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Discussion of Olin culture, policies, etc.

An Interview With Alisha

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[Quotes edited for clarity and brevity by Alisha and the editorial team.]

Quinn: To start us off, thank you for meeting with us. It’s super exciting.

Alisha: Thank you for inviting me! 

Quinn: It’s a great honor to be able to talk to you on your last couple of days at Olin, which is so sad. How’s it feeling getting ready to head off to something new?

Alisha: It’s pretty weird because I’ve been here for most of my professional life, which is longer than some of our students have been alive. I have a lot of different feelings. It was really nice having two going-away parties! At the faculty and staff party, it was really touching, because a bunch of people, some I’ve worked with for decades, talked about ways that I had impacted their life. It was really nice to realize I’ve had an impact. People have always asked, “why do you stay so long?” I’ve always said, ”because of the people!” And because I’ve gotten to keep growing personally, and to make positive change. It’s been nice reflecting back on that and having it reflected to me. 

Quinn: In what ways do you think you’ve grown? In the many, many years you’ve been here. What are the notable growth moments?

Alisha: From a purely professional standpoint, I started as this regular faculty member doing bioengineering research, trying to figure out how to grow cells with undergraduates—which turns out to be really hard—and was hugely influenced by all these amazing educators who were really thinking deeply about education and good pedagogy. And so I got to thinking about those things, but also figured out that I really like being an administrator. I have this distinct memory of Mark Somerville, as an associate dean, walking into my office in 2011 and asking me if I wanted to be the associate director of SCOPE. I still felt “new,” had never thought about leadership, and I was still pretty quiet, which I know is hard to believe. I went home and thought about it over the weekend, and I was like, “actually I do want to do that.” Back then, many students felt like it was very disconnected from the Olin curriculum, and had this feeling of kind of “selling your soul”.  As SCOPE director, I focused on how it really is a capstone to our curriculum (and I started drawing pictures of capstones, and telling the story of how the stuff in ModSim, ISIM, P&M, CD, design depths, major classes, et cetera, built up to this capstone experience, and how it was really different than the capstone experiences at other schools where they were like “yeah, do all this stuff at the very end.” But it also made me realize I liked doing that kind of culture change work, and program work, and figuring out how to have an impact on students and colleagues that was bigger than just teaching bioengineering classes with five students. That led to being an associate dean, and then more surprisingly to being a dean of student affairs. I got to do all of these different jobs, and that it made sense in the Olin context. I love that I can see my impact on these different areas. I also need to give a shout out to human-centered design as an approach that aligns with my values and has shaped my research as well as my work as an administrator.

On a more personal note, it has been getting to work with all these cool people—colleagues and students—to have so many different conversations and learn from them. This part about the close-knit community has been incredible. There are still former students who are grown adults with children and lives, and we’re still in touch. Being able to learn from people and also have a positive impact on individuals has been so rewarding.  

Quinn: Do you think you’re gonna miss doing that sort of nitty-gritty technical teaching, like about specific subjects?

Alisha: I haven’t done that in a long time. The last class I taught was Biomedical Device Design in the spring of 2021. I do think I’m gonna miss working super closely with students; that’s gonna be a really big change going forward, because my primary focus will be faculty development. But I also know that if I’m thinking about faculty development, it’s about teaching students, so I’m still going to figure out how to get where the students are. I probably won’t miss having to deal with the shenanigans part of it! I’m excited to go back to focusing on the teaching and learning piece of it, as much as I’ve been an educator when having different conversations with individual students or groups. As Dean of Student Affairs, sometimes that educational conversation is something like, “maybe doing that thing was not a good idea, and let’s look at the bigger picture, and the impact on other people and the community.” Bringing all of that knowledge of what’s going on for students outside the classroom, at school, with their family, in the world, is going to be huge, because it’s not a vantage that most faculty get. 

Quinn: Can you tell us about what you’re doing after Olin and how that relates to what you have been doing here?

Alisha: I’m going to be the executive director of the ATLAS Center—Advancing Teaching, Learning, and Scholarship – at Wentworth Institute of Technology (WIT). The teaching and learning center already exists at WIT, but right now it lives in IT, so they’re kind of seen by the community as the tech support for their learning management system (ours is Canvas). But they’re also trying to do all this great instructional design and support for faculty teaching and learning scholarship. There’s all this great stuff happening, so they’re rebranding it with a new name and moving it under the provost’s office so it’s seen as a more academic department. I’m excited to think about how to elevate that teaching and learning piece, and about faculty development and student outcomes. This comes back to the culture change piece that I enjoy doing.  Wentworth is all about student outcomes, in an OG hands-on learning way, focused on preparing students for engineering careers.  Being mission-driven in this very pragmatic way that makes STEM education more accessible is very values-aligned for me.

Gia: You’ve been exposed to many kinds of – you used the word – shenanigans in your shifting roles at Olin. What shenanigans make Olin “Olin”? How has that informed your work, what you’ll take with you to Wentworth, etc.?

