Why Hack?

Why Hack?
A night at Yale's premier hackathon

Published on December 15, 2016

SATURDAY, NOV. 12
4:15 p.m.

It’s late in a brisk autumn afternoon in New Haven, and I’m on my way to Payne Whitney Gymnasium to observe what, for me, is the pinnacle of Yale’s annual events. Forget about the Halloween Show, the holiday dinner and Spring Fling. YHack — Yale’s annual hackathon — is where it’s at.

Spread out over several days, hackathons bring together programmers to collaborate and complete projects in a “sprint,” typically with the aid of caffeine and pizza and the goal of winning prizes and glory. They’ve long been a staple of startup culture in Silicon Valley — Facebook, for instance, has organized regular hackathons since 2007, as well as unofficial, informal ones since its founding in 2004 — and over the past several years, they’ve continued to grow in popularity, especially on college campuses.

(Robbie Short)

At Yale, hackathons have been part of the scene since 2012, when a group of students who called themselves the Yale Hackers organized a mini-hackathon that attracted just 35 people. One participant later said the experience “wasn’t great,” according to TechCrunch. The next year, YHack — renamed and revamped — drew nearly 1,000 students from the U.S., Canada and England to West Campus. And this year, the fourth iteration of YHack drew 1,500 participants from around the world to PWG, where hackers took over the Lanman Center and turned it into something that would have looked more at home at Stanford than at bookish, gothic Yale.

But my hometown is not far from Stanford, so I’m fairly familiar with that particular brand of techie culture. On my walk to PWG, I reflect on my experience of YHack last year, when I also went just to observe.

My principal recollection of last year’s event was of a pervasive energy — a not-unpleasant thrumming that appeared to both radiate from and sustain the hundreds of hackers, who were, with the exception of a few nappers, always busy typing away. I spent dusk to dawn at YHack last year, eventually retreating from Lanman to try to get some work done and passing out on PWG’s sixth floor around 3 a.m.

I do not plan to spend the night this time (PWG’s floors don’t do much for your back), but, seeing the sun begin to set over Broadway just before I enter, I guess I should expect something similar this year. And, 24 hours later, that’s about what I’d got.

(Robbie Short)

(Robbie Short)

5:24 p.m.
After dropping off my stuff along one of Lanman’s edges, I set up a tripod and spend about an hour walking around, getting photos of the hackers. Probably because my camera rig is quite large, I get a lot of looks — most curious, some slightly annoyed — which I find interesting. I begin to feel self-conscious — something to do with being turned into an object of interest by one’s objects of interest. But this is CS, so I try not to over-intellectualize it.

6:05 p.m.
Still walking around, I run into a friend, a known CS major at Yale, and ask him if he’s participating in the hackathon. “Not really,” he says. “I’m supposed to be. I just took a nap.” Apparently, one of the perks of participating in a hackathon, for college students, is getting universities to fund travel to different host campuses. This friend has some high school buddies in town, ostensibly for YHack, but “really, to party.” One part of me feels that this practice does a disgrace to the sanctity of YHack. Another, though, feels something akin to respect. Way to chip away at the ivory tower, you know?

7:02 p.m.
Dinner is delivered, courtesy of Brick Oven Pizza. Dinner for 1,500 consists of more boxes of pizza than I have ever seen — both at one time and collectively, in my life — except at YHack last year. Several floor-to-ceiling stacks of boxes quickly disperse to all corners of Lanman. I get excited by the prospect of infinite pizza, eat five slices and have to lie on the floor for a bit to recover.

The Super Smash Bros. tournament. (Robbie Short)

(Robbie Short)

8:17 p.m.
Somewhat restored, I get up and walk over to the elevator and take it to Lanman’s upper level, where event organizers have started the annual Super Smash Bros. tournament. The scene is exactly what you’d expect. Wide eyes directed all at one screen. Button-mashing, not quite in sync but also not cacophonous in its harmony. Cheers that seem excessively loud to an observer not following the action. Picture it: A middle school boy’s sleepover relocated to a collegiate gym.

10:42 p.m.
Another friend drops by Payne Whitney to visit me during my quest. She’s never been to YHack, but listened to me hype it up enough to agree, perhaps somewhat begrudgingly, to attend its signature event: the Saturday-night rap battle. This is, in my opinion, the most underrated event in the Ivy League — even more underrated than YHack itself. These nerds are good. I’ve never heard a crowd erupt more at a diss than the rap battle audience does to a rhyme one competitor spits about his opponent’s GitHub. (Yeah, I don’t get it, either. But the atmosphere! You gotta love it.)

The rap battle. (Robbie Short)

SUNDAY, NOV. 13
12:33 a.m.

After watching the end of the rap battle and taking a short walk around the main floor of Lanman — during which I act as a sort of tour guide, pointing out to my friend the YHack detritus of sleeping bags, Red Bull pyramids and dead eyes — my friend and I decide to try to get some schoolwork done. My enthusiasm for YHack, though strong as ever, isn’t going to impress McKinsey. We decide to work upstairs, on the elevated track that runs along the perimeter of Lanman, where organizers have spread hundreds of communal air mattresses for YHackers who need a little shuteye during the 36-hour sprint. We each claim a mattress and settle in. We agree to work for a few hours, then head out.

12:44 a.m.
I pass out on my mattress.

(Robbie Short)

7:37 a.m.
The sound of someone walking past my head wakes me up. I look around, trying to collect myself, and see that my friend is still asleep a few feet away. I later learn she only lasted a half hour longer than I did the night before. I get up and look down at the floor of Lanman. It hits me that I am still at YHack.

(Robbie Short)

8:02 a.m.
While I’m still trying to process, my friend wakes up. She goes through the same awakening as I did a few minutes ago — disorientation, shock, denial and finally stunned realization — and then looks at me. “What the fuck?”

8:21 a.m.
We decide that we need to leave YHack immediately. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, do not stop to pick up a muffin. Okay, we pick up a couple of muffins. When we emerge from PWG, it’s been more than 16 hours since I entered the building. The sun is up. It’s another brisk day. My friend and I walk to York Street, saying little, then part ways to return to our respective colleges. Just a normal walk of shame for two. We will debrief about the experience some days later, but in the cold November morning, all I can think is: What the fuck?

