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Zhang | Reform CalFresh student eligibility for MD, PA and nursing students

In his latest column installment, Zhang argues for the reform of CalFresh to benefit graduate students, particularly those in medicine.

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California is an agricultural Eden — sunlit orchards, strawberry fields and busy farmers’ markets form a state that grows half of America’s produce. Yet beneath this landscape of abundance, nearly one in five Californians experiences food insecurity.

Food insecurity is often perceived as a condition confined to visible hardship, such as homelessness or unemployment. While these experiences are real and warrant urgent attention, food insecurity also exists in less visible contexts: including among the very students training to diagnose malnutrition, counsel patients and care for vulnerable communities.

Health profession students occupy a uniquely overlooked position in the food insecurity conversation. They are not yet earning professional salaries, but the assumption that they will one day earn high incomes can eclipse present financial strain. As such, they are not always treated as ordinary low-income adults. In one survey of 1,834 medical students across eight U.S. medical schools, 21.2% reported food insecurity, with disproportionate rates among students demonstrating financial need. Similar patterns have appeared among non-physician practitioner trainees, including one study where more than half of the physician assistant interns surveyed met criteria for food insecurity. Lack of consistent nutritious meal access is associated with poorer mental and physical health, lower academic performance and higher rates of chronic health conditions that ultimately increase healthcare costs for the state.

CalFresh, California’s version of SNAP, has the potential to be a powerful, frontline answer to this crisis. For eligible students, it provides monthly grocery assistance. Yet beyond its well-documented administrative hurdles, the program’s promise is tainted by the way student eligibility realistically work. Calfresh explains that people classified as students are eligible only if they meet one of several additional exemptions, such as working 20 hours per week, participating in federal or state work-study or being enrolled in an approved employment or training program. In other words, low income by itself is not enough to receive assitance. 

For medical, PA and nursing students, these requirements are poorly matched to the structure of our training. We are enrolled in demanding, full-time programs that prepare us directly for licensure and entry into the healthcare workforce. The rigor of that training is part of what makes it so meaningful, but students should not be punished under state policy for committing themselves to it. Requiring students to separately work 20 hours per week on top of coursework, clinical activities and research obligations risks creating a perverse system. Those training to serve the public are denied food assistance unless they take on additional work that may directly undermine their ability to professionally succeed. The work-study exemption does not fully solve this problem, either. Though CalFresh rules do not require students to work a minimum number of work-study hours once qualified through that exemption, access to work-study is uneven. Some institutions implement it inconsistently, while others may not offer it at all for certain programs. As a result, eligibility can depend less on a student’s actual financial need or professional trajectory than on the administrative choices of their institution, leaving students with vastly different access to food benefits.

The solution? Make CalFresh eligibility fit graduate health professions training. If students must show that they are working or preparing for employment, then community or free clinic shifts, unpaid clinical research and other service-oriented activities should count toward the 20-hour-per-week requirement. In medical and PA training, these avenues are central to clinical competency, community engagement and increasingly, competitiveness for residency or future employment. A second reform would be to create a clear need-based exemption for students below a defined percentage of the federal poverty line or who can demonstrate significant unmet financial need from their schools. 

I am fortunate to attend a medical institution with unusually strong graduate support. Its aid packages explicitly consider food, housing and other living expenses, and both administrative and student legislative bodies fund initiatives from food pantry pop-ups to a community fridge. But if even well-resourced institutions need to build food support into financial aid and campus basic-needs programs, students at less-resourced programs deserve public support rather than being left to absorb the gap themselves. Likewise, I want to be clear that charity and mutual aid supplement, but do not grant, the dignity of reliable food access that comes with upstream policy work. 

That gap is especially concerning as some health professions now face new political pressures. PA and nursing programs are particularly at risk under the Big Beautiful Bill, which declassifies them as professional degrees and caps their Grad PLUS loans, pushing students toward predatory private loans. For financially struggling students, food becomes, dangerously, one of the easiest expenses to cut.

SB 961, the CalFresh for Students Act, introduced in early 2026 by Senate Majority Leader Angelique Ashby, provides hope. The bill would streamline CalFresh student eligibility by automatically recognizing California public higher education programs, including community colleges, state universities and UC programs from associate through doctoral degrees, as qualifying employability pathways. In doing so, SB 961 reduces bureaucratic barriers that prevent eligible students from accessing food assistance and acknowledges that higher education can itself be a direct path to employment. I propose that this recognition, however, also be automatically extended to all California institutions offering MD, PA and nursing programs, including private institutions such as Stanford that serve significant numbers of low-income and first-generation students.