Alisha: I’m going to try to come back to your actual question, but I wanted to reflect on something interesting that’s embedded in that. It’s something I’ve thought about at many different stages, but especially as I’ve gotten involved in the student affairs community: we’re not that special. There are some really funky things about how our culture plays out, mostly with our size, but in terms of the overall stuff that we’re dealing with, I think we collectively have a tendency to think that we’re very different, and therefore we need to do things differently. Going to student affairs conferences and talking to people from all kinds of other schools—everyone’s dealing with the same stuff. People who are 18 to 22 are always pushing boundaries and trying stuff, and people at engineering schools tend to be problem solvers in all sorts of interesting ways. I think our uniqueness comes from a somewhat intentional and somewhat organically-grown lack of certain pieces of infrastructure. Our culture has fostered a real feeling of “students need to do all these things themselves”. This can cause many difficulties and tensions in how students are encouraged to spend their time and energy. 

My biggest focus in the last four years has been trying to build trust. When I started, the thing I heard over and over was “we don’t trust StAR.” And if Oliners don’t trust this entire set of people, even if it’s about one or two people, they’re not going to come for the resources. And we know they need the resources! It’s not all perfect; it’s not sunshine and flowers all of the time, but a lot of progress has been made in that space. 

Back to your question: some of the specific shenanigans are around different opinions about what is appropriate behavior, and what is appropriate for students to do. In some ways, that’s true everywhere. Sometimes when you have those conversations, it’s a total surprise. Whereas I think at other schools, people would be like, “yeah, okay, I kind of knew I broke the rules.” Olin students are like, “There are RULES?!” I mean, I’m overstating that, but I think that’s some of the funny stuff to figure out. 

Gia: Can you tell me more about what you mean by policy and risk? [mentioned in ramblings that were cut]

Alisha: Student group safety! That’s the thing I worked on a lot last year. This has been interesting because I do have a lab safety background and a project advising background through SCOPE, and so I was able to bring some of that in a way that spans some of the different areas, which is not typical in student affairs. But we had not built enough of an integrated infrastructure to provide appropriate oversight of some of the things students are working on. Something hard, and sometimes novel at Olin is that sometimes we’ve had to say “no, we can’t actually support this thing, because we don’t have the space or it’s actually hazardous in a way we cannot support.” I do think it’s this thing where we were okay in the beginning, and then we just didn’t really… stay…

Quinn: We didn’t stay with the times.

Alisha: We didn’t stay with the times! And now we’re sort of trying to catch up. Especially with all of the continuity lost during COVID, there’s been a little bit of a “wild west.” Trying to get that under control in a way that maintains student autonomy and all the things that are beautiful about having these groups, and also brings us into the modern world in a way that creates a manageable infrastructure is super challenging. Because of that, in my last weeks I’ve been working on all these transition documents and trying to pass stuff on for the next dean.

Quinn: You can feel it out?

Alisha: Yeah. I kind of know what’s going on. And there’s so much transition and work that spans student affairs. I think Frankly Speaking is a great example of the evolution of things. There’s a thing that Frankly Speaking used to be, and that doesn’t have to be exactly the thing Frankly Speaking is in the future, while also keeping the really important essence of what Frankly Speaking is. I think that’s what you all have shepherded so well this year, thinking about that, and really leaning into “we don’t have to stick to this tradition—we can keep the stuff that’s integral and modernize.” 

Quinn: How has being in this administrative role, dean of student affairs, changed your perspective of Olin academia and academia as a whole?

Alisha: I think it’s really rare to have both a faculty perspective and a staff perspective. While I always have that faculty perspective, I feel fully immersed in the staff world. In higher ed, there’s usually a divide—it’s a lot smaller between faculty and staff at Olin, but it still exists, and I think it’s something that staff tend to be much more aware of than faculty. I know I was totally clueless when I was purely a faculty. We often talk about how support work is like an iceberg. You see the top stuff, but there’s all this stuff happening underneath that tends to be invisible if it’s going well. 

Quinn: Given all of this context and development and learning that you’ve done, what do you hope to see Olin do with all of that in the next five, ten years?

Alisha: I do hope that folks continue to understand the important role that student affairs plays in the student experience, and that resource that appropriately. I think understanding how much the high-touch services are part of what we are offering to students, and part of that value proposition that students and their families are really looking at with their money and their choices about where they go—that’s an important piece of the puzzle.

Gia: Looking back, what are some things that you’re proud of? You said that you feel like you have your fingerprints in a lot of places, what are places that you look at like “wow, I’m super proud that I did this; this is something that I’m glad has happened here”?

Quinn: Things that current Olin students might not know about at all.

Gia: Yeah, big or small.

Alisha: I think there’s so many phases. I’m super proud of the stuff I did in SCOPE. I led changing the faculty advising model, and grading to make it more consistent for both students and faculty. I started the work to shift the narrative of “SCOPE is all defense and robotics” by really focusing on a broader portfolio of projects to match the interests and values of more students. So much of what I’ve done over my time here is in the equity and inclusion space, starting from when I was a visiting professor. I got immediately involved in the gender and engineering co-curricular. I was one of the people who was focused on that work inside and outside of Olin. When we had our first openly trans student, I put together a training, and I was like “okay we’re gonna do Trans 101, friends!” Initially, there were just these ad hoc things, and then that was a big part of my portfolio when I became associate dean of faculty—faculty development, but also really thinking about equity and inclusion in the classroom. When we had the new strategic plan, we formed a group called the “DEI Champions”, and a lot of what we did is more focused strategic planning of like “here’s what we need—here’s the path for thinking about cultural competency for advising, here’s the path for making sure people are getting the training and education they need for thinking about inclusivity of belonging in classrooms,” and I think that’s been a really core part of what I’ve done, and obviously a core part of what I’ve brought into my work in student affairs. Many of my colleagues are doing incredible work, but I think that’s one of the biggest places I’ve had formal and informal impact. 

