Dreamer’s Water

Why data isn’t enough, with apologies to Hans Rosling

By Dr. Julianna Sandholm-Bark

Dedicated to the students enrolled in Global Cornerstone Seminar in spring 2021, and written in deep appreciation of Yasmin Mehboob-Khan and Sarah Grosso’s performance of the song “Dreamer’s Water”.

Note: Factfulness: Ten Reasons We’re Wrong About the World – and Why Things Are Better Than You Think is a book by Swedish statistician Hans Rosling written with his son Ola Rosling and daughter-in-law Anna Rosling Rönnlund in 2018. In the book, Rosling probes why the majority of people believe the world is poorer, less healthy, and more dangerous than it actually is. He attributes this not to random chance but to misinformation resulting from ten cognitive instincts that prevent us from seeing real progress in the world.

Dear Students,

Thanks for reading Hans Rosling’s Factfulness with me this term.

There are two main reasons why I asked you to read this book. First, I thought that reading about (what Rosling calls) a fact-based worldview seemed like a reasonable ask, given that our world has fallen prey to conspiratorial ways of thinking lately. Rosling presents his book as a corrective to various types of cognitive bias, and he urges us to take back control of our minds, warning us about the dangers of overdramatic thinking, drawing a compelling comparison between the consumption of drama on the one hand, and sugar/ fat, on the other, both having a similar effect on the brain. The other reason I asked for you to read this book is because of Rosling’s ultimate goal to restore our sense of optimism and sense of possibility for the future.

Rosling makes many claims which we discussed in class and found useful. For example, what he says about how middle-aged people tend to get stuck in outdated world views – this seems like a great incentive to all of us to continue educating ourselves until the very end our lives. Nobody wants to be irrelevant. And there is much to be said about Rosling’s futurist moments in this book, like when he writes that “the Western domination of the world economy will soon be over” and that the economic centers of the future will be located in Asia and Africa. This seems like an exciting prospect, though I am uncertain that his prediction is having much of an impact on educational curricula in Switzerland today. One has to wonder: are we doing enough to educate young people about African and Asian history and culture today that would suitably affect their worldview about the planet once they reach middle age? These are valuable ideas to think about, and possibly my favorite section in the book occurs towards the end when Rosling lists all of the things we should be teaching young people.

The book delivers many valuable lessons on cognitive bias, on our predisposition to generalize and blame, amongst other instincts, and for this I would definitely recommend the book to anyone. But it seems to me that book falls short on its other goal, which is to convince us that “things are better than we think.” Rosling may have convinced us in part, but you can only go so far with statistics and data, especially during the harrowing days of the pandemic.

As I was powerfully reminded not long ago, hope is not the currency of data, but of art. Art is infinitely more powerful than data when it comes to the mission of restoring hope. Art can beckon to us from across the room (and perhaps sometimes from across a screen), take us completely by surprise, and leave us speechless. It can make us cry. It can give new life to our emotions. Yasmin and Sarah’s beautifully performed song “Dreamer’s Water” which won Webster’s Got Talent this year, is a case in point.

There are so many things to say about this song. I must have listened to it dozens of times since February 18 when I first heard it performed online. And actually, who am I kidding, much of this essay was written while listening to it. This song has given me more creative fuel than anything else I have seen or heard since the beginning of the pandemic. And that is saying a lot, as the lockdown has been an exceptional time for discovery of new art via social media (the students enrolled in my Current Art course can confirm!). Still, this song blew everything else out of the water, Rosling’s book included.

How to describe where this song’s power begins or where it culminates? It could be the ethereal leading vocals. It could be the seamless way in which the leading and backing vocals are enmeshed. It could be the lyrics. It could be the resonant sound of the piano. The audio and video production, too, is a marvel. Everything about it. And if I could come back to the lyrics for a minute, this song embodies so many aspects of what it means to be alive – wanting to make a difference, feeling hopeless about the little that we manage to accomplish, and yet returning to a place where one dares to dream, over and over again.

