were made for it, and you’re made for it when you grow up Catholic. That’s the stuff you learn in religion class, but mostly what you learn from silent in-class adoration on Fridays when you read Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska’s Divine Mercy in My Soul in the pews and she tells you and only you that Suffering is a great grace; through suffering the soul becomes like the Savior; in suffering love becomes crystallized; the greater the suffering, the purer the love. And that’s when you learn that suffering is love. And that’s when you learn you were born to suffer.
I loved a boy named Elijah more than I loved myself, though that was not hard. In one of dozens of journal entries, I wrote that his eyes were black and his freckles were constellations and his nose was “a potato but still cute.” I liked his cologne. I liked that he wore cologne. He was 4’11” in seventh grade, shorter than me by a few inches, and that made me love him more. He somersaulted behind the stage at our schools’ performance of “Madagascar the Musical Adventure Jr.” These were the most interesting things about him. I did not like how he sounded when he sang, all shrill and wobbly. The first time he sang in front of me, it made me cry. I pretended it wasn’t him I heard.
I wrote long love letters on math worksheets in tiny cursive letters that no one could read but me, and I showed them to him during language arts and snatched them away if he looked too close. Every time the clock showed all the same numbers I wished that he would love me too: 11:11 wishes, 12:12 wishes, 3:33, 5:55. There is no 6:66, but I didn’t mind because that was Satan’s number and if I wished to the devil, he would make sure Elijah would never love me. But God would make sure Elijah always did love me, even from the very beginning. I believed praying to the God of the past meant I could change it. It never changed. I considered selling my soul.
With the realization of my body came a deep feeling of strangeness, like I did not belong because there is something wrong with me. I knew it was something in the way that I walked and talked and held myself and presented the flesh and the muscles and the tendons and the bones that made up my body. I ran into things too often: shoulders into walls, forehead into doorframe, ankle onto desk leg. I dropped things: lunch trays, water bottles, mechanical pencils, all the textbooks I carried in my arms in between classes because I didn’t like the way a bag felt on my shoulders. I fell: down the stairs, up the stairs, walking to classes, running in gym, standing in line for the teacher’s desk, off the lunch table benches, standing completely still, over because I always leaned my chair too far back, into bushes, into friends, over cracks in the ground so subtle they might not have even existed in the first place. I talked: too much.
A third of the mornings before school, I promised myself I wouldn’t talk all day because there is something wrong with me. No one could (or would) tell me what it was, and they told me there wasn’t anything, but they looked at me when I talked, and they knew there was, and I knew there was, and so everyone knew it, but no one ever said it. It was middle school, and I was not normal—no middle schooler is. But it felt like I was missing some fundamental piece of soul or a guide to the universe everyone else had, the kind that would make it all finally click into place. I thought that maybe I could find it if I looked hard enough, so I was always looking, but I told myself that if I talked too much, I would scare it off, or it wouldn’t appear at all because it would see that I was unworthy. Lord, take from me the double darkness in which I have been born, an obscurity of both sin and ignorance.
Mary Rose (center), age 7, singing in the Mary Queen of the Holy Rosary Catholic School choir.
When I was in seventh grade, I prayed to three saints and then Mary and then God every night when my mom was pregnant again (her seventh time). I prayed for the baby to live, and for it to be triplets, and for me to be normal. And the baby did live, but it was one baby, not three, and I was still strange. Mentally and physically. I had just gotten my first pair of glasses and chose ones with horrific blue rectangular librarian-wire rims and nose pads that gave me migraines. I cut my hair into a bob, but it rebelled. Maybe it was the Great Clips scissors. Maybe it was just destined to be so. It flipped up at the ends, in the inverse of the quintessential medieval pageboy cut. That haircut was one of the things I hated the most about myself, though I was the one who wanted it in the first place. I have almost always hated my hair, no matter how it has looked.
In moments of great stress, it is my hair I become the most conscious of as I begin to feel my breath move rapidly in and out and in and out. I feel my hair on my neck and on my face and on my scalp, and I feel the dirt it carries. Touch only makes it worse. In moments of great stress, I have always imagined buzzing my hair off or chopping it off with craft scissors if I have them, but I usually just put it up, covering it in whatever fabric I can grab nearby: a t-shirt, my baby blanket, a bathrobe. I do not buzz it off because I care too much about how I look, or at least how I think people perceive how I look. I have always preferred discomfort physically to discomfort mentally. But I’ve never gotten not looking weird quite right. I think now of my tenth-grade pixie cut from when I thought I was a lesbian, or the choppy bangs and rushed split dye (half blue/half black) of eleventh grade, or, yes, that seventh grade hair. It haunts me still. Not because it looked bad (it did), but because I did it trying to look good, and it didn’t work. I can’t tell if it ever does.
I was always called precocious when I was younger, which means smart but really, really annoying about it. As a child, I was precocious as a concept; in middle school, I was precocious with a body—body meaning small frame, awkward angles, big calves. I walked up to people with my stilted gait and asked them questions I knew the answers to in order to make myself look smart. When a girl from sixth grade left the school, I celebrated, because she was the smartest person in my class, and now that title would go to me.
Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton Church, 2021, photography by Mary Rose Beeken.
I think almost all of the precociousness was due in part to my infatuation with books. I identified myself as a reader, as though it was a classification that set me apart in some way. In many ways it did, by my own design. When a teacher assigned the first chapter of a new book, I came to class the next day with all of it finished, rather than enjoying the community that comes from reading with a group. I was passionate but performative.
In seventh grade, I was in four choirs: my Catholic school’s Star Singers and Star Tones, my church’s Youth Ensemble (directed by my dad, the Seton Catholic Church music director), and the local Lexington Singers’ Children’s Choir. I additionally participated in audition-only honor choirs and sang in talent shows and during school masses. And I did it all with Amelia.
“Friends by circumstance” isn’t fair to the situation, but I don’t know if we would have been friends in the same way, or maybe at all, if it weren’t for singing. She had a beautiful voice, clear and sweet and high in a way that our teacher compared to the incomparable Julie Andrews. And she herself was beautiful: dark brown hair, crystal-clear blue eyes, long black eyelashes, pale with a splash of freckles across her nose, smelled like nothing in particular (a positive attribute in the context of middle school). She was the only girl I knew who wore mascara. We rode to choir together, sat together, drank out of each other’s water bottles together, and gossiped together. We told each other about our crushes and who was dating and who broke up and who kissed under the stairs at the Halloween Dance, and if they were ugly. At home, after seeing her, I always prayed for forgiveness, because no matter how fun it was, gossiping was a grave sin, and I never stopped myself. It is a sin that I imagine I will forever partake. I am not without my vices. I may be more vice than woman.
Our school choir teacher, Mrs. Steele, was evil. Ginger with a vibrato-heavy voice and a heft to her walk that came from always wearing an orthopedic boot for some unspecified ailment; she took separate special interests in Amelia and me. Amelia was her star protégé; I was her project. Where Amelia was praised publicly and privately, I was pulled from class to go to a voluntary scoliosis screening involuntarily, because Mrs. Steele thought I stood so strangely that my spine had to be curved (it was not).
Mary Rose, age 13. Photography courtesy of the author.
I cried so frequently during choir with her that people eventually stopped noticing when tears were streaming down my face while we sang or when I rushed from classroom to bathroom. The noise from the choir was too much, and Mrs. Steele’s focus on me with feedback on my posture, my forced smile, and my vowel shapes—those oohs and ahhs—was too frequent and targeted. I never knew how to fix anything she wanted me to fix, and my attempts were never rewarded. But the crying always stopped, and I always came back, and I always continued to sing, this time with my face and eyes a little redder than before. She never pointed it out; it was easier for her to pretend she didn’t notice it, but she did point out everything I was doing wrong physically. I was already hyper-aware of my body: the way my shoulders were never far enough back, how my neck sat a little bit too far forward, how my feet always faced in, one pointing its toes at the back of the other one’s heel, a habit I still have not broken.
Mrs. Steele screamed at me once for something (probably talking too much) and then sat me down and told me I was a chameleon—that I changed personalities with the environment, that I was more defined by fluidity than self. She said she knew what it was like, that she was a chameleon too. I knew I should be hurt but didn’t know exactly why, and part of me thought it was a compliment, because it meant my attempts at transformation were, in some way, effective. It was true that I changed as much as I could to seem normal to people. Every person has a different type of normal, something I understood from a young age, and I wanted to be every type at once. But Mrs. Steele saying I was a chameleon meant that she saw through to the true me enough to know it was all pretend. Chameleons aren’t their colors; they are scale and casque and cone-shaped eye… a lizard, not an illusion. And I was flesh and bone and insecurity… a girl, not a chameleon.
I used to beg my dad to let me quit Star Singers, but he always told me to keep up with commitments, even if they weren’t ones I had necessarily wanted to make in the first place. There was a reason, though, that I always came back and recommitted, time and time again.
When it came to singing, I knew I was somewhat talented, but I was never good enough to be considered great. I wanted to be great more than anything, which was part of my constant return, as though being a member of multiple choirs would help me ascend to vocal heaven. I also wanted to live my life in prayer, and in Catholicism, singing about God is an act of prayer in and of itself. Shout joyfully to the Lord, all you lands; serve the Lord with gladness; come before him with joyful song.