I think it’s a lot of little things too, the stuff that I’m proud of. What people have been reflecting over the last weeks, I’m like “oh wow, I didn’t even think about that.” A student was like “yeah, I was going through my emails and my first email from you was doing name change stuff before I came.” Sending 15 emails back and forth to get it right is at the core of how to do this work for me.

Quinn: As we’re wrapping up here, is there anything you want to say to the Olin community as sort of a last goodbye?

Alisha: I think my primary feeling towards the bulk of the Olin community is just a real sense of gratitude. Especially to students, who don’t have to trust me with their shit. For all of it, for the vitriol, and the thanks, and moments of getting things, and being able to witness people grow and change. Because I see it as passion for this community, and that is a shared value that I appreciate. 

Quinn: Thank you so much. We are going to miss you.

Alisha: Thank you, it’s been a pleasure.

Quinn: I hope that you keep reading Frankly Speaking. :)

Alisha: Oh, I will.

Transferring and the Sunk Cost Fallacy

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I spent a number of years at Olin. During that time, I had a lot of conversations about how Olin wasn’t a good fit. There are plenty of valid academic and non-academic reasons to want to transfer, ranging from “I need to be closer to home to support relatives” to “Olin can’t really support my major,” to just not vibing with the campus culture. Yet, whenever the possibility of transferring to another college came up, everyone just assumed that Olin credits would not be accepted (“what even is a QEA cycle”), that it would be a huge waste of time and money.

That’s why I’m writing this article, to let people know it is possible. If this article were published during my first or second years, I would have started the transfer application process then. Sunk cost is a fallacy.

Can I actually transfer Olin credit?

Yes! You will lose some time, but nowhere near as much as I originally thought.

Let’s use UMass Amherst as an example (because they were the first school to send a credit evaluation).

UMass Amherst accepted 3 years worth of Olin courses… with the sole exception of Circuits. Some courses were marked as satisfying a general education requirement; for example, TLAB1 was marked as satisfying the Biology requirement. Unfortunately, for the courses that were not marked as general education, I do not know how many of these I can apply towards a major. They run a more detailed evaluation after you accept (and I’m still weighing my options).

Don’t forget about potential credits that Olin didn’t accept from high school: community college, AP exams, credits from another institution earned through a high school program (for example, RIT takes credits from PLTW2… if you had to endure PLTW in high school, I offer my condolences).

In the end, if UMass is my final choice, I can probably graduate in 2 years if I choose so. If I returned to Olin, it would most likely take 1.5.

I can’t tell you about any private institutions yet, sorry. They don’t handle transfers on the same rolling basis state schools do. From what I understand, most private institutions limit transfer credits to four semesters, so I will lose two years.

So, you want to transfer:

Here’s some advice that you can’t just Google.

  • Download important records that are behind Microsoft Single Sign On. IT will disable yournamehere@olin.edu. Most important for transferring is to download every syllabus from Canvas (or the course website). Some schools require a syllabus when evaluating your courses for transfer—I forgot to do this, and have been reaching out to professors and my remaining student contacts. This is frustrating.
  • Olin has a prepared letter explaining what the QEA+ISIM+ModSim cycle covers. This was intended for people applying to graduate school, but you can add it as an additional document upload in your transfer applications.
  • Don’t re-use your high school college application essays. One of mine literally made me vomit upon rereading it.
  • Visit campuses. I applied to college during peak ‘rona, and online “tours” really did not influence my top choices. It actually helps to have a sense of the neighborhood (or lack thereof), and how alive the campus feels.
  1. Think Like a Biologist ↩︎
  2. Project Lead the Way ↩︎

An Unpaid Opportunity to Respect Others

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It’s a beautiful Saturday morning here in one of the blander corners of New England. The sun is shining, we can finally see the grass again, Babson’s trees are looking fantastic, and I once again stumble into a community Go-Bike left outside leaning against a bike rack. My instinct, as the neighborhood bicycle hall-monitor, is to send a somewhat snarky email to one of my favorite list servs – once again not quite screaming, but recommending – into the void that is your collective Outlook inboxes. I mount the bicycle, point it towards East Hall, and start cruising. Wind blowing through my hair, I’m once again reminded how nice it is to ride a bike. When I return to my room though, my email-writing zeal is not where I left it. Instead, I’m left feeling something closer to reflection. The gist of which, as obvious as it may seem, is as follows: you don’t get anything for returning the bikes. Smug satisfaction is not a reward, nor is negotiating the often cluttered bike/ball room. And further, no one is going to get punished for not doing it; I’m not going to use my awesome detective skills to track you down and honor board you or otherwise scold your inaction.

