For many residents of Orleans and St. Bernard Parishes, those 1,461 days have made a world of difference. While it is true that some FEMA trailers still dot small parts of Orleans Parish, many have been removed. Residents have been steadily moving back into storm-ravaged homes after continual repairs.

As someone who lived through the storm and as someone who has witnessed the aftermath, I can safely say that the city has rebounded tremendously. People are incredibly happy to be home again, happy to see the Saints play at the Superdome, happy to revel in the festivities of Mardi Gras and Jazzfest. The rebirth isn't something that needs to start now--it's already happening, and still is.

- Joshua Woo

From The SeeSaw Founding Editors

As the semester comes to a close The SeeSaw is tipping over. This fourth issue marks a memorable milestone as the co-founders step aside to let a new crop of leaders fulfill their visions with this special issue.

We are recruiting a new kind of leadership, from the farmer boy on Tatooine to the princess on Alderaan. We are breeding a new hope. We have a few Jedi Masters staying on, to impart the Force on our new rebel team.

Thank you to all of our writers who created the content for The SeeSaw by sharing their voices and ideas, the designers for making The SeeSaw what you see today, and our avid readers who supported us and gave us suggestions for improvement. Additionally, we extend a special thank you to the committed members who helped us in the whole process of production, especially Alec Perez whose hard work was only surpassed by the style and heart he added to the paper.

The SeeSaw will continue in the fall semester, but only with your help and continued readership. If you’d like to sign up for Jedi training (or to be a part of The SeeSaw), e-mail us at editors@theseesawonline.com.

Writing 140 has become the bane of my existence. I was not prepared for what this seemingly simple college writing course would entail. As a transfer student, I was frustrated when the writing course I took at Bryn Mawr College was not accepted, but I assumed that this class would be no sweat.

The issue I have with the course isn’t that it is difficult, or that my teacher is bad (she’s actually really nice…please give me an A). The problem is that the grading rubric has clearly been put together by a close friend of the Devil if not the Devil himself.

The first day of class, freshmen and disgruntled sophomore transfers looked at each other fearfully after hearing the spiel of how the grading would work. My teacher tried to calm our fears saying, “Oh don’t worry! I’ve given out a few A… minuses.” I could just see my GPA sliding down sadly and there was no way I could stop it.

After that first class, I frantically ran around, grabbing people, shaking them, “HAVE YOU TAKEN WRITING 140??? HOW BAD WAS IT?? HELP ME!!” And the answers all seemed to be the same, “You will not do well in that class. It is impossible. Accept it.”

One freshman who requested to remain anonymous for fear of her teacher’s wrath stated, “I felt like I did everything I could to get the A, but I still got a B.” This tends to be the overwhelming sentiment associated with this class.

After a couple of weeks, a sort of calm came over me. I just accepted the class for what it is: a scare tactic. The class is made up mostly of freshmen who are lead to believe that this is what college writing entails, thus scaring the bejesus out of them.

I, for one, wasn’t exactly scared, just frustrated. I am in my fourth semester of college, I have written several papers graded by several different people, and never have I gotten the grades that I have in this class. So, considering myself as a C+/ B- writer is a hard pill for me to swallow. In fact, I absolutely reject this dose of supposed reality. Because, if experience is anything to go by, this writing class is not reality. And yes, I completely admit to the fact that I am an ultimate geek who takes her grades far too seriously. But, when we get down to it, I would much prefer a mediocre grade in a substantial course, rather than Writing 140, which is merely a sad shadow of what college writing should be.

What’s the difference between WRIT-140 and WRIT-340? The students? The professors? The expectations?

Well, yes—yes to all of them.

Though both writing classes have a similar goal, the difference lies in theory and practice.

Usually, WRIT-140 is linked to a social issues course, helping the countless wandering freshman and sophomore transfers learn the tricks of the trade—you know, logos, pathos, ethos—the glorious skills of rhetorical writing, all intertwined with an academic context. The rhetoric is: these students have no idea what good writing is.