I came before the Lord with song all the time, but it was not joyful. I was too focused on how my hands looked when I was standing in the choir area at the front of the church, or if my feet were pointed in again, or if my shoulders were too exposed in my dress, or if my voice would get caught in my throat when I went up to sing the psalm like it did every single other time. I was terrified I was going to get my first period right in front of the whole congregation, and then everyone would know I had a body, not just me. A moment of revelation for us all. Not battles or trumpets, but I thought it might signal the beginning of my end.
In seventh grade, I quietly thought I might be the Virgin Mary. I had the name (though with a Rose at the end of it), and I was, of course, a virgin—so who was to say God wouldn’t swoop down out of the heavens and impregnate me with the savior of the world? The only thing that held me back from truly believing this was the Catholic idea that Mary was perfect and sinless, the criteria for bearing the Christ. I knew I was a massive sinner. Each night before bed, I thought about how I used to crawl under lunch tables in kindergarten to steal snacks for a boy named Jimmy, who I loved and who did not love me (all I remember otherwise is freckles and a smile with a missing front tooth). The stealing was what I considered my gravest sin, but I thought about the love even more. It reminded me of Elijah.
Plus, there was the gossiping, and the thinking about boys and girls kissing and girls and girls kissing, and I knew there had to be something else off because I did not have the grace I imagined a perfect saint must have, what with all of my tripping and falling. I also imagined a saint was eloquent, but I figured I had time to work on that. I thought maybe times had changed, and now that the world was more imperfect, there could be no one sinless, and I would have to be the first choice. When I realized this for sure would not happen, perhaps through prayer or the development of common sense, I devoted myself to becoming a nun.
“Annunciation,” Leonardo da Vinci, dated to c. 1472-1476.
I had a convent in mind: The Dominican Sisters of Saint Cecilia in Nashville, Tennessee. I had visited once when I was ten years old, and the idea had popped up again on and off ever since then. When I wasn’t completing homework or BuzzFeedBuzzfeed quizzes on my iPad (Which Harry Potter House are You?), or doing practice ACTs so I could eventually get into Princeton, I was looking up everything I could about the sisters. I joined their newsletter. I watched their YouTube videos. I prayed their prayers and then prayed to Saint Cecilia and then to God to guide me to where they wanted me to go. I didn’t even have to hear their response to know that they wanted me to don the habit and attend the convent’s college and teach little Catholic children for the rest of my days.
The thing that ultimately turned me off from it was when I saw a video of them playing basketball on a blacktop outside the convent. Their habits flew as they dribbled up the court, sinking three pointers and dancing in celebration. The sisters of Saint Cecilia wore pure white floor-length tunics with long sleeves, along with the quintessential black nun veils, and I remember the sun hitting the sisters’ outfits and making them glow, almost as if the Lord was choosing to bless them for their skills on the court. It made me sad. I was never able to play sports; my body wouldn’t let me. I was an old action figure with barely opposable joints. Here is a girl who wants to move her body but can’t, what else is there to say?
“Dance,” Henri Matisse, 1910.
But I did learn how to move my body in seventh grade when I started Irish Dancing, albeit in a way that was still very strange and unnatural. I think what got me invested in it was that I didn’t have to use my arms; when doing solos, they were supposed to be glued to my sides with my thumbs clenched inside my fists at all times. I only had to think about one thing: my feet, and moving them as rhythmically as possible. I had rhythm, the result of choir for years, and a musical family of nine, and I loved stomping and spinning around. I spun around constantly on my own time anyway. There are two kinds of Irish Dancing shoes, each indicating a different style of dance. Soft ghillies for light, silent styles, and hard shoes, for pummeling the ground into submission; for making it listen to the sounds of the Irish old world.
I loved getting to wear hard shoes. I loved pounding the stage with my feet and making sounds that everyone around me heard. When I danced, I felt truly listened to for one of the first times in my life, and it was my use of my body that did it. I didn’t think about Irish dancing’s strangeness—I thought about rhythms and learning to control my body enough to not fall down. To instead stand up straight and proud and jig a little jig.
I have always been scared of embarrassing myself, terrified that a moment of weakness would unveil my guilt and shame. At a performance at a nursing home, during a solo in the group’s big closing number, I fell. My ankle gave in. I remember the wooden planks that made up the dance floor, and how pale they were in the nursing home lights, and how the music thrummed (Tell me ma, when I go home), and how the old ladies gasped,and how my face burned red and how, in defiance of my nature, I stood up and began to dance again. In any other moment, during any other event, I would have run off sobbing. I ran off sobbing when I sang, all the time. But there was something new there, something powerful, some part of this performance involving my hard shoes and the rhythm I loved and the clapping of all of the dancers around me that led to this bravery, this unheard of Mary Rose bravery.
Shaker Village stone wall, 2025. Photograph by George Blair.
For me, being good at Irish dancing was never the point; seventh grade is a bit too old to begin Irish Dancing, especially when everyone else began in fourth grade or earlier, and I was never going to meet the standard for my age. It wasn’t in the cards. The point was belonging, the point was being listened to and understood, the point was using my body for something instead of letting my body use itself against me. Here was a girl who was made for this. What else is there to say?
But I never felt like a girl, not then. Not in dance, in my dress, and not in class, in my khaki shorts, sitting by myself while the other girls wore their plaid maroon skorts and had each other. I always felt different and alone. What tied me to girlhood was the hatred that began with bodily realization, not any intense devotion or connection to the concept. I have always found it difficult to have female friends; it almost feels like building friendships with women requires a deep level of self-awareness that I am not capable of, and having female friends has always seemed so key to girlhood and womanhood. How does anyone figure out who they are without people like them to show them the way? How do you figure out your body?
Mary Rose, age 11. Photograph courtesy of author.
Maybe you don’t. Maybe I didn’t. Today, still in Kentucky, I stare at my face in the mirror until it changes shape into someone I do not know, and I press my nails into my hands hard, so I won’t talk more than I need to, and I imagine leaping across the floor, ghillies on, whenever there’s enough room for it. I whisper prayers into my pillow at nighttime when I feel my sins start to crawl up my throat, grasping and clutching, and I beg God not to let them find something to hold on to. Away from me, Satan! I do not sing, and I do not miss singing. I do not dance, but I do miss dancing. When I stand in line for food, I think through how I will cut my chicken with my fork and how I will lift my fork to my mouth and what I will do if the chicken drops onto my plate, and while I think about it, I nearly run into the person in front of me. My pencil falls off my desk during a silent moment in class. I feel my hair in my eyes. I imagine what it must feel like to be human.
I don’t know if I’ve ever stopped believing what I learned in seventh grade, that love is suffering. I’ve stopped believing in God now. Maybe I don’t even believe in Jesus, but my soul still clings to some notion of mortal sin I can’t seem to shake. I don’t think you can ever fully shake free from the guilt you were born into. I see my hands move in front of me and cannot grasp that they are mine. That this is my body… that this is my blood. But then I look at my thighs splayed out below me, the way all girls do. I hate them, but less now. And I remember I have a body.
Disclosure: The advisor of The Rambler, David Ramsey, is a co-founder of Human Intelligence.
This fall, students were met with a total surprise: a big red ChatGPT button was added to their MyTransy portal.
Now, a new student-led coalition is asking the questions on everybody’s mind: Who decided this, and why didn’t anyone else get a say? And they’re asking the university not to re-up its $120,000 investment in contracts with major AI companies next year, requesting that those funds instead be reinvested into “human-centered education” that more directly benefits students. The group began a petition effort this month and have collected 324 signatures thus far from students, faculty, and staff.
The petition effort grew out of Human Intelligence (Hi!), a Faculty Learning Community co-founded by creative writing professor David Ramsey and art professor Kurt Gohde. FLCs are typically faculty study groups that meet to discuss various pedagogical issues; Hi! is the first to also include students. According to an email from the group, its purpose is to “promote human-centered education, explore possibilities for embodied learning, take a critical look at AI in higher education, and create resources for students and faculty interested in AI resistance.”
“Something I’ve heard a lot from students and faculty alike is that they had no real input on the university’s decision,” Ramsey said. “Many of us believe these products are actively harmful to higher education. The petition idea came from students saying, ‘We weren’t given a voice, so let’s take the initiative and make our voices heard.’”
The petition drive is supported by Hi! Faculty, but the campaign is entirely student-led and organized.
“That’s important because it’s the students’ education that is being affected the most,” said senior Alice Beatty, the primary organizer of the petition campaign. “AI is incredibly detrimental to our ability to think for ourselves. I can confidently say that most of the student body—even those that use AI—would rather this money be spent on scholarships, more dining options, accessibility for disabled students, outdoor seating options… the list goes on.”
The petition drive began on March 3, with student organizers armed with clipboards setting up a table in the Campus Center breezeway. Despite no advertising or outreach, the students collected 226 signatures in just three hours.
“All of us in Hi! were so proud to see what these students pulled off,” Ramsey said. “I think it’s a measure both of the confidence they gained from collaborating with professors on the Hi! FLC and the genuine passion many students feel about the serious concerns with so-called generative AI in higher education.”
The group has continued to collect signatures in the Campus Center, and is planning to expand their efforts this week to academic buildings and the library. They also hope to target each fraternity, sorority, and sports team, as well as attempt to ask each faculty and staff member on campus to sign. This week, they set up a way to sign electronically.
