Writing Center

Gramscian Hegemony and the Transition to Violence in the Nicaraguan Revolution

BY Writing Center

In a Tortoiseshell

This paper systematizes and applies Antonio Gramsci’s theory of hegemony to the Nicaraguan Revolution, exploring how hegemonic systems suppress dissent and how movements transition into violent resistance. In this excerpt, I examine the nuances of Gramsci’s framework of hegemony and revolutionary strategy, focusing on the dynamics of consent, coercion, and the wars of position and maneuver. Furthermore, I explore the concept of organic crisis, where structural failures expose contradictions in ruling ideology, providing the grounds for revolution to occur.

Excerpt / Aeden Fraley

Hegemony functions through the dual process of 1) generating a normative cultural order that secures consent for the system’s rule, alongside the 2) traditional mechanisms of coercion that manifest through an array of repressive repertoires.¹ This consent is rooted in the establishment and maintenance of institutional power, through means of education, media, religion, and other networks. Through these institutions, the prevailing hegemonic power establishes the perception that its rule is at least the only choice or, at best, the moral imperative. This duality is well paralleled by the relative nature of repression and concession.² Regimes employ repressive tactics to engage in coercion, in addition to, while less directly related, concessions to strengthen mass consent to their rule. It is important to note that repression manifests as direct, often violent actions aimed at the suppression of oppositional ideology, while coercion is a broader concept that can include further subtle mechanisms, like legal and economic tactics, that strengthen dominance. The hegemonic power combines these tactics to limit accessible political opportunities and close potential institutional gateways that movements depend on for success.³

The Gramscian response to this system is a subsequent counter-hegemonic framework. As hegemony is described as dependent on a constructed culture that affirms the rule of the elite, counter-hegemony proceeds by the development of a competing worldview that challenges their legitimacy.⁴ This process of building an alternative ideology intends on exposing the inherent contradictions of the ruling classes dominance that is preserved through manufactured consent. Thus, through the mobilization of existing like-minded movements, counter-hegemonic tactics engage with cultural institutions in an attempt to reshape the narrative of society, primarily through means of grassroots efforts. It is important to recognize the relevance of the framing of these efforts in a way that strategically appeals to the subjective perceptions of the masses, with the goal of ideologically converting as many people as possible through emotional appeals.⁵⁶

This struggle is well articulated by Gramsci’s relative frameworks for revolutionary strategy—the wars of position and maneuver.⁷ The war of position is characterized by a long-term struggle against the oppressing class, methodologically challenging its cultural and ideological dominance. In this case, like-minded groups network in a way that focuses on the genesis and cultivation of counter-hegemonic institutions within civil society, using diverse repertoires from protest to education and media in order to slowly erode the prevailing ideologies legitimacy.⁸⁹ The war of maneuver, however, takes on a more conflict-oriented approach directly confronting the hegemonic system — often through physical struggle.

To further delineate the two revolutionary tactics, it is important to clarify: the war of position involves a struggle “within and against” the ruling system,¹⁰ while the war of maneuver is that of explicit conflict with the government. Depending on how we interpret this, movements with revolutionary aims theoretically need not engage in a war of maneuver if the war of position is successful enough in the erosion of this established hegemonic consent and mobilizes the population effectively. For example, Gandhi’s nonviolent struggle against British colonial rule highlights how, under the right conditions, the war of position can be effective at producing the intended changes of a movement.¹¹ In this case, the British Empire’s post-World War II decline and its inability to readily engage in coercive action allowed Gandhi’s nonviolent resistance to prevail with the absence of a war of maneuver. However, this process can easily collapse into violence through excessive and increasingly indiscriminate violence perpetrated by the prevailing regime.¹² In cases such as the Nicaraguan Revolution, where the Somoza regime’s manufactured consent had not been extensively enough eroded and coercive control was still well maintained, a war of maneuver was an inevitable necessity for systemic change. The transition between these two phases of conflict, the wars of position and maneuver, can be well conceptualized in what Gramsci refers to as an organic crisis.¹³ This generalized term characterizes the point in which something “organically,” or naturally occurs that exposes the underlying contradictions within the ruling ideology. This crisis arises through a combination of economic, political, and social factors that strain the present system, like widespread poverty in the case of the Nicaraguan Revolution, or through other more external factors such as foreign affairs or natural disaster. Gramsci’s emphasis on the organic nature of these events both breaks from and synergizes with the structuralist theories of revolution,¹⁴ which assert that revolutions are not deliberately generated but rather solely the byproduct of structural conditions over time. By framing crises as contingent, he acknowledges the pivotal role of revolutionary agency in the outcomes of movements, while still accepting certain structural culminations in the genesis of political opportunity. This emphasis on the organic nature of events involving movements allows us to critically conceptualize the forces at play in the pivotal points that shape the evolution of revolutionary struggles.

Footnotes

Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks, ed. and trans. Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith (New York: International Publishers, 1971), 207, 242. ↩︎
Karen Rassler, “Concessions, Repression, and Political Protest in the Iranian Revolution,” American Sociological Review 61, no. 1 (1996): 132—136, 144—146. ↩︎
Herbert Kitschelt, “Political Opportunity Structures and Political Protest: Anti-Nuclear Activism in Four Democracies,” British Journal of Political Science 16, no. 1 (1986): 57—60, 62—64. ↩︎
Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks, 210-211. ↩︎
Charles Kurzman, “Structural Opportunity and Perceived Opportunity in Social-Movement Theory: The Iranian Revolution of 1979,” American Sociological Review 61, no. 1 (1996): 153—156. ↩︎
James M. Jasper, “Recruiting Intimates, Recruiting Strangers: Building the Contemporary Animal Rights Movement,” in Waves of Protest: Social Movements Since the Sixties, ed. Jo Freeman and Victoria Johnson (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1999), 66—70. ↩︎
Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks, 238-239. ↩︎
Charles Tilly, Popular Contention in Great Britain, 1758—1834 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 40—45. ↩︎
Gene Sharp, From Dictatorship to Democracy: A Conceptual Framework for Liberation (New York: The New Press, 2012), 1—6, 54—56. ↩︎
Kojin Karatani, “War of Maneuver vs. War of Position,” P2P Foundation, accessed February 26, 2025, https://p2pfoundation.net/war-of-maneuver-vs-war-of-position. ↩︎
Karatani, “War of Maneuver vs. War of Position.” ↩︎
Stathis N. Kalyvas, The Logic of Violence in Civil War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 146—150, 172—174. ↩︎
Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks, 210-211. ↩︎
Theda Skocpol, Social Revolutions in the Modern World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 100—102, 110—112. ↩︎

Works Cited

Gramsci, Antonio. 1971. Selections from the Prison Notebooks. Edited and translated by Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith. New York: International Publishers.

Jasper, James M. 1999. “Recruiting Intimates, Recruiting Strangers: Building the Contemporary Animal Rights Movement.” In Waves of Protest: Social Movements Since the Sixties, edited by Jo Freeman and Victoria Johnson, 65—82. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

Kalyvas, Stathis N. 2006. The Logic of Violence in Civil War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Karatani, Kojin. n.d. “War of Maneuver vs. War of Position.” P2P Foundation. https://p2pfoundation.net/war-of-maneuver-vs-war-of-position.

Kitschelt, Herbert. 1986. “Political Opportunity Structures and Political Protest: Anti-Nuclear Activism in Four Democracies.” British Journal of Political Science 16 (1): 57—85.

Kurzman, Charles. 1996. “Structural Opportunity and Perceived Opportunity in Social- Movement Theory: The Iranian Revolution of 1979.” American Sociological Review 61(1): 153—70.

Rassler, Karen. 1996. “Concessions, Repression, and Political Protest in the Iranian Revolution.” American Sociological Review 61 (1): 132—52.

Sharp, Gene. 1994. From Dictatorship to Democracy: A Conceptual Framework for Liberation. Cambridge: The Albert Einstein Institution.

Skocpol, Theda. 1994. Social Revolutions in the Modern World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Tilly, Charles. 1995. Popular Contention in Great Britain, 1758—1834. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Author Commentary / Aeden Fraley

The course that I wrote this paper for, Social Movements and Revolutions, briefly mentioned Gramscian analysis as one of the less commonly used theories for conceiving of the role of culture in mobilization. However, Gramsci’s conceptualization of the synthesization of a false consciousness in deeply entrenched hegemonic systems piqued my interest, so I decided to inquire further with my term paper. Thus, writing the paper became a balance of carefully articulating the theoretical framework while also applying it to a specific historical event—the two major sections mirror each other in structure, first outlining the theory and then in the same order working through the case itself.

The research portion of the paper was somewhat multifaceted, with the course itself having already distilled most of the academic literature on social movement theory. However, when it came to Gramsci’s thought, it was much more difficult to parse through his noticeably more difficult Prison Notebooks. To achieve the intended structure of the paper, I chose to first outline a framework for Gramsci’s key concepts, while then logically mapping them onto the historical events of the Nicaraguan Revolution, outlining a progression from nonviolent resistance into armed conflict. The construction of this framework itself was very rewarding, alongside its connection to the case itself. It was interesting to see exactly how the individual concepts within Gramscian hegemonic theory functioned, from the dual use of consent and coercion to the wars of maneuver and position divided by organic crisis, specifically in the context of the Somoza regime’s chronic repression of the struggling Nicaraguan populous.

This excerpt from the essay represents arguably the most important movement within the overall argument, as it outlines the vital theoretical framework and provides the grounds for mapping itself onto the historical event. The writing itself required careful attention to and revision of rigorous definitions of the theoretical concepts. As I outlined them in order, the following analysis in which they were applied manifested through a similar logic (e.g. the war of position is first established while then building into the war of maneuver).