“Writing 140 students are at the very first stages of learning the conventions of academic discourse; they are often preoccupied with adjusting to the expectations of the college culture,” Stephanie Bower, Writing Program senior lecturer, said.

“They are also still in the first stages of figuring out what they're most interested in, what ideas excite them, and what passions to pursue,” Bower added.

But with WRIT-340, the expectations are different. Though, there’s still a group of wandering sophomore and junior transfers, the overall assumption is that these students know what they want, and know what inspires them. There are different WRIT-340 sections students can choose from—arts and humanities, business writing, pre-law writing, social sciences writing—you name it. Whatever your major or field your in, you’ll have a course that covers it.

“Writing 340 students come to the class with a much more clearly defined set of interests and goals,” Bower said.

“They’re feisty and smart, ready to challenge, and ready to be challenged.   Typically, these students are integrated into the academic milieu and have assumed responsibility for their successes and failures,” John Murray, Writing Program senior lecturer, said.

“My experience is that 340 students tend to be more genuinely interested in learning than in getting a good grade, whereas WRIT 140 students (who sometimes behave as 13th-graders) tend to be more motivated by the external reward/affirmation of the grade,” Murray added.

Simply put, the goal o f WRIT-140 is to teach students how to write. But the goal of WRIT-340 is to make them good writers—but good writers in a specific field. In other words, WRIT-140 says that good writing is only achieved through one formula. We’re taught the illusion that good writing is universal—you’ll always have your topic sentences as the first sentence in a paragraph, and your thesis will always be in the beginning; no questions asked.

WRIT-340 dismantles that illusion. Of course, there will always be an underlying structure to good writing, but writing is more subjective than we’ll like to think. Writing becomes effective and practical when used in the appropriate manner. A letter to the governor will always be quick and precise—it will always follow the 5-bullet paragraph. But, an op-ed in a newspaper will be more experimental and less dry, though it will have the same underlying structure.

“I like getting to write about things that are more opinion-based, but also things that I’m more interested in and more passionate about.” Sarah Bautista, psychology major, said.

“It makes writing more bearable,” Bautista added.

I recently sat down with Carey Drayton, the man more affectionately known as “Chief” by USC students, faculty and staff. Between talks of New Orleans gumbo, Rawls’s theory of relative morality and childhood anecdotes, Drayton offers his thoughts on leadership gathered from a career in law enforcement that has spanned thirty years and both coasts of the United States.

The SeeSaw: Why campus law enforcement?

Chief Carey Drayton: God chose it for me, I didn’t choose it. That’s as honest of an answer I can give you. I started out as an electrical engineer. It’s like the saying – I was a Jack of all trades, master of none. I wound up in [campus law enforcement] because it was a way to make extra money. I’m a kid from New Orleans, my parents were lower middle class…I needed a way to support myself in school. And that’s how I did it – in this job. I can’t imagine doing anything different.

The SeeSaw: What do you like most about your job?

Drayton: I get to interact with people like you. I get to talk to people who may not know if school is right for them, and I can impart my knowledge to them. I’ve had people tell me that I’ve changed their impression of what law enforcement is supposed to be.

The SeeSaw: How do you inspire and motivate your staff?

Drayton: Somebody asked me that once in a big meeting. (smiles) If you want that, go to church because I can’t give that. That greater good feeling, I can’t do that because I ain’t God. What I can do is create a vision. I can coach you, I can train you, I can provide a strategy. I can read Chicken Noodle Soup for the Soul to you, but I can’t confess to be that [motivational] person. I strive for vision and purpose and try to clearly define what that is so we can all work toward it together.

The SeeSaw: What is the hardest part about your job?

Dratyon: Dealing with the details of university processes – keeping track of receipts, budgeting. I like the big picture, grandiose planning. That’s why I want to be a consultant when I grow up. Details are the boring part.

The SeeSaw: Any advice for student leaders?