8:46 a.m.
I make it back to my suite. My addled brain decides the best way to continue processing the experience is to sleep on it some more, so I change and get into bed. When I wake around noon, I realize I can still make it to YHack’s closing presentation of projects.

I opt not to. YHack continues, but my experience of it does not — at least not for the next 8,724 hours, after which YHack, and I, will be back.

(Robbie Short)

Credits

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Yale Reacts: A Post-Election Interview Series

 

Two weeks after Donald Trump’s upset win during the 2016 presidential election, students and professors at Yale are still reflecting on the significance of his victory. As those in shock grapple with the reality of a Trump presidency, many have started to contemplate the factors that contributed to the rise of Trump and consider concrete actions they can take in the next four years. In the Magazine’s interview series below, our reporters tried to offer a sample of different reactions and proposals for next steps on campus. Click on each headline to read the full piece.



Charles Hill urges students to be emotionally strong

“[I]f you’re going to be in the business of international affairs, diplomatic service or the military and you are upset or distraught by the result of this election, then you shouldn’t be in the business,” Yale diplomat-in-residence and International Studies lecturer Charles Hill said.

According to Hill, the election highlighted a deep division between elites and non-elites in this country.


Beverly Gage compares Trump’s victory with historical trends

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the period in American history, starting from 1917, when the United States entered the first World War, as an example of an extreme version of what we might be facing right now in terms of civil liberties, immigration, speech laws, press restriction,” Yale history professor Beverly Gage said.

In addition to the current polarizing atmosphere, she pointed to the Electoral College and the restructuring of party primary systems in the 1970s as structural factors that contributed to Trump’s rise.


Yale New Republicans troubled by Trump’s victory

In August, when the Yale College Republicans split into two groups over Trump’s endorsement, the newly minted Yale New Republicans looked to establish a different set of Republican ideals with the group’s formation. Co-Chairman Benjamin Rasmussen ’18 told the News that the group wants a Republican Party that can draw votes from different demographic groups in the country.

“However, this election has shaken some of the assumptions that we made in calling for that type of Republican Party, because Trump was gaining record numbers among some types of groups that more moderate Republicans had not done nearly as well with,” Rasmussen said. “So now we’re confused on where to go going forward.”


Yale Students for Hillary contemplate concrete next steps

As the organization considers its future options — remaining independent or folding back into the Yale College Democrats — Yale Students for Hillary co-president Delaney Herndon ’17 expressed a sense of loss and uncertainty in her interview with the News. But she also stressed the importance of planning and taking concrete actions.

“I’m thinking about going back [home] to North Carolina and working in politics or maybe education,” she said. “I doubt the Electoral College is going away anytime soon, so I’m trying to figure out concrete things that I can do.”


Yale College Republicans supported Trump but question his impact on campus

Emmy Reinwald ’17 told the News that the Yale College Republicans backed Donald Trump because the organization supports Republicans “up and down the ballot” according to its constitution. Still, Reinwald said Trump was not her first-choice candidate, and she doubts his election will make a big difference on campus.

“I think Yale will continue to be Yale,” she said. “You’re still going to see people protest and you’re still going to see people get involved even if Hillary [Clinton] was president.”


Yale College Democrats call Trump’s election “a major wake-up call” for the Democratic Party

Coming of age during the Obama administration, Yale College Democrats president Maxwell Ulin ’17 said the election of a candidate who is the antithesis of the progressive America that Obama has built is “dispiriting and disillusioning.” But Ulin also noted that this election has inspired many of his peers to care more about American politics.

“Now is the time to build the movement from the bottom up and we as young people can take back the country and take back the White House,” he said.


MSA aims to show beauty of Islam through community work

Trump’s win did not come as a surprise for Yale Muslim Students’ Association President Abrar Omeish ’18, but she admitted that she was disappointed. Looking forward, Omeish told the News that the healing process will bring positive outcomes. For one, the Democratic Party will have to “wake up.” For another, Omeish believes that people can channel their passion and energy into action.

“Islam, in a lived sense, is not just praying in a mosque. It’s being out there on the front lines, being active, fighting for social justice for all people, for equal representation,” Omeish said. “And that’s how we hopefully want to reclaim that narrative ourselves, in showing the beauty of Islam through work for the community and through activism.”


ANAY concerned about Native sovereignty, political landscape

Katie McCleary ’18, president of the Association of Native Americans at Yale, told the News that she is worried about Native populations and the treatment of sovereign nations with the new political change.

“Even though we’re sovereign nations, we’re also domestic dependent nations and what that means is that we are, in some sense, wards of the United States,” she said. “Because of that, everything is in jeopardy if we don’t have a good relationship with the federal government.”


Af-Am House students unpack the election outcome

Both Yonas Takele ’17, a student assistant at the Afro-American Cultural Center, and Af-Am House peer liaison Logan Lewis ’19 were surprised by the presidential election results, but they said they are now focused on moving forward and engaging in productive conversations.

“If anything, I will say that I have to double down and work harder than I ever have before to ensure that the work I do pays off for the people Donald Trump wants to target,” Takele said.


Progress on LGBTQ rights will stall, Goldberg says

Max Goldberg ’17, director of the Spectrum Fellowship director and a former peer liaison for the Office of LGBTQ Resources, told the News that progress on LGBTQ issues such as conversion therapy will halt under a Trump administration. But Goldberg is confident that past changes such as the legalization of gay marriage will stay.

“So it’s not necessarily that we’ll see a step backwards in LGBT issues, but we’re going to see a halt in progress,” Goldberg said. “Of all the issues that a Donald Trump presidency is really going to threaten, I don’t think progress already made on LGBT issues is a concern.”


After election, Liu urges AAPI millennials to remain politically active

Ryan Liu ’18 spent much of this semester on Hillary Clinton’s campaign as the national chair of the Asian American and Pacific Islander Millennials for Hillary. While he was disappointed at the election results, Liu said his “grieving period” was short, and he is ready to remain politically active.