I feel such an overwhelming sense of gratitude that this song has entered my life at this opportune time – it seems like a harbinger of spring and of more clement times ahead. It has awakened my senses after what has been a life half-lived from behind a computer screen. A life of semi-dormancy lived inside wormholes of hyperlinks. It has renewed my belief in art and its glorious capacity for making us feel like we’re alive and in the moment, that we’re here, and that projecting ourselves into a dream of a better future is possible. It has made me want to retreat out of my digital life and look eagerly for connectedness and optimism.

It isn’t Rosling’s fault that art possesses a visceral and cathartic effect that facts just do not. How can data compete with art? “Art”, as Jerry Saltz put it, “is a verb”, an active force that does things to us and for us.” How can we then truly take to heart Rosling’s plea to “look for systems, not heroes”? Many artists deserve to be considered heroes of our time – and Yasmin and Sarah certainly do – for putting themselves out there, for all of our sakes as well as their own. They and other artists should get all the recognition that heroes deserve.

Instead of telling ourselves to avoid rose-tinted glasses altogether, I would say, let’s allow art to jolt them off our noses from time to time. Let’s allow ourselves to let down our guard and step into “dreamers’ waters”. We should accept that it won’t be up to us when it happens, so we might as well embrace it when it does happen and let art wash over us.

Students, please close your copies of Factfulness as we look forward to another term of heated discussion and debate about other topics in class.

Yasmin and Sarah: thank you for the music.

Creating warmth in the cold

by Sarah Grosso

Dear Yasmin,

We have talked about doing Webster’s Got Talent many times, partly in jest, ever since we discovered a mutual passion for music. This was the last chance before you graduate. And I’m so glad I got to accompany you on this journey.

I have always enjoyed accompanying, musically and otherwise. When I was at school, I played piano and accompanied the choir, the orchestra and many friends singing or playing solos. If you do it well, people don’t really notice the accompaniment at all. The goal is to showcase the performer and their talent and make them shine. This is what I hoped to do here: to provide a safe base so that you could share this beautiful song and so that others might hear your voice.

Accompanying is what we do as professors. The work I do at Webster is all about the students. I feel immensely privileged to have the opportunity to get to know you and your fellow students. Each of you is unique and uniquely talented. (Yes, even you, the student reading this thinking that you are not talented. You just don’t know it yet. Ask your best friend. They will tell you). A lot of what we do, alongside and during the courses we teach, is to guide and mentor. To provide opportunities to prove to yourself what you can do. To help you build confidence along the way. These are the ‘hidden’ things you learn at university. Of course, you will learn about anthropology, media, gender, photography, or whichever courses you choose to take. But, you will also learn a lot about yourself.

We can learn so much when we create and when we collaborate. To create music, especially with others, we need to open our ears. A little while ago, a friend was accompanying me playing a song he had never heard before. He added just the right amount of violin. When I complimented him on his playing, he simply said, “I just listened.” This has stayed with me: “I just listened.” I’m trying to do that more. I’m learning too.

You said that you would not have done this without me. I want you to know that you absolutely could have done. (I’m not sure I would have done this by myself either. You students inspire me to go outside my comfort zone. Did I mention I don’t like filming myself?). This song was an obvious choice. The tune has been stuck in my head ever since I first heard it a couple of years ago. And it is authentically yours. It would have been a shame for no one else to get to hear it too.

There is a value to surrounding ourselves with nourishing people, people who can encourage us and give us courage. There is perhaps an even greater value in that now, in these days when we are increasingly isolated and frustrated with the continued disruption to our lives wrought by this pandemic.

Making this song with you made me realize how much I miss those creative moments. You inspired me to start playing more again after this pandemic winter. Coming together around a metaphorical camp fire to sing and tell stories is something we could all use right now. A little warmth in the cold.

Keep creating; keep in touch,

Sarah

I let the bedbugs bite so you don’t have to.

We always talk about “experiences that we would never wish upon our worst enemies” but frankly, we haven’t given enough attention to the ones that we actually would wish upon them. So in attempts to break the silence, I would like to offer an experience that would truly mess with that special person in your life, but not as to fuck them up totally (exept sometimes).

As you know, most cities and countries have some sort of dark underbelly that only the woke locals know about. Unfortunately it seems like all the exciting cartels and outlaws were wrapped up in cooler cities, so somehow Geneva got stuck with a marvelously disproportionate overflow of bedbugs. Now, this isn’t Gotham City. You’ll find that most people can lead a comfortable life here without ever having to be confronted by these cynical pests. Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky. In fact, one might say I got screwed by them.