As much as I would like to make this all about bikes, the issue at hand has nothing to do with them. How often do you think about how lucky we are to be here? Or more precisely, how astounding it is that we have as much latitude as we do? Take issue with admin all you want, I kvetch my heart out too, but don’t lose sight of how much faith and trust is endowed in us as a student body. 24-hour access to 3D printers, liquid nitrogen, a materials science lab, beautiful study spaces, a pool room, professional audio equipment, cameras, bikes, you name it. All with limited or zero oversight or restrictions. This is not inclusive of all the non-24-hour things we are trusted to use responsibly, and is certainly not an exhaustive list. The key word being: trusted. At the same time, it feels that year-over-year, this sense of community responsibility is eroded bit by bit. This is not the least bit speculative. For the second consecutive academic year, the shop has issued a lengthy email imploring more responsible use of the 3D printers. A trackable increase in emails sent by our wonderful library team points to a growingly ungovernable, irresponsible student body.

Most recently, it took the threat of an honor boarding for a lounge couch in East Hall to be returned. I won’t bore you with the numbers on missing bikes again. It’s easy to run this through the typical modern-times Olin student framework of redirecting the blame towards administration, which avoids the simpler explanation: that simply students lack respect for our communal resources. Nobody knows how to just ‘chill out’ anymore. Or perhaps we just can’t continue justifying paying for missing materials that would have been a blissful write-off in the “good old days” none of us personally experienced. In reality, though, it’s hard to deny that we have a role to play in all of this. It’s not in any way inconceivable that some of these open doors we all gleefully tell prospective students about will be under lock and key by the time we graduate. 

Trust is not something we are inherently endowed or owed. I am well aware that sincerity is uncool, and that what I am about to say is somehow even less cool than that, but do you remember that document we all signed during orientation? As jaded as you might feel, I would suggest that it does, at some level, mean something.

Editor’s Note: On Change

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Oliners have a lot of thoughts. Frankly Speaking aims to be a platform for Oliners to share some of those thoughts with the broader Olin community, beyond their immediate social circles. By contributing your writing to Frankly Speaking, you are empowered to help shape our community through narrative and conversation: sparking widespread discussion, challenging assumptions, lightening someone’s mood, and more. 

Writing is an important act of creation and discovery, through which we can achieve greater understanding of ourselves and the world around us. Even when you’re not the author, critically engaging with written opinions and narratives is a crucial part of staying connected with your community. Through our distribution process, the publication team hopes to encourage this aspect of participating in a community.

We have entered a new era of Olin, one in which the needs of our community and the conversations we need to have are changing rapidly. Frankly Speaking was built to fit a different set of community needs, during a time when we were asking the question: “What should Olin contribute to the world?” However, the Olin we know today is one where we are looking inward more than ever, evaluating our existing infrastructure and the once-dormant tensions that are now bubbling to the surface. The rift between leaders and the broader community requires trust that can only be built with greater transparency, communication, and clarity. Over two decades after Frankly Speaking was founded, Oliners find themselves asking a more urgent and fundamental question: “What should Olin be to itself?” Olin was created as a response to problems intrinsic to traditional engineering education, but now we are faced with problems intrinsic to Olin. 

We are lucky to reach a broad audience: students, staff, faculty, board members, and even people outside the Olin community. Because of this, we have a responsibility to uphold the legitimacy and integrity of our publication. Historically, this structure has rarely been explicit, or came about during a time when there were different and more avenues for communication. But our community has changed, and so too has the role of Frankly Speaking. So, let’s start building a model that can better serve us.

One way we hope to increase clarity is by defining what types of writing might be seen in Frankly Speaking. Submissions tend to fall into a few categories. These differ greatly from each other and should be held to different content standards. Here’s how you’ll see this going into the next academic year:

  • First-person experience
    • Opinion pieces and/or calls to action 
    • Reviews 
    • Narratives, or pieces with no explicit takeaway
  • Fact-based reporting
  • Informational 
  • Interview
  • Games, comedy, satire, etc. 

When a member of the Olin community submits a piece, they must classify that piece as one of the above categories and acknowledge that they have, to the best of their ability, held their writing to its respective standard. (Official guidelines changes are in the works!)

As with everything at Olin, Frankly Speaking will never see a final version. Our work as a publication team is never done. To keep doing it, we need your involvement! Tell us what you think about a recent issue, or walk us through an article you’d love to write. Better yet, join us in producing Frankly Speaking by becoming a staff writer or editor. If you’re interested, we would love to hear from you. Most of all, don’t stop being an active member of the community that makes Olin such a special place. 

Happy reading, 

Maddy Fahey ‘27, Executive Editor

Quinn Verrill ‘27, Editor

Gia-Uyen Tran ‘25, Editor

What Does It Mean To “Do Something”?

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To say there has been a lot of student upset towards the College is, perhaps, to put it mildly. There is a certain call-to-action in the air: Students at every point in their Olin journey want more dialogue, more power, and more institutional change. In this time of undeniable friction, what does it mean to Do Something as an Olin student? Is being a voice for change our right or our obligation? And, perhaps more pressingly, how does our answer to that question as a community change based on the identity of the Oliner in question?