“No matter what happens over the next four years, we have to understand that we’re going to have to work together to make sure that our rights as minorities are not infringed upon,” Liu said. “I grew up in California, a state that spearheaded the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, and I went to school next to an area that used to be a Japanese internment camp. So we’re surrounded by relics of the past — of the discriminatory system — and we want to make sure that this never happens again.”

Corey Menafee: Back to Work

Published on November 14, 2016

Everyone is waiting for Corey Menafee. I can see my breath in the air, and the wind is unrelenting, but no one is leaving. The facade of Woodbridge Hall looks stately in the fall sunlight. The organizers of the Change the Name Rally stand atop the building’s front steps, and a crowd of nearly 200 students, faculty, staff and other New Haven residents huddles below. Kica Matos, emcee of the rally and director of immigrant rights and racial justice at the Center for Community Change, says the guest of honor is running late but will arrive any minute now. In the meantime, a few speakers address the demonstrators, and some activists with megaphones lead call-and-response chants.

“Calhoun does not deserve this fame.”

Change the name.

“Eighty-three years of racist shame.”

Change the name.

“Racism lives and Yale’s to blame.”

Change the name.

“Take down those racist window panes.”

Change the name.

“Racist images cause us pain.”

Change the name

“Yale’s excuses are totally lame.”

Change the name.

The rally started at the corner of College and Elm, where protesters began to congregate on the New Haven Green over an hour before arriving at Woodbridge. Many carried placards with phrases like “JUSTICE CAN’T WAIT” and “CALHOUN=SLAVERY.” Most popular, perhaps, were picket signs calling on Yale to “Smash Racism.” Cameramen from FOX 61, NBC CT and other state TV news networks swarmed the outskirts of the scene. Students, activists and even a Yale professor — American studies professor Charles Musser ’73 — roused the crowd with brief but impassioned speeches. One speaker — a member of Unidad Latina en Accion — donned a homemade Corey Menafee costume consisting of a broomstick and an apron emblazoned in black and red ink with the words “CALHOUN [crossed out] STOP RACISM CHANGE THE NAME ¡NOW!”

From the Green, the crowd marched in a loop around campus, holding a 30-foot-long, traffic-cone-orange banner that read, “YALE: #CHANGE THE NAME!” and chanting all the way. Each time the procession passed a college, more students joined. A dining worker at Berkeley College swung open a back door to salute the demonstrators as they passed. The march came to a halt beneath the engraved roman numerals of Woodbridge Hall, where the protesters would submit a letter to University President Peter Salovey demanding that he change the name of Calhoun College, and where Corey Menafee was slated to deliver remarks during his half-hour lunch break.

Now, standing in the cold outside Woodbridge, I begin to doubt whether he is coming at all.

“He’s here!” A woman shouts from the back. “He just got here!”

(Ngan Vu)

 

Corey Menafee catapulted into first the local and then the national spotlight in mid-June when he smashed a stained-glass windowpane in the Calhoun College dining hall that depicted slaves picking cotton. For more than six months, Menafee had worked at Calhoun without noticing the imagery, in part because of his nearsightedness. When a visiting Calhoun College alumnus first told him about the windowpane, Menafee didn’t believe him until the man pointed it out. Menafee recalled feeling “hurt” and “shocked” as he looked at it for the first time.

“Like they say, a picture’s worth a thousand words,” he told me. “That picture might have been worth a million words. I don’t know, it just hit me. It just touched my heart to look up in 2016 and to see real — well it was a picture, but a picture depicting real slaves in a field picking cotton. There’s no real place for that in today’s society. It’s degrading, it’s disrespectful and it shouldn’t be there. Period.”

A week after the alumnus brought the imagery to his attention, Menafee climbed on top of a table and, reaching up with a broomstick, knocked the windowpane to the ground, where it shattered on contact. The Yale Police Department arrived soon afterward to arrest Menafee. In the aftermath of the incident, the YPD filed a misdemeanor charge of reckless endangerment and a felony charge of criminal mischief against Menafee.

Corey Menafee is no firebrand. According to the police report filed by Officer D.J. Rainville, both of Menafee’s managers at Calhoun said he was “a very good employee” and had “not given cause for serious discipline in the past.” Marquise Evans, a General Services assistant who worked with Menafee at the Davenport dining hall for nearly two years, attested to his former coworker’s work ethic and amenability. Above all, Evans said, he worked for the students.

When I asked Menafee what he does for fun, he first mentioned watching sports. Second, he listed working in the dining hall.

“I just enjoy it,” he told me. “As corny as that sounds, I love my job as a General Services assistant. Working with the staff, managers, students, I truly do enjoy it.”

Of course, Menafee doesn’t love everything about Yale. He firmly believes that the University should change the name of Calhoun College — hence his appearance at the Change the Name Rally. The name of one of America’s most ardent proponents of slavery “casts a shadow of oppression,” he said.

Still, he sympathizes with University President Peter Salovey. He admitted that he could not possibly know what it is like to occupy the president’s seat and face the predicament that Salovey faces regarding the Calhoun College name debate.

“The president’s a figurehead: he takes the fall when things go wrong, he takes the praise when things go right,” Menafee said. “So in that respect, I do kind of feel for him because I’m sure he has pressure from both sides to change it and to keep it.”

To those who had worked with Menafee in the college dining halls, his radical actions came as a shock. In the police report, both managers of Calhoun dining hall expressed their “surprise” at his behavior. Evans, too, remembered being “real surprised” when he heard what had happened. And yet he said his former coworker’s actions made sense. Menafee would not have done it without a reason — “he wouldn’t have did it if it didn’t bother him.”

Corey’s younger brother, Mitchell Menafee, echoed Evans’ belief that his brother acted with a clear purpose in mind. Unlike Evans, though, Mitchell wasn’t surprised at all when he got the call from their uncle — who, he told me, is “very animated” and prone to “exaggerate” — informing him that “Corey went crazy at work, broke something.”

“I wasn’t surprised because my brother is a smart guy, and I’m sure he has his reasons for everything he does,” Mitchell explained. “Not that he doesn’t make mistakes, but how we came up, every mistake is a lesson, and a lesson got taught the day that he broke that window.”