Drayton: I came up with this awhile back:

Courage
Attitude
Respect
Ethics
Yearning

Courage is a must. You need to have a great attitude – the positive kind. The kind where you walk in a room and people say, “I'm glad you’re here.” Respect is valued, it’s of the utmost importance. If you respect people, you don’t fall into stereotypes. Ethics are doing the right thing for the right reasons. If people were to do that, quite honestly I’d be out of a job. Yearning is for yearning to learn. That’s important. Always be willing to explore other options.

Drayton currently serves as Executive Director/Chief of Public Safety at the University of Southern California.

As graduation looms near, I realize that for better or for worse, my college experience has been different than that of the average undergrad at USC. Every Friday night, instead of dolling up for a house party or catching a drink at a local bar, I head to South Los Angeles and meet with my favorite accomplices: the women of Women’s Creative Collective for Change (WCC).

Founded in 2006 by USC students Tani Ikeda and Marissa Sellers, WCC is an student-led organization dedicated to creating a safe, supportive space where women of all backgrounds, colors, and sexual preferences can share their stories through artistic expression. Coming together with the understanding that art represents a vital tool for the empowerment and healing of women and their communities, every Friday women are given the opportunity to become poets, visual artists, filmmakers, dancers, and actors, and are also encouraged to facilitate their own workshops based on their skills and interests.

Over the weekend, Women’s Creative Collective for Change found its inspiration in the desert as it held its first annual Skill Share Retreat in the Antelope Valley’s Saddleback Butte State Park. Setting up tents on a campsite amidst sand, Joshua Trees, and tumbleweeds, WCC regulars and newcomers explored the relationship between women, nature, spirituality, and personal story for three days and two nights. Participants enjoyed morning yoga sessions, meals provided by Food Not Bombs, and, most importantly, a wide variety of workshops facilitated under the sun and inside a colorful dome.

Workshops included an exploration of personal stories through letter writing facilitated by author Ching-In, a discussion on reworking the creation myth moderated by Noelle Miller, and a guided meditative walk through the desert led by Sierra J. Sullivan, founder and CEO of The Ray magazine. The group also delved into a tactile exploration of intimacy and a conversation on manipulating dreams. Each night, the group was reminded to ask their dreams a question before falling asleep and instructed to report back the next day.

On Saturday night, WCC member Chavonne Taylor emceed an acoustic performance set around a campfire, showcasing singer/songwriters Reina Fukuda and Wave Melen, poet Laila Ekboir, and Taylor herself, who read a poem under the moon’s glow.

Courtesy of Andrea Penagos

In a particularly memorable moment, performance artist Peggy Jo stumbled towards the campfire wearing a sequined bustier and silver lamé hot pants. The fire exposed a black eye and bruises on the side of her mouth. Slurring her speech, Jo asked to be fed, passed around a jar full of loose change, and sang a melancholy song, later shuffling off and leaving some people largely confused, myself included. Upon returning to the campsite, she explained the intention of her piece. “I’m interested in playing the woman that no one wants to be or be around. I’m interested in playing the prostitute, the homeless woman, the abused woman,” Jo said. With her chilling performance, Jo challenged her audience to explore its immediate reactions to her character and delve into the difficult questions brought up by her performance.

Much was accomplished in these three days, and some of the success of the Skillshare event can be attributed to the unique leadership style present in WCC.

Given that WCC functions as a non-hierarchical organization, planning the retreat was an exercise in synthesizing members’ different visions as to what the retreat should look like. Although at times the details were a challenge to work out and consensus was often hard to reach, all members involved felt equally invested in the success of the retreat and therefore threw themselves wholly into the process. From seeking workshop facilitators to reserving the campsite to cutting vegetables the day before the retreat, each individual contributed their different skills and interests to bring the event to fruition.

As the retreat came to a close, the women of WCC held hands around the trees and their web of art and stories, giving thanks for the opportunity to connect with nature, their inner selves, and most importantly, each other.