Turned this in yesterday for my Target Market assignment, for which I chose editorial illustration. The idea behind the article is that by digitizing all of our information, we are actively participating in the possible erasure of our current history in the event of a digital blackout.
“Tatiana Maslany’s skills are evident in the opening scene of season 3′s first episode, where she plays a pregnant clone from
Ukraine named Helena, enjoying a
baby shower and cookout organized by her clone sisters” -NPR *audio from this scene
Listening To A City: Explaining Breathtaking Decay In Havana
Miguel Coyula pointed at an open door in the middle of Old Havana. The mahogany door was ornate, the concrete facade had lost most of its paint.
“That’s marble,” Coyula said pointing to the treads of the staircase. “They are the remnants of something that was very glorious.”
We were taking a walk with Coyula, an architect and urban planner, through Obispo Street, which he called the spine of Old Havana. There the colonial buildings crowd narrow streets. It’s vibrant and filled with people.
Some buildings are in great shape, but this is an old city, said Coyula, with a housing stock that averages 70 years old. The housing authority, Coyula said, estimates that 10 percent of buildings in Havana are in bad shape, but reality tells a different story.
Most of the buildings along the main avenues are in OK shape, but as soon as you turn off into the residential streets, the decay is breathtaking.
Coyula says there are lots of reasons for the vast degradation of Havana: People don’t have money to fix their homes; the U.S. embargo makes it difficult for the government to step in; the socialist system instituted on the island is too expensive and has created a society used to paternalism.
We stop next to an old church. It used be where sailors came to be blessed before a long journey. It’s an old building made of stone that has been blackened by time.
“The city is talking,” Coyula says.
He points toward a three-story buildingon the other side of the church. On the balconies, its residents have hung clothes and an old lady is hunched over the rusted rail, peering at the square. The building is in such bad shape, that it has been condemned, but there are still people living in it.
Coyula points to the apartment in the upper left corner of the building. Someone, he said, has taken the time and invested the money — not an insignificant endeavor in Cuba — to paint just the outside wall of their apartment.
“If you tell people in Havana to pay a fee for the maintenance of a building they will say, ‘No, I don’t own the building. I own the apartment,” Coyula said. So all over Havana, you’ll see buildings that look ready to crumble with hopeful splashes of paint.
In other words, at least when it comes to buildings in this socialist country, individualism has outstripped collectivism. And in a city like Havana, where most people live in apartment buildings, that’s a serious problem.
“It’s like baseball,” Coyula said, resorting to the country’s favorite allegory. Like a Texas leaguer, the overall maintenance of buildings in the city has gotten lost somewhere between the government and individual.
A new study from professor Erika Hall of Emory University’s Goizueta Business School suggests that white people have a far more negative view of the term “Black” than they do of the term “African-American.” For instance, study participants routinely concluded that a person had a higher level of education and job status, if that person was referred to as African-American rather than Black…… Study participants also concluded that targets identified as “African-American” were perceived to have a higher socioeconomic status, to generally be more competent, and to have a “warmer” personality.
Cooper points out that this debate is not new. Early in the 20th century, W.E.B. DuBois wrote in The Souls of Black Folk, about the double-consciousness of being black, “this sense of always looking at ones’ self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness, An American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.”
Some childhood symbols straddle the line between adorable and terrifying. Like clowns. Or Furbys.
But some dolls fit the category, with spooky eyes that seem to move and the porcelain pallor. They’re not all Chucky, but some of them just don’t seem quite right.
Listener Anne McLaughlin grew up with a cabinet full of dolls — a pretty dancer doll, a set of wooden nesting dolls. But one, she says, stood out.
“One of the dolls in the cabinet was absolutely terrifying,” she says. “Very tall, thin doll, and her face was not a doll face. It was a grown woman, so she didn’t have big eyes she didn’t have a smile. She had tiny little eyes. She always looked like she stepped out of one of those New Orleans ghost stories.”
The doll gave Anne the creeps.
So one night, when she was about 10, McLaughlin thought, “ ‘I’m going to take her out of the cabinet just to prove that I’m not scared of this doll,’ even though I was very scared of the doll.”
So she wound her up, left her on the bedside table and walked away. Suddenly there was a crash.
Goats and Soda reporters reflect on the anniversary of the first confirmed case of Ebola. More stories on the blog. Photos from Kelly McEvers, Tommy Trenchard, Anders Kelto, and John W. Poole.
November 2014: Walking A Long Road
It was the week before Thanksgiving when we drove from Monrovia into rural Bong County, past the end of the cell service, to the place where a dirt road turned into a walking path. Down the path was an Ebola hot spot where there had been dozens of cases. We were going there with a handful of epidemiologists and doctors in search of one rumored case.
There was a woman who lived somewhere down the path, and local health officials suspected she had Ebola.
The walk took hours. At each village we came to, the epidemiologists asked about the woman. Keep walking, we were told. She lives farther down the path.
Walking, there was a lot of time to imagine what we’d find when we finally found her. What was the plan? What if she were too sick to walk out to the hospital? What if she had already died?
Finally, we arrived in the last village, her village. That, we were told, is her house. That is her room, behind that door. The men from the town stood in a tense circle in front of the house. She’s not here, they insisted. Ebola is not here. No one opened the door.
We stood there until the sun began to dip behind the trees. The consensus among the local health officials was that the woman was hiding nearby, but we had run out of time. It would be getting dark soon.
It felt like we had come all that way for nothing. Hiking out, one African Union epidemiologist, Mutaawe Lubogo, was unsurprised and undaunted. He pointed out we knew more than we had this morning, and the people of the villages we visited now had more information about Ebola.
“This is true epidemiology,” said Lubogo. “You walk and walk, and tomorrow you do it again.”