Five months later, everyone who advocates changing the name of Calhoun College is still talking about how Corey Menafee shattered that windowpane — everyone, that is, except for Corey Menafee. And that’s because he can’t.

In July, Menafee and his attorney, Patricia Kane, journeyed to New York City for an interview with Amy Goodman and Juan González of Democracy Now!. During negotiations over Menafee’s reinstatement, Yale requested that Menafee stop giving interviews, Kane told me. She “laughed at the suggestion.”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “[Interviews are] the best tool we have in our pocket.”

When Yale announced that it would offer Menafee his job back, the University demanded that he sign a nondisclosure agreement as a condition of his reinstatement. The original agreement would have prohibited both Menafee and Kane from discussing the window incident or the ensuing case. Unwilling to forfeit her right to speak out, Kane withdrew as Menafee’s attorney for labor issues, although she remained his criminal attorney. With the backing of Yale’s blue-collar union, Local 35, Menafee signed the agreement. He now works at the Morse-Stiles dining hall.

(Nina Goodheart)

 

Kane believes the nondisclosure agreement is “antidemocratic” because it stifles conversation. The University, however, issued a statement in its defense.

“As with any sensitive employment situation that involves personal information and private negotiations, individuals, corporations and institutions like Yale agree to sign agreements binding both parties to confidentiality regarding the terms of the agreement and specifics of the negotiations to the benefit of all parties involved,” read a previous statement shared by University spokesman Tom Conroy. “Nothing in these agreements hinders their First Amendment right to free speech.”

While the nondisclosure agreement restricts his ability to speak on the events of the past five months, Menafee can talk about anything precedent or subsequent to the controversy — and that he did. Still, he was hesitant at first.

When I requested to speak with him, Menafee wanted to meet downtown rather than on campus. Sitting across from me at the corner table of the Starbucks on Chapel and Church, he looked nervous. Every couple minutes, he scanned the street as if on lookout. He craned his neck to peer out the window at his back, too.

Menafee grew up in New Haven with a single mother. Every three to five years, April Menafee moved the family to a new apartment in search of “a better quality of life for [her children],” he said. A home health aid and factory worker, April ran a strict household and held her children to high standards. It is to her that Menafee attributes his sharp sense of right and wrong.

“When I did right, she rewarded me,” he recalled. “When I did wrong, she reprimanded me. She was a strict, no-nonsense type lady. But at the same time she was a very loving and nurturing woman. So I had that balance.”

April Menafee administered justice with a heavy hand. When a second-grade teacher called to inform her that Corey had been misbehaving in class, she came into school, pulled her son’s pants down and spanked him in front of the class. He chuckled as he recounted the “traumatic” incident: “I fell in line after that.” Nevertheless, Menafee emphasized that his mother always gave him her love and support, despite her bouts of severity. By her example, she showed him how to live a “righteous” life. Mitchell described their mother in the same terms. Again and again, both he and his brother reiterated that they live “righteously” for her.

Menafee told me that the best times of his life were his high school and college years, although he didn’t appreciate it at the time. A lifelong football fan, Menafee played four years on the James Hillhouse High School varsity team. After playing receiver his freshman year, he became an undersized offensive lineman, standing 5 feet 10 inches tall and weighing just 140 pounds.

“I used to love that,” he reminisced. “I don’t know. I guess it’s like a microcosm of my life. I was undersized, wasn’t expected to do much, but I was able to block. I was able to block effectively and earn the respect of my teammates.”

In 1997, Menafee matriculated at Virginia Union University, a small historically black university in Richmond. At VUU, the football team’s 5 a.m. jogs were enough to deter him from trying to play at the collegiate level. Instead, Menafee devoted himself to journalism, serving as the sports editor for the school newspaper, the VUU Informer, and interning for the university’s sports information director. He also reported on the football team for the local radio station.

After graduating from VUU with a degree in mass communications, Menafee returned home to pursue a career in journalism and to care for his mother, who had diabetes and had gone blind when he was a sophomore in high school. In New Haven, though, he struggled to make inroads into the local news scene. All of the mainstream news sources he approached turned him away.

“You know, once I started hearing ‘no, no, no, no, no,’ I kind of lost interest in the field and became more focused on just securing employment,” he said. “I went down to WTNH [a local New Haven TV station] and couldn’t even get through the front door. Those revolving doors, they’re actually locked. You can’t just go in there.”

Both Menafee and Kane ascribed his difficulties to a lack of connections. Without “a network of contacts who could help him get to the next place,” she said, he had little chance to break into the insulated guild of Connecticut journalism.

(Nina Goodheart)

 

Menafee wrote a few articles for the West Haven Voice, a weekly publication, but eventually abandoned his hopes of becoming a journalist to work for Pitney Bowes Management Services, where he scanned paper insurance files into a computer database. After a brief stint in New York City, he returned to New Haven and took a job as a weekend pot washer in Yale’s Commons Dining Hall. Although Menafee appreciates his job at Yale, Kane said she believes that “his abilities are a lot more than what he’s doing at the moment.” In fact, Menafee’s journalistic acumen became apparent as soon as I introduced myself: when I broached the idea of writing this story, he immediately asked what my angle would be.

But when I asked Mitchell if he thought his brother regretted not becoming a journalist, he shook his head without hesitation.

“I don’t think Corey lives his life that way,” he said. “I don’t think he does regrets.”

To most people, Corey Menafee would seem to have ample reason to dwell in the past. In 2003, his mother passed away two weeks before her 45th birthday. He described her death as “one of the biggest things traumatically that happened to me in my life” and as “a game changer.” A freshman in high school at the time, Mitchell became dependent on his older brother in his mother’s absence. Both brothers told me that Corey became like a father to Mitchell from that point on.

“It was an emotional time inwardly, but I didn’t express that,” Corey said. “I kept my game face on.”

In 2009, while speeding away from a fight with his wife, whom he had married the year prior, Menafee lost control of his car and crashed into a tree. He came away from the wreck with a fractured right hip, dislocated left hip and shattered pelvis. Nonetheless, he stressed that the situation could have been worse.