Food is one of the oldest languages of care. Long before medicine had white coats or stethoscopes, communities fed one another as a way of saying: you belong here, your health matters and your survival is our shared responsibility. Expanding CalFresh access for health professions students benefits local life, as well. By incentivizing students to purchase groceries, we directly invest in businesses and build stronger ties between students and the communities they are training to serve. We are all familiar with the image of medical, PA and nursing students studying late into the night — running on caffeine and skipping meals. That image should not be romanticized as resilience, nor accepted as the cost of wanting to do good. 

California must recognize that the health of medical trainees is inseparable from the health of the state. Let’s start by feeding them.

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Senior Scaries: The senior column

In the final installment of her columm, Ye, former managing editor, details her fears of writing for The Daily.

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In each installment of “Senior Scaries,” Erin Ye ’26 confronts her senior-year fears in her final three quarters at Stanford. You’ll hear about the triumphs and tribulations of tackling the Senior Bucket List, and hopefully feel less alone in the never-ending soul search that comes with growing up.

Whenever someone tells me that they’ve read one of my articles in The Daily, I am always, without fail, extremely embarrassed. Even worse is when they remember and repeat something specific I said; the discomfort practically eats me alive. I know that when I publish a piece, I am consenting to having it read by anyone on the internet, and particularly people who receive The Daily’s newsletter. Still, I can’t help how I feel: you read what I wrote, you now know how I think.

I joined The Daily during my freshman fall, initially as a copy editor, because I was too scared to pick up any pitches in the never-ending Slack channels. Eventually, I mustered up the courage to write my first piece that February, the start of a Grind column titled ‘Nonanswers,’ which focused on questions I found impossible to resolve. The piece is about believing in soulmates, and you can read it if you want to, though I’ll say I didn’t have any authority on that topic then, nor do I now. If you were to ask me if I believe in soulmates today, I would still say, “Maybe,” with the hedge that if they do exist, I’m sure that many of mine have spent time with me in the Daily House.

I had the idea last May to write a column called ‘Senior Scaries.’ My junior spring was cut short by my summer internship, which meant that I was taking online finals from an apartment in New York City while my friends were still on campus drinking Coupa smoothies at Meyer Green. It occurred to me then how much I loved Stanford, how badly I was going to miss it after graduation and how my senior year was going to fly by. How could I have been foolish enough to love something so obviously finite? How was I going to survive the heartbreak of leaving? ‘Senior Scaries’ was my love letter to everything I feared and felt during the final countdown to commencement.

And so I wrote about (my lack of) dating at Stanford, taking a road trip to Oregon and the pressure to change the world. I talked about the fear of losing contact with friends, the impossible expectation of a perfect senior spring and the feeling of finally being ready to graduate. After three volumes of being a Managing Editor, it was nice to be a writer again. The column was both a way to stay grounded in the moment and assurance that I would have a record of these times for future reminiscence. And still, I feel like there was more I didn’t get to say.

Usually, right after I publish a piece in The Daily, I realize that I forgot to include something in the article. There was an unfinished thought on the topic, a sentence I had meant to edit but didn’t get around to. Usually, I tell myself that I’ll do better for my next installment and make sure that it’s perfect before I send it out. But this is my last installment, and after four years of trying in every dimension, I have finally accepted that perfection is an impossible enemy. So I’ll just say this.

My Stanford was not perfect. It was busy and loud and sleep-deprived. It was filled with feelings of inadequacy and falling behind. It was riddled with insecurities and unanswered questions and ideas that fell to the wayside. It made me feel exceptionally average, if not vastly below. There were countless times that I was the least interesting and most anxious person in the room, and it still feels to me like I am graduating with regrets for some of the things I did and didn’t do.

At the same time, my Stanford was beautiful and active and filled with moments that made me want to write about them. It was spacious and sunny and hopeful, reverberating with laughter and surprises and grateful disbelief. It was quiet and peaceful and filled with understanding silence and friends who are forgiving and people who show up. I’ll never fully understand how I got to go here in the first place or how I ended up with the support system that I did once I got here. I am almost embarrassed to have been so lucky. But, as evidenced here, embarrassment is no excuse to stop going.

I often say that if I could get another four years of undergrad, I might have chosen a wildly different major, joined entirely different clubs and ended up in a vastly different, but equally happy future. That is maybe the most beautiful thing about Stanford and the scariest thing about the world: there is no one to tell you what you should and should not do, and it is completely up to you to take the leap.