Addressing the stigma

As the exterminator who seemed stuck in the ‘80s told me, the reason Geneva has so many bed bugs is because nobody wants to report them, in fears of appearing unhygienic or generally gross. As it turns out, bed bugs don’t actually care about how much you shower or wash your sheets. It really is essentially a flip of a coin. Now I wouldn’t normally trust a 50-something year old man in double denim and a bolo tie with anything other than a lasso, let alone bedbugs, but I figured that since he deals with bedbugs all day, those clothes are probably just the uniform he burns at the end of work. I hope.

Good riddance.

But before getting ahead of ourselves, let’s rewind

Taking action

If I were to give you one piece of advice when dealing with bedbugs, it would be to not be in denial. I assumed the itchy spots on my body were mosquitos. Of course, mosquitos don’t tend to come out in Switzerland in January. Eventually I woke up at 3am to the sight of two of these punks crawling on my duvet. Now, dear reader, imagine me on my bike 20 minutes later; under the rain and very much scarred heading on a dreadful 45-minute ride to my mom’s house.

How’s that for regression?

As it turns out, many survivors of intense infestations of bed bugs suffer of heightened paranoia, anxiety, and intrusive thoughts. In other words, keystone symptoms of PTSD. And in many cases, it is very real, as Alexis Hansen, a trauma-oriented psychotherapist points out in an article by The Atlantic. “It’s your safe space and something invading that is really terrifying,” You’re essentially being physically attacked during the time when you’re at your most vulnerable state possible. And as a person who suffers from lifelong mosquito invitation syndrome, I can attest that bed bug bites are infinitely worse than our casual bloodsucking summer flings.

Luckily my infestation was not that bad. That said, I did find myself scratching my body, doing double takes at regular harmless brown spots, and having that mental image of the bedbugs crawling along my sheets and promptly yelping more than once over the following days.

Good dogs and archaic solutions

Did you know that dogs can be trained to detect the presence of bedbugs? I sure as hell didn’t until I met Paco, the exterminator’s german shepherd mix. Paco would sniff around my studio apartment for a while and perform a little head-bump into any piece of furniture that he felt needed to be dealt with.

The studio used to consist of the following:

1 bed
1 couch
1 shiny new chair from ikea less than two weeks old for my online classes
A quite large painting from a thrift shop that my sister had bought
Bookshelves
Music equipment such as guitars, an amp, and keyboard.

My studio apartment now consist of:

An inflatable mattress with a double-sided tape moat around it (which will be explained later)
General sadness

Old Mr Double Denim told me to get rid of most of my shit. Now, it could have been treated for bugs in their facility, but it would have cost more than getting a new bed completely. I’ve never had so much trouble parting with an object in my life – not because I was emotionally attached, but because I live on the 6th floor and the elevator is the size of an underwhelming closet.

Not only that, but I also had to go pick up specialised labeled plastic bags to put the furniture into, and stick an A4 sized sticker that essentially says “HEY THIS THING IS INFESTED AND GROSS DONT TOUCH IT”

As if I didn’t need any more public shame

Now, the process remains the same for any size of infestation. Not only did I need to get rid of most of my shit, and sleep on an inflatable mattress, but I also had to remove any electrical outlet and light switch covers, and literally rip off the wooden tiles that separate the wall and floor.

“But why don’t you just sleep at your mom’s?” I hear you ask. Well as one of the few tenants with bed bugs (they choose specific hosts) I was asked to stay in the apartment to essentially function as a litmus test to see if the product they use is strong enough or if they need to upgrade to a stronger chemical. The idea is that they’ll get caught on the double sided tape in attempts to get to me. And if they do manage to even get to the tape, that means whatever product they’re spraying isn’t strong enough. I’m left wondering why the world’s best biomedical organizations haven’t even tried to capitalize on a better solution than this one which seems to not have evolved past the 1800s

So sleep with the knowledge that there’s a hungry gang of bloodsucking children in your room, physically and emotionally exert yourself to the max to take care of the issue, and then add entire days of online classes to the mix sitting on the floor. Suddenly you’ve got a fun roster of topics to bring up to your therapist at your next meeting.