With his pelvis stabilized by a configuration of plates and screws, Menafee began learning to walk again. A year into his rehabilitation, however, the screws became infected and required replacement. He had to restart the entire process. At the same time, he and his wife were separating.

“It was a total adjustment,” he said. “I just stayed with my brother at the time and then eventually went back to work like I always do. That’s funny. I never really thought about it like that. I never really thought about it like that, but yeah. I went back to work like I always do and kept moving.”

In total, the rehabilitation process lasted 20 weeks. Menafee still walks with a limp. The first two times we spoke about his life before Yale, he never mentioned the crash. Only when I asked Mitchell about the limp did I hear about the accident. When I raised the question with Corey, he said he had “forgotten all about that.”

Menafee told me that he tries to live according to the following credo, which he “composed in his head.”

“Life is constantly changing,” he said. “Five minutes ago, something’s different from right now. Strong people can adapt to the change. They can make the necessary adjustment they need to and keep moving. Weak people remain devastated forever about whatever just occurred that changed something dramatically in their life. They can’t overcome it. They become dependent on drugs, alcohol, whatever. They can’t make it in society. I’ll just finish that by saying I am not a weak person.”

Following the window smashing incident, presented with the choice either to resign or be fired, Menafee chose the former. Although his resignation agreement contains no quid pro quo, Kane said Yale assured her client verbally that he would not be prosecuted if he stepped down. But after his resig-
nation, the University did not initially recommend that the state drop criminal charges against Menafee. Kane claimed that Yale reneged on its offer. The University, however, denied agreeing to any quid pro quo.

(Ngan Vu)

Menafee showed up to court without a computer, a lawyer or any awareness of the media attention focused on his case. Having heard about the situation from a friend involved in New Haven activism, Kane met Menafee at the public defender’s office to offer her services pro bono, and he accepted. David Yaffe-Bellany ’19, a staff reporter for the News who covered the event for the New Haven Independent, was struck by the chaos outside the courthouse.

“It was like a media circus,” Yaffe-Bellany recalled. “When we walked out, it was like something that you’d see on TV news with a huge crowd of reporters like pointing cameras and microphones at this guy as he walks out of court and then down the steps.”

After much community activism on Menafee’s behalf and a series of negotiations between Kane and Yale representatives, the University recommended that the state not prosecute Menafee. Although the state dropped criminal charges, Kane thinks the University “really tried to make an example of him.”

Kane was not the only one critical of Yale. In court, Judge Philip A. Scarpellino spoke harshly of the University’s efforts to recover the 27 pieces of broken glass collected outside Calhoun College.

“Yale can wait for their glass,” Scarpellino told the crowded courtroom, “and hopefully won’t put it back together.”

If Yale was vilified, then Menafee was lionized. He was the keynote speaker at the Change the Name Rally. Numerous “Smash Racism” signs alluded to the shattering of the window. Edgar Sandoval — the man wearing the Corey Menafee costume at the rally — called Menafee’s actions “inspiring.” While Sandoval said he doesn’t plan to take such drastic measures as Menafee did, he will “try to follow his steps to make change.”

At the Morse-Stiles dining hall, though, Corey Menafee is an ordinary employee. Gwen Lockman, one of his coworkers at Morse-Stiles, said the window incident doesn’t come up at work. She added that Menafee is “a respectful kid,” “a good worker” and “just a good-hearted person.”

For Menafee, becoming a public figure has meant making adjustments. Mitchell told me that he and his brother are not “attention seekers” — they “just deal with the world as it comes to [them].” That’s how Corey has managed the scrutiny he has faced in the wake of the window incident.

“It’s a slight adjustment you have to make,” Menafee said. “You have to be mindful of how you conduct yourself in public because you never know who’s watching you or who’s listening to you, and people recognize you now, so you just have to be mindful of that. You have to speak in a way that’s not offensive to people because you don’t want to push people away from you.”

Menafee never expected to become the face of a movement. Before he broke the window, he had never participated in any sort of activism. Even now, he doesn’t consider himself an activist. He admits that his actions give “momentum to a movement.” But that, he said, was never his intention.

Whatever his intent, though, Menafee became an agent of our nation’s reckoning with a history of racism, his brother said.

“He’s a celebrity around here,” Mitchell said. He paused. “I’m just happy that he was able to get his job back.”

Hailed by a chorus of cheers, Corey Menafee limps through the crowd, which parts around him as he approaches the steps of Woodbridge Hall. He wears a beanie on his head and a parka over his black and blue dining hall uniform. Matos introduces him, and another demonstrator hands him a megaphone. “Thank you,” she tells him, for “opening our eyes.” At first, he can’t get the megaphone to work and, after fumbling with it for a bit, calls in assistance. Even when he begins to speak, it looks like he has never used a megaphone before.

“Thank you all for coming today for this purpose of demonstrating our discontent with the name Calhoun — John Calhoun — College,” he said. “We are here because we no longer want the name Calhoun casting a shadow on our University, the University we’ve all come to know and to love, and we are here because we want the powers that be to hear us, to hear us loudly and clearly, that the time for change is now. Not next semester, not the year after, but now. Thank you very much. God bless all of you.”

The speech lasts exactly one minute. Menafee doesn’t linger. As he hands over the megaphone and descends the steps, the crowd’s cheers and applause coalesce into a call-and-response chant.

“What do we want?”

Justice!

“When do we want it?”

Now!

The chant is one of a few that the demonstrators have cycled through since they assembled on the Green. They have probably repeated those words hundreds of times. But now, they seem to have a newfound urgency.

Meanwhile, Menafee wades through the crowd, accepting handshakes and pats on the back as he goes. He doesn’t stop to chat. He just continues through the crowd and walks down Wall Street, back to Morse and Stiles — back to work, like he always does.

In and out:
A revolving door for Yale's professors of color?

Published on November 17, 2015

“You know what I would like to see?” Yale history professor Beverly Gage ’94 asks from her desk one warm October afternoon. “The John C. Calhoun Faculty Diversity Initiative.”