While the essay was a great experience in developing my writing skills, I found it very difficult at times to maintain the scope of the argument, as well as the balance between explanation and analysis. I had to amend the topic a few times to limit the scope for a paper of this length, which helped me learn to take executive steps to ensure the final product was not convoluted or incapable of fully grasping the topics I introduced. For example, there were other concepts both in the current excerpt (Gramsci’s organic intellectuals), and in the analysis (the role of foreign influence) that I had to exclude, as well as the overall focus on the logic of transitioning into violence from nonviolence. These choices helped me improve the analysis of my paper, as well as provided insight into proper writing technique.

Editor Commentary / Mya Koffie

One of the most prevalent characteristics of strong academic writing produced in a collegiate setting is the ability to synthesize theories that are not one’s own, apply those theories to a relevant or sensible situation previously not considered by the original theorists, and use information from the selected situation to extend or enrich the selected theory. Aedan’s use of this “inventive intervention” process in his piece on the Nicaraguan Revolution exemplifies deft scholarship. Theories rooted in political science, such as Gramsci’s theory on hegemony that is explored then expanded in Aedan’s except, are often extremely complicated and require careful orienting. Aedan’s orderly illumination of dual processes—consent as it exists with coercion, position as it diverges from maneuver—breaks complex political ideas into understandable classifications and applies those classifications to real-world events with clear impacts.

It proves critical to insert ourselves into a field or attempt to contribute meaningfully within it only once we ourselves have a firm grasp on the operating frameworks that underpin foundational field theories. Yet, the writer’s role is seldom finished at the point at which they conceptualize existing frameworks correctly for themselves. The act of parsing out details and information in a way that makes sense of niche field understandings and theories for the benefit of a more general audience is paramount when making creative interventions as an academic writer.

In this excerpt, the context, history, and theoretical underpinnings of social movements and political science cannot be left unaddressed even as Aedan intends to contend primarily with the specific situation of the Nicaraguan Revolution. One of the most important practices for writers is to resist in certain ways as they delineate a circumstance or historical instance about which they are passionate. Here, in order to make a creative scholarly contribution, Aedan successfully resists the urge to unpack the Nicaraguan Revolution and launch into his main argumentative ‘cogs’ until after the metaphorical machine’s wiring is all set up. How is hegemony understood within the field? What types of wars might be classified as wars of position versus wars of maneuver? These are issues of categorization that Aedan effectively addresses before he asserts his own ideas, having given himself a strong, clear conceptual basis on which to stand.

Authors

Aedan Fraley ‘27 is a sophomore majoring in philosophy and minoring in German and mathematics, with a passion for mathematical philosophy, the continental-analytical divide, and economic/political power structures. In his spare time, he works for Next Admit as a college essay consultant and can often be found in the gym or practicing various martial arts. A student committed to the development of conversations on campus about altered states of consciousness and the effects of psychedelics, Aedan serves as an officer in the Princeton Science of Psychedelics Club.

Mya Koffie ‘27 is a Public and International Affairs major from Appleton, Wisconsin. In addition to her role as a Writing Center Fellow on campus, she is an officer of Princeton’s intercollegiate debate team, a competing delegate on the university’s Model United Nations team, and a writer for the Princeton Legal Journal. In her leisure time, she loves going on runs and visiting new coffee spots with friends.

Convention and Authenticity: The Language of Tragedy in Romeo and Juliet

BY Writing Center

In a Tortoiseshell

The following excerpt is from my midterm paper for my freshman seminar, FRS117: Tragedy and the Meaning of Life. There was no prompt for this assignment—the only restriction was that we had to write about a text we had read in class so far—so I opted to write about Romeo and Juliet. In this paper, I chose to interrogate why the language of Romeo and Juliet shifts between what I coined to be “conventional” (filled with familiar literary forms and tropes) and “authentic” rhetorical styles. I ultimately contend that a rhetoric of authenticity necessarily reflects the tragic complexities of reality, a reality that cannot be neatly categorized by convention, borrowing Victor Shklovsky’s concept of “defamiliarization” to help me argue that moments of syntactical authenticity heighten the play’s tragic gravitas.

Excerpt / Nikki Han

Conventional rhetoric is not just unable to represent reality, but it fails to represent tragedy, which for Shakespeare is an integral part of reality. This idea crystallizes in the latter half of the play, when the play’s truly tragic moments occur. In particular, Lord Capulet’s reaction to Juliet’s ‘death’ is stiff and forced: he says “Death lies on her like an untimely frost / Upon the sweetest flower of all the field,”¹ and a few lines down, continues “Flower as she was, deflowerèd by him. / Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir.”² Here, the consecutive accumulation of conventional floral imagery and filial metaphors makes Capulet’s expression of grief appear contrived. In fact, imagery associating dead brides with flowers can even be found within numerous epitaphs in the Greek Anthology, a Renaissance record of Hellenic poetry.³ Capulet’s mourning, modeled on the Classics, is therefore derivative. When read in the context of the rest of the scene, the detachment and automaticity of Capulet’s dialogue becomes even more apparent. Just before Capulet delivers his lines, the Nurse exclaims “She’s dead, deceased, she’s dead, alack the day!”⁴ which is mirrored by Lady Capulet’s exclamation, “Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!”⁵ Unlike Capulet, the reactions of the Nurse and Lady Capulet more authentically convey the grief of losing a child. While Capulet uses descriptive imagery, neither the Nurse nor Lady Capulet do so: for them, their sorrow and shock are unable to be adequately captured but for repeating the words “she’s dead”, an utterance that seems out of place in a play filled with poetic language, but an utterance that nonetheless feels like a natural expression of grief for the audience. In this context, Capulet’s turn to literary convention appears detached from the actual emotional consequences of the tragedy.

Accordingly, an authentic rhetoric, which is divested of convention, is better able to understand a world that is itself unconventional; authenticity indeed heightens the audience’s ability to feel the tragic emotions of fear and pity because it enables the process of defamiliarization. In his essay ‘Art as Device,’ Russian Formalist critic Victor Shklovsky defines defamiliarization as the act of describing objects and experiences in novel, unfamiliar ways so that the audience can view these objects and experiences in a different light. Shklovsky refers to the Aristotelian notion that poetic language must have “something foreign, something outlandish about it.”⁶ To put it simply, conventional rhetoric produces an automatic effect on the audience; that is, when the audience hears a sonnet, they know the characters are deeply in love. When rhetoric is then authentic—meaning it lacks familiar literary conventions—the audience is confronted with tragedy in ways they have not experienced before in previous literature, and thus fear and pity are produced in new ways.

The defamiliarizing power of authentic rhetoric is epitomized by Juliet’s Act IV Scene 3 soliloquy. Juliet’s soliloquy can be read in contrast to Aristotle’s concept of dianoia (‘tragic language’), which Aristotle believed should include references and allusions, typically to Classical mythology.⁷ Devoid of these conventions, Juliet’s soliloquy instead uses defamiliarizing vivid imagery to express her troubled interiority. Unlike her father who uses borrowed Classical imagery in his mourning, Juliet portrays death brutally and viscerally. She fears being “stifled”⁸ in a place “where the bones / Of all my buried ancestors are packed,”⁹ presenting death as suffocating and asphyxiating. She then imagines waking up to “madly play with my forefathers’ joints, / And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud, / And, in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone / As with a club dash out my desp’rate brains?”,¹⁰ a series of grotesque images strung together by verbs so tactile that the audience can almost physically feel the violence. This soliloquy, moreover, is formally defamiliarizing, as Juliet frequently breaks the usually stable flow of iambic pentameter. For example, the three-syllable long line “Come, vial,”¹¹ beginning with the forceful imperative, reflects Juliet’s unwavering and resolute mindset. More importantly, it is the lack of the other seven syllables that makes this line effective: by giving the audience time to pause, Shakespeare heightens the tragic solemnity of this scene. Breaks in form continue throughout the soliloquy to reflect Juliet’s conflicted line of thought, such as the line “No, no! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.”¹² Here, the caesuras disrupt the rhythm of the soliloquy, underscoring Juliet’s inner turmoil as she alternates between her fear of death and commitment to the Friar’s plan. The soliloquy concludes with the line “Romeo, Romeo, Romeo! Here’s drink. I drink to thee,”¹³ in which the rapid stream of syllables in this fifteen-syllable line amplifies the intensity of the tragic moment.

Footnotes

William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, ed. Peter Holland (Penguin Books, 2016), 4.5.28-29. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.5.38-39. ↩︎
Gayle Whittier, “The Sonnet’s Body and the Body Sonnetized in Romeo and Juliet,” Shakespeare Quarterly 40, no. 1 (1989): 27—41, https://doi.org/10.2307/2870752. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.5.107. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.5.108. ↩︎
Victor Shklovsky, “Art as Device,” in Theory of Prose, trans. Benjamin Sher (Dalkey Archive Press, 1990), 1—14. In this essay, Shklovsky coins the idea of “defamiliarization,” the idea that poetry should describe familiar things in unfamiliar ways such that the reader can gain a newfound appreciation or perspective. This will be expanded on further in the essay. ↩︎
Aristotle, “Aristotle, Poetics (C.350-330 BCE),” in Reader in Tragedy: An Anthology of Classical Criticism to Contemporary Theory, ed. Marcus Nevitt and Tanya Pollard (Methuen Drama, 2019), 23. Aristotle argues that the purpose of tragedy is to arouse “pity and fear” in the audience through the process of imitation. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.3.33. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.3.40-41. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.3.51-54. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.3.20. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.3.23. ↩︎
Shakespeare, 4.3.58. ↩︎

Bibliography

Aristotle. “Aristotle, Poetics (C.350-330 BCE).” In Reader in Tragedy: An Anthology of Classical Criticism to Contemporary Theory, edited by Marcus Nevitt and Tanya Pollard. Methuen Drama, 2019.

Brown, Carolyn E. “Juliet’s Taming of Romeo.” Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900 36, no. 2 (1996): 333—55. https://doi.org/10.2307/450952.

Petrarch, Francesco. Sonnets and Shorter Poems. Translated by David R. Slavitt. Harvard University Press, 2012.

Shakespeare, William. Romeo and Juliet. Edited by Peter Holland. Penguin Books, 2016.