Thus far, the group has collected signatures from 296 students (roughly a third of the total student body), 18 staff, and 10 faculty members.
The petition’s ask is simple: “We request that Transy discontinue its contracts with Google and OpenAI for ‘AI’ consumer products for the next academic year, and reinvest the $120,000 spent on those products into human-centered education.”
“We’re avoiding an extremist stance,” Schultz explained. “The sentiment at its most rudimentary is that this money would be better spent on something else. People signing fall under a pretty wide umbrella. Adopters, rejecters, and ignorers of generative AI in education can all feasibly get behind this idea.
For most students the petitioners spoke to, this effort was the very first time they had heard anything at all about the contracts. Most were shocked by the size of the university’s investment in AI products that are widely available for free.
“The most common response was just ‘What?’” Schultz said.
The lack of student awareness—and what appears to be the Transy administration’s lack of transparency—is central to the group’s argument. The petition is not solely about reversing the contracts; it’s also about advocating for student involvement on a wider scale.
The contracts themselves have been highly contentious since the university purchased three AI products—ChatGPT from OpenAI, and Gemini and NotebookLM from Google—and distributed them to everyone on campus last semester. The $120,000 price tag of these products had not been previously publicly reported when The Rambler learned these figures last semester.
In The Rambler’s January report on the AI contracts, President Brien Lewis and Amanda Sarratore, the university’s vice president for infrastructure & chief information officer, stressed the issue of privacy in explaining the purchase (Sarratore, who directed IT on campus, stepped down from her position last week). Instead of the standard AI products, the university acquired custom versions that OpenAI and Google promise will protect users’ data and privacy. As The Rambler reported in January, Transy can make a written request, no more than once per year, for OpenAI’s most recent independent audit report regarding privacy and security, as well as summary details of certain other audits or security reports, “upon reasonable request.”
Critics of the university’s purchase are skeptical. Platforms like Facebook, YouTube, and Google have paid out large settlements and fines for breaking privacy agreements with customers (none of which threatened their business models).
“Given that history, I wouldn’t trust their promises of privacy, even if they offer a third party audit,” Gohde said. “I couldn’t advise students to trust them either.”
Ramsey said he viewed these promises as a marketing ploy to infiltrate college campuses with a large potential user base. “Even if I trusted these companies,” he added, “why do AI apps get a special deal? Many of our students use TikTok or Instagram or Snapchat or any number of other apps that collect their information.”
On March 16, I joined organizers in the Campus Center as they sought signatures from students and others walking down the breezeway.
Two juniors who the petitioners flagged down, one a baseball player and one a lacrosse player, admitted that they had used ChatGPT for nearly every single writing assignment they’ve received this academic year (each asked to remain anonymous).
“Bro, if I had to do an FYRS paper again, I couldn’t without Chat,” the baseball player said.
“And that’s sad,” the lacrosse player replied. “Like, I wish I could write again, and I know that it’s bad, but I just don’t have time.”
“It’s just easier,” the baseball player said. “It sucks, but it’s easier.”
Despite their constant AI usage, their guilt led them to sign the petition.
“Even students who use ChatGPT and other generative AI products fairly regularly thought it was a poor decision to invest so much in tools that were already free to use online,” Schultz said.
First-year Annie Kunkel, another Hi! organizer, said that many students approached the table with great enthusiasm without being asked, some even running over to show their support.
“They didn’t even need to hear the details of Transy’s contract,” Kunkel said. “Just a few keywords—‘anti-AI’ and ‘petition’ were all they needed to sign’.”
Some students declined to sign, either due to indifference or disagreement (or really needing to get to class). One student who declined to sign said, “I just don’t think it’s that bad.” Another questioned whether the entire $120,000 investment should be redirected elsewhere. He suggested a smaller investment in AI products, with the rest toward other priorities.
It’s not just students signing. “The fact that many faculty and staff members are echoing a lot of the sentiments and criticisms of AI we voiced and developed through the Hi! FLC is encouraging,” Schultz said. “They want the best for students and agree that these contracts aren’t it.”
Beth Tuttle, mother of a former Transy student and an employee in the cafeteria for around 13 years, harped on the importance of funding opportunities such as scholarships or study abroad programs, rather than AI.
“My daughter went to this school. I know it’s not cheap,” she said. “There are scholarships, but not a lot. They can take that amount and give it to students to make a trip that they could never make without it. Or take an extra class here that they wouldn’t be able to afford. Sometimes just that little bump can make somebody’s world.”
Other staffers, including people who strongly agreed with the petition, said they were reluctant to sign because they feared pushback from the university. A few faculty also said they felt uncertain about whether they were “allowed” to sign and worried about professional consequences. Some had no hesitation and were excited to see students taking action on an issue they are equally concerned about.
“I had no qualms or concerns with signing,” said Spanish professor Jeremy Paden. “I think that there is no place for generative AI in elementary, secondary, or undergraduate education. I think it cheats students from acquiring and developing the hard-won skills and knowledge that will make them better thinkers and better communicators. In fact, it cheats them of developing the very skills and knowledge they need in order to be competent users of generative AI. And I think there is a fundamental confusion that proponents of it have between words and knowledge, and there is a dangerous anthropomorphism when we ascribe agency, knowledge, intellect, and will to a soulless algorithm.”
Paden acknowledged that some colleagues think otherwise, and may use or encourage the use of AI in their classrooms. Part of being in a community, he said, is learning to work with others despite deeply divergent opinions.
“Writing helps us hone our thought and helps us come into a better understanding of what we think,” Paden said. “Generative AI takes this away from us by not letting us develop the skills of deep reading, of writing, and revision. That is why I signed it.”
For some petition organizers, concerns about AI products like ChatGPT go well beyond the current contracts. They point to what they see as a broader administrative push to further integrate AI into education, a prospect that deeply unnerves many students.
“Artificial intelligence is the last thing a liberal arts school should endorse,” Schultz said. “It undermines the learning process, emphasizing an end product over actual improvement and personal development. AI is antithetical to what this institution should stand for.”
The petition organizers plan to submit their permission to President Brien Lewis in the last week before finals. The president has not replied to a request for comment as of press time; The Rambler will update this story if he responds.
Organizers say they are well aware that the university may not respond to their petition no matter how many signatures they get. But they say it’s an important signal no matter what happens next.
“Transylvania signed these contracts without our consent,” Schultz said. “We’re communicating how we feel, and if the university chooses to ignore us, then that’s that.”
Ramsey said that the potential for the university to refuse the petitioners’ request was something the group was prepared for from the beginning. “Certainly we hope that if the students collect enough signatures, the university will listen,” he said. “But ultimately, the choice is theirs. It’s also possible that there was a donor who specified this use of the funds; there’s a lot we simply don’t know. Even in that case, that’s a choice—the donor could choose to listen to the students and redirect those funds. The students are taking the only action they can, via a well-organized and peaceful expression of speech.”
For Ramsey, the conversations happening because of the petition drive are valuable in their own right. “People are talking about this issue instead of sweeping it under the rug,” he said. “When we started Hi!, opponents of AI on this campus felt like they had no voice, and that no one was listening to their concerns. Now I’m hearing the dialogue happen as part of this petition drive.”
Beatty echoed the community-building value of the petition drive, as well as the recent Hi!DIY events, which have focused on teaching and learning “do it yourself” skills in relaxed, social environments. The first event focused on crafts, such as embroidery; the second, “Hi!DIY 2: Human Words,” held last week, featured poetry readings and Chinese calligraphy.
“Organizing events for Hi! is such a joy for me,” Beatty said. “Personally, I’m really discouraged, angered even, by how much AI I see in the world around me. But when students, faculty, and staff drop what they’re doing in the middle of a day of classes to come make crafts, read poetry, and connect with other humans, I feel re-energized. I feel like we’re doing something important and worthwhile.”
On Thursday, January 12th, Zak Foster spoke about his exhibition in Morlan Gallery, “Southern White Amnesia”, as a part of the Creative Intelligence series. The exhibition seeks to explore the hidden stories of white people that are often not passed down or told to future generations due to discomfort. Foster works with textiles, comparing them to our second skin, and embraces these relatable materials as a part of his storytelling journey.
Foster’s story begins with an interest in his ancestry, which led him to complete a DNA test and find he was related to both white people and black people. This was a perplexing truth, and he set the goal to seek more of how and why his ancestry looks like this.
Foster discussed how he had no idea he was related to black people, and this uncertainty felt like something he should know. He then began this investigation into how some stories get told, and others do not. He brings in famous quilter Jessie Telfair and her Freedom quilt.
Jessie was a black woman in Georgia who was fired from her job for attempting to exercise her right to vote. After her job loss, she was encouraged to make a quilt out of her frustration– it is bright red with the words “Freedom” quilted seven times in blue. Foster recreated this freedom quilt titled “Jessie Telfair and the white man who fired her”. He describes how the words “freedom, freedom, freedom” were not said in a celebratory way. The quilts are very similar to Foster’s, including a patterned edge of humans holding hands with red and black diamonds above. Foster described how these cries of “freedom” were an act to hold America accountable for its alleged statement that all are free in America. Foster goes on to explain the back of the quilt, which is referred to as “the white man who fired her.” The back is simply the loose ends and stitching which make up the front of the quilt. He describes the back of the quilt as depicting the unfair reality of Telfair’s ancestors knowing her story, while the children of the white man who fired her live in ignorance of his actions.
