By Lorelei Poch
Environment Editor

It wasn’t long ago when I used plastic bags to carry my products out of Target and Ziploc bags to carry snacks. I still purchase products that are shipped from across the country or world. Three months ago I bought a bath mat off of Amazon shipped in excessive packaging over wasteful, long-distance transportation. When I study abroad I will fly via commercial airlines. But now I am committed to contributing less and knowing more.

People say they care about the environment. The integrity of our earth. They worry about dangers and ambiguity in the future. They call themselves environmentalists and activists. Yet they throw aluminum cans in the trash dumpster, don’t research how to dispose of waste properly, and continue to purchase single-use products made with no intent of reuse or re-purposing.

I’m not the president of any club. I am no environmental studies major or minor. I am no hippie who showers once a week and drives an electric car, though I wish I did. I am a junior at St. Michael’s College, frustrated and disturbed by the lack of genuine activism in our generation and apathy toward saving our damn planet. Earlier this semester I attended a tour of the Materials Recovery Facility in Williston. Before this, I knew little
about what belongs in our blue bins and what to avoid because it can never be reused or recycled. I learned what to throw away and what to refrain from buying at all costs. But only together can we make a considerable impact and fight for our future. If you worry about what the next 10 years will look like, you need to be active in local legislature and push for change NOW, not later. Being an activist doesn’t mean you have to get
up every weekend at 7 a.m. to hold a sign downtown. There are students already banded together, motivated for change, whom you can join to stimulate progress.

On Sun. Nov. 17, I joined 170 other students, from middle school to grad school, at the Vermont State House in Montpelier to represent 44 delegations (schools) and participate in mock local legislature to encourage the government to act now on the global climate crisis. We voted unanimously to pass the Young Vermont United Climate Declaration which included the encouragement of state education on how to protect our earth, the conservation of natural areas and protection against erosion, reduction of transportation emissions, and advocacy for and support of local farmers implementing sustainable practices.

Join us on Fri. Jan. 10 in the Vermont State House to deliver a signed Climate Declaration to Vermont Rep. Peter Welch, who will decide whether or not to pass the bill created by Vermont youth. Your presence will show our elected leader that youth care and will fight for our future.

If Greta Thunberg can be on a boat for 15 days to avoid the emissions of greenhouse gases from one commercial airplane, we can learn what not to buy, how to properly dispose of what we purchase, and easy ways to reduce waste and emissions. No one is perfect, but it is our job to act NOW on the global climate crisis and do everything that we can to contribute less to climate change.

Don’t be a wimp. Do the RIGHT thing; educate yourself and reduce your carbon footprint now.

By Meg Friel
Executive Editor

I was sent to Catholic school from the age of kindergarten. My Irish Catholic father and Italian Catholic mother had already baptized my sister and me, and figured that the slap of a nun’s ruler or soap in the mouth that they experienced as kids in Catholic school would only traumatize us enough to instill morals that children in the public schools weren’t so lucky to receive.

Most of the morals I was taught in school came from the 0-60 method of using hell as a scapegoat for all means of discipline. While we memorized the golden rule and recited our 10 Hail Marys in cult-like fashion, we harbored an overwhelming sense of dread we would commit a sin. I would start to feel the back of my neck grow hot after taking a paper clip off of my teacher’s desk without asking, silently praying that somehow God would forgive this seventh commandment slip-up.

Small instances like this started to creep up on me until eventually I found it difficult to sleep. I dwelled over what I could possibly be sent to hell for, pausing for a second to hope that Jesus would consider “crap” as the gray category of curse words. This came to a peak in the sixth grade when the principal locked us in a room, surrounded by pictures of Jesus crying, Jesus bleeding, Jesus nailed to the cross and what I swore was a thought bubble that said, “Megan, why did you do this to me?”

There, the principal lectured us on the agony we put Jesus through because Zach couldn’t resist throwing a rock at the stop sign on the walk to gym class. From then on, our every mistake would be documented and filed away until the weekly meeting.

My parents switched me to public school, morals be damned.

Things lightened up and eventually, in the midst of my teenage rebellion, I made the executive decision to no longer believe in hell. Nevertheless, I continued to carry the baggage that took shape in the form of an angel and devil on my shoulders. This turned into a mild case of anxiety that has followed me since my childhood. I think the need to overcompensate for Adam and Eve’s original sin left me an overachieving yes woman, still worried over every mistake I’d make. Today, it’s still difficult for me to brush off the small things my friends seemed to have no trouble forgetting, like putting a “20% off” sticker on a pair of shoes not on sale. Cut to me crying in bed, praying for forgiveness. My Catholic guilt is a relentless companion that, although tamed, still always resurrects.

