![]() Help us enliven our snack budget with mischief Listeners: Feedback about the audio quality is NOT welcome. This has to do with Knausgaard!ġ:30:00 - We declare Sam to be the UK's new Blurber in Chief and Sam flawlessly impersonates American TikTok teens.Ģ:00:00 - Complete madness sets in at this point not sure what we were talking about here. As we loudly munched our way through the spread (to the great delight of audiophile listeners, we're sure), the madness of the snacks began to infect us, resulting in folie a trois to remember.Ģ:00 - Drew itemizes our meal and Sam explains how it's possible to be British and Jewish at the same time.Ĥ6:00 - Sam delivers a startlingly lucid lecture on Kristeva's the sign and the symbol and explains how, hopefully, literature is headed back to the Middle Ages. Drew has been heroically managing dry January by replacing alcohol with weird food and on the Wednesday evening we gathered at the Park Slope Manse, he presented Sam and Lauren with the most deranged assortment of snacks imaginable. Her concerns about the campus climate had been mounting for a while.Įlisa Parrett, a newly tenured 38-year-old professor of English at Lake Washington Institute of Technology, the only public technical institute in Washington state, realized last June that she had some qualms about the approach her university-which is located in suburban Seattle and has about 6,000 students-had taken to diversity and inclusion.In this episode with cult fave 6'4" writer SAM KRISS, all motifs are on the table - literally. "I wasn't exactly open about my political positions at work, but I didn't exactly keep them a secret either," says Parrett, whose heterodox politics led her to vote for Green Party nominee Jill Stein in 2016 and for Donald Trump last year. "I simply avoided bringing politics up and avoided mentioning my views unless they seemed relevant to things other people had already said." She didn't like the rise of the concept of "safe spaces," or certain aspects of what she calls "capital-A anti-racist pedagogy," which she views as being distinct from mere opposition to racism.īut what most concerned her was an upcoming diversity training in which faculty and staff would be divided into white and nonwhite "caucuses." In the wake of George Floyd's death and the protests that then erupted all over the country, LWTech had, like so many other educational institutions, embarked on a large, highly visible attempt to make itself a more inclusive, less racist place. ![]() It was called Courageous Conversations, and it was scheduled for June 19. The stated goal of such events is to allow people to talk about race and racism more openly, but the decision to have the races meet separately made Parrett uncomfortable. "Racial segregation of that kind seems like a throwback to the pre-1960s and not a good way to create any kind of cooperation or collaboration," she says. Her friend Phil Snider, another English professor at LWTech, said in an email to senior administrators that a "conference based on segregation by skin color does nothing to build a community of belonging." She wasn't the only one disturbed by the idea of a racially segregated anti-racism training. Nonetheless, a June 18 all-college email noted that the school's president, Amy Morrison, had "made clear the expectation that all full-time employees attend Friday's Courageous Conversations" unless they had conflicting teaching responsibilities. ![]() Parrett decided to express her qualms about the training during the training itself. What happened over the next nine months was both bizarre and oppressive. Because of a brief disruption that easily could have been brushed aside or handled with a warning not to do it again, LWTech went to war against a tenured faculty member, launching a cartoonishly over-the-top disciplinary process that included the hiring of a private investigator, dozens of interviews, and claims of widespread trauma.
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