Jessie Telfair and the White Man Who Fired Her
“We don’t often have a lot of info on our family lineage- where they come from and who those people were.”
Next, Foster goes on to describe this silk chiffon piece titled “Appraisement.” This was a real document from after one of his ancestors had passed away, and the appraiser documented his remaining possessions. The list describes furniture, animals, and people who he enslaved. Foster describes how his third great-grandfather had this amazing obituary, which described him as a devout christian who was content to work out life’s problems. Yet, he participated in the enslavement of human individuals. His obituary was one sided— showing his amazing traits as a person, but leaving out the horrible things he did throughout this time on earth. Connecting back to Jessie Telfair and the white man who fired her, it is clear that the ancestors of white people oftentimes have to do real digging to find out who they truly are.
Foster continues his journey to better understand his ancestors and finds himself in Lawrence, South Carolina, to explore some family land and burial sites. He describes his experience at this burial site, where his family’s graves were fenced in. He illustrates their graves being innately carved with little cherubs and nice expressions. As he looked further, he found concave spots on the ground outside of the fenced in cemetery. He asked the tour guide, and she explained that this was where they buried the black people who worked for the family. Foster was then inspired to memorialize these individuals by creating a floor quilt called “Like Family”, which is known as a common expression to use for black workers. This quilt has a special sense of topography, which is used to really see how the whiteness was used as a gatekeeper— even in the afterlife. As Foster continues to explore his family history and dig into the harsh realities, he finds time and time again how the stories of black individuals are hidden and buried. Without a headstone to commemorate their death, the stories of these individuals are left to fade away.
Like Family
Foster explains how you can’t cancel your own family. What he means by this phrase is that it can be difficult to hold your ancestors accountable, but it is necessary for us to do the work now. He then elaborates on the uncomfortable awkwardness of the research he was doing. These feelings were further channeled into creating a small, handmade doll for each slave-owning ancestor. He piled all of these ancestors together in an antique bed and made one doll for himself to represent the uncomfortable feelings that he had to work through. These dolls have an uneasy look to them, and the choice of dolls creates this action of humanizing his ancestors to further hold them accountable for their choices.
“My ancestors are now very clear on the harm they have caused in their life and working through open-hearted descendants to undo the injustices and harm that were perpetrated.”
The quilt titled “The Snake Handler” describes more than ever that this work must be completed by the living. Foster came about this piece in a dream, in which he was handing off his poisonous snake back and forth with one of his ancestors. He described that when he woke up from the dream, he was the one holding the snake. Family history doesn’t fully disappear with its members. The passing of the snake exemplifies how it must be addressed by the living to not prolong its racist venom.
Foster’s incredible and meaningful work is all done through the medium of textiles. He further explains how we typically associate this type of work with a granny-like nature. Foster elaborates on why he chooses to work through the medium of textiles— describing that when we have this sense of softness and connection, it is here where we can open from a more vulnerable place and understand these difficult questions.
As the Valentine’s Day posts started to roll in this year—bouquets, chocolates, candlelit dinners, and corny photoshoots—I began to notice how many of my classmates have officially coupled up.
During my campus tour around five years ago (I’m old, I know), I remember being told that, historically, something like 40 percent of Transy graduates married another alum. I can’t find any hard data to support that claim, but there are plenty of anecdotes. We all know the classic “ring by spring” phenomenon: As the winter semester slows down and May term approaches, engagement rings begin appearing on seniors’ fingers. Off the top of my head, I can count more than a dozen Transy seniors or recent graduates who have gotten engaged or married in the past year. More than two-thirds of them chose fellow Transy students.
When I think about all the newlyweds on my feed, alum love stories no longer seem like distant legends, but rather evidence of a longstanding tradition. I found one Transy graduate who posted on Facebook a while back to say he met his wife “on Day One, graduated in 1963, and married three weeks later.”
Maybe they first locked eyes during the super romantic handshake line and spent their next four years under the kissing tree.
The story is undeniably romantic. But for my generation, romance alone no longer seems like enough justification to plan your entire future around another person. Today, many women enter college prioritizing independence, education, and career stability, goals that don’t always align neatly with early marriage.
Meanwhile, some Transy students are reluctant even to date another student on campus. This is partly driven by fear that things will go awry within the Transy social bubble, but it may also reflect broader cultural trends.
It turns out that simply having a boyfriend is embarrassing for many straight young women today, at least according to a recent viral article in Vogue. I was mindlessly scrolling on TikTok one night when I came across a video by Chanté Joseph, the article’s author, explaining her theory.
Joseph suggests that, in the context of social media, it has become increasingly distasteful to center one’s entire personality and online presence on a boyfriend. In another online video I saw, a woman says she “won’t post another man until there’s a ring on [her] finger.”
The moment you post a boyfriend, you risk public humiliation. He could very easily break up with you next week, leaving you to take down all of the photos shamefully. According to Joseph, having a boyfriend is “no longer considered an achievement, and, if anything, it’s become more of a flex to pronounce yourself single.”
Is that stopping students from coupling up at Transy? That doesn’t seem to be the case, based on a recent YikYak poll I conducted. Of the 356 respondents, 244 reported that they are either currently dating another Transy student or would be open to dating one.
A YikYak survey is not a scientific poll, but given the number of responses, the results are notable—and honestly surprised me. The campus seems to follow a much less cynical narrative about dating than the chronically online communities I’ve found on TikTok. Many Transy students reported feeling optimistic about future relationships on campus. Here, a significant other isn’t necessarily embarrassing. We haven’t lost all hope.
At least historically, it makes sense that college students would meet their lifelong partners on campus. Before dating apps and algorithmic matching, your romantic prospects were limited to people you knew (classmates, friends of friends, the guy who sat two rows behind you in Econ).
Now, we have the apps. While the idea of expanding your dating pool beyond your immediate circle sounds promising, the swipe-based system often feels transactional and can lead to awkward dates.
I’ve tested it myself a couple of times, mostly out of curiosity. Freshman year, I grabbed coffee with a UK student I met on Tinder. On paper, it checked out: he looked like his pictures, held a normal conversation, and, most importantly, was not secretly trying to kidnap me. However, the spark just wasn’t there. For one thing, he smelled weird (unwashed vintage clothes), which doesn’t show up as a red flag on a Tinder profile. But mostly, I was missing the butterflies of meeting someone in person and instantly clicking. You just can’t replicate that kind of chemistry online.
Maybe that’s why Gen Z has started to romanticize meeting someone “organically.” Whether it’s locking eyes in a coffee shop, talking at a bar, or even bonding over a group project for class, it feels more special than swiping right. There’s an endearing appeal to the old-fashioned campus meet-cute.
However, our nostalgia is clouded by rose-colored glasses. Dating in the past was constrained: the pool of available prospects was much smaller, and social pressure to marry was stronger. If you met someone you somewhat clicked with at college, there weren’t endless alternatives in your pocket. With fewer options available, people didn’t necessarily hold out for the perfect match. Finding a life partner was more of a necessary inevitability and not just about compatibility.
At highly religious schools, that dynamic hasn’t entirely disappeared. In TikTok interviews at Brigham Young University, a Mormon institution, students describe marrying their partners just months after meeting. According to a USA Today article, about 60% of women and 62% of men were attending college with their spouse while at BYU in 2013.Such cases are presumably the result of a conservative Mormon culture, an outlier versus national trends.
Despite the centrality of college relationships in pop culture, there’s been surprisingly little robust research on whether people still marry their college sweethearts. One nationwide survey conducted by Facebook in 2013 found that 28% of married graduates attended the same college as their spouse.
Analysts at the Brookings Institution, meanwhile, describe a pattern known as “assortative mating,” in which people with a bachelor’s degree overwhelmingly marry other college graduates, based on 2016 population data. In other words, education not only shapes our identities and values, but also frames our romantic expectations.
People often pair up with others from similar income brackets and social standing. Education is one of the strongest predictors of both, especially at a pricey liberal arts institution like Transy. We look for partners who understand our experiences: the anxiety before exams, the weight of student loans, and long-term career ambitions. We’re simply more likely to meet people who reflect our own trajectories through certain jobs, friend groups, networking events, and shared social circles.
Maybe meeting your future partner in class isn’t as outlandish as it seems. When your daily life unfolds within a particular environment, your dating market is bound to mirror it. If education and environment shape who we’re drawn to, the bigger question is whether college relationships still lead to lifelong commitments. Or whether it only feels that way while we’re here, immersed in a confined world where it can almost seem like everyone is getting engaged at once.
On a small campus, even a handful of proposals can take over group chats, making a few engagements resemble a community-wide movement. But overall, college students today are waiting longer to get married. Researchers at Iowa State University found that higher education doesn’t make marriage more or less likely; rather, it simply delays it, pushing commitment further into adulthood. College graduates are waiting until they feel financially and professionally stable before walking down the aisle.
There’s no way to predict whether current Transy students will get hitched down the line, but what about who students are choosing right now? We can get a hint by examining the current state of the Pio dating scene.