Laughing, she explains: “To translate [this conversation about race at Yale] into not just renaming a college but actually looking at Yale today and turning it around and doing something big.”

Editor's Note: To reflect recent developments, minor additions were made to the online story after the Magazine had already gone to print. Additionally, Jafari Allen would like to clarify that he withdrew from tenure consideration this summer, after accepting an offer from the University of Miami.

Gage is no stranger to calls for increased faculty diversity at Yale. She’s witnessed them across three decades — first as a Yale undergraduate in the early 1990s, then as a new professor in the mid-2000s, and now as chair of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences Senate, a representative body of 22 professors that meets monthly to address a wide range of faculty issues. And she’s seen many of her colleagues leave despite these calls. “Most of the junior faculty of color that have been here during my time in the History Department have left, for one reason or another,” she says.

Gage, along with many other professors, cites systemic reasons for why so many minority faculty leave: the University’s lengthy tenure clock, suspicions that certain academic fields historically dominated by minority faculty are undervalued, and an overburdening of minority faculty with service and mentoring responsibilities.

On Nov. 3, 2015, Yale announced a new initiative, providing $50 million over the next five years to support the recruitment and development of an “excellent and diverse faculty.” Gage is hopeful, saying in an email, “It seems great. Just the kind of leadership and resources we need.”

But with heightening student demand for faculty diversity and the $50 million plan still in development, the onus may be greater than ever on Yale to prove that there are more reasons for minority faculty to come in than to go out.

(Elinor Hills, Photography Editor)

Jafari Allen, an African-American professor of anthropology, didn’t have any illusions about where he’d decided to work when he arrived at Yale seven years ago. Referencing two 20th-century civil rights activists, Allen jokes, “I knew I wasn’t coming to Audre Lorde University in the Department of Bayard Rustin.”

Allen recently announced he will be leaving Yale for the University of Miami at the end of this year. He maintains that “Yale has all in all been an awesome experience,” not the “soul-crushing place” that professors at other schools warned him it would be. He doesn’t feel at all that he was forced out. But, he says, “My experience has been an experience of always having to raise particular issues and to push particular conversations.”

“When I thought about what my life would be like as a full professor here,” Allen says, “the thing that came to mind most acutely was that I would be constantly fighting for the same things that [other professors] had been fighting for, however many years before.”

This fight can take its toll on professors, says Birgit Brander Rasmussen, an American Studies professor. “There is something incredibly sad and demoralizing about seeing people leave over and over and over again because all these lines have to be fought for,” she says. “It’s expensive, and it takes a lot of time and energy.”

Besides Allen, three other professors of color made waves this year by announcing they will leave Yale at the end of the semester or academic year — Elizabeth Alexander ’84, Vanessa Agard-Jones ’00 and Karen Nakamura GRD ’01.

In a Yale Daily News column published on Oct. 16, Richard Bribiescas, deputy provost for faculty development and diversity, and Tamar Gendler, dean of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences, wrote: “Despite our efforts, the natural ebb and flow of faculty will result in departures. However departures that are hastened by campus-climate issues or weaknesses in faculty development are unacceptable.”

Allen keeps a mental list of black professors — “world-class scholars,” he says — who are planning to leave or who have left Yale in recent years, some after receiving tenure and others well before receiving it. He names Sean Brotherton, Alondra Nelson, Kamari Clarke, GerShun Avilez, Marcus Hunter, and Agard-Jones, among others.

To him, their departures suggest that natural ebb and flow is not a “generative or progressive” way to read the University’s minority faculty retention problem.

“The ebb and flow of individual careers is conditioned by the possibilities that particular institutions create,” Allen says. “So one way to read [my departure] is: ‘Jafari is a Caribbeanist; [at Miami] Jafari will be three feet from the Caribbean.’ Okay, that’s cool. But if we also believe the other rhetoric that Yale is the best institution in the world, and has the best resources, and has the best students in the world, why would Jafari leave?”

“The common denominator here,” Allen continues, “is this institution.”

“When I thought about what my life would be like as a full professor here, the thing that came to mind most acutely was that I would be constantly fighting for the same things that [other professors] had been fighting for, however many years before.”

—Jafari Allen, professor of anthropology

“By our count, this is the 18th Yale Committee, since 1968, to report on the recruitment of minority or women faculty.”

Thus begins the 1991 Jaynes Report, released by a committee headed by economics and African American Studies professor Gerald Jaynes as an update on recommendations made in another report filed just two years earlier. The Jaynes Report continues: “Almost every major item contained in the present report has been proposed, in some form or another, by one or more of the previous committees.”

The history of faculty diversity initiatives at Yale spans more than four decades. The passage of the Education Amendments of 1972 pushed Yale to create an Office of Affirmative Action. Soon afterward, the office began monitoring hiring and tenuring practices of the University, convening various committees to discuss diversity issues.

In one of the earlier reports on faculty diversity, released in 1989, faculty members recommended setting quotas for the hiring of minority professors and giving hiring power to Ethnic Studies programs, calling for an increase in minority faculty from 7 percent to 14 percent over 10 years. Additionally, the report called for a formal mentoring system, competitive responses to outside job offers and additional compensation for minority faculty overburdened with committee assignments because of administrative efforts to diversify committees.

Twenty-six years later, on a fall morning this year, a bulletin board-sized poster condemning Yale’s lack of minority faculty appeared on Cross Campus.

With graphs displaying a stark disparity between the percentage of minority undergraduates (42 percent) and the percentage of minority professors in the Faculty of Arts and Sciences (17 percent), the poster declares the University has only seen a “1 percent average increase in black faculty per century.” It ends: “Your move, Yale.”

(Alex Zhang, Contributing Photographer)

In 2005, former Yale President Richard Levin set a goal of adding at least 30 minority faculty over the next seven years. By 2011, he’d reached that goal, having hired 56.

Jaynes, the African-American professor who chaired the 1991 faculty diversity committee, believes that since his committee filed its report, “there’s been a lot of progress” toward recruiting a diverse faculty.