This essayist presents Bipolar I: a tale of psychosis and, perhaps, the path of least resistance.

During my first involuntary hospitalization, a Bipolar I diagnosis and an unsolicited prognosis were given to me hand-in-hand: “College probably isn’t in the cards for you.”

As you might imagine, I took that advice and ran… far, far away from it. It may be an uphill battle more often than not, but I’m here at Olin. I’m here. More important to our discussion today, though, is that my psychosis is here with me.

Once I got to campus, I didn’t wait long to seek psychosis-related accommodations at Olin. I didn’t know what to even ask for, or if I should be asking for anything at all, but I knew I needed to try. I stumbled my way through that initial meeting best I could, both overexplaining and underexplaining the hallucinations, paranoia, and delusions that I knew would make my time here difficult.

I’m a junior currently—things may very well be different now. But what will always be true is that Olin College’s first accommodation offer to me was a smart pen: a note-taking accommodation. I’m not ashamed to say I cried real tears at that point in the meeting.

At the time, I was told that flexibility regarding my attendance would be considered an “unreasonable” accommodation. Reading through the Binder of Accommodations Past, few of the reasonable accommodations seemed like they would make a difference in my case—and of course, that makes sense, if we think about accommodations as a way for someone experiencing unique challenges to have a similar class experience as their peers. How can we accommodate psychosis in our classrooms? I don’t think it’s possible or desirable. While measures can certainly be taken to reduce a psychotic student’s stress, ideally reducing the likelihood of an episode, there is a certain amount of waiting-it-out and not-being-in-class that must be done should issues arise. So, I argue, psychotic students should be allowed leniency in their attendance. Nonetheless, I was on my own in this department, and I Did Nothing. I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling to Olin College, and the accommodation policies were reinforcing what I already felt: That I could only really be an engineering student as long as I had enough good days in a row.

When I came back to school from my second involuntary hospitalization this past Spring (we win some, we lose some), I was initially told I would need to have weekly check-ins with Olin College regarding my mental health for the rest of the semester. Whether these check-ins were intended for my benefit or to assess my stability is still not clear to me. What I can say is, they were certainly not to my benefit. I Did Something: During one of these check-ins, I expressed the stress I experienced over feeling like I had to give up more of my privacy than other students 100% of the time due to the more extreme experiences I encountered 1% of the time.

I was told hospitalization “changes things.” I would come to understand in time how accurate, if vague, that statement was. While these in-person check-ins transformed into email correspondence as the semester progressed, the feeling that I was being tested remained, and the idea that the College was just waiting for me to slip up eventually morphed into one of my recurring paranoias.

Olin College has opened so many doors for me and truly given me some of the best opportunities, friendships, and faculty relationships of my life. I cannot express enough how grateful I am to attend this school, and I will be the first to say that my accommodations of flexible deadlines and being able to leave class unexpectedly have greatly benefitted me. At the same time, Olin College has failed me, too—and for me, the functional result of Doing Nothing and Doing Something regarding my disability was the same. 

Over time, I began to craft a new idea of what Doing Something in this department meant: Instead of trying to change how the institution responded to my psychosis, I invested more time in my own health and the health of my friends. I Did Something Quiet. I supported my friends and learned to accept their support in return—simply that.

So, we return to our fundamental questions: What does it mean to Do Something as an Olin student? Is being a voice for change our right or our obligation?

These days, with all the building pressure and dissatisfaction felt by the student body towards Olin College as an institution, I cannot deny that I feel an expectation to Do Something Institutional, both because I am an Oliner, which is its own conversation, and because I am disabled, which is this conversation. 

I believe that, as a student, being a voice for change is my right, not my obligation—so why, as a disabled student, do I so often feel pushed to speak?

Ultimately, yes, the College’s response to my disability has degraded my student experience to an extent. However, being told to Do Something Less Quiet in response to this—to Do Something Louder, Something Bolder, Something Inciting—makes me feel more like an outsider than an Oliner. And I wonder if other Oliners of other identities feel the same way. While I absolutely agree that speaking out is important, to say that Olin’s improper approach to my disability obligates me to speak out feels, to me, like it politicizes my identity as a disabled student. This seems dangerous: I carry my disabled identity with me everywhere I go. Do I then also carry the burden of representing psychotic people with me everywhere, too? A burden made even greater by the fact that there are so few psychotic students at Olin to even join the fight?

I take my right to my voice as a student seriously. And yet, why should my right to live my Olin life in quiet, treading my desire paths and supporting/being supported by friends along the way, be taken any less seriously? If I choose complacency for the rest it provides, am I less of an Oliner? What does it mean to Do Enough, and who decides?

I sit here, writing this article now because when times were at their toughest for me as a psychotic student at this school, I slept. Sleeping protected my mental stability and therefore my ability to be an Oliner. In a similar way, I believe Doing Something Quiet protects many students’ ability to be Oliners. I see no shame in it—and yet, I feel shame in having been quiet for so long. If that’s you—if you carry an identity with you as quietly as you can—keep going. Know that I have decided. I am Doing Enough. I am Oliner enough. You can decide the same, if you’d like.