To learn about dating at Transy, I turned to YikYak, an app where students can anonymously discuss campus life. I published three surveys asking students about their experiences dating other Transy students, including whether they would choose to date another student and if they could see themselves marrying a classmate. The polls remain live and continue to collect responses.
Before getting into the results, a few caveats. There’s no way to conduct a truly scientific poll on YikYak. Not every student uses the app, and its audience may well skew toward a particular type of student. While YikYak requires a .edu email and uses geographic restrictions, making it overwhelmingly likely that respondents are indeed Transy students, it’s at least theoretically possible that faculty or staff with a .edu address could access the platform and choose to participate in a poll for students.
The app also raises some ethical concerns. It has been criticized for racist and sexist posts, cyberbullying, and misinformation, and some students avoid it altogether (which could mean particular voices are underrepresented). Anonymity may also shape how users respond, and the app’s format limited how precisely I could word the questions.
Still, the sample size is hard to ignore. “It’s notable that the poll has a very large sample, with nearly 350 respondents [for one of the surveys] from a college with around 900 students,” said Transy political science professor Steve Hess. But he cautioned that “without demographic data, such as race, gender, or sexual orientation, there’s a strong possibility of sampling bias,” making it difficult to generalize to the entire student body.
Here are the results of the first survey, which has the largest number of respondents because it was posted earlier, back on Dec. 16, 2025.
Would you date another Transy student?
Total Responses: 356
Yes! But I haven’t: 108 Yes, and I am right now: 107 Yes. I have before and will again: 29 Absolutely not. Too much drama: 72 I tried, but never again: 40
These responses complicate the narrative that I sometimes hear about Transy’s dating scene being hopeless.
When asked, “Would you date another Transy student?” 244 (68.5%) respondents said yes, while 112 (31.5%) said no.
Breaking that down further, 108 (30.3%) said they haven’t dated another Transy student but would consider it; 107 (30%) said they are currently; and 29 (8%) said they have before and would again. Only 72 (19.7%) selected “Absolutely not. Too much drama,” and 40 (11.2%) said they had tried and would never do it again.
Those numbers suggest that most students are at least open to dating within the Transy bubble. The same sentiment seems to carry over into the proposal of marriage, which I asked about in the next survey, which was first posted on February 14, 2026:
Would you CONSIDER marrying another Transy student? (even if you’re not currently dating one or think it’s likely)
Total Responses: 239
Yes: 153 No: 86
Asked whether they would consider marrying another Transy student, 153 (64%) said yes, while 86 (36%) said no. These numbers closely correspond with the 68.5% of students who are open to dating.
But when the question shifts from possibility to plausibility, enthusiasm fades, as shown in the third survey, also posted on February 14, 2026:
Do you think you will marry another Transy student?
Total Responses: 292
Yes: 77 No: 215
When asked more directly, “Do you think you will marry another Transy student?” only 77 (26.4%) said yes, while a whopping 215 (73.6%) said no. The drop is striking. While nearly two-thirds of respondents are open to the idea of marrying another student, only about one-quarter actually expect it to happen. But even so, 77 students who confidently believe they will marry another Pio: that’s a significant number!
Experience also shapes attitudes. When asked whether Transy students have dated another student before, responses were nearly split: 176 said yes and 180 said no. That divide demonstrates how seriously common campus relationships are, while also revealing that a significant portion of students avoid them entirely.
The comments on my posts help explain why. Many concerns appear less rooted in incompatibility and more in social consequences. One respondent warned that dating another student would be “the [worst] experience of your life if you break up,” while another simply pleaded, “Please don’t do it. It’s terrible.” On a campus this small, breakups rarely stay private; your business is everybody’s business.
For some, the risk feels so high that they avoid campus dating altogether. Twenty percent said they have never and would never date another Transy student. Several mentioned preferring to date outside the university instead. One respondent said they prefer “blue-collar” workers, while another noted that “UK is down the street,” implying that a larger campus offers both anonymity and emotional safety.
The YikYak responses reveal a campus caught between desires and self-preservation. Students are not opposed to dating each other; many are actively doing so. But in a social world where circles overlap, and stories travel quickly, commitment requires not just affection but confidence that the risk is survivable.
One comment stood out for its misogynistic tone: “Just don’t date the women here and you’re fine.” The remark sounded familiar to me. I suspect it reflects a deeper undercurrent of gendered tension that may be intensified by campus demographics.
During my first year, 2022-23, undergraduate enrollment at Transy was 59% female and 41% male. This dynamic reflects broader national trends in higher education. According to Forbes, women now make up the majority of college students nationally, and in Kentucky, women graduate at significantly higher rates than men. On a female-majority campus, that imbalance shapes the social economy of dating.
In the context of straight dating, sociologists describe this dynamic through sex ratio theory; when one gender is in shorter supply, members of that group tend to gain disproportionate dating power. Research shows that on female-dominated campuses, straight women report going on fewer traditional dates, are less likely to have boyfriends, and engage in more casual sexual relationships. Even if such women want commitment, there may be fewer men willing or incentivized to offer it. In that context, because hookup culture has become more like a prerequisite for participation in the dating scene, women are not necessarily given an active choice. (Obviously, the sex ratio theory described above only describes one portion of the dating scene, leaving out LGBTQ+ couples who face very different questions of supply and demand.)
As for all those friends of mine with engagement rings, there’s one factor that feels impossible to ignore: every single one of them was a member of a sorority. That makes sense: Sororities and Greek life in general shrink an already small campus into an even tighter social circle. Formals, living in Bassett, philanthropy events, parties, Snapchat group chats, and overlapping friend groups all create constant proximity. There’s a selection effect here, too: A lot of my close friends are in Greek life! But it’s not just me—on a campus where 40 percent of students participate in Greek organizations, that could be a factor in Transy alums tying the knot.
My own experience doesn’t necessarily fit neatly into one narrative. I have dated another Transy student before, and I genuinely enjoyed it. There’s something uniquely comforting about being with someone whose life already overlaps with yours—the same class schedules, the same professors, and the same stress over midterms. Our social lives blended easily. Our friends knew each other. We understood each other’s routines, priorities, and campus quirks without much explanation. It felt natural.
Even though the aftermath of a breakup at Transy can feel like your entire social circle is collapsing—with friends of friends asking what happened and nasty stares from your ex’s buddies—it eventually fades out. Things go back to normal. The effort to find a genuine, long-lasting connection couldn’t be a waste of time when the goal is to find companionship during such a tumultuous chapter of our lives. I wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again, even if the window for campus romance is slowly closing.
At the same time, I’m hesitant to imagine my entire future mapped out before graduation. I want to move to a new city, pursue opportunities wherever they take me, and travel while I’m young. That doesn’t mean I’m entirely opposed to relationships right now. But “ring by spring” feels like an unnecessary ticking clock. Who knows? Maybe in a few years, I’ll run into a Transy alum while visiting Lexington and…the rest will be history.
It’s an exciting time for lacrosse in Kentucky. The Kentucky High School Athletics Association (KHSAA) officially sanctioned the sport just last year. There are pockets of interest in Louisville, Covington, and Lexington, but many lacrosse programs across the state are just taking root.
And here at Transy, the Pios have the makings of twin dynasties: For the last two seasons, both the women’s and men’s lacrosse teams went undefeated in conference play in the regular season and took back-to-back Heartland Collegiate Lacrosse Conference titles.
Logan Otto, head coach of the men’s team, first learned about the sport as an eight-year old wanting to follow in the footsteps of his older brother, who learned the game when he went to a boarding school in Indiana. Watching elite high-school lacrosse, Otto was hooked, and he wound up playing on on Lexington Catholic’s first lacrosse team in the early aughts. His playing career ended there, but after a stint teaching high school, Otto landed an assistant coaching gig at Transy in 2014, and eventually was named head coach in 2021 (altogether, this is Otto’s thirteenth season with the program).
The Pioneers have won eight conference tournament championships while Otto has been on campus, including two as head coach. For Otto, the key has been steady improvements every season. “The ceiling is raising and that’s really fun,” he said. “The metaphor we use is that our program is a lot like a skyscraper, and so we’re building the levels up as we go from the foundation.”
The women’s team is led by Transy alumna Brianna McCulley ’20. Having played throughout her college years as a Pioneer, McCulley noted how meaningful it was for her to give back to the program. After graduating in the initial peak of the COVID-19 pandemic, McCulley earned her master’s degree in teaching and worked as a physical education and health educator, before she became Transy head coach in January 2025.
“I am super happy to be back,” she said. “I love this program. I love this school. I wouldn’t trade my experiences for anything. It truly does feel like I’m back home.”
A PIO DYNASTY: The women’s team celebrates its second consecutive conference championship in 2025. Courtesy of Jayden Otto.
Contact Sport
If you are aching for the ferocity of American football—without the commercial breaks, clock stoppages, and pauses in action for huddles—lacrosse is where to find it.
“It’s definitely pretty electric, and I don’t think a lot of people understand how physical and how fast we go out there,” said sophomore attacker Huck Campbell. “I mean, every play you’re seeing, you’re getting hit, you’re spinning off someone.”
Campbell came to Transy from Trinity High School in Louisville, a tight-knit lacrosse community. He has experienced a lot of “hard coaching,” which has taught him the importance of maintaining a positive attitude even when his team is behind.
“Coaches are gonna be hard on you because they want you to be the best,” he said. “So I’ve learned that in every circumstance you can have a smile on your face and do it with pleasure.”