Shklovsky, Victor. “Art as Device.” In Theory of Prose, translated by Benjamin Sher, 1—14. Dalkey Archive Press, 1990.

Whittier, Gayle. “The Sonnet’s Body and the Body Sonnetized in ‘Romeo and Juliet.’” Shakespeare Quarterly 40, no. 1 (1989): 27—41. https://doi.org/10.2307/2870752.

Author Commentary / Nikki Han

Attempting to write a paper about a play that has centuries worth of scholarly discourse was an incredibly daunting task. I had no idea where to begin, so I began by going back through the notes I had typed in class. There were two key ideas that stuck out to me in my notes: the first was a brief mention of Petrarch’s influence on Romeo’s language; the second was an observation that Juliet’s soliloquy was devoid of references and allusions. These two ideas, I realized, seemed to be in tension with each other. Consequently, I went back through the play and realized I could use a framework of “convention” and “authenticity” (though I had not yet come up with these specific words to frame my thoughts) to understand the language of the entire play. Arriving at the thesis, however, was still a difficult process. I brainstormed and mind-mapped, drafted and redrafted thesis statements, until I finally arrived at a thesis that actually convinced me. Along the way, I decided to use Victor Schlovsky’s theory of “defamiliarization,” which I had encountered back in high school, as I found that “defamiliarization” could help explain the effect of “authentic” rhetoric: convention is familiar, and authenticity is (sometimes) unfamiliar.

My thesis hinges on careful textual analysis, so doing an effective close reading of Shakespeare’s language was integral to my piece. In order to argue my thesis, I had to prove multiple things: firstly, that the play’s language does actually fluctuate between conventional and authentic; secondly, that Shakespeare’s contrasting use of conventional and authentic rhetoric reflects his specific, tragic vision of the world; and thirdly, that moments of authenticity heighten the play’s tragic gravitas. To do so, I moved between analyzing individual words, assessing meter, and examining the very structure of the tragedy. I also completed additional research to help me understand when Shakespeare invoked other literary traditions and authors. Doing this close reading helped uncover an entire world of meaning that lay beneath the highly wrought text. Juliet famously says “That which we call a rose / By any other word would smell as sweet”—an adage that illuminates the gap between language and lived experiences—but when analyzing literature, a “rose” is always called a “rose” for a reason.

Editor Commentary / Annie Kim

College-level writing can seem daunting, especially when your chosen topic is a text that has been studied and commented upon for hundreds of years. Nikki’s impressive paper, which is even more so because it was written for an FRS course, trusts in her own reading of a text instead of excessively historicizing Early Modern English. She critically examines the use of classical allusions and literary tropes in the expression of love and grief and incorporates a concept from high school to form her motive, just like the Gaipa moves we often discuss in Writing Seminar. With her paper, Nikki proves that college-level writing is not an unreachable goal but simply a small step up from what we can all achieve with practice.

We worked on maintaining the close focus of her argument by avoiding defaulting to the general argument that hyperbole creates a sense of contrivance. This excerpt, taken from the end of Nikki’s paper, demonstrates her eloquent and concise orienting which is done throughout her paper, as when she introduces “defamiliarization” and “dianoia,” which she uses to support her analysis of textual evidence. Nikki’s thesis is clearly stated at various appropriate points — “…an authentic form of rhetoric, defined by its lack of literary influences and occasional breaking of meter, is more effectively able to represent the complex tragedies of reality…” and “through the process of defamiliarization, a rhetoric of authenticity is able to generate the greatest tragic effect…” — shows the amount of thought she put into its formulation.

Authors

Nikki Han ’28 is a freshman from Sydney, Australia. She plans on majoring in either English or History. On campus, Nikki is an editor for The Daily Princetonian, a poetry reader for the Nassau Literary Review, and a member of the Princeton Debate Panel. In her free time, she loves to watch movies, read poems, and spend time with her dog.

Annie Kim ’26 is a junior majoring in English and minoring in Humanistic Studies, Translation and Intercultural Communication, and East Asian Studies. On campus, she works as a Writing Center Fellow; is the co-president of Solidaridad Student Wing; and sings in Chapel Choir, Early Music Princeton, and Glee Club.

Reimagining Academic Creativity, Spring 2025

Reimagining Academic Creativity

BY Writing Center

Academic writing is often seen as rigid or formulaic, but as the previous sections have shown, students can write with originality and intention even within structured prompts. This section pushes that boundary further: what happens when you’re given free rein to be creative? How do you navigate the wide-open possibilities of an assignment while still grounding your work in strong academic practice?

The first piece, authored by Writing Center Fellow Jessica, models how creativity and scholarly rigor can coexist. Tasked with designing a “dream project” for a Sensory Ecology course, she followed a thread of personal curiosity to investigate green lacewing larvae. Her paper is imaginative, but it’s also a clear example of strong academic writing. Indeed, Jessica demonstrates how our Lexicon – and terms like motive, orienting and scholarly conversation – apply just as powerfully to scientific work as they do in the humanities.

In the second piece, Lucia draws on her experience as a writer, editor and Writing Center Fellow to reflect more broadly on how to embrace creativity in academic work. Her piece offers practical, encouraging advice for students who want to take risks – whether that means playing with form, redefining what a “scholarly voice” sounds like or simply giving themselves permission to follow an unconventional idea.

Together, these pieces invite us to reimagine what academic creativity can look like and discover how it can thrive across disciplines when we make space for our curiosity. After all, every strong paper begins with a motivating question. As these authors will tell you, the writing process is most rewarding – and often most creative – when you follow the questions that genuinely interest you and let them lead you somewhere new.

— Natalia Espinosa Dice ‘26

Finding Your Space in the Scholarly Conversation, Spring 2025

Finding Your Space in the Scholarly Conversation

BY Writing Center

At the heart of academic writing lies a deceptively simple challenge: how do you join a conversation that has been unfolding for years—or even centuries—without getting lost in the noise? Finding your place in the scholarly conversation means not only understanding the landscape of existing ideas but also identifying where your own questions, insights and curiosities belong. It requires careful listening, sharp inquiry and a willingness to rethink your assumptions through engagement with others. This process of discovery is often where innovation in academic writing begins.

In this section, we feature two writers who skillfully carve out space for their voices within complex academic conversations. The first paper, written for a History of Science course, challenges conventional narratives about 19th-century obstetric anesthesia. Instead of accepting the story of medical progress at face value, the author uncovers how racialized assumptions shaped physicians’ adoption and framing of anesthesia—an angle overlooked in previous scholarship.

The second piece, a Junior Paper in the Politics Department, explores the concept of soft power in East and Southeast Asia. By comparing Western and Chinese approaches, the author synthesizes competing definitions and proposes a new conceptual framework to support their empirical research. In doing so, they stake out their own intellectual territory in an evolving global debate.

The accompanying reflections and editor commentaries shed light on the process behind these pieces — how each writer came to understand the existing landscape and ultimately found their own space within it. What emerges are not just strong final products, but examples of how deep engagement with a scholarly conversation can lead to original and thoughtfully crafted contributions to their respective fields.

— Natalia Espinosa Dice ‘26

Rethinking Case Studies through Theory, Spring 2025

Rethinking Case Studies through Theory

BY Writing Center

It may seem daunting to work with theory, but in a simple sense, a “theory” is just a concept, framework, or key term definition—to name a few—that helps us to think about what we are already interested in. Note the directionality: We use theory to contextualize, support, develop our ideas, rather than merely using our ideas to support existing theories.

Both Katriona (“Tradwives Can Have It All Too: A Re-Examination of the Movement”) and Aeden (“Gramscian Hegemony and the Transition to Violence in the Nicaraguan Revolution”) begin with their own interests in their respective topics, which naturally leads them to seek out what other scholars have already thought about in relation to their questions. For Katriona, Judith Butler’s theory of gender performance and Moore et al.’s theoretical framework of online persona are especially useful for her to think about—she not only draws upon their ideas and connects them together but also builds upon their work by showing us how, together, they help us to better understand her specific topic of influencer tradwives. Aeden makes a similar move: Finding Antonio Gramsci’s theory of hegemony very interesting and informative, he walks us through how Gramsci defines useful key terms—which he then applies to “the case of the Nicaraguan Revolution,” using Gramsci’s theory as a lens to better understand his chosen historical event.

The two papers are thinking about very niche instances of particulars: a certain demographic of people on a certain media platform in the modern day, a specific response to a specific regime during a specific period in history—this is what we mean by “case studies.” Each of the two writers engage in the move of “rethinking” by offering different ways of thinking about these case studies, from their unique vantage points, making creative connections that may not be immediately intuitive for their readers but, for this exact reason, make them important voices to learn from.

— Grace Kim ‘25

Reinterpreting Art through Close Analysis, Spring 2025

Reinterpreting Art through Close Analysis

BY Writing Center

We could have simply titled this section “Close Reading”—but we carefully chose each word to offer a more detailed insight into what we mean by close reading.

“Reinterpreting”: interpreting as the work of making observations and weaving them together to tell a particular story; interpret-ing to emphasize this kind of storytelling as an ongoing process; re-interpreting to signal that, on a larger scale, different thinkers can offer different interpretations from all kinds of angles for the same work of art. “Art”: in this section of the Tortoise, the language of a play (Romeo and Juliet in Nikki’s paper), the carvings of a marble sculpture (The Gosford Wellhead in Olivia’s paper), the illustrative details of a figure depicted in a manuscript (The Rylands Haggadah in Tali’s paper), as three of countless possibilities. “Through close analysis”: a slow, careful approach to reinterpreting the work of art, zooming in to the details, being specific about the specific, drawing out meaningful implications, making connections across these details to show how they all come together in the work as a whole.

Each of the three writers walks us through a close analysis of their chosen work of art, often chosen out of personal fascination, and offers new ways of thinking about these pieces that have already been thought about before—just not in a way Nikki, Olivia, and Tali are uniquely perceiving. Their innovative interventions begin with their sharp eyes for noticing what interests them, which they then take the time to pause over, sit with, think through, and excitedly guide their readers to better understand—reinterpret, reimagine—the work of art alongside them.