One thing that I am sure of is that if I could get another four years of undergrad, I would choose to write for The Daily again and again and again. Not just for the coziest building on campus and its magical couches that saved me many times when I needed to take a nap between classes. Not just because The Daily brought me Greta, Ananya and Eliza, who are the hardest working, most competent, kindest, warmest friends in the world. But because even though I will never not be awkward when someone tells me they’ve read my article, I will also never not be grateful that I got to share my Stanford with so many people, that my words meant something to some of them. Thanks to The Daily, my luck is overflowing, and I’m glad these pages serve to hold it.

If you’ve read this far, I hope some of what I said made sense. If you tell me that you’ve read this far, I’ll probably cry. You now know how I think.

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Beta Breakers

What are the origins of Bay to Breakers? You might be surprised.

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‘I got shot 5 times’: Curtis Sliwa announces next mayoral run, warns against trusting politicians

SPU hosted former New York mayoral candidate Curtis Sliwa on Friday, who was met with fascination and laughter from the many students who attended.

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Former New York City mayoral candidate Curtis Sliwa discussed boosting youth engagement in politics and free speech and announced his plans to run for New York mayor in 2029 at a Stanford Political Union (SPU) event Friday.

Sliwa is the founder of the Guardian Angels, a volunteer anti-crime organization that goes to high-crime neighborhoods and attempts to prevent crime without violence. At the talk, he regaled his times visiting the Bay Area, noting that he and his volunteers were like, “Snoop Doggy Dog and Dr. Dre.” He also referenced famous quotes from his most recent mayoral race as he commented, “I got shot five times.” 

Sliwa is also a radio talk show host, having hosted several radio programs in the past as well. He also ran for mayor in 2021 and 2025. He is also known for his signature red beret and his comedic moments. During last year’s election, Sliwa stirred up numerous viral moments.

Sliwa began his talk on campus by commenting that his team said he, “must [have been] in a drug-induced psychosis” when Sliwa agreed to speak at Stanford over Memorial Day weekend. Sliwa continuously joked that when the audience clapped, they were “glazing” him.

Sliwa emphasized the power of the youth, lecturing the audience to not “trust anybody over 30.” During his speech, Sliwa began to shout, “politicians lie to us! Left wing, right wing, Democrat or Republican.” Although serious political ideas were presented, the audience responded most to Sliwa’s provocative remarks, with laughter frequently filling the auditorium.

According to Sliwa, one of the largest issues in politics today is the idolization of politicians, which blinds constituents from calling out issues. “No idolatry for Obama. No idolatry for Donald Trump,” Sliwa said, as he pushed the idea that no politician is to be trusted.

Sliwa’s comments about other politicians were sardonic as he denounced several political figures. He expressed frustration if “Nancy Pelosi gets one more facelift,” and called Andrew Cuomo “dystopian evil eyes Cuomo,” noting that “If you’re under 30 [Cuomo] was very flirty.”

In addition to his anger at the idolization of politicians, Sliwa expressed his disappointment in the decreasing amount of free speech. He argued that the 2010 Citizens United v. FEC Supreme Court decision had made it so that “money [is now] free speech.” Sliwa pushed that the world was unfairly run by billionaires. 

Despite running as a Republican in the New York mayoral election, Sliwa noted that he had learned great things about his career from socialists and communists, as well as more moderate politicians. He argued that institutions such as social security and public education demonstrate that differing ideological perspectives can contribute meaningfully to public life and policy development. Sliwa noted that having constructive dialogue, instead of fighting, was usually much more beneficial.

After one serious moment of the night, in which Sliwa expressed being “sullied by [the] negativity,” in politics, he turned to discussing his favorite EDM song and his and his wife’s age gap. Though he spoke on the negativity of politics and issues with student loans, his focus appeared to be on comedic remarks as opposed to political ones. 

However, Sliwa ended his talk on a serious note, urging the audience to “question authority. Look at what [politicians] have done to you.” Sliwa repeated how dangerous he believes billionaires are to the world, saying “Their only god is profit. It’s not the people.”

According to SPU president Mandarava Jamyangling-Kawaguchi ’27, Sliwa’s bold political takes and pro-free speech stance greatly aligns with SPU’s mission to foster “constructive dialogue on campus.”

Attendee Anna Roth ’28 noted that her decision to attend the talk was influenced by the many SNL skits about the New York mayoral race. “Despite being surprised [by] how accurate Shane Gillis’s impression was [on SNL], what I took away from the talk was more about Sliwa’s message,” said attendee Anna Roth ’28.

“[Sliwa] focused on unity, and despite how polarizing the United States might be, we as a people, are stronger than any politician,” Roth said.

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Students bring Taiwanese culture to White Plaza in annual night market

The Taiwanese Cultural Society held their annual Night Market on Saturday, celebrating with student performances, food and activity booths.