Lany many Pios, Campbell has been playing since elementary school, when he first picked up a stick in fourth grade. Likewise for Sofie Garrett, a junior attacker who hails from Stone Mountain, Georgia. Garrett’s mom put her in different sports growing up but none gave her the same rush that lacrosse did.
The intensity of the sport doesn’t phase Garrett. “I think that makes me like it more,” she said. “I’m very competitive. I just like to get in there and fight.” She laughed, and looked like she was ready to grab her stick and hit the field. “Sometimes it’s just fun to be out there and troll.”
“Lacrosse,” Cambell said, “is constant contact.”
“Knowing the field”
“Everything I had thought about this sport before was probably completely wrong,” said senior and captain of the women’s team Jayden Otto, who started playing as a sophomore at Transy after originally coming here to play soccer (no relation to Logan Otto, though the Pios head coach affectionately calls her “cous”).
“Men’s and women’s lacrosse, even though they share the same name, they’re very different. Men’s lacrosse, I like to say, is football with a stick. They just, they go ham on each other. Women’s, it’s so much more technical-driven than I think people realize.”
The mental aspect of the sport, referred to as LAX IQ, is something sophomore attacker Kaelin Truman noted as an area of growth for any team. Players have to see plays ahead of time before they happen, develop a feel for the speed and angles of their opponents, and learn the nuances of spacing as their teammates race down the field.
“It’s just knowing the field, and being a little bit more aware of your space and your timing,” she said.
Truman noted that in high school or outside of the school year she used to shoot around with the men’s team in Louisville, but once a scrimmage started, “they’re kind of two different sports.”
Connection
Outside of their love for the game, Transy lacrosse players take pride in their team culture.
“The strengths of our team right now would probably be our connection,” Truman said. “These girls are just amazing. When it works, it works so well.”
Truman came to Transy after her freshman year at The University of Alabama in Huntsville, where she was playing on their Division II lacrosse team. Transferring was mainly about being closer to family and still getting to play the sport she loved.
“The environment between us is just amazing, especially coming from a team that wasn’t the best at being the most supportive teammates,” Truman said. “Coming here has been so refreshing.”
For others, the transition to Lexington can be more challenging at first. Senior midfielder and San Diego-native Sam Archer considered leaving Transy a couple years ago.
“There was a time where I was kind of just like, ‘what am I doing here?’” Archer recalled. “You know, it’s cold, it’s far away. But having to leave Transy, and everything that I’ve done here, making friends and meeting people, just throwing that away—I feel like it would have been silly to leave all that behind.” (While he’s glad he stayed with the Pios, Archer intends to go back home to California after graduation and become a firefighter.)
These ideas of connection and community were echoed by coaches and players alike.
“I’m really proud of the buy-in, how much they want to take care of one another,” McCulley said.
“Our bond together is really just like no other,” Archer said. “I’m really close with my teammates, and I have their backs. I know that they have mine, too. That’s just been very special throughout my time here.”
BACK TO BACK: The Pios huddle during the HCLC championship game in 2025, which they won for the second straight year. Courtesy of Transy Athletics.
Watching Transy LAX is Worth the Hype
Lacrosse may be relatively new to Kentucky, but the Pios don’t lack for online attention. The men’s lacrosse team Instagram is the third-most followed official Transy account, currently with more than 3,600 followers, behind Transy Sports and the official university account (that’s right, more follows for “football with a stick” than the National Champion women’s basketball team!).
“I think lacrosse in the mainstream media sometimes can come off as kind of a bro-type sport or kind of elitist,” Logan Otto said. “I definitely see where those perceptions come from; you know, that it’s a big boarding-school sport like in the Northeast. But with the growth of the game, it’s become so different. We’ve had so many different athletes from different areas and different backgrounds that have been really successful for us. It’s pretty diverse.”
When asked what might attract fans to the games this season, coaches and players said it’s all about the speed: Lacrosse is fast.
“It’s a really fun watch,” Garrett said. “If it’s a close game, it’s intense. It’s definitely something worth watching at least once in your life.”
“It’s fast paced,” said Coach McCulley. “We play good music every time, you know, somebody scores, they have their own goal song. I love that. We’ve got some hip hop, we’ve got some pop, we’ve got some heavy metal. So you get a sense of their personality, too.”
“With the constant action of it, there’s really a big mental thing with it, too, which is like IQ, seeing the play before it happens,” Archer said. “That on top of the physical nature of it, makes it just such a great sport to watch.”
The men’s team lost their season opener against Kenyon College on February 8 before winning the following two against Piedmont and Illinois Tech. Over the weekend, they dropped to 2-2 with a 14-6 loss against Sewanee. Junior Andrew Welch and sophomore Charlie Horner are currently leading the team in goals with four each.
The women’s team started with a win against Oglethorpe, but dropped to 1-2 with losses against Berry and Otterbein. The team suffered a potentially devastating injury when star freshman Layla Hobbs-Powell had to leave the game with an apparent hamstring injury. She is still awaiting news on how much time she will have to miss.
Fans can witness the fast times, LAX IQ, and constant contact at Pat Deacon Stadium for the team’s first home games on March 4 at 7:00 pm against Centre (women’s) and March 11 at 1:00 pm (men’s). Students can reserve free tickets through My Transy Events.
Human Intelligence (Hi!), a faculty-student working group, hosted its first DIY (“Do it Yourself”) event in the Pioneer Rooms on Wednesday, February 11, with a variety of crafts and activities.
Junior Hope Riester taught embroidery, senior Alice Beatty led a key-chain making workshop, and senior Sam Schultz organized students making posters focused on critiquing AI in higher education.
Periodically, painting professor Grace Ramsey would call out from the corner of the room: “Would you like to experience one minute of pure human connection?” She led a fun “DrawTogether” table, where participants had to draw another person in a continuous line without looking down at their paper, creating a wide variety of amusing portraits.
Hi! was started by art professor Kurt Gohde and creative writing professor David Ramsey last semester as a Faculty Learning Community (FLC). According to an email announcing what the group dubbed its “first Hi!DIY event,” the FLC “was founded this year to promote human-centered education, explore possibilities for embodied learning, take a critical look at AI in higher education, and create resources for students and faculty interested in AI resistance.”
Hi!, which meets roughly every two weeks, includes eight professors, along with eight students—which is unusual for FLCs at Transy.
“FLCs, by definition, are meant to be by and for faculty and instructors, with staff involvement as relevant,” said Bingham Center for Teaching Excellence co-director Melissa Fortner. “The Hi! FLC is the first to heavily involve students; we were happy to let Davey and Kurt experiment with adding students to the group.” FLCs have been hosted by the Bingham Center for Teaching Excellence since 2023. “The end goal is for each FLC to take what they’ve learned and share it with the wider community in some way,” said BCTE co-director Julie Perino.
Ramsey said that he and Gohde founded the group because they felt there weren’t enough resources available for those who felt passionately about AI resistance. “We knew there were a lot of faculty, staff, and students at Transy who were eager to think in a more critical way about the use of AI on campus and in higher education,” he said.
Sophomore Sophia Schmer was one of the initial students recruited to the group. “I joined Hi! because I feel strongly that AI reduces creativity and hinders the learning process, ” said Schmer. “Before joining, I was unaware of a lot of the facts and terminology behind AI in higher education, and now I feel much more prepared to argue against it. I’m also so grateful to participate in the rich discussions and to be surrounded by a group of people who also believe in the importance of human thinking and connection that AI undermines.”
Ramsey said that many professors who share these concerns are less interested in trying to “play cop” to enforce AI rules, and more excited about reasserting and reimagining values they believe are under threat. “Nearly all of the people in our group would probably be considered ‘anti-AI.’” he said. “But we called our group Human Intelligence because we wanted a positive vision focused on student-led, bottom-up, durable culture change—anchored in the core values of a liberal arts institution.”
That core mission led to an idea: Periodic HiDIY! events that would bring faculty, students, and staff together to share various skills, focusing on handmade practices and embodied learning. “One of the things I’ve been enjoying learning from Kurt is the ways he thinks about creativity specifically in relation to using his hands, as a sculptor,” Ramsey said. “And the beautiful part is that doing these embodied practices makes you think in a deeper way, because thought is embodied, too. A lot of professors, not just in studio art, are thinking about how we can bring embodied learning into the classroom. So our group decided: let’s start doing this, together, and learn as a community. The students took it from there.”
I attended the inaugural DIY event, which served free pizza from Mad Mushroom, and chatted with a few students and faculty about their experiences. When asked why they chose to attend the event I heard a wide variety of motivations for attending.
“I’m very against AI, and when I saw the Human Intelligence event and heard about it from some professors, I was very interested in seeing what it was all about,” first-year Chloe Cotton said. “I also really enjoy crafts and enjoy the community building of it.”
Cole Wright, a junior, said he only learned of the event twenty minutes before it started. “But as I thought about it, the message behind the event also stuck out to me,” he said. “I’m in a class right now called Cognitive Structures where we’ve been discussing a lot of the ethics behind AI… I don’t really have super solid answers about the future of AI, but I’d really like to see how this club develops over time because these issues are super pertinent today.”