— Grace Kim ‘25

Sp '24 Feature, Spring 2024

Compulsory Heterosexuality in Mao Era China: Marriage as a Union of Equals

BY Writing Center

In a Tortoiseshell

In this Writing Seminar paper on queerness in Mao era China, Katherine Ren identifies a gap in the scholarly conversation on compulsory heterosexuality to argue that queerness manifests uniquely in societies predicated on gender equality. Kat’s paper is particularly evocative for its treatment of the scholarly conversation, its development of motive, and its strong writerly ethos.

Excerpt / Katherine Ren

Abstract

Current scholarly literature regarding compulsory heterosexuality, including the landmark paper, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” by Adrienne Rich, situates almost all discussion of the perpetuation of compulsory heterosexuality in a Western context. In order to bridge this gap, I analyze the perpetuation of compulsory heterosexuality in Mao-Era China. Current theory is often inexorable from the discussion of the objectification of women for the service of men, but in Mao-Era China, the government made a conscious effort to raise women up as equals to men. In this paper, I investigate how compulsory heterosexuality is perpetuated in a society that insists on equality of the sexes. I additionally connect this investigation of the differences between Western and Eastern compulsory heterosexuality to differences in Western and Eastern queer culture, concluding that compulsory heterosexuality and queerness in a capitalist society is distinct from compulsory heterosexuality and queerness in a socialist society.

Queerness and Socialism

Current scholarly conversations on lesbian culture in China tend to be situated in post-socialist China, as Hongwei Bao (2020)’s Queer China is, or pre-modern/pre-Mao China, as Tze-Lan D. Sang (2003)’s The Emerging Lesbian is. Both books acknowledge the gap of queer literature in Mao Era China in their analyses, explaining that queer histories and stories were essentially erased from the People’s Republic of China (PRC)’s records. Sang, citing Harriet Evans’ research in her book, writes that “in the early years of the PRC, homosexuality was declared not to exist in liberated China” (Sang, 2003, p. 163). Bao, in his introduction to a section titled “The Emergence of Homosexuality,” writes that “[homosexuality] vanished for several decades in the Mao era” (Bao, 2020, p. 29).

However, we must not interpret the lack of records of “homosexuality” as a lack of queerness during the Mao era. (For clarification, I will use the word “queer” in this paper as a description of close relationships outside of traditional heteronormative relationships (spouses), even if the relationships are not inherently romantic.) Maoist “sexual puritanism” was based on the ideal of having men and women be equal in every way. Traditional femininity, such as clothes shaped to accentuated feminine features (such as dresses), were frowned upon by the socialist regime, and the national body of China became a unisex body in a Mao suit, which was a shapeless, modest outfit (Chen, 2001). Furthermore, relations between a man and a woman outside of wedlock were seen as scandalous and indulgent, and so close relationships between those of the same sex (homosocialism) prevailed. The Chinese population were labeled not as men or women but as comrades, no matter the sex or gender. Socialist China’s culture, which involved “[departure] from bourgeois individualism and private property, [redefinition] of traditional regimes of family and kinship, and [challenge] of conventional gender norms,” was a complete deviation from past heteronormative ideals (Bao, 2020, p. 34). In his book, Queer China, Hongwei Bao even goes as far as to say that Mao China’s culture was, in the Western definition, “queer in itself” (Bao, 2020, p. 34).

The homosexual identity did not exist and was not spoken of, yet homosexual acts and romantic relations between members of the same sex continued. Though this statement seems contradictory, it is important to situate discussions of queerness with Chinese queer identity as opposed to the (Western) “global gay.” The concept of “the global gay” asserts that ideas of sexual identity (such as names and labels) originate from the West as a result of neoliberalism and spread around the world, allowing others to exercise freedom by being able to label themselves as their preferred sexual identity (Bao, 2020, p. 71). In contrast, queerness in China, as presented in work such as Shi Tou’s Women Fifty Minutes or the online queer novel Beijing Story, is often unlabeled; queer characters are not defined by their queerness, nor do they label themselves as any specific identity, simply existing and enjoying a relationship that is “other” to the heterosexual norm. Bao points out that these stories are often imbued with a nostalgia for socialism, as the utopian relationships they portray stand in direct opposition to the commercialization of heterosexual relationships, love, sex, and marriage under capitalism (Bao, 2020, p. 79). Queer relationships are portrayed as a pure type of love asking for nothing else but love in return, while heterosexual relationships are portrayed as imbued with ulterior motives and social burdens. In this way, Chinese queer identity is inseparable from critiques of neoliberalism and nostalgia for socialism; this was a time when queerness was not labeled nor discussed, yet deep connections outside of heteronormative relationships still prevailed (Bao, 2020, p. 80).

Method

In the following sections, I will study heterosexual marriage as an institution during the Mao era in order to study queerness. More specifically, I investigate how compulsory heterosexuality was perpetuated via Mao’s propaganda for marriage. Queerness, especially in China, is not so much of an extension of heterosexual relationships (as it is perceived in the West) as it is a desire for a relationship free from the burdens of a heterosexual relationship. In other words, Chinese queerness represents the relationships outside of heterosexual, socially acceptable relationships, such as marriage (Bao, 2020).

In an attempt to determine whether or not compulsory heterosexuality in Mao Era China functioned differently to compulsory heterosexuality in the US in the same time period, I will also evaluate my findings alongside Vandermeade (2015)’s findings in her paper, “Gender Roles in American Propaganda and Advertising, 1941 – 1961.” Specifically, I compare the image of the wife in Mao Era China marriage propaganda to the image of the wife in post-World War II America.

Analysis of Marriage Posters in Mao Era China

In the 12 posters analyzed, the Mao-Era Chinese government used both implicit messaging (through the fashion choices made by the pictured women) and explicit messaging (through the poster text) in order to communicate a new image for marriage to women. Three messages stand out: (1) marriage must be resocialized as a union between equals, shown by the similar outfits and styles worn by both spouses regardless of gender, (2) marriage supports and is work for the country, and (3) both parties in a marriage should be collaborative, but independent.

Comparison to 1940-1980s America

Adrienne Rich and other scholars came to the conclusion that compulsory heterosexuality was perpetuated by the socialization of women as subservient to men. While it would be bold to say such socialization did not exist in Mao-Era China, I posit that such socialization was not as strongly pushed on women through public magazines, posters, and images. Furthermore, the American image of a wife during this time greatly differed from the Chinese image of a wife. The Chinese wife is gender-neutral and independent from her husband, where the American wife is overtly sexualized and dependent on her husband, whether it be for self-fulfillment (as seen in American makeup or weight loss advertisements) or monetary support (as seen in the lack of employed women in American advertisements). Therefore, I argue that compulsory heterosexuality in Mao-Era China was not as strongly perpetuated through the spread of the idea that women are “incomplete” without men nor the idea that women must find “self-fulfillment” in men, as Seidman (2009) had written.

Compulsory Heterosexuality in Mao Era China

What separates compulsory heterosexuality in Mao-Era China from compulsory heterosexuality in America is the presence of male-identification. Male-identification, as defined in Adrienne Rich’s paper (where she quotes Kathleen Barry) is “the act whereby women place men above women, including themselves, in credibility, status, and importance in most situations, regardless of the comparative quality the women may bring to the situation” (Barry qtd. in Rich, 1980, pg. 646). Barry also describes it as the “colonization of one’s self” (Barry qtd. in Rich, 1980, pg. 646). Combining this with Rich’s earlier assertion that women are socialized as sex objects for men, Rich appears to be claiming that, under compulsory heterosexuality, women are taught to want to be objectified. This claim is further supported by the analysis of advertisements targeted to women in the 1940-1960s in the previous section, where women are told that they needed to be desirable and therefore needed certain products.

However, this narrative is missing in the Mao-Era marriage propaganda. In its place is encouragement to be independent from your husband, to support each other in work, and to maintain relationships with others outside of your marriage. Like in the US, heterosexuality was compulsory, but, unlike the US, it was not everything. Even prior to the passing of Mao’s marriage law, when unhappy arranged marriages were commonplace, life was framed to be worth living for wives because of the company of “sworn sisters” (Cong, 2016). While the presence of male-identification in Western compulsory heterosexuality diminishes the worth of relationships between women, the lack of it in Eastern compulsory heterosexuality causes there to be a focus on them, as a type of personal salvation from the hardships of marriage. In contrast, Western compulsory heterosexuality appears to paint marriage as a personal salvation.

As concluded in the previous sections, the Chinese government pushed marriage onto women for the sake of production for the state, whether it be the production of goods or the production of children, who may then be future workers. In other words, a citizen entered a marriage not just for their own sake, but for the sake of the country: a very socialist motive. On the other hand, American industries pushed marriage onto women for the production of the nuclear family, an essential social structure for the perpetuity of capitalism, as Marxists have theorized in the past (Healy, 2009). This innate difference in motive between Chinese propaganda and American propaganda stems from their differences in economic systems. I posit that it is also this difference that separates Chinese compulsory heterosexuality and American compulsory heterosexuality. Through this lens, we can observe how Eastern compulsory heterosexuality and Western compulsory heterosexuality result in different queer cultures in America and China. As mentioned in the section “Queerness and Socialism,” Chinese queerness reflects a criticism of capitalism, while Western queerness champions it, as seen in the spread of the idea of the “global gay.”

From my analysis of Mao-Era marriage posters, I conclude that Mao-Era compulsory heterosexuality was enforced by appealing to citizens’ patriotism and desire to help their country, contrasting 1940-1960s American compulsory heterosexuality, which was enforced through male-identification in order to reproduce power structures within the nuclear family for the sake of upholding capitalism (Healy, 2009). Both types of compulsory heterosexuality manifest in marriage, but, where Mao-Era marriage encouraged women to be independent in order to work more efficiently for the country, American marriage encouraged women to be dependent in order to maintain a power imbalance between husband and wife. Thus, I argue that compulsory heterosexuality under socialism and compulsory heterosexuality under capitalism are distinctly perpetuated, which may also be related to the differing queer cultures between the East and the West. I suggest that future studies further investigate this distinction through more studies on compulsory heterosexuality under socialist or communist countries, as the current scholarly literature focuses almost exclusively on compulsory heterosexuality under capitalism.