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For two hours on Saturday evening, White Plaza transformed into a night market, alive with the aroma of Taiwanese food, the drumbeats of cultural arts groups and the energy of people celebrating a culture that doesn’t  always get to take up space. 

The Taiwanese Cultural Society’s (TCS) annual Night Market event brought together the Stanford and Bay Area community for a night reminiscent of Taiwan’s cultural hubs for eats and entertainment. This year’s event included student performances on the White Plaza Stage by Stanford Baipu Chinese Music Ensemble, Stanford Chang Le Dance, Stanford Lion Dance, Stanford Swingtime, Stanford Wushu and Múa Lac Hông. The night also featured local Taiwanese food vendors such as Duan’s Kitchen and Queen House and activities like mahjong, carnival games and a lacquer fan workshop. 

As the lead organizer for Night Market, TCS co-chair Colin Liu ’27 was responsible for bringing these groups and vendors together. After joining TCS as a freshman, he became more heavily involved in Night Market planning as a sophomore. This year, one of TCS’s goals was to provide more free activities for attendees. 

 “People will come to Night Market to buy food, but we really want to give them a reason to stick around for longer than just getting food and eating it,” Liu said.

Compared to last year’s Night Market, this year’s event included more activity booths, from a Taiwanese American book display to a stand raising awareness about Asian health. Other organizations, including the Stanford Taiwanese Students’ Association and the Association of Chinese Students and Scholars at Stanford, also helped staff a number of these booths.

Milian Chen ’28, the co-social chair of TCS, attended last year’s market and said she was inspired to help organize this year’s Night Market to make sure more people on campus knew about it. A Taiwanese Canadian, Chen also helped run some activity booths to showcase her culture — including  fake fishing for goldfish, which she described as a common night market activity in Taiwan. 

“In high school, I didn’t get to engage with my peers in terms of Taiwanese culture as much,” Chen said. But after attending TCS’ Night Market last year, “I was really excited that this was a place where everyone gets to celebrate the fun parts about Taiwan, and just talk to each other, have fun, eat good food … get to know Taiwanese culture and participate.”

Other booths were more educational. Jison Hong, a clinical professor of immunology and rheumatology, attended the Night Market on behalf of the Stanford Alcohol Intolerance Cancer Awareness Program. At the educational booth she hosted, Hong taught marketgoers about a mutation in the ALDH2 gene that is common among East Asians, and which causes some people to flush red when they drink alcohol. 

“Recent studies have shown that that can be associated with an increased risk for certain types of cancers,” Hong said. “We are raising awareness because a lot of people don’t know about that.” 

As for the student artists, prior to taking the stage, one of the choreographers for Stanford Lion Dance, second year PhD student in bioengineering Kevin Ly, said he was excited to showcase a culmination of the group’s work for the past few quarters. Having also performed for Lunar New Year, Night Market was one of Lion Dance’s last performances of the school year.

“First and foremost, [we hope] the community has fun, but secondly, we hope that the community realizes how vibrant Stanford culture is when we’re not [focusing] on academics,” Ly said. “We take academics just as seriously as we do other parts of our lives, and we find culture is one way that we enrich ourselves, too.” 

Behind this showcase of culture were months of coordination and hard work. Liu described watching it all fall into place. 

“I think awe is the right word to describe it: that it all just comes together, and there are a million things that could go wrong, but none of them go wrong because everybody shows up and does their job,” Liu said. He’s become aware “that there are a lot of very valuable members of the Stanford community, of [the] Bay Area community, of the Taiwanese community who really care about this as much as I do.” 

Beyond any single booth or performance, the mission behind Night Market holds a broader purpose of putting Taiwan on the map for Stanford students — not just politically, but culturally. 

“I want to provide people with a good experience,” Liu said. “ I want them to have a good time at Night Market, but simultaneously I want them to, in the process, just know that Taiwan exists.”

According to Liu, despite the longstanding geopolitical dispute over Taiwan’s status as an independent nation, “I have no expectation that anybody knows that Taiwan is different [from] China. It’s very confusing on many levels, and I just want people to know it has a unique culture — it’s not just part of Chinese culture; it’s a very unique place with a very, very diverse culture on the island.”

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From the Community | Stanford runs in remembrance on Memorial Day

Joe Nail asks Stanford to commemorate the sacrifice and contributions of military veterans this Memorial Day Weekend.

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Joe Nail is a Knight-Hennessy Scholar earning an MBA and a masters in international policy at Stanford.