Qian Gao, professor of Chinese literature, culture, and film studies, stopped by the event after receiving the email announcement. “I thought, ‘Wow, this sounds fun!’ Especially in an age when AI seems to be taking over everything!” Gao said she immediately connected the human-centered focus of Human Intelligence with the Chinese calligraphy she is teaching this semester.
“As a traditional but still prominent and popular art form of China, calligraphy embodies human agency, creativity, learning, discipline, moral character and aesthetic pursuit, all through the practice with brush and ink,” she said, “which also cultivates the human body to bring strength, mindfulness and tranquility into harmony.” Gao connected with Hi! leaders and is now planning to teach and showcase Chinese calligraphy at a future Hi!DIY event.
Grace Ramsey, the newest faculty member of Hi!, had one of the event’s biggest hits with her DrawTogether table.
“This drawing activity is really special because we’re around each other all the time but we rarely take a moment to really look at each other, really look into each other’s eyes,” she explained. “So what this does is make space to just be with another person and to really look at them, really see them. And also have fun—the nature of it is that we end up with a goofy portrait of someone else. It’s a moment to share with each other. The goal is to create more empathy with other people, and I really believe that comes from spending more intentional time together. And especially drawing can be a great way to foster empathy. Giving someone your full attention naturally fosters empathy. I feel like our world could use more of that.”
Sarah Harcourt Watts, director of religious life, said that a big part of her role on campus was fostering connection and community, which fits right in with Hi!’s mission.
“I have noticed that AI is a hindrance to human connection, and I love supporting anything on campus that builds it instead,” Watts said. “I’’m also a big fan of crafting and learning new things. I had so much fun learning needlepoint in a zero-pressure setting, and I’ve started my own little needlepoint project at home since. Working with my hands is the perfect antidote to spending too much of my time on screens. I’m so grateful that folks are having important conversations in Hi! and I’ve heard those conversations continue in other spaces.”
David Ramsey said these themes of attention and connection are what Hi! is all about. “The most successful thing about the event for me was just the warm vibe of people coming together,” said. “It was such a cozy zone.”
Departing the event, senior Kate Polson said, simply, “I needed that.”
What’s next for Hi!? Senior Sam Schultz, a student member of the group, described two key objectives in the coming weeks.
“The first goal is concrete: influence Transylvania University not to renew their huge contracts with generative AI companies next year,” he said. “We’ll be circulating a petition very soon and working to communicate campus opinion about AI to the administration. The second goal is to celebrate human intelligence, like with our first Hi!DIY event. We want to keep organizing events where Transy students can enjoy making art by hand together.”
For Schmer, Hi! and Hi!DIY events are happening in the perfect place: “I think Transy is exactly the school to foster this group because of its belief in the importance of education not only for future success, but to nurture the human spirit. I hope that we can harness the energy already here and direct it towards creative solutions for AI. I’d love to see tons of student engagement, shifting minds, and graduates with tools to conscientiously abstain from AI in the future as well as spread awareness.”
Disclosure: Jerrod Croley has no conflict of interest whatsoever, he is merely the captain of Garnet, one of the teams ready to rumble in the A-League this season.
Like many in Lexington, I have been less than impressed with the mighty Wildcats’ play this season (admittedly that’s coming from a salty Tennessee fan). Thankfully, the real show starts Monday night with the season opener of the Greatest Show on North Broadway: Transy intramural basketball.
Intramural hoops: perfect for out-of-season athletes and ex-high-school athletes who think to themselves, “I still got it”—only to find out they don’t still got it five minutes into the first half. I am a proud member of the latter camp. And I could not be more excited for the upcoming season.
The competition is divided between two leagues: The A-League, which features the most competitive squads, and the B-League, made up of good-vibes co-ed teams and sororities seeking intramural glory. Full props to the commissioner Jasmine Fletcher: This year, there’s a stellar assortment of talent on the court, with both leagues presenting top notch ball clubs.
The A-League
The A-League is anchored by storied programs seeking to hang another banner, like KA, Pike, and Phi Tau. It’s no secret fraternities take intramural sports seriously; on Transy’s campus, the games are like the SEC regular season: “It just means more.” Unlike the rivalries you see on TV, there won’t be any jersey swaps or off-season collabs—just good ole fashioned hate. Watch out for the annual matchup between KA Gold and Pike Gold that diehards call The Bid Day Brawl. KA says they aren’t scared of anyone, Pike says they have that match up circled in red.
But watch out for newer upstart teams like the Gooney Tunes and Lebron’s Disciples, both made up largely of soccer players, who faced off in last year’s Final. It was a familiar battle, far from the pitch, as once-teammates became bitter rivals on the hardwood. The matchup came as a shock to the historic titans of Transy intramurals—and represented a clear sign that the fraternity conditioning coaches had to adapt in order to keep up with the HCAC champs.
Under the guidance of esteemed coach Jacob Miller, Lebron’s Disciples easily took down their futbol brethren to take the crown. The on-court chemistry between the Gudorf brothers—Collen, known as “the General,” and Ethan, known as “Big-E”—helped the Disciples handily beat the Tunes for the franchise’s first ever championship. This year, will the high-flying Gudorf brothers, along with Coach Miller drawing the plays, cement themselves as a Transy dynasty? Or will the Gooney boys, or another contender in the A-league, deny the Disciples a history-making repeat? ?
The B-League
They may claim to be less competitive (at least until the whistle blows), but the B-league is on the come up, from sorority showdowns to a potential dynasty with the Delta Sig Ballers.
The boys from Sig battled in the A-League last year but decided their energy ran more to B this season after star John Buckle took his talents to Phi Tau A. How will the Chi Omega Hoopies—longtime B-League stalwarts—handle the new kids on the block? Already there has been some animosity between D SIG and CHI O. Standout D SIG sophomore Cash “Money” Doolin called out a few of the Hoopies starters by name (see card above for just how ruthless the trash talk is getting).
Meanwhile, no B team feels more urgency than the UNCs, a team full of seniors. These guys have one season, the last dance before graduation, the real world, J-O-B-S, and everything that comes with being a certified UNC. Will these guys bring that B-league championship home or mourn what might have been in the nursing home?
This Is Your Captain Speaking
Last year the intramural world was introduced to the ragtag soccer-team crew of the Gooney Tunes. Naysayers view them as nothing but wanna-be big timers, but some campus takesters see them as real-deal contenders. The Rambler spoke with team captain Gus “Killer Cameraman” Dickman to see how the Tunes are thinking about the season to come.
Asked about Dickman’s comments, LeBron’s Disciples star Collen “the General” Gudorf said he had a lot of respect for the Goon squad. “But they said the same thing after the first game last year,” he said. “And look what happened in the playoffs.”
“Ref, you suck!”
When you think of intramural play, your mind probably goes to the athletes. But this forgets a key component of the league: the student refs. An old saying goes, “a great referee is one you can’t see.” But the refs at intramural games seem to have mixed up the cliché. As far as I can tell, they can’t see at all.
The Rambler spoke with two referees to dig deep into the inexperience of our officials. They asked to remain anonymous, both to maintain the integrity of their role as officials and out of fear that if their names got out, their initials were going straight to YikYak—or worse.
“I’m not really sure what to expect,” said one referee, a newcomer this year. “I’m not gonna call anything unless I see blood.” I admire the honesty because the second referee, when asked what the price of bribery was, said he could be bought off with “a crisp 50 dollar bill.” While these confessions were telling, they weren’t surprising—intramural sports is like a night in Whitley County jail: a free-for-all that leaves you with great stories but sore the next morning.
For the Love of the Game
Great basketball needs one more element along with players and refs: The fans.
Sure, you could flip on an NBA game and see all-stars windmill dunk. You could walk down the street and see a historic D1 program.
Or you could swipe in at Beck any given Monday, Tuesday, or Thursday night and see guys and girls play with heart. No shoe deals, no NIL, no contract negotiations—pure basketball.
And let me tell you something, I have talked to a few team captains, and whether you like it or not they’re going for it all—they’ll shoot, score, foul, and claw to hold that trophy. One thing they all agree on: everything is going to be left on the court this season.
Power Rankings
Developing intramural basketball power rankings is the most ambitious project The Rambler has taken on in years. We consulted sports writers, coaches, oracles, adjuncts, and freelance pundits. We then used a complicated regression analysis developed by Dr. Michael “The Sabermetrician of Gratz Park” Kelly, then let the numbers cool in Rafinesque’s tomb.
A-League Preseason Power Rankings
1. LeBron’s Disciples
The soccer team boys are reigning champs, bringing back the Gudorf brothers, Coach Miller, and now they’ve added youngsters like Seth Hickerson in the off-season.
2. Garnet
This Pike & bros squad has got some DAWGS in the paint (a.k.a the writer of this article–bite me).
3. Gold Team
The Kappa Alpha crew is physical down low—an older team with experience to go around.
4. Phi Tau A
The addition of John Buckle significantly helps Phi Kappa Tau’s finest around the arc. Dangerous on runs.
5. Gooney Tunes
Another soccer squad, and last year’s runner-up. The loss of Shelton “Shoota” Smith was significant, but this championship-caliber team picked up five-star prospect Daniel Mullins in the off-season.
6. Pike Gold
The loss of seniors hurts Pike’s odds, but the acquisition of Shelton “Shoota” Smith and the development of other long-range bombers like Gavin Sheets helps their chances.