Silver linings

We’re all sick of talking about silver linings (thanks for that one Rona) but I truly did find that one of the silver linings here was that I can now be a true minimalist like every travel influencer and YouTuber these days. That said, fuck those pretentious assholes. Why can’t they just be sad like the rest of us?

The other silver lining is that bedbugs are fairly easy to catch. So in theory, you could potentially plant a couple in the home of your least favourite person and watch their life get turned upside down over the following month. Bonus points if it’s during a pandemic!

Quarantine Creativity – We Need More!

It’s been more than a year since our initial COVID-19 lockdown and I’m sure we’re all sick of hearing about it. It’s taken over our lives, both for better and for worse, but now it’s time to focus on the positives. This year has been a time of extreme personal growth for a lot of people and, to my delight, a time of creative growth too.

Many people have taken the free time locked up at home to learn new creative hobbies or develop old ones. I personally did more art than I have in years; I even learned to embroider. I also rediscovered my love for creative writing. As a kid I always had a handful of stories going at all times, but school and work made it difficult to keep up with. During our first lockdown I took a creative writing class for Webster and fell in love with it again.

We at the 78 are always looking for new pieces from students. Whether it is an article, a piece of art, a video, or just an idea, we would love to receive new work that showcases what students have accomplished this year. Any work can be submitted to caitlyn22fish@gmail.com.

Here’s a look at what I personally created.

HUMDRUM HOUSE

by C. Fish

If asked where you saw the house, you wouldn’t know, but on every drive, down every road, at least once, it will be there. If you looked for it you might come up empty. It might catch your eye driving past, maybe you’d even point it out. But later, if asked to describe the house that you’d seen, you’d be unable to recall any details, or if you’d even seen it at all. Like a dream from weeks past that you can only remember at the back of your mind; subliminal.

You know it’s there but you can never bring it into focus, the more you try to remember the more your mind wanders, unable to recall details, never seeing it for more than a second.

It would be an eyesore, if you were to notice it. But it blends in. It should’ve been knocked down a long time ago, if anyone cared. But nobody does. It was there but it wasn’t. Right on the side of the interstate. Right on the edge of consciousness. Past the guardrails and surrounded by dense forest.

I asked my mother once if she had seen the house. She said yes, she knew of it, but that was all. My grandmother said the same. So did everybody else that I asked. For them, the house held no intrigue, they didn’t care, but I can’t forget it.

I’ve always been inquisitive. I like puzzles of any kind, and I don’t like leaving them unsolved. The house has always been a puzzle. It bothers me that nobody seems to acknowledge it. In my mind it’s like a thorn, always there, never leaving. When I think I have forgotten about it, the thorn digs deeper, drawing blood until I see red.

I need to know.

The mid-summer sun was beginning to set in the sky when I decided to satisfy my curiosity. I got in my car and headed off, in no direction in particular. It took longer than I expected but the house always shows up eventually. In front of it is a row of police barriers striped with orange and white, acting as a wall. Have they always been here?

I brace myself on one of the barriers to jump over it and gasp. Pins and needles shoot through my hands and up my arms, equally as painful as it is shocking. I leap over and rub my arms, which are still tingling.

I was so preoccupied with getting rid of the feeling that I didn’t notice the shift at first. Nor was I able to pinpoint what it was when I could feel it. Then, I understood.

Silence.

There are no more passing cars, the crickets have stopped singing, the frogs have stopped croaking, the wind in the leaves grew still. It’s not only quiet, it’s more than that. A silence that is everywhere, that creeps into my bones.

For the first time I can see the house with full clarity, like the edges have solidified and given the house shape that it didn’t have before. It’s a simple structure. Two stories with a porch out front and gardens that bloom with flowers, despite never being tended to. The house is muted, quaint in its own way. Grey-blue paint covers the outside, faded from uncounted years of sun damage. It was probably attractive when it was built, but that was a long time ago. It has faded to nothing, just like the memory of it will.

There are no tire tracks, no footprints, no signs of life.

I take a step. The crunch of gravel underfoot creates a deafening break in the silence. The very earth seems to tell me that I’m doing something wrong. My body grows heavy and a silent wind pushes me back.