I’m not writing this op-ed in hopes of taking down the Catholic church. I believe religion is a sacred thing for those who abide by it, and I won’t say that my relationship with God is abolished. I’m grateful for my experience with the Edmundites on campus, who’ve been nothing but welcoming to me, and given me a sense of community.

I question, however, my inability to separate church and state of mind. I see this as a common trend in the world of former practicing Catholics, as my aunts, uncles, and parents relived their days in Catholic schools, uncomfortably laughing while they make jokes of hearing the approaching nun’s rosary beads in their nightmares despite not having gone to church in years.

Although I’m not sure I’ll ever fully rid myself of Catholic guilt, or even that I want to, as sometimes I secretly think that maybe it is the cause of all my (sometimes tiresome) morals, I do know this: There is no way in hell I’m sending my kids to a Catholic elementary school.

By Doug Babcock 

Recently, St. Michael’s College Public Safety organized a Rape Aggression Defense (R.A.D.) class that was free and open to all women on campus, students and employees. This national program has been taught in schools, towns and businesses across the country for many years, empowering women with tools and training to protect themselves. St. Michael’s has five certified instructors and works with area police departments to bring this training to campus and others in the area. We offer this class every semester.

Recently we found a picture of one of our flyers with a note on the back, which said, “Why don’t we have consent classes for men??” This is an important question, and I’d like to address this question and the mindset around it directly.

The college conducts a number of trainings, outreach and engagement activities around consent, healthy relationships, respect, positive decision making and more. The class we were offering is just one of many opportunities to learn about various aspects of the issues of sexual assault, as well as other misconduct and negative social attitudes and norms.

Moreover, Public Safety supports the college mission of educating students not for life at Saint Mike’s, but for life. The skills we teach, like the R.A.D. program and the Active Threat Response, are not about what happens here. While these and other bad things are possible here, there is a greater likelihood that somewhere in students’ lives after St. Michael’s that they may encounter a dangerous situation. We want to give you tools for life. 

To be frank, the sexual assault reports we receive on-campus rarely involve the type of attack and violence that the R.A.D. class is designed to teach about. However, the more tools, the more mindset training, and the more confidence a person has in their life, the greater the chance they have to reduce or prevent harm in a variety of circumstances. 

Unfortunately, we had to cancel this semester’s R.A.D. class due to a lack of interest. Additionally, we heard that the comment on the flyer was also posted online. My hope is that the comments and conversation did not deter people who may have otherwise been interested in taking the class and missing out on a skill that may have helped them later in life.

If you have any questions about this training program, other efforts around sexual assault awareness, prevention or response, or other safety programs on campus, I ask and encourage people to ask us directly. The Student Life Office, the Title IX office and Public Safety all exist to help our students learn and navigate both life here at St. Michael’s and to grow and succeed safely in the world now and after you graduate.

-Your Partners in Public Safety. 

Doug Babcock is the Director of Public Safety at Saint Michael’s College. 

By Emma Shortall
Multimedia Editor

Therapy isn’t for everyone. At least, I decided it’s not for me.

When I was in seventh grade, my mother took me to a therapist. I didn’t want to go in the first place. My mother sat next to me trying to fill my therapist in on what was going on in my life–a suicide attempt, a sense of having no one in my life who could help. But I felt this was going nowhere. I could handle it on my own. I knew my life was not good but what could this lady do for me? She didn’t know anything about me at all.

Being forced to go to therapy makes you resist. I was stuck in this experience that I wanted no part in. I was in middle school and someone had called my parents telling them I seemed off. They took note and instantly I was signed up for therapy.

I was a swimmer. But every practice seemed to destroy me. The physical exertion allowed me to release all of my pent up worries and anxiety. It gave me time to process what was in my head. I couldn’t swim a lap without having to get out of the pool because I couldn’t breathe from the hyperventilation of my crying. It was visible that I wasn’t okay. I was suicidal, I was depressed, and I had anxiety. Everyone noticed.

I eventually became known as the “suicide girl” on the team. When I got home I would squirrel myself away in my room so my parents wouldn’t notice.

I didn’t hate therapy, but I didn’t think it was helping. I liked talking with the therapist but I felt nothing was changing in my life. And it wasn’t just the therapist. I was also meeting regularly with my school guidance counselor and a social worker. Nothing was working. I was still depressed, I was still suicidal, my anxiety wasn’t any better. So, I stopped.

I was talking to someone who didn’t know me, and they were listening, but only offering informational support, not the emotional support I needed. The therapist would suggest ways to deal with anxiety, but none of them worked. I just needed her to listen.