Any and all thoughts appreciated: adeeter@olin.edu. Thanks for reading.

Follow-Up On “Olin Is Racist”

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When I sent in my first-ever article to Frankly Speaking a month ago, I didn’t expect people to care so much. It was mostly a vent and a way to call some people out on their actions and let them know they need to improve.

But people listened, and honestly, that restored a lot of my faith in Olin. I have been watching and listening, keeping track of how others have reacted, and some have improved their actions and even apologized to black students for their past micro and macro aggressions. 

I have been amazed by the way Oliners of all backgrounds have responded to my article. Some told me it made them finally feel seen, others said they weren’t surprised, but that it made them think more critically about this community, many sparked conversations because of it. Thank you for listening, and thank you for caring for those who chose to learn from my experience rather than see it an outlier.

Not all the responses to my article were positive, though, Some people forgot about the article immediately after reading it, some refused to read it after seeing the headline, some say it was exaggerated to cause drama—I’ve even heard some people believe that I’m not really black and that this was trying to smear Olin’s reputation. 

Let me make a few things clear: nothing was exaggerated, the experiences I described in my article were real, and I am currently a black female student at Olin. In fact, I left out some horrible details.

The best thing to come from this article was that this helped strengthen and bring the black community at Olin together. So, if you are struggling with racism at Olin, come to a USB-C meeting. We can’t fix the system, but we can support you and give you a space where you are heard. 

Other black students have shared with me that they faced similar experiences to mine. Many black students and staff have been told explicitly that they don’t belong here because they’re black. Many black students are called by the wrong name by their classmates and teachers, and we don’t say anything to avoid fights, but it hurts. When working on projects and research, our ideas are often ignored, and we have to push extra hard for a single idea to be considered. These racist practices have been normalized at Olin, and that is what makes for such a toxic environment. 

Many unconsciously believe that we can’t be racist because we are a small, liberal engineering school in Massachusetts. The answer is that everything is rooted in racism in the USA. Spaces like Olin that try to pretend systemic racism doesn’t exist, will only perpetuate the problem. The only way to actually combat racism is to talk about it. Acknowledge how your privilege will disadvantage others. Recognize the power you hold over others. Stop believing that you aren’t the problem. We all are, including me. If you want to learn more about confronting internal bias, I recommend reading some of Ibram X. Kendi’s books, many you can get through the library. To those who claim they want to change, here is your first step. 

Olin says it wants to get better, but know that I will keep watching. I will keep providing a safe space for other black students. I will follow intently everything the administration does to better support their students. 

Be better Olin, I’ll be watching.

Double the Roommates, Triple the Fun!

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At this point in the housing process, you might be asking yourself: “Why would I choose to live in a triple? Isn’t it just worse than a double?” We wrote this article to challenge this idea on the grounds that when a triple is formed voluntarily, it can actually be a better experience than doubling—particularly for current first-years.

The primary benefit that a first-year has to gain from tripling next year is a route to living in an East Hall room. The brunt of our argument is going to be about this; as such, this article might be of less interest to upperclassmen who are guaranteed space in East Hall already. However, we noticed that during room selection last year, many of our peers (then first-years) strongly preferred a West Hall double over even an East Hall triple. This instinct—which mostly comes from a fear that triples will be physically and socially uncomfortable—is what we are disputing. 

Let’s talk about physical space first. Despite common misconception, our triple in EH419 is incredibly roomy. Altogether, we have three beds, three desks, three dressers, one minifridge, three milk crate shelves, two coffee tables, one bookshelf, two grappling hooks, one parking gate, and an extremely comfortable beanbag (that’s over seven extra pieces of furniture!). With thoughtful organization, we’ve kept a central floor space open for large gatherings, and a cozy reading nook fit for three. Taking additional steps like lofting a bed (which double rooms are not guaranteed access to) and leaning into vertical storage space has only made our room feel bigger.

Besides the stellar physical layout, we enjoy how our triple has allowed us to embrace a communal living style. Each roommate has a desk, a bed, and some closet space to call their own, but “ownership” of certain drawers, shelves, beanbag(s), and fridge space has completely blended together. For example, one of the dressers in our room serves as clothing storage in one drawer and shared dishware in another! When a roommate has a need, we all pitch in to meet that need—collectively. Shared grocery runs for snacks and medication have become commonplace, and instead of splitting the cost an even three ways every time, we simply rotate who makes the trip. We’ve found that we’re able to consistently lean on each other when we’re sick or busy, and that’s because of the significant trust we’ve built up as housemates.

This is all to say that we’ve learned a lot in the process of making our triple experience a successful one, and we’d like to offer guidance on how you can, too. In particular, there are a few archetypes of triple residents that make for an exceptional rooming experience: 

#1 – The Host: You love having groups of friends over, and you want a space that can be utilized as a prime hangout spot. Our room functions in this capacity: we regularly host groups of five or more friends, and we’ve run events like the Halloween Coffee Bar that have comfortably fit 20+ people at once. If you’re especially excited about suite life, consider that the spacious triple room functions as a lively suite lounge, especially with furniture additions like ottomans and tables.

