Global Studies Reflections
CT Forum with Roxanne Gay, Amber Ruffin (10/8)
At the CT Forum, with Roxanne Gay, Amber Ruffin, and Sam Sanders as mediators, I observed a more confrontational and straightforward form of feminism, as well as a candid examination of the modern world. Firstly, there was little to no “reaching across the aisle” or attempt to make conservative views appear as anything less than wrong because, as all three argued, they are wrong. This is an interesting aspect to observe at the CT Forum because, more often than not, these figures often seem to need to be impartial, as if they are larger than life and cannot take a side in human affairs. However, these three disagree. They were all down to earth, they all live modestly, and they all live angrily against injustice in our society. It was striking to see their personal authenticity on display, as if their public personas were inseparable from their values and lived experiences. Their willingness to call things as they see them made the discussion feel immediate and relevant, rather than performative or detached.
It, again, unlike many other CT Forums, was funny, even when addressing serious topics such as the backslide of democracy, systemic racism, and the discrimination these three Black Americans—two of whom are gay and two of whom are women—face today. To pick out one compelling instance from this forum, it would surely have to be Amber Ruffin, acclaimed comedian and talk show host, speaking about when she was dropped from a White House Correspondents’ Dinner. She was dropped because of things she said, naturally, yet she specifically highlighted how little sympathy or consideration she was given due in large part to her skin and her gender, while others facing similar situations, like Stephen Colbert, a straight White man, could seemingly use up all the sympathy he had garnered if he tried. Her story illuminated not only the persistent inequities in media and politics but also the ways in which societal power structures privilege certain voices over others. Listening to her and the other panelists challenged me to consider how humor, courage, and lived experience can intersect to confront injustice and provoke meaningful reflection in ways that more formal or restrained discourse often cannot.
UConn Sports & Human Rights Summit (10/24)
At the UConn Sports & Human Rights Summit, two moments stood out as the most engaging and personally relevant to me: the keynote address by Danelle Umstead and a conversation with San Charles Haddad.
Mrs. Umstead, Friday’s keynote speaker, immediately captured the audience’s attention. Before this, I knew little about skiing beyond its basic mechanics, and certainly nothing about competitive or Paralympic skiing. Yet, within moments, she had every person in the room utterly still. She asked us to stand, close our eyes, and imagine descending a mountain: 600 meters, go. 500 meters, 20 km/h. 400 meters, 30 km/h. The air grows sharper, colder. 300 meters, 40 km/h. The wind roars. Then silence. When she told us to open our eyes, we looked up at someone whose voice carried the weight of countless hardships, incurable conditions, and barriers, and whose perseverance turned those hardships into medals earned through unrelenting grit.
Mrs. Umstead was more than just a distant symbol of triumph. Through her words, she made you feel the descent, the fear, the trust, the focus. She reminded us that sight is not the only way to see. That between each of us and the life we are meant to live stands a wall of doubt, disadvantage, or circumstance that can only fall when we move forward anyway. She is not a Joshua marching around Jericho waiting for the walls to crumble; her walls were higher, her journey lonelier, and her faith tested not by trumpets but by endurance.
While Mrs. Umstead was chosen to inspire us from the summit’s stage, the other person who left a deep impression on me was there simply as an attendee. San Charles Haddad, an RIT graduate and rower, trains at Riverside Boat Club in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in pursuit of Olympic qualification. Initially, he aimed for a spot on the U.S. team, but later shifted his focus to the Palestinian Rowing Federation, a body he founded and led for eleven years. His work struck a chord with me not only because I row myself, but because the history and politics of the Levant have long fascinated me.
Mr. Haddad’s story is not one of medals or titles, but of creation. He did not qualify for the U.S. or Palestinian Olympic teams, yet he built something far more enduring: a foundation for a future Palestinian Olympic rowing program. I see the results of his efforts today when athletes like Amel Younis, a Mercyhurst graduate, Riverside rower, and Palestinian competitor, take the water across the U.S. and abroad, representing a flag once thought impossible to row under. I actually spoke with Amel this past summer at both the Independence Day Regatta and the Cromwell Cup, unaware that the groundwork for his journey had been laid decades earlier by Haddad himself.
Both Umstead and Haddad showed me different forms of persistence, one personal and one collective. For Mrs. Umstead, it meant trusting what she could not see and continuing forward despite limits no one could lift for her. For Mr. Haddad, it meant building something for others even when his own competitive goals fell short. Hearing them reminded me that progress does not always look like victory; sometimes it is simply the act of persevering, of finding a way to contribute when things do not go as you had hoped. That is something I want to carry with me, in rowing, in school, and in the parts of life that do not have a finish line.