References

Bao, H. (2020). Queer China. In Routledge India eBooks. Informa. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003027898

Chen, T. (2001). Dressing for the Party: Clothing, Citizenship, and Gender-formation in Mao’s China. Fashion Theory, 5(2), 143–171. https://doi.org/10.2752/136270401779108590

Chen, Y. (2013). Eye Contact. The University of Texas at Austin. https://repositories.lib.utexas.edu/handle/2152/22861

Cong, X. (2016). Marriage, Law and Gender in Revolutionary China, 1940–1960. Cambridge University Press.

Hamon, R. R., & Ingoldsby, B. B. (2003). Mate Selection Across Cultures. In SAGE Publications, Inc. eBooks. https://doi.org/10.4135/9781452204628

Healy, L. (2009). Capitalism and the Transforming Family Unit: A Marxist Analysis. Socheolas Limerick Student Journal of Sociology, 2(1).

Marriage Law | Chinese Posters | Chineseposters.net. (n.d.). Chineseposters.net. https://chineseposters.net/tags/marriage-law

Rich, A. (1980). Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence (1980). Journal of Women’s History, 15(3), 11–48. https://doi.org/10.1353/jowh.2003.0079

Sang, T. (2004). The Emerging Lesbian: Female Same-Sex Desire in Modern China. Comparative Literature, 56(3), 276. https://doi.org/10.2307/4125391

Seidman, S. (2009). Critique of compulsory heterosexuality. Sexuality Research and Social Policy, 6(1), 18–28. https://doi.org/10.1525/srsp.2009.6.1.18

Vandermeade, S. L. (2015). Fort Lipstick and the Making of June Cleaver: Gender Roles in American Propaganda and Advertising, 1941-1961. Madison Historical Review, 12(1), 3. https://commons.lib.jmu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1043&context=mhr

Yang, W., & Yan, F. (2017). The annihilation of femininity in Mao’s China: Gender inequality of sent-down youth during the Cultural Revolution. China Information, 31(1), 63–83. https://doi.org/10.1177/0920203×17691743

Author Commentary / Katherine Ren

I cut the Introduction (with the discussion of current literature into compulsory heterosexuality being very and maybe even inherently Western), and the nitty gritty of the poster analyses (though I kept the conclusions) — I hope the paper still makes sense regardless!

I knew from the beginning of the semester that I wanted my final paper to incorporate the concept of compulsory heterosexuality somehow, since it’s a fascinating topic that not a ton of people talk about, as some argue that it is exclusive to lesbianism. At first, I tried looking for theory-level motives only in Adrienne Rich’s original compulsory heterosexuality paper to see if she raised any points that were contradictions, or any points that I found iffy. When I situated her theory in Mao Era China, an era with queer culture that not a lot of scholarly conversation seemed to talk about, I found a punctum that I felt that I genuinely cared about and that I thought would add a valuable dimension to how compulsory heterosexuality is differently perpetuated in different cultural contexts.

When I began writing, I only wrote about Mao-Era marriage— the context was complicated, and the implications were more so— and I kinda neglected discussion of Western gender norms at this time because I thought most people would just “get” how it differed from what I was looking at. But adding the Comparison to 1940s-1980s America actually 1) clarified my argument, and 2) made my own paper make more sense to me. It’s safe to say that this paper went through quite a lot of different phases in the writing process, where I tried things, removed things, rewrote things, and only cried a little bit. In the end, I’m deeply proud of this paper, and I hope that reading an excerpt from it was enjoyable.

Editor Commentary / Grace Wang

While juggling the analysis of both primary and secondary sources, it can be difficult to find your own voice in a piece of writing. But when I first read Kat’s paper, I was struck by how strong the presence of the writer was. In this excerpt, Kat identifies a gap in the scholarly conversation—the lack of application of compulsory heterosexuality onto non-Western contexts—and uses it to craft her own unique contribution.

Kat is able to achieve this intervention through her clever structure. By introducing the reader to the existing scholarly conversation on queerness in Mao era China, she simultaneously orients the reader while building motive. Then, she explicitly states how she will address that motive by laying out her method. Through neat motivating moves, she employs analysis of her primary evidence—Mao era marriage posters—to build towards her thesis. In the subsequent section comparing Mao era China to 1940-80s America, Kat explains how Mao era China is unique is its treatment of compulsory heterosexuality, helping her cultivate a credible writerly ethos.

When I read Kat’s paper, I feel as though I am in good hands. Her references back to the existing literature tell me that she understands her topic well, and her use of signposting helps guide me through the paper’s argumentative journey. Kat’s concluding section, “Compulsory Heterosexuality in Mao Era China” elegantly closes out the paper by linking together previous points of analysis to arrive at the thesis. The conclusion connects back to the scholarly motive by revisiting compulsory heterosexuality in a new context, providing the full circle moment that the reader has been waiting for.

Producing a final research paper for Writing Seminar is no small feat. It requires self-guided research, thoughtful planning, and sometimes a few agonized screams into a pillow. However, I find that one of the most challenging aspects of writing that paper is finding the tension, gap, or puzzle that motivates the writer themselves to follow their paper through to the end. When I read Kat’s paper, I never lose sight of what the point of it all is—and that is because I see her, the writer, working with motive from beginning to end.

Papers like Kat’s are always a pleasure for readers because we get the sense that what we are reading matters, a feeling which often seems extinct within the drudgery of writing academic essays. It is a sensation that can manifest in the smallest of ways, whether through an intervention into a small part of a scholarly conversation, or a simple application of one theory onto a context where it’s been previously unexplored. These are all worthwhile and meaningful explorations for a Writing Seminar paper, and they are examples of how academic research happens—through tiny additions to the Pool of All Knowledge. Kat’s paper reminds me that what we write as college students can and should matter—even and especially in Writing Seminar.

Professor Commentary / Jorie Hofstra

Kat knew from the start of her project that she wanted to engage with Adrienne Rich’s argument about compulsory heterosexuality. Her initial plan to fill a gap in the literature by investigating queerness in China, however, hit a speedbump when she visited Princeton’s librarian for Gender and Sexuality Studies, came away with a copy of Hongwei Bao’s Queer China, and realized that the gap wasn’t quite as large as she had expected. Kat humorously captured the experience of being “scooped” by another scholar in her project proposal entitled “Research Proposal by Kat, who changed her entire idea today because Queer China practically stole everything she wanted to say, so she was both super interested and devastated as she read 233 pages of analysis on queer culture in China.” But having read extensively on compulsory heterosexuality in the West, and on gender and sexuality in both the West and the East, Kat had primed herself to recognize a genuine puzzle—aka motive—when it arose. She found new footing quickly in the puzzle of how the 1950 Marriage Law made heterosexual marriage simultaneously compulsory and easier to dissolve. Rich argues that compulsory heterosexuality is enforced through the diminishment and objectification of women, but might it take a different form when accompanied by rhetoric of equality and sameness between women and men?

Since I’ve found it useful to pivot to primary sources when feeling stumped among the scholars (and vice versa), I sent Kat a link to an archive of Mao-era Chinese posters promoting marriage. While these posters were fairly opaque to me, Kat’s ongoing reading about gender and sexuality in that period of Chinese history allowed her to perform a deep semiotic analysis of how these posters promoted a particular vision of marriage, gender, and family through the figure of the Mao-suited wife. Kat’s primary-source motive thus nested tightly within her secondary-source motive, and the result is a paper that teaches us something new about marriage ideology in Mao-era China and constructs a theoretical framework that is potentially portable to other projects.

Through her wonderfully detailed analysis of the imagery and captions of the posters and a comparison to U.S.-produced marriage propaganda from the same historical period, Kat finds that marriage in the Chinese case was promoted as “work for the country,” by contrast to the U.S. promotion of marriage as the only road to fulfillment for women. This difference has consequences for how women’s same-sex relations are constructed in each context: as a valve for relieving the pressures of marriage as a productive “union of equals,” or as a siphoning-off of energies that should be devoted to the private project of marriage. Kat’s work suggests that scholars of compulsory heterosexuality have missed the opportunity to deepen the concept through cultural-historical studies, and she offers a new variable—the economic structure within which heterosexuality becomes compulsory—to address in such studies.

Her paper stands as an exemplar of what it looks like to take motive seriously. Kat’s relentless pursuit of tension, inconsistency, or friction within and across her sources led her to continually unfold new layers of motive, complicating her argument and resolving these complications, toward a genuinely meaningful contribution to the scholarly conversation.

Authors

Katherine Ren ‘26 is a Computer Science BSE major with a certificate in African American studies. She’s a queer dear filled with love and joy, and she wants to spend her life making the world an easier place to live in for those who it’s historically forsaken. In her free time, she enjoys animated shows, naps, and trying to get all her friends to switch from Chrome to Firefox because it’s actually better in every possible way.

Grace Wang ‘26 is an Economics major from Massachusetts. On campus, she is a Writing Center Fellow and theater kid. When she’s not in the conference or rehearsal rooms, she enjoys collecting socks and watching movies.

Bringing the Motive Home, Spring 2024

Cheese and Dough: The Dairy Industry’s Successful Campaign to Reform The American Diet during the Obama Administration

BY Writing Center

In a Tortoiseshell

This excerpt concludes my junior paper, which investigates the extensive influence of corporate dairy interests on the American diet and food systems. Focused on the power dynamics between “Big Dairy” and the government, it unveils a pervasive conflict of interest in shaping dietary guidelines and regulatory bodies. The exploration of this intricate influence led us to the presented excerpt, which also introduces potential solutions, including bipartisan legislative efforts and the potential separation of dietary guidelines from USDA influence.