One of the first major efforts came in 1989, when Yale began offering Mellon Mays Undergraduate Fellowships to encourage minority undergraduates to enter academic careers. President Levin would later expand that effort in 1994, inaugurating a Yale-specific program, the Edward A. Bouchet Fellowship, named after the University’s first African-American graduate.

A major impetus for change on the hiring level, Jaynes says, came when Levin’s predecessor Benno Schmidt took faculty advice and allowed departments to hire “outstanding minority candidates” even when they had no faculty spots officially open.

Recent faculty diversity initiatives have attempted to expand beyond hiring. Two years ago, the Provost’s Office created a new mentoring program for junior faculty. And in 2014, the University appointed anthropology professor Richard Bribiescas as the first ever deputy provost for faculty development and diversity, placing responsibility for advising the Provost on diversity strategies into one centralized office.

Bribiescas, whose responsibilities include monitoring faculty searches and training promotion committees to combat implicit biases, says he and his office have been working hard with deans and other members of Yale’s leadership to “make sure that our campus community is welcoming and inclusive.”

Bribiescas writes in an email: “We are saddened whenever a faculty member makes the deeply personal decision to pursue their career elsewhere and wish them nothing but continued success. However, we are equally delighted by the continual addition of new faculty who add new diverse voices to the Yale community. Does this mean our work is done? Of course not.”

Part of the work, Gendler says, involves reminding professors who have outside job offers of “the ways in which Yale can provide them a unique opportunity to interact with colleagues and students” with the “chance to do the kinds of research and teaching that Yale supports.”

“We try to do that,” she continues, “in a way that [professors] aren’t forced to make a choice on financial grounds between the two institutions, but rather feel free to make the choice on intellectual grounds.”

In their YDN op-ed, Bribiescas and Gendler wrote that in the past year, Yale has made “consistent strides” toward hiring a more diverse faculty. Of the 28 Faculty of Arts and Sciences professors arriving in this academic year or hired in the last hiring cycle, three are of African descent and six are of East Asian or South Asian descent.

And Yale’s newly announced $50 million commitment over the next five years could help make faculty diversification easier, both through providing funds to hire visiting professors and through creating a university-wide “teaching academy” for existing faculty.

Gendler believes the new initiative is “equivalent to all of the strong plans that are going on at universities around the country.” Comparing it to Columbia University, which has allocated $63 million to diversity efforts since 2012, Gendler says of Yale’s initiative, “my understanding of [Yale’s plan] is that it’s almost identical in scale and scope.”

The new initiative, Gendler says, will provide the “opportunity to really make spectacular and enticing offers to excellent faculty that we hope to attract.”

March of Resilience, Nov. 9, 2015

(Yale Daily News)

While Jaynes believes Yale has made significant progress on the hiring front, he and others maintain that Yale’s biggest problem now is the retention of minority faculty. President Levin may have reached his 2005 goal of bringing in at least 30 minority professors over seven years, but by 2012, only 22 of the 56 minority professors hired up until then remained.

Many faculty members agree that minority professors at Yale tend to receive more outside job offers than their white colleagues, increasing the chances that they may leave Yale. But why exactly have so many jumped ship if Yale is, as the rhetoric goes, “the best institution in the world”?

The answer, according to several professors, may lie in informal obstacles within the tenure process.

Because minority students often identify more with minority professors and will thus ask them to be advisors, Jaynes says minority professors tend to be overloaded with mentoring responsibilities, diverting crucial time away from the most important factor in tenure decisions — research. Likewise, says English professor Amy Hungerford, administrative committees often try to include minority professors to add diversity to their discussions, meaning minority professors can be overloaded with committee responsibilities as well. According to Hungerford, some of these committees drain time but do not always provide significant career payoff.

Part of the problem, too, says Rasmussen, are Yale’s inconsistent standards for promotion. According to Rasmussen, some professors who have published significant books and journal articles are promoted, while others who have done so are not. Annual evaluations for professors could help remedy this, she says, as this would create both a mentoring process as well as a paper trail so that if a professor were not promoted, there would be fewer suspicions of bias.

Nonetheless, says Hungerford, who is also divisional director of the Humanities, Yale is different from other schools in that divisional committees read scholars’ works during tenure decisions. Moreover, Hungerford believes there are certain markers across fields that are respected as signs of accomplishment, like special archival finds, mastery of languages and innovative research methods.

Hungerford, Rasmussen and Allen all agree that Yale’s lengthy tenure clock makes job offers from other schools more attractive to minority professors. Unlike most other U.S. universities, which often offer tenure after six years (upon promotion to associate professor), Yale generally does not offer tenure until after nine years (upon promotion from associate to full professor).

“The formal recognition of tenure [at Yale] is delayed almost longer than anywhere else,” Allen says. “Which means people wait to have children, people wait to buy houses, people wait to get into committed relationships … because anything can happen.”

Bribiescas reports in an email that he has been working with Gendler on a committee to reevaluate the tenure process. Writes Bribiescas, “Yale’s tenure track system is barely out of the nest, having been in existence only eight out of the last 314 years. As with any other aspect of university professional life, it should be constantly assessed, and it is.”

Until the tenure process is changed, though, minority professors might opt to leave early provided a more secure opportunity elsewhere.

“Everyone recognizes that if you’re writing about Shakespeare, it’s intellectually valid. If you’re writing about Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, they’ll say, ‘Theresa who?’”

—Birgit Brander Rasmussen, professor of American Studies

Deeper sores beyond issues of tenure likely also diminish Yale’s ability to retain minority faculty.

A survey released in 2008 revealed that underrepresented minority (URM) senior faculty at Yale are three times as likely as non-URM peers to feel that they must work harder than their colleagues to be perceived as legitimate scholars. Fifty percent cited others’ lack of interest in their research areas (versus 15 percent for non-URMs), and 61 percent cited exclusion from informal networks (versus 11 percent for non-URMs).

The most startling statistic: compared to only 5 percent of non-underrepresented minority faculty, 22 percent of underrepresented minority respondents said they would not come to Yale if they could decide again.