#2 – The Traveler: You probably sleep in your room and not much else. Whether you’re camping in the woods, studying in the library, or just hanging out in the antelounge until 4am, “room time” isn’t a priority. By choosing to triple, you get the benefits of a large home base that isn’t wasted when you’re out and about.

#3 – The Homebody: Your priority is having a comfortable space to decompress and work. Though it might seem counterintuitive, this type of person can be a great fit for a triple with the right configuration of roommates and clever physical arrangement. A triple can look like a comfortable, quiet, and symbiotic relationship between three of these kinds of individuals—and this person can also make for a great combination with a Traveler or two!

A lot of our success has hinged on a willingness to communicate openly and compromise. Our roommate agreement, along with regular “family meetings”, gives us space to establish and modify rules as needed. For example, we decided that if one roommate wants to sleep, all socializing moves elsewhere – no questions asked. This is one way we’ve become comfortable setting and respecting boundaries, and as a result, we can make compromises before they become problems.

As an extension of this idea, it is important for you as a community member to acknowledge that your housing preferences exist within a broader context. By considering triple formations that you would feel comfortable living in, you’re helping ResLife make space for other residents that have particular housing needs. If you’re nervous about tripling, consider that there may still be a configuration that you would feel happy in—and take steps to find one!

The final thing worth considering—specifically for first years—is that you should plan a triple configuration because you might just have to live in one. Planning for this outcome will save you from a surprise roommate scramble on room selection day if your place in the selection order isn’t what you expected. That being said, we hope you’ll find that, like us, your triple configuration and future room will be preferable to any double.

If this article wasn’t convincing enough, then let us show you rather than tell you. Come to EH419 on the evening of March 6th to get a sense of what your triple experience could look like next year. We’ll have snacks!

Olin Is Racist

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I came to Olin so excited to learn and innovate. I had high hopes of becoming a great engineer, making great friends, and doing important research with kind professors. Overall, I have been satisfied with my classes and this community. I have great and understanding professors and strong friendships. I am learning in a way that finally fits me, and for once I don’t feel out of place. But I am not okay and not happy. I have been holding this in for a while to avoid causing trouble, but I won’t be silent anymore. 

Once, when I first got to Olin, I was in the library reviewing some course material. As I was studying, an upperclassman who I had never met approached me and stood next to my seat, looking at me very intently. I greeted them and asked if I could help them with anything. They responded curtly, “People like you don’t belong here.” 

I was shaken and said the first logical thing to come to mind: “If you mean here at Olin, I am here to become an engineer.”

The upperclassman smirked, then remarked before walking away, “People like you don’t seem like they would be good engineers.”

For a second, I was confused by what they meant by “people like me”. Women? Did they think I was a BOW student? Why me over anybody else in the library?  

I then took a good look around and realized what that upperclassman meant. I was the only black student in the library. I was the only black woman in the library. 

What the upperclassman meant was: Black women shouldn’t be engineers and don’t belong at Olin. 

That hurt me more than I could ever express in words. After that interaction, I ran to the bathroom and threw up. Someone felt so strongly that I didn’t belong at Olin that they went out of their way to tell me, just so I would know my place. And no one else in the library piped up to defend me, came to comfort me, or even shot me a sympathetic look. Most even turned away. 

To some, this might not seem like a big deal, but it was. I am no stranger to racism and sexism in the STEM world: I was bullied out of coding camp at age 10 by a group of boys who insisted that girls are “too sissy to handle computers.” In 7th grade, a teacher had students pass around my perfect score test while announcing “if someone like [my name] can get a perfect score, then anyone can succeed in my class”. When I got a spot in AP Computer Science in 11th grade, some boys at my school started an online campaign against me, saying that the “diversity spot was taking away seats from guys who actually deserved it”. 

I came to Olin because I hoped that a STEM school run by an esteemed black female engineer would be better, and would be an inclusive and uplifting environment. Yet someone felt so much hate at the idea of a black woman being at Olin and becoming an engineer that they had to tell me that the community I worked so hard to become a part of didn’t fully accept me and never would. That broke my heart because my dream, my safe space, my community, were now gone. Despite this, I will stay in a space that is set against me and I can’t change it alone. 

Despite my crushing disappointment, I pushed my doubts from that interaction aside and let myself believe that it was just one person and the culture at Olin is different, but it’s not. 

In my time at Olin, I have experienced more microaggressions than I can count, been left out of team talks because my input “didn’t seem necessary”, and my mental health has been ignored by both students and staff alike. I even had another interaction with a different student who told me that I “don’t seem like the typical engineer”, and that maybe I should “reconsider if Olin is the right place for me”. This prejudiced culture has had horrible impacts on my mental and emotional health. I frequently had panic attacks last semester and developed an eating disorder from pent-up discomfort, rage, and insecurity that I felt nobody noticed. I have been close to fainting and no one ever asked me if I was okay. 

I never said anything because I knew that if I told others, no one would care. People don’t care if the black girl is unhappy, if she is in a bad place mentally, because to most, we are forgettable and negligible. That is just a historical fact. I have seen students see me have a panic attack and walk past me laughing about how I’m “so extra”. And when I have shared my story people zone out, say I “overreacted”, or pretend to care only to forget the next day. 