Excerpt / Lina Singh

The power wielded by corporate dairy interests not only molds the dietary habits of susceptible consumers but also extends its reach into broader socio-political spheres. The stark financial disproportion is exemplified by the staggering $202 million accumulated through dairy checkoff dollars in 2011, overshadowing government spending on healthier dietary alternatives such as fruits or vegetables. This contrast underscores a significant misalignment between agricultural and nutritional policies that ought to be intertwined.

This dissonance prompts deeper investigation into the connections linking big dairy and the government, revealing a political landscape where corporate interests permeate public policy, exerting profound impacts on the nation’s food systems and regulations. The 2012 Dairy Report to Congress outlines the pathway for dairy industry leaders to attain such authoritative positions: “The Secretary selects dairy producer members from nominations submitted by producer organizations, general farm organizations representing dairy producers, Qualified Programs, or other interested parties.” The Dairy Board, composed of 36 dairy producers and 2 dairy importers, administers the checkoff program and notably approved contracts with major fast-food chains like Domino’s, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, and Taco Bell in 2012. This process enables a revolving door that allows industry insiders to access pivotal roles within regulatory bodies. It’s no surprise, then, that dairy industry representation on the Dietary Guidelines Advisory Committee has also consistently risen over time: “Three out of eleven members on the 1995 Committee had past or present industry ties; seven out of eleven members on the 2000 Committee; eleven out of thirteen members on the 2005 Committee; and nine out of thirteen members on the 2010 Committee.” A clear conflict of interest becomes evident, as the leaders crafting The Pyramid, or MyPlate, are the very same ones invested in the lucrative sales of specific food products such as dairy, even if it involves collaborations with the nation’s most prominent fast-food brands.

Disturbing revelations of financial irregularities and oversight have cast a shadow over Big Dairy and the government’s transparency, prompting criticism in recent years. In 2017, a Politico article disclosed that the USDA had failed to submit a required financial report to Congress regarding a $400 million dairy research and promotional program — “one of the largest pots of cash among federal checkoff programs for at least four consecutive years.” This ignited backlash from farmers and advocacy organizations, marking a striking departure from the program’s prior transparency when, before 2012, dairy checkoff reports were routinely submitted to Capitol Hill. The period between 2012 and 2017, following the successful Domino’s campaign and the overhaul of national dietary guidelines, remained relatively subdued in the public eye until investigative reporting revealed questionable ethical and financial management practices among industry executives and government leaders.

In 2017, a year that witnessed the closure of 1,600 dairy farms nationwide, IRS records indicate that 10 executives within Diary Management Inc. received over $8 million in compensation, averaging upwards of $800,000 per person. Thomas Gallagher, the nonprofit’s CEO, received over $1 million three times between 2013 and 2017, which covered tax indemnification, charter travel, and health club benefits. This stark disparity in earnings parallels the revolving door in food policy, exemplified by former USDA Secretary Tom Vilsack’s swift transition to lead the U.S. Dairy Export Council post his tenure, while also serving as DMI’s executive vice president. Meanwhile, DMI allocated nearly $55 million to Daniel J. Edelman Inc., the world’s largest independent public relations firm, for “agency services,” attempting to counter negative publicity by promoting positive narratives about supporting dairy farmers. Thus, while DMI attempts to conceal its vulnerabilities from small dairy farmers and consumers, the checkoff program perpetuates a political system that continues to enrich the fortunes of only a handful of dairy executives.

Amidst this, members of the Agriculture Committee in both the House and the Senate have been susceptible to millions in dairy business donations, effectively turning those intended to represent the citizenry into agents of powerful agricultural interests instead. Most recently as of December 2023, the Whole Milk for Healthy Kids Act overwhelmingly passed the House, restoring whole milk and 2% milk as options in school cafeterias after they were banned under the Healthy, Hunger-Free Kids Act in 2010. The new bill comes at a time when alternative dairy options such as oat, soy, and almond milk have gained popularity among 38% of American adults. This underscores a concerning trend: while consumer preferences shift toward dairy alternatives, dairy stakeholders have found a way to clamp down on one of their most captive customers — the American youth. Furthermore, politicians have only reinforced the desires of this industry. Illinois Congresswoman Mary Miller referred to the previous elimination of whole milk from schools as “radical Obama administration policies led by Michelle Obama,” alluding to the former first lady’s efforts to combat childhood obesity. It’s clear that from the Domino’s campaign over a decade ago to the present day, the dairy industry’s sway over Capitol Hill has only intensified, showcasing a recurring cycle between public criticism, defensive industry reaction, and government institutionalization.

Former Secretary of Agriculture Sonny Perdue’s 2019 statement, “get big or get out,” captures the government’s indifferent stance toward both the struggles of dairy farmers who have historically built America’s dairy industry, as well as Americans’ waistlines. This longstanding attitude has fostered an increasingly concentrated food system, benefiting a handful of corporations while overshadowing vulnerable, powerless farmers and consumers. Since the New Deal era, there has been a notable deviation from the checkoff program’s intended function—from providing immediate relief to being leveraged for the long-term prosperity and profit gains of specific industries by influencing the American diet.

The scholarly debate between journalists Michael Moss and James McWilliams over the checkoff program encapsulates a larger discourse surrounding the government’s involvement in enhancing the profitability of private enterprises. Upon careful examination, Moss convincingly exposes systemic flaws and the unjust dominance of dairy’s largest actors in shaping food regulations that run counter to the nation’s best interests. As the trust of marginalized communities in Washington’s leadership continues to erode, it becomes increasingly critical to address this issue.

However, within this complex situation lies a glimpse of hope. Senators from opposing sides of the political aisle, Cory Booker (D) and Mike Lee (R) introduced the Opportunities for Fairness in Farming Act in February 2023 aimed at enhancing the transparency of commodity research and promotion boards. Specifically, the OFF Act would prohibit any board from entering into “any contract or agreement to carry out checkoff program activities with a party that engages in activities for the purpose of influencing any government policy or action that relates to agriculture.” Co-sponsored by Senators Rand Paul (R), Elizabeth Warren (D), and Kirsten Gillibrand (D), this bipartisan support underscores the recognized necessity for checkoff reform. Backed by numerous farm groups, including the National Dairy Producers Organization, the Northeast Organic Dairy Farmers Alliance, the Revolving Door Project, and the Campaign for Family Farms and the Environment, the OFF Act holds potential. Though in its nascent stages, concerted grassroots support and constituent pressure on representatives to propel this bill to law could potentially rescue the agricultural sector from peril.

To enhance the nation’s health, medical experts propose separating dietary guidelines from the USDA’s purview, advocating for the transfer of this responsibility to a dedicated health agency. For example, the New England Journal of Medicine suggests assigning guideline development to bodies like the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) or the National Academy of Science Institute of Medicine (IOM). Similar to practices in nations like Finland and Greece, the United States could entrust the publication of dietary advice to a government body solely focused on this task, insulated from corporate influence. This measure alone holds the promise of saving lives and delivering the unbiased nutritional guidance that Americans urgently need and deserve.

The Domino’s cheese campaign in partnership with Dairy Management Inc. serves as a stark reminder of the blurred lines between profit-driven initiatives and governmental regulations. The incestuous relationship between agribusiness interests and regulators perpetuates a system that disproportionately benefits large-scale entities while marginalizing small farmers and consumers. By disentangling the web of industry influence from agricultural policymaking, we can pave the way toward safeguarding not only American dietary choices but the integrity of the nation’s democratic values.

Author Commentary / Lina Singh

My writing process involved careful planning and continuous refinement, beginning with immersing myself in primary and secondary sources to discover a compelling narrative. Almost like an investigative reporter, I delved deeper into my chosen topic, familiarizing myself with the ongoing scholarly conversation. Crafting my argument involved building upon existing publications, supporting certain claims, and challenging others.

Conceptualizing my argument as the culmination of a chronological storyline spread across three parts helped me structure my paper. Each section served as a mini-paper seamlessly leading into the next. To organize my argument, I maintained a chronological document containing evidence, quotes, data, and historical events that naturally formed the basis for my three sections. Alongside each piece of evidence, I recorded initial thoughts on its significance and its potential role in supporting my paper’s claims. This approach not only facilitated the organization of evidence but also laid the groundwork for my analysis during the writing process. While I maintained this roadmap for my paper, I approached it with flexibility and openness to change. Adapting my initial outline throughout the writing process is what allowed for the emergence of new ideas and contributed to the development of a richer analysis.

Another lesson learned from this paper is the value of in-depth research into an ultra-specific event, person, or story. By zooming out from the details of the Domino’s cheese campaign, for instance, this paper shed light on broader implications, inspiring critical reflection and advocating for collective efforts to disentangle industry influence from dietary regulations. Entering this research, I had a broad understanding of the topic but emerged with a deeper knowledge and a refined ability to trace the complexities of this problem. The key to the success of this paper lies in my genuine interest and investment in the subject matter. So, my ultimate advice for tackling extensive research like a junior paper, is to choose a topic that excites you and sustains your interest over an extended period.

Editor Commentary / Nadja Markov

The writing style as well as the expectations of the Junior Paper differ from the ones posed by the Writing Seminars or Freshman Seminars. The writer has had two years of exposure to academic writing at the university level, as well as their department – and this can be reflected in the improvements in their approach to researching and writing a paper. Lina’s paper shows a strong understanding of the source material and an original thesis rooted in evidence. Her scholarly motive leads the paper forward, even in the conclusion.

Even the first paragraphs of the conclusion, we can see Lina restating her motive through using sentence structures such as “This dissonance prompts deeper investigation into the connections linking big dairy and the government…” In this way, she ensures that the reader once again understands her point of view as a researcher, and sees the connections that she is making in her paper. This motivating sentence is then followed by a discussion of her sources, and a deep-dive into some of the statistics that she gathered for the purpose of this paper. This is used in order to orient the reader to the issue at hand. As a reader, I felt as though I was investigating this dairy industry with Lina. This tactic is especially useful when dealing with large datasets and a plethora of sources, which most Junior Papers are. In Lina’s case, she is analyzing her sources through the lens of public policy, but this skill is interdisciplinary.