Rasmussen believes part of the problem is that fields historically dominated by minority faculty do not receive sufficient respect. She thinks that scholarship in Ethnic Studies is especially undervalued at Yale, and perceived to be so by minority faculty, contributing to the feelings of isolation reflected in the survey.

“Everyone recognizes that if you’re writing about Shakespeare, it’s intellectually valid,” she says. “If you’re writing about Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, they’ll say, ‘Theresa who?’”

One concrete recommendation, discussed in committees going all the way back to 1989, involves giving interdisciplinary programs unilateral hiring power.

Yale’s African American Studies Department received hiring power in 2000, though only after the program’s chair Hazel Carby resigned in protest of Levin’s neglect of the program. (Earlier that year, Levin had attended a dinner celebrating Henry Louis Gates Jr. — a leader in Harvard’s African American Studies department who was denied tenure at Yale in 1985 — and had made remarks about the “jealousy” he felt towards Harvard’s “extraordinary program.”) A week after Carby’s resignation, African American Studies received departmental status.

The Ethnicity, Race, and Migration Program at Yale, however, has yet to receive hiring power. Though the program has been around for years, first created as a subdivision of the American Studies program in the 1980s and then made formally independent in 1997, the University has never made it into an official department.

Maybe that’s why, Rasmussen says, the mood among faculty in ER&M and departments like American Studies and African American Studies is “somewhere between grim, demoralized and angry.”

Rasmussen believes interdisciplinary fields such as ER&M and Women’s, Gender and Sexuality Studies are “the sites on campus where best practices [for hiring a diverse faculty] can be observed,” and administrators could just “ask faculty how to do it.”

Matthew Jacobson, the chair of ER&M for this academic year, believes allowing ER&M to hire its own professors — and to hire more professors — would create a long-term spillover effect for the University. He says ER&M may hold the key to faculty diversity by creating a “center of gravity” that shows academics that Yale is hospitable not just to minority faculty but also to the study of racial minorities.

Asked about why ER&M hasn’t received departmental status yet, Jacobson is quick to respond: “I don’t know why. But Yale has systemically devalued Ethnic Studies in a way that [faculty] diversification becomes an uphill climb. It routinely behaves as though Ethnic Studies is just a side thing, that it’s not incumbent for any university to teach these things. And yet, when you turn on the television, what do you see and what is everyone talking about? Ethnicity, race, immigration.”

March of Resilience, Nov. 9, 2015

(Yale Daily News)

“Students call for more minority faculty.”

So reads the headline of a Yale Daily News article, published not this fall but 28 years ago, on April 22, 1987, after student leaders of various cultural groups penned a letter criticizing administrative responses to violent racist incidents at Yale. Describing how retention of minority faculty would help ease racial tensions on campus, the letter read: “Not only has the University failed to increase its minority faculty, but it has succeeded in driving them away in droves.”

Two days after Yale announced its $50 million diversity initiative this year, more than 200 students gathered on Cross Campus and surrounded Jonathan Holloway, the dean of Yale College, vocalizing their frustration with his silence on current incidents involving race at Yale. Within a day, DOWN Magazine — a publication that highlights voices of students of color — published a list of demands for administrators and students. Among these demands, students called for more course offerings in African American Studies, ER&M and WGSS, as well as commitments to retain faculty in these departments. Five days later, students submitted new demands to President Salovey, including the promotion of the ER&M program to departmental status.

Since the beginning of this school year, Yale students have catalyzed dialogues across campus that have reached the national media — dialogues ranging from forums about changing the name of Calhoun College to discussions about cultural appropriation, racial profiling, faculty diversity and more.

Bribiescas says he has been in conversations this fall with deans of Yale’s four cultural houses to host open forums on faculty diversity, saying that he looks forward to the forums and is “eager to listen to [students’] thoughts, concerns and suggestions.”

“It is safe to assume that every student cares about Yale and its future,” Bribiescas writes in an email. “No matter what, students are always welcome to participate in the conversation of how we build and maintain an excellent and diverse faculty.”

Gendler believes students can also help alert faculty to academic topics they’re interested in, adding, “We as a faculty try to be responsive to those concerns.” Explaining that while Yale might sometimes be able to rely on existing faculty to provide courses in high-demand areas, whether in computer science or Ethnic Studies, she says that other times the University may need to bring in more faculty to teach those courses.

“Sometimes we realize that in order to train the next generation in the questions that they’re interested in, we need to bring in faculty with different sorts of skills, different sorts of experiences, or faculty who are addressing different sorts of questions,” Gendler says.

With the announcement of the new faculty diversity initiative, Yale should have more resources to do just that. But as the Yale community waits for administrators to release more details in the coming months, some remain cautious.

Rasmussen says while she thinks it’s “great to see the University making this commitment,” unless many of the hires are brought in as senior faculty with tenure, “the initiative is just a kind of window-dressing with potentially devastating consequences for [junior] faculty of color and women who are brought into hostile environments with little support.”

Yuni Chang ’18, an intercultural outreach coordinator for the Asian American Studies Task Force, is also cautious.

“I want to be hopeful,” she says, “but Yale is very good at making it seem like it’s making genuinely progressive measures when it does not have a strong track record of following through on its promises.”

Ryan Wilson ’17, a member of the Yale Black Men’s Union, agrees. He adds, “Diversity needs to mean more than bringing marginalized people to campus. It needs to mean making sure those people have the resources and support they need once they are here.”

(Elinor Hills, Photography Editor)

Near the end of my conversation with Jaynes, he shares with me one of his most vivid memories from his many years at Yale.

It was 1979, and he was a new assistant professor. He heard a knock on his office door, and an undergraduate Native American woman walked in.

“She wasn’t a student of mine, she just came in to talk,” Jaynes recalls. “She … kind of had an emotional breakdown and started crying. She was lonesome. She talked about how hard it was being a Native American student at Yale. And because there weren’t that many minority faculty, and I was young, she felt like I was the closest thing she could come to and talk to who might have some empathy, empathy based in real experience.”

He leans back in his chair, takes a deep breath and exhales.

“I’ve always thought about that moment.”

 

"The dream is
very much alive"

By Madeleine Witt and Skyler Inman