I came away from this many months-long experience with nothing. I learned no successful coping mechanisms.

Eventually, my life did get better. I stopped the routine of swimming, the scrutiny of tough coaches, and I made new friends. I started working. I was able to take a mental break from my main stressors. But none of this came out of therapy, it came out of me changing what I was doing.

Therapy didn’t work for me, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for everyone. My sister goes and loves it, same with my friends.

I need more positives in my life, and therapy made me dwell on what was going wrong. During my sessions, I would talk about what was going on in my life, and it would force me to remember all the bad in my life, not the good. Bad always overpowers the good thoughts in my brain, and for me, that wasn’t what I needed.

I need a support system consisting of friends and family. I like having a personal connection between the person I’m telling my life stories to. There is an element of trust that I never fully built with my therapist, guidance counselor, or social worker.

There is a fine line on what I tell my friends and family. I never want to burden anyone with my problems. This isn’t their job to listen to my problems. I know when people tell me their problems, I feel a sudden urge to help them and it begins to stress me out when people dump everything onto me.

I still have what I call “relapses” of depression and suicidal thoughts. If my support system goes down then so do I. My family, including my parents and sister, are the ones who are always there.

Coping is hard when I’m still trying to figure out what the best strategies are for me. That’s not just because I don’t go to therapy. Everyone needs to figure out what their best coping strategies are, and it’s a process of figuring out which are good and bad for you. Right now, whenever I’m stressed out, hanging out with my friends really helps. Just chatting, watching movies, going shopping, anything helps.

So every time I’m feeling down all I hear is, “You should go to therapy,” and every time I tell them no. I promise I can do it myself. Therapy isn’t for me.

The point of this article is not to discourage people from therapy. Therapy does work, it works for my family and friends. This is just my story.

By Molly Humiston
Contributing Writer

Some athletic programs try on coaches like a new pair of shoes. Other programs keep a coach as if it were their favorite pair regardless of how well they fit. I have experienced both in ten years of field hockey. For my first years playing I had seven different coaches, one for each year I played prior to college. The field hockey program in my hometown has suffered immensely with no consistency and little funding to anchor it among developing athletes. Like new shoes on a shelf, coaches came and went.

I had thought that this lack of consistency would be the greatest hiccup in my athletic career.

I was wrong.

A consistency in staff can also be the demise of a program. I know because it is killing mine.

The team itself changes every year. But every year the coaches remain the same, regardless of the previous year’s poor scores and our ever-growing mountain of aspirations relinquished.

For more than 21 years the same core coaching staff has stood on the sideline. Not even an assistant has changed. For the first five years, the program posted winning seasons and a full rotation of players, but for more than a decade, the program has maintained a losing record.

The trend exists across the athletic landscape at St. Michael’s, where the coaching staff remains unchanged even after years of losing records. Are we, the athletes, to blame, the coaches who guide us, or the college that sponsors us?

We’ve fallen into a defensive rut, and after denying 10 times as many shots as we take, the ball inevitably meets the boards with a definitive thwack.

In 20 years, SMC field hockey has tallied an overall record of 169-200 (wins-losses) with the 2019 season not yet included. Our season, with its ever-hopeful motto of “Find your fire,” was burdened with losses to teams we expected to beat. Our internal flames fizzled with each loss.

Following games, my team still gathers around in a semi-circle with expressions that vary from detached, sad, and angry to hear the same phrases once more: “Lots of learning today!” “Best game yet!”

The message never changes.

Our coaches, who no longer know how to guide us, let us down. This is not to say that the coaches are inadequate, it is rather that they are no longer the right fit.

Without funding and support, athletics can’t grow, coaches can’t improve. If they want to attract players, the college needs to invest in athletics.

Growing up, the news constantly reported coaches being cut from programs, both professional and collegiate, because they weren’t producing results. Even with teams that reel in wins, the core staff often includes change, introducing new perspectives and experience.

My team has had many talented athletes, but their ability to apply talents can only go as far as they are guided and given the chance to grow. This is the role we expect coaches to fill.

We play our hearts out, denying shot after shot, still hoping we might win, but the undercurrent of that hope is us wishing that we won’t be crushed.

The fire goes out.

Success for athletes comes in many forms, but the one that matters most in the longevity of a program, is winning. When the losses pile well beyond the wins the only way to tip the scale is to change the point of attack.

We need the college to put loyalty aside and open the doors to new coaches who can give us a chance of reclaiming what it means to be a Purple Knight. Athletes are the mouthpiece for their programs, give us a reason to be proud of them.

Molly Humiston ’21 is a Media Studies, Journalism & Digital Arts major, and a part of the field hockey team.