I need to know.

From the porch I can see into the windows. On one side a living room and on the other a kitchen. They are the polar opposite of the outside. Bright floral drapes frame the kitchen, showing off vibrant turquoise and yellow inside. The living room is nothing short of lavish, multiple couches with plush blankets sit in front of bookcases that cover an entire wall. It looks like a set. Like a show house that has never been shown.

I know someone lives here. They must.

The door handle resists but, knowing it must act like its worldly counterpart, it complies and turns to the left. The lock clicks, the sound echoes into the trees and sinks into my consciousness. Suddenly ice cold shoots up my hand and as I pull it back and wince, the door flings itself open, revealing an entryway with a steep staircase.

A gust of stale air and expensive perfume, like a sigh from the house itself, reaches me a moment before the sound does.

Deep.

Haunting.

Old.

I can’t tell if it’s human or animal, alive or dead.

I need to know.

I step inside a moment before my gut tells me not to, the door slamming behind me. There is something here. Something trapped. A deep laugh, full of centuries of resentment, hope, and glee comes from the top of the stairs. It fills the space, finding its way into every nook and corner of the house.

Then, I see it beginning to descend from upstairs. Shrouded in darkness and formless to my eyes, I can feel the power it exudes. I want to get closer, to see what shape lies within that darkness, but I know it would be a mistake.

What have I done?

In a voice that is more inhuman than human it speaks, “Welcome.”

My own voice is ripped out of my throat, and I suddenly understand why this house has never once had its door opened.

A moment of absolute fear is overpowered by a feeling that has no place here. One that I should not be feeling. Contentment.

I manage to speak in a voice that is no longer mine and never will be again, “I’m home.”

Curando: The Journey of Healing

HEALING

Here at 78 Magazine, we are all about sharing the creativity of our students, faculty, and even alumni. Well, recently we came across something sweet from a former Webster media student, Alexandra Rodriguez, that we just had to share with you.

Rodriguez, who attended Webster Geneva from 2010-2012, recently finished a Goethe Institute art residency (Salvador, Brazil) through which she curated a new exhibition called Healing (Curando in Portuguese). According to the exhibition press release, “Healing explores the process of healing personal and collective wounds – a process presented as an emotional and spiritual journey that seeks a re-encounter with one’s authentic self, and aims to establish a connection between humans beyond the three-dimensional experience.”

Curando showcases the work of 13 Brazilian artists and is split into two parts: Sanctuary and Transformation. Transformation explores the concepts of change, uncertainty, metamorphosis, movement, and rebirth. Sanctuary focuses on safety and comfort, which is shown through art pieces that portray love, peace, and well-being. The goal for Rodriguez was to make Healing an exhibition that acts as “a safe space that supports vulnerability, authenticity, courage, love, beauty, transformation, diversity, and growth.”

Curator Alexandra Rodriguez

Diversity is a key element both at Webster Geneva and within the exhibition Healing. Rodriguez reminisces about her time at Webster, “The first thing that comes to mind that I associate with Webster is the multi-cultural aspect of the educational environment. One of the things I miss the most is the diversity. Cultural exchanges and cultural understanding is so important. Webster has always been a hub of internationalism, which is something I was looking to explore in this exhibition: making connections internationally.”

Artists were chosen from a variety of mediums including photography, embroidery, watercolors, digital painting, mixed media, and dance. Rodriguez explains that a lot went into her role as a curator and how she chose the best submissions. “The criteria of selection included different points, such as the quality of the work, disciplinary diversity and geographical diversity. Some artists are debuting their career with this exhibition, and others have a longstanding one with a significant international presence. The aesthetics and relevance to the subject were also other important aspects to consider when evaluating the submitted works.”

The online exhibition is available at www.cura-heal.com, and is accessible through November 15th, 2021. Visitors are highly encouraged to make donations that will help to financially support the work that Rodriguez and the artists dedicated to the creation of this independent artistic production, which was adapted and presented as an online project due to the Covid-19 pandemic.

While it would have been wonderful for these works to be seen in a physical setting, we here in Geneva are loving this opportunity to see high-quality work that we wouldn’t have been able to see otherwise!