7. GOATS
Young team made up of Kappa Alpha freshmen that bring raw talent and size but lack experience in this league.
8. Crimson Team
Sleeper team, led by George “the King” Thacker—this Kappa Alpha team of sneaky athletic guys might shock the world.
B-League Preseason Power Rankings
1. Ball Ticklers
Bringing women’s soccer athleticism together with dominant track and field power—can beat you in the paint and in fast breaks.
2. One Finger Wonder
Young team of women’s soccer players that has all the facets of a championship team: depth, chemistry, and athleticism.
3. Delta Sig Ballerz
A collection of BALLERZ that bring with them A-League experience and guidance from upperclassmen John “Rage’n Cajun” Mantooth.
4. Team of Friendship and Dreams
Athletic squad from Phi Kappa Tau that brings size in the paint and years of veteran experience.
5. Hoopies
Energetic crew from Chi Omega that brings the vibes.
6. Delta Sig Hoopers
A crew of athletes that are well known around Transy Swim and Dive, but unclear if Cash “Money” Doolin and Cole “K-Swiz” Brannock can get the job done.
7. Cutie Pi’s
A crowd favorite, this group of athletes from Alpha Omicron Pi seem cute but will kill on the court.
8. The UNCs
A decrypted crew of Pike boomers; Robbie “Big Scary” Crady and Jackson “Prez” Holt try to make up for the lack of youth with experience.
Music has always been a source of solace in my times of worry. As a toddler, I hummed “Swing Low Sweet Chariot” alongside my mother’s words as she protected me from closet monsters. In my awkward, middle-school angst, I screamed “Complicated,” echoing Avril Lavigne’s anger towards my drama-filled friend group. After my first heartbreak, I bawled Olivia Rodrigo’s “Traitor,” wondering how I would ever recover from the new-found loneliness.
As I’ve grown older and childhood troubles have shifted to trepidation reading the headlines, I’ve realized the monsters to fear aren’t in my closet, but running wild in American streets. So, as fear and hopelessness overcame me a few months ago while following ICE’s surge of terror, I turned to my familiar comfort.
Scrolling through the news, Sam Cooke’s “A Change is Gonna Come” has been an uplifting voice for me in a swarm of hatred and injustice. Cooke wrote the soulful song in response to the prejudices he experienced as an African-American man: “It’s been too hard livin’, but I’m afraid to die / ’Cause I don’t know what’s up there, beyond the sky.” Cooke’s painful words also resonate with the experiences of countless immigrants today, struggling with the cruelties and abuses of ICE.
In that sense, listening to Cooke is not a means of distraction, but a mechanism for deeper awareness of the horrors I read through every day. When I feel as though my opinions exist in a meaningless echo chamber, music acknowledges my fears and mirrors my worries through passionate lyrics. It consoles me and accompanies my solitary thoughts.
But it is not an escape. Sam Cooke’s voice doesn’t transport me to a utopian world away from Earth’s current inequities; rather, it gives me the endurance to face today’s calamitous truth. And the truth is terrifying.
The truth is that millions of dollars have been allocated to building the mass detention center Alligator Alcatraz. The truth is that Venezuelan and Salvadorian men have been sent to the mega-prison CECOT without due process. The truth is that ICE has been granted authority to enter homes without a judge’s warrant. The truth is that people living in America have been murdered at the hands of masked agents.
And the truth is that none of these things have occurred in secret. They have been publicly televised, and our so-called leaders have been shamelessly celebrating the perpetrators.
Silverio Villegas González was a 38-year-old father. He was from Mexico and working as a cook in Chicago when he attempted to flee ICE agents at a traffic stop. He allegedly dragged an agent with his car, but eyewitnesses said they never saw this take place (the agent himself later said his injuries were “nothing serious”). Silverio was shot with a bullet through his neck that rested in his chest. He died at Loyola University Medical Center, where cocaine was found in his system. His funeral was later held in his childhood home in Mexico. His casket was adorned with red and white roses, yellow lilies, and green foliage.
The truth is that Silverio Villegas González did not deserve to die on September 12, 2025.
Isaias Sanchez Barboza was a 31-year-old Mexican man. He was wearing camouflage and walking with a group of people in Rio Grande City, Texas, about five miles from the Mexican-American border. Border Patrol encountered the group and attempted to detain Isaias. After participating in an “active struggle” for two minutes, an agent shot Isaias three times. He later died at Starr County Hospital.
The truth is that Isaias Sanchez Barboza did not deserve to die on December 11, 2025.
Keith Porter was a father of two daughters. He was living in Los Angeles and firing his rifle into the air in celebration of the new year. An off-duty ICE officer lived in the same apartment complex as Keith, and claimed to respond to an “active shooter situation.” It’s hard to know what happened next; there were no cameras and authorities have released very little information to the public. All we know for sure is that when LAPD officers arrived on the scene, Keith, 43 years old, was on the ground, shot dead. Friends and family of Keith have said they hope he is remembered for his “joyful attitude” and being a “proud girl dad” and “the life of the party.”
The truth is that Keith Porter did not deserve to die on December 31, 2025.
Renée Good was a mother and a writer. She was warmly bundled up in a beanie while driving her maroon Honda on Portland Avenue in Minneapolis, where ICE agents were operating and their vehicle got stuck in the snow. When Renée stopped driving, her partner, Becca, went and stood behind the Honda to question and record the agents. Renée started backing up, and an agent attempted to open the Honda’s driver door. Another agent moved to the front-left of Renée’s car before she drove forward and steered to the right, away from the agent. The agent to the front-left of the car then fired three shots as Renée was driving away. Bullets struck her left forearm, her right breast, and the left side of her head. Immediately afterward, an agent called Renée a “fucking bitch.” This incident happened within the span of less than three minutes.
Bystanders pleaded with agents to allow a physician to check on Renée’s condition, but ICE refused, claiming they had medics on the way. She was denied medical care for six minutes after she was shot. Renée was pronounced dead soon after.
The truth is that Renée Good did not deserve to die on January 7, 2026.
Alex Pretti was an intensive care unit nurse. He worked in a Veterans Affairs medical center. On Nicollet Avenue in Minneapolis, Alex began to record an ICE agent with his phone, in a reported attempt to document a nearby detention. He was wearing a concealed and registered gun on his waist. After directing traffic, Alex tried to help a woman up from the ground who had been knocked down by agents. Alex and others were pepper sprayed. Alex then fell to the ground, and was tugged by the hood of his coat into the street by an agent. Agents then began to pin Alex down and punch him repeatedly before one drew a gun and removed Alex’s from his waist. One agent shot Alex, then another. Ten shots were fired within five seconds. He passed away at the scene.
The truth is that Alex Pretti did not deserve to die on January 4, 2026.
Heber Sánchez Domínguez, Víctor Manuel Díaz, and Luis Gustavo Núñez Cáceres were all immigrants who died in ICE detention centers.
Heber, a Mexican immigrant, was found hanging by his neck in his detention room.
Víctor, a Nicaraguan immigrant, also died in his detention room. Agents claimed his death was a suicide, but Victor’s brother told ABC News, “I don’t believe he took his life. He was not a criminal. He was looking for a better life and he wanted to help our mother.”
Luis Gustavo, a Honduran immigrant, suffered from a heart-related death. His brother wrote, “Sadly, his life was cut short due to the lack of adequate medical care while he was in ICE custody.”
The truth is that these men did not deserve to die.
Reading these stories has been one of the most difficult and deflating things I’ve done in a long time. Scrolling through pictures of the men and women, now gone, who were once alive and well, left an excruciating pain in my chest.
Keith taking a selfie with his grandmother. Renee’s curly hair flowing at the beach. Alex crouching on a wilderness hike. Heber smiling in his orange hoodie. Each photo captured carefree moments, each subject tragically naive of what would happen next.
The photos are a reminder that each of these lives are a universe in themselves. They had an entire family and personality and history before their unjust demise. They once feared the monsters in their childhood closets and cried over juvenile relationships. They were human. They had joys and hardships. They endured. But now their existence has been reduced, in the headlines, to the label of yet another “ICE victim.”
But their lives were more than their victimhood. Something is wrong with us if we simply see them as a name in a list of those abused by ICE, without considering the previous worlds these people once woke up to every day. Like all of us, they were flawed. Like all of us, they tried to grow, and failed sometimes, and tried again. They had mothers and fathers and sons and daughters. They had reasons to continue searching for a better life. They were, each of them, their own universe.
Let us remember them, and their stories: Silverio Villegas González and Isaias Sanchez Barboza. Keith Porter and Renée Good. Alex Pretti and Heber Sánchez Domínguez. Víctor Manuel Díaz and Luis Gustavo Núñez Cáceres. Remember the totality of their identities and lives. Remember their names, and fight for a better world. For everyone.
Being alive today is a never-ending whirl of intimidation and distress, but we have the power to incite change, through protest and speech and care. My form of opposition is grounded in both writing and listening. I was inspired to compose this article by Sam Cooke and his steadfast words: “It’s been a long, / a long time comin’, / but I know / A change gon’ come / Oh yes it will.” Listening to Cooke’s voice, I am filled with the strength to endure and refuse to succumb to hopeless melancholy. I am fueled by the rage of generations who have suffered through injustice. I am empowered to speak out.