The first person who listened to me about the library incident was Gilda. She was the first person who noticed I was struggling and took the time to talk to me and share her own experiences, so I didn’t feel so alone. I was surprised by the fact that Gilda, an esteemed and respected engineer and certifiable genius, also faces racism at Olin and has also had many students come up to her and tell her “you don’t belong at Olin” and yet they are never able to explain why.  

It is crazy to me how someone as wonderfully kind as her receives so much hate from the student body, but I have noticed the ones most vocal with this hate are white.

Now, I am not trying to imply that all students at Olin are racist and discriminative. I think there are a few who are, but the majority of the student body and some of the staff have clear internal racism that they haven’t addressed. They need to examine their own bias or truly think about where some of their opinions come from. Everyone holds some prejudice—it’s a sad fact about our world. If you don’t work to dismantle your own prejudice, then you are part of the problem. 

Olin as a community is racist, and we can’t keep ignoring it.  

As a community, we value black students less than other students and lack open spaces where black students feel safe enough to express these feelings. This is what Olin is, and we need to change.

CORe Needs to Change

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When I came to Olin in Fall of 2021, it was the tail end of the pandemic and clubs were starting to rebuild from the previous year. I am an avid coffee drinker, and Acronym was a large part of the reason why I chose Olin. Joining Acronym allowed me to deepen friendships and get to know older students who I wouldn’t have spoken to otherwise. As a senior, the majority of first years that I interact with are the active Acronym members. I don’t believe that this is a unique experience, and clubs have been the most important experience for me to engage with the Olin community. 

At the beginning of my sophomore year, a friend and I were told that we were now in charge of Acronym. We were told that we could no longer use the Admissions desk, and changed the location to the library. Through the location change, we doubled attendance and made Acronym a space for casual conversations with professors and course assistants. 

At this point, Acronym was classified as an organization. All organizations had to exist for at least a year and received a budget. Clubs were generally smaller and met less often. Clubs had to request money from CCO whenever they wanted to spend, as they were not given a budget. In the ‘22-’23 school year, there were only twelve organizations and twenty-two clubs. 

After running Acronym, I wanted to join CCO to help provide others with the same positive experience that I had from my clubs. I was the Vice Club Chair last year and was the Club Chair until my resignation last semester. My job as Vice Club Chair was to fill out reimbursement forms for all of the clubs, and I normally processed only a couple hundred dollars a week. Last year was the first year that CCO got rid of the clubs and orgs structure, and every group received a budget. There were forty-two groups last year, with an overall budget of $28,000. Most groups did not receive enough money, and the student activity fee was increased. 

This year, there are sixty registered groups that receive funding from CCO and the overall budget is $55,000. My job was to work with the Vice Club Chair to allocate budgets, process all p-card payments, and make sure groups are spending their money. I also ended up filling out reimbursement forms, and all reimbursement requests were completed up to my resignation. I was processing thousands of dollars each week and constantly stressed over making sure I was filling out forms correctly. 

I received limited support from the Student Government Advisors. There was a significant amount of misspending in the fall, and the advisors were too busy to help me. They also asked me to not use the Honor Board to deal with misspending, because they told me they would handle it. They completely forgot about helping me for a month, and more incidents kept happening. 

I was spending at least 20 hours per week doing CCO work. I devalued my homework, wasn’t able to apply to grad school, and delayed my search for full-time jobs. On the date of my resignation, I received an email from my design depth professor saying that I didn’t have enough completed assignments to pass the class, which means I wouldn’t graduate. I was considering resigning for two weeks and this email solidified my decision to resign. I was able to catch up on work, and I am on track to graduate this spring.

This shouldn’t be allowed to happen. Student Government should not be burning students out the way it has this year. 

For Staff:

  1. Hire a full-time person to support Student Government. Stop making students do the work of full-time employees. Be upfront about your bandwidth to help students. 
  2. Pay Student Government positions. Students involved lose time to have other paid positions or take more classes.
  3. Hire a new Academic Life Administrative Assistant.

For Students:

  1. Be more understanding and respectful when engaging with CORe.
  2. Go back to the clubs and orgs system. Cap the number of student groups allowed. There does not need to be this many groups for a student body this small. This needs to be done through a constitution change, as the advisors are not willing to deny creation of groups. 
  3. Do not allow for a system that might compromise students ability to graduate and have a future after Olin.
  4. Blame the system for the current reimbursement procedure. There are many reimbursements to be done, but individual students don’t cause the underlying problems of CORe. 
  5. Recognize when something is causing harm to your wellbeing and stop doing it.

Founding Precept: Service

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“The College, itself, the product of philanthropy, should find ways to contribute to its community… with services natural for it as an educational institution. Policies must be maintained that support these outcomes.” – Statement of Founding Precepts for Franklin W. Olin College of Engineering

Greetings from the SERV board! With the start of the new semester, we are encouraging you to use SERV (Support, Encourage, and Recognize Volunteerism) as a resource and make community service a part of your routine.

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