For most students, Memorial Day is simply a three-day weekend: time to rest, travel and be with family and friends. That time is a genuine gift, and worth enjoying. It is also worth remembering why we have the day off in the first place. Americans died first securing, and then defending, the freedoms that make a weekend like this possible. Memorial Day is set aside for them: the men and women who did not come home.

Major Christopher “Tripp” Zanetis was one of them. A 2017 graduate of Stanford Law School (SLS), he was a pilot, an FDNY firefighter and a lawyer. At Stanford, he co-led the law school’s veterans organization. In March 2018, the helicopter he was flying went down in western Iraq during a mission against ISIS. He passed at the age of 37. He is one of 486 service-members affiliated with Stanford whose names are inscribed inside Memorial Auditorium: 486 people who sat in our classrooms and crossed our campus before we did.

This year, the Stanford America Club, in partnership with several campus organizations and with sponsorship from Spartan, is organizing a 24-hour Memorial Day Relay. From sundown Sunday to sundown Monday, the Cobb Track will never be empty. Participants will walk, jog, or run 15-minute slots in an unbroken relay, with a collective goal of 100 miles over the 24 hours, covered one lap at a time. Any pace is welcome. We walk and run through the night deliberately, in honor of those who have stood watch and defended us at every hour.

Stanford students have chosen to remember the cost of war and honor the lives of those who died serving our country before. Memorial Auditorium was built in 1937 to commemorate the students and faculty who died in World War I, funded primarily through student contributions. For those students, honoring the fallen meant giving something up. The relay continues that idea, asking not for money, but instead a few minutes of your time.

The relay, of course, is just one way to mark the day. If you talk to many of the veterans on campus who have served, they will have stories of friends and loved ones they lost defending our country. So whether it is taking a slot in the relay, going inside Memorial Auditorium to read the names, or asking the veteran in your class about their service and those they served with, I would encourage everyone to do their part to honor those who made the rest of our weekend — and our time at Stanford — possible.

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Daily Diminutive #172

Click to play today's 5x5 mini crossword. The Daily produces mini crosswords daily and a full-size crossword weekly.

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Stanfordle #140

Enjoy Stanfordle, a wordy addition to The Stanford Daily Games Section. The Daily produces Stanfordles on weekdays.

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Women’s rowing sweeps its way to NCAA Championships

Stanford women’s rowing heads to Georgia for the championships this week, looking to defend its national title.

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Like clockwork, Stanford women’s rowing is headed back to the NCAA Championships with another conference sweep under their belt and back-to-back national championships in sight.

The Cardinal won its fifth-consecutive conference championship last weekend at Lake Wheeler in Raleigh, N.C., sweeping all five grand finals at the ACC Championships to earn the conference’s automatic NCAA bid. It was Stanford’s second-straight ACC title after the move from the Pac-12 and its third-consecutive season sweeping every conference boat title. 

Stanford entered last weekend ranked No. 3 nationally and dominated during the preliminary heats, winning all five of them. The Cardinal’s first varsity four highlighted the opening day by finishing in 6:52.47, breaking the ACC Championship record Stanford had set last season. Stanford advanced each boat to Saturday’s grand finals, where they displayed another dominant performance.

The third varsity eight opened the finals with a nearly nine second win over UC Berkeley, giving Stanford early momentum in a competition that included several ranked programs. The second varsity four cruised to a 10.76 second victory over Syracuse, and the varsity four beat the Virginia Cavaliers by 12.1 seconds. Stanford’s second varsity eight added a 5.72 second win over Virginia before the varsity eight captured the sweep with another win over the Cavaliers.

The stack of wins gave Stanford 132 points, comfortably ahead of No. 8 Virginia, which finished with 118 points. No. 6 Cal placed third with 108, while No. 10 Syracuse took fourth place with 103 points. The Cardinal’s varsity eight was named the ACC Crew of the Year, and Stanford’s Derek Byrnes earned ACC Coach of the Year honors for the second-consecutive season. 

Stanford also placed five players on All-ACC teams. Senior Annika Jeffrey, juniors Celia Dupre and Matilda Drewett and sophomore Ella Casano were named to the All-ACC first team, with senior Nora Goodwillie earning second-team recognition.

The NCAA Championships, which will take place May 29-31 at Lake Lanier in Gainesville, Ga., are up next for Stanford. The Cardinal will enter the regatta as the No. 2 team in the country as they look to defend last year’s national championship.

Stanford’s first race is scheduled for 7:12 a.m. PT on Friday, when the varsity eight competes in its opening heat against Virginia, Columbia, Brown, Northeastern and Jacksonville. If Stanford wins the national championship, it would be its third in the last four seasons.   

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Alternative Spring Break budget