Next, Lina adds yet another layer to her motive, now restating the scholarly point of view by mentioning the “scholarly debate going on between journalists Michael Moss and James McWilliams”. This helps the reader understand the scholarly significance of her work, as well as the differing points of view that they can take on the issue at hand. This approach also ensures that she is not cherry-picking her data in order to fit one narrative, but is rather looking at the bigger picture, and analyzing her issue through an objective lens.

Finally, the writer turns to expanding the scope of her essay right at the end of the conclusion by introducing a “glimpse of hope” into the discussion. She mentions different approaches that have been taken to mitigate the issue imposed by the dairy industry, and, perhaps most importantly, takes a moment to restate what her essay brings to the scholarly conversation.

Authors

Lina Singh, ‘25, is a junior from Westport, Connecticut. She is pursuing a concentration in the School of Public and International Affairs with a certificate in Cognitive Science. Her academic track and an internship with the U.S. Department of Agriculture have propelled her exploration of food-related issues, including the impact of American animal agriculture subsidies on climate change, domestic nutrition policy, and international food aid. On campus, she is an Orange Key Tour Guide and serves as a barista at the Coffee Club.

Nadja Markov ‘26 is a Computer Science major from Zrenjanin, Serbia. Apart from being a Writing Center Fellow, she’s also a Chapel Choir singer, RCA for the Freshman Scholars Institute, and involved with Outdoor Action. When she’s not working with fellow students, she enjoys playing bass guitar, crocheting, and taking pictures of squirrels.

Bringing the Motive Home, Spring 2024

Language’s Limits: Delbo and the Incommunicability of the Holocaust

BY Writing Center

In a Tortoiseshell

This essay was written for a Freshman Seminar called “At The Mind’s Limits: The Holocaust in History, Theory, and Literature.” Throughout the semester, the class read several historical accounts and testimonies describing life inside Nazi Germany’s concentration camps; Charlotte Delbo’s writing, collected in a book titled Auschwitz and After, stood out to me for its literary and poetic characteristics. While other descriptions of the Holocaust written by survivors are conveyed through a sober prose, Delbo’s writing seeks to communicate the unspeakable through non-literal language and stylistic choices that ask to be interpreted in order to be understood.

Excerpt / Jordan Fraser Angel

On numerous occasions, Delbo writes from the perspective of those who did not survive the camps or are unable to articulate their experiences. This practice, however, raises questions about the tension between the imperative of testimony and the impossibility of communication. Indeed, Delbo writes that “it is hard to come back / and speak again to the living” (256); at the same time, Delbo has stated that “Il faut donner à voir,” which the translator phrases as “they must be made to see” (xvii). However, I propose that “donner à voir” could also mean “display”: look, but don’t touch. Further, Delbo differentiates the detached, articulate “mémoire externe” (“thinking memory,” xx) from the immediate, gripping “mémoire des sens” (“sense memory,” xx), suggesting again gradations of access. Indeed, when Delbo says that “it is not from deep memory my words issue,” she confirms a fundamental incommunicability at the heart of the experience. While this does not imply that non-survivors are barred from any access to the Holocaust, which would prevent remembering it and thinking critically about it, this does reassert the existence of a physicality so subjective that it cannot be transmitted. As the narrator writes through Mado’s perspective, “they don’t understand,” but “at the very least they must know” (261). The danger of transgression lies in the hubris of equating our impression of understanding with the survivors’ experiences, as exemplified by Marie-Louise’s husband. The wife says that “my memories have become his own” (281), but this has corrupted her memories: “I have the distinct impression he was there with me” (281). Knowing does not mean understanding: when the husband says, on a visit to the concentration camp, that “I saw more than you did when you were there,” he is committing an inexcusable error.

If language is insufficient for the non-survivor to understand the experience of the Holocaust, it is also insufficient for the survivor to describe this experience. When Delbo admits that she “can’t explain the difference between our time here and time over there” (352), she underlines the inextricable connection between incommunicability and language. The language of non-survivors is insufficient, as Delbo experiences when she first attempts to read again and finds all books superfluous, because she possesses a “more trustworthy knowledge, manifest, irrefutable” (238). For example, as Mado states via the intermediary of the narrator, “words do not necessarily have the same meaning” (267) for survivors and non-survivors. One’s hunger is not the other’s hunger. Another fellow-survivor describes herself as “disillusionized,” but adds that the use of this term is only to “imitate the way normal people think” (260). When Delbo writes of “an effort [she] cannot name” (236), she suggests that her experience lies beyond words. And yet, “there is one word only for dread / one for anguish” (11): although words do not suffice, non-literal efforts to convey “dread” and “anguish,” or any other aspect of her experience, are equally ineffective.

Beyond the limitations of words, there is also the issue of Delbo’s own doubts regarding the transformation of her testimony into a narrative. In the midst of a narrative, Delbo says that she is “writing this story in a café,” only to correct herself, saying that “it is turning into a story” (26). Similarly, describing a different episode, she wonders whether she “reconstituted this whole scene after the fact” (36). When she describes what she envisions recounting in the future to explain what she was thinking in the moment, she contradicts this by saying that even that moment of imagination was itself constructed: “This is not so […] I thought of nothing” (64). In certain instances, language is framed as existing only outside of the Holocaust: Delbo struggles “to explain with words what was happening in that period of time when there were no words” (237). Perhaps language is as alien to Delbo’s experience as is the reader’s understanding of the language she uses. When Delbo writes “today, I am not sure that what I wrote is true. I am certain it is truthful” (1), she emphasizes subjectivity rather than universality. Indeed, reality may be out of reach to both the non-survivor reading and Delbo writing, their disparate subjective understandings of the “truthful” always distanced from the “true.” The difference lies in the fact that Delbo possesses a subjective experience, while the reader only a subjective impression. Although it is not impossible that reality, experience, and understanding may coincide, the only certainty is that one cannot know whether this occurs.

Delbo’s non-literal language, which can be read as an attempt to communicate what a deceptively straightforward account could not convey, suggests that as language attempts to bridge the difference between survivor and non-survivor, it depends more and more on the subjectivity of both writer and reader. The closer one gets, the further one travels. As when Delbo asks, “and now, shall we go from dream to reality? Reality, what’s that?” (346), the “true” is always being supplanted by the “truthful.”

Author Commentary / Jordan Fraser Angel

I wondered if stretching language to its limits allows the reader to reach that zone at the “mind’s limits” which makes the very fact of the Holocaust so difficult to grasp, let alone understand. Rereading Delbo’s writing, I examined each instance of non-literal language to analyze the effects it produced on the reader. I discovered that Delbo frequently attempts to contrast or liken the world of the concentration camp with the ordinary world, in order to communicate her experience to the non-survivor. However, I realized that when Delbo evokes experiences to which only a survivor could have access, she reaches a boundary which words do not permeate. This is due to the inherent tension in the meaning of a word, bound up in experience: there is an empirical chasm between Delbo and the reader.

After locating the origin of the tension in Delbo’s writing, between the linguistic exertion performed by her non-literal stylistic choices and the incommunicability of the experience she seeks to convey, I identified the moments in which Delbo’s text meditates on this difficulty. This is what I explore in the extract above. I conclude my argument by returning to the epigraph at the beginning of Auschwitz and After: “Today, I am not sure that what I wrote is true. I am certain it is truthful.” Like much of Delbo’s writing, it is a statement whose opaqueness hinges on questions belonging to language itself.

Editor Commentary / Grace Kim

A pearl of writing-related wisdom from my own mentors: We write to think. Our thoughts emerge, take shape, accrue layers, and become increasingly complex and interconnected through the process of writing—thinking—on the page. Jordan’s paper is a prime example of this linear, forward-moving thinking. Rather than circling back to the same idea over and over again with every paragraph of her evidence-analysis, Jordan uses the very unpacking of her motive to gradually reveal a newfound understanding of the motive itself.

The first sentence of this excerpt is a nod to the first half of Jordan’s evidence-analysis, where she close-reads how Delbo “writes from the perspective of those who did not survive the camps or are unable to articulate their experiences,” as a means of thinking through the question she raises towards the beginning of her paper (motive!). Drawing from this initial motive, Jordan then raises another, more nuanced question: “This practice, however, raises questions about the tension between the imperative of testimony and the impossibility of communication.” In essence, her motive that first sparked her ideas for the paper inspires not a solidified answer that she proves over and over again but another question that she aims to better understand through the second half of her evidence-analysis.

As she unpacks her more nuanced motive, Jordan continually engages in a close-reading of her primary source at the word-level, moving beyond mere paraphrasings of what Delbo writes to examining how Delbo writes it. She weaves together her own observations and commentary (analysis!) with words directly quoted from Delbo (evidence!), interpreting Delbo’s “mémoire externe” as having a “detached, articulate” sense; interpreting Delbo’s “mémoire des sens” as having an “immediate, gripping” sense; and drawing the connection between these two phrasings as being Delbo’s efforts to “differentiate” between the two. Notice how Jordan cues our attention to her own ideas through language that signals her interpretations of Delbo’s writings: “I propose,” “could also mean,” “suggesting.”

Rather than merely citing more instances of how language is insufficient for the non-survivor, Jordan moves forward into her next two paragraphs by adding layers to this idea, clearly signposting her expansive direction through the first sentence of each paragraph. Her second excerpted paragraph builds upon the first by examining how language “is also insufficient for the survivor to describe this experience,” considering, too, her topic with respect to survivors, upon thoroughly considering the experience of non-survivors. In line with this trajectory, her third excerpted paragraph then builds upon the second by examining how “there is also the issue of Delbo’s own doubts regarding the transformation of her testimony into a narrative,” considering yet another complication of Delbo’s work. As readers, we are able to follow along with Jordan’s thoughtful organization of how she understands what she understands because she clearly establishes how each paragraph not only flows into the next but also contributes to her overarching motive for understanding what it means to stretch language to its limits.
During one of our conversations about this excerpt, Jordan shared that the purpose of her paper was to present a motive, unpack it, and show a newfound understanding of that movie through her evidence-analysis. This is a stellar model of a motive-driven approach to academic writing, where the paper does not move in a circular logic that constantly works to prove the same idea from beginning to end, but rather moves forward—question after question after question.

Authors

Jordan Fraser Angel ’27 is from Florence, Italy. She plans on majoring in Comparative Literature and minoring in English. She is a member of the Nassau Literary Review, the Princeton University Language Project, and the Human Values Forum. Outside of class, she reads and writes for pleasure.

Grace Kim ‘25 is a junior studying English from Ellicott City, Maryland. On campus, she supports other students throughout the writing process as a Writing Center Fellow; advises high school students on their college applications and manages the 2024 cohort of Princeton Advising Fellows as a Matriculate Head Advising Fellow; and is a member of the Princeton Christian Fellowship. In her free time, she loves to dance with Six14, watch Korean dramas, and journal at Small World.

Bringing the Motive Home, Spring 2024

The Death of the Author: The Convergence of ‘Now and Then’ and the Resurrection of a Pluralized Authorship Through Posthumous Publication

BY Writing Center

In a Tortoiseshell

This excerpt is chosen from my R3 for my first-year writing seminar, WRI 178: The Posthuman. Using the Beatles’ newest and final single, “Now and Then” as a form of posthumous publication in the digital era, my paper focuses on understanding how the details of the song’s publication following the death of its original creator was reconstructed into a new interpretation irrespective of what the original creator might have intended. To understand the cause of an unexpectedly positive response to the song’s release despite numerous revisions and the explicit presence of living collaborators that John Lennon did not consent to, I analyzed critic reviews, promotional materials, and differences between the official and original audio to recognize a pattern for its positive reception. The excerpt occurs towards the conclusion of my essay during my revision of current theories of authorship to suggest a pluralized view of authorship, in which “Now and Then” is attributed to the collaboration of all four Beatles preserved through time, rather than John Lennon on his own.

Excerpt / Cheryl Li

The dedication to preserving elements of an authentic Beatles recording is particularly prominent in the short film when Lennon’s voice, isolated from background noise with the help of technology, sings for the first time since his death. With the sound of electronics beeping in the background builds to the reveal, the sudden cut off mid-beep reaches the height of the viewer’s anticipation just before Lennon’s voice cuts through the silence, focusing the viewer’s attention to the voice’s strength and clarity in contrast to its muffled sound in the original demo. The camera cuts to an empty recording studio as Lennon sings in the background, and the frame pans in on the microphone stand where Lennon would have stood in the present had he been alive, suggesting that Lennon has been brought back to life to reunite with the rest of the Beatles one last time. Starr expresses in amazement, “it was like John’s there,” speaking to how hearing Lennon’s voice with such clarity decades after his death almost felt as though Lennon himself was working with McCartney and Starr in the present to complete “Now and Then”’s production like any other Beatles recording before his death (“The Beatles – Short Film”). The moment is emotional as the viewer is confronted with Lennon’s absence, and yet the short film’s subtle suggestion that Lennon is there in the recording studio demonstrates the authenticity of “Now and Then” through Lennon’s voice. Through the song’s portrayal of a faithful collaboration between all four members of the Beatles in the past and present similar to when all four Beatles were alive, “Now and Then”’s marketing appeals to authenticating the song’s plural authorship, successfully establishing “Now and Then” as an authentic Beatles recording.

“Now and Then”’s depiction of a thematic convergence between past and present justifies the extensive revisions to the original demo recording as a transformation from a lonely solo to a joyous reunion, reframing the band’s conclusion from a death to a resurrection. With the band’s dissolution in the 1970s that marked the “death” of the Beatles as an identity, it became difficult to discern whether a reunion was foreseeable despite the public’s overwhelming support for the band. Lennon’s abrupt murder seemed to finalize the Beatles’ death, creating a dissatisfying end for the public and leaving the greatest hypothetical of what would have happened had Lennon been alive for just a little longer. However, the abrupt and unnatural death of not just a talented songwriter but also an adored musical group with “untapped potential and unsettled legacies” was crucial to “Now and Then”’s success by appealing to the public’s desire for a satisfying conclusion to one of the most popular rock bands in history (Prewitt and Accardi 95). While the significant amount of revisions to the demo flagged the song to scholars as a focal point for widespread disapproval, it’s this very transformation that fulfills the public’s desire for a satisfying conclusion to the Beatles in the form of the reunion fans have always hoped for. The original demo takes on a solemn tune, an equally sorrowful piano playing quietly in the background. The lyrics sound nostalgic as Lennon harmonizes his lonely grieving of a past relationship, something that McCartney builds upon to express his own remorse and desire to reunite with a lost friend, Lennon himself. In both the demo recording and the official audio, “Now and Then” seems to bridge a connection between two friends, Lennon and McCartney, each struggling to express a desire to reunite with one another despite being unable to say these words directly to each other (Sheffield). However, the transfer of authorship for “Now and Then” from just Lennon to his former bandmates creates this long desired reunion among friends despite the chronological barriers. In contrast to the demo’s mournful ballad, “Now and Then” takes on an upbeat tune, the harmonization of guitar, drums, strings, and a more confident piano adopting a rock style characteristic of the Beatles’ past songs as Lennon’s voice sings stronger than ever. While the demo’s audio sounds vulnerable, a private confession coupled with hopelessness that the relationship being grieved will never be restored, the official audio’s addition of a collaborative symphony of instrumentals played by the very bandmates Lennon had missed presents a harmonization between Lennon and the rest of the Beatles, communicating a reciprocation of the sentiments Lennon expresses. The demo transforms into a hopeful reconciliation as McCartney’s voice in the present intertwines with Lennon’s in the past as though McCartney was supporting Lennon half a century from the future, “[reframing] the group’s ending” from “solo competition” to “studio unity”, from “losing…friends” to “finding their voices once more” as the harmonization of all four Beatles in the official audio triumphs over the discord that had previously broken the band apart (Murray). As one listener points out, “Now and Then” is “powerful because it feels like the final goodbye of the most influential rock band that ever existed” (Isaacalconrovira5231). While “Now and Then”’s status as the last song would suggest a conclusion to the Beatles, the significance of the band’s reunion reverses its death, rewriting the Beatles’ conclusion into a simultaneous resurrection. Therefore, the transformation of “Now and Then” from a solo work into a pluralized authorship distinguished by collaboration among all four Beatles provides a satisfying conclusion in the form of a reunion, authenticating “Now and Then” as a Beatles song through the reclamation of harmony among its members.

Author Commentary / Cheryl Li

In these paragraphs, it was imperative to establish how the song’s promotion perpetuated this concept of collaboration between past and present that would influence the public’s positive perception of the song. I began by watching the short film that preceded the song’s release to gain some insight on what the surviving Beatles members hoped for their audience to take away. The short film itself was densely packed with information in terms of historical context, the production process, and subtle messages through visual storytelling. I noted details in dialogue and cinematography that I felt uniquely stood out from the rest of the footage. Scenes like the camera shot panning on empty space around a microphone stood out as a reconciliation with the past. After comparing the official audio with the demo recording, I noted how differences in instrumentation and dynamics perpetuated the theme of accentuating the past. The excerpt I selected best demonstrates how my analysis emphasizes elements of the short film and audio for “Now and Then” that contribute to the idea of a reunion between the dead and living, thereby guiding my reader through my argument with the support of my original sources.

It was during the writing process for this essay that I truly understood what my writing seminar professor meant by saying “to be a writer is to be a reader.” I undoubtedly spent the most time understanding how to link my sources and subsequent analysis into a coherent line of reasoning. Oftentimes, I felt as though I was retracing my mental footsteps to best figure out how I managed to arrive at my working thesis based on the sources I gathered, and how to best replicate this path on paper for a reader. I found it most helpful to understand components such as the motive, thesis, and analysis should contribute to crafting a convincing argument from the perspective of a reader before I could execute each component.

Editor Commentary / Nadja Markov

Adjusting to college writing may seem daunting for many reasons – from understanding how to introduce yourself in the scholarly conversation, all the way to learning how to come up with an argument that is not just a reiteration of previously read points. The R3 (or, in some cases, R2) can be especially intimidating because of its open-ended nature. I think Cheryl’s paper is a great example of just how much you can achieve and learn as a writer through writing your R3.

The first thing that struck me while reading this essay, as well as this particular excerpt, was the orienting of the reader. The first few sentences of the essay do an incredible job of painting the contextual picture of how the authentic Beatles sound was preserved, as well as introducing the accompanying visual choices. From the reader’s point of view, I felt as if I was transported to the exact scene being described. From the writer’s point of view, I was amazed by Cheryl’s efficient usage of her close reading of the short film material to orient the reader. I think this tactic of utilizing some of the compelling material you’ve noticed in your sources and painting a picture to bring the reader closer to your point of view works particularly well with creative sources.

This method of orienting provides Cheryl with a strong foundation for her analysis, which flows seamlessly from this section. Cheryl starts her analysis by reiterating her argument about the song “Now and Then” being transformed “from a lonely solo to a joyous reunion”, which provides the reader with a sense of assurance on where the conclusion is headed. This is followed by yet another brief burst of orienting the reader, now within a historical context, adding yet another layer to her paper.

Her motive shines within the middle section of this excerpt, where she shows the reader why they should pay attention to this seemingly insignificant shift between the demo and the published version by incorporating strong analysis. Although she didn’t specifically mention her motive within the conclusion, this choice made sense, as her orienting and analysis did the work for her.

Authors

Cheryl Li, ’27 is a prospective Electrical and Computer Engineering major from Fayetteville, North Carolina. She enjoys spending time working with the Princeton University Robotics Club, swimming, writing stories, and trying her hand at all types of hands-on crafts while listening to any and all genres of music. She wrote this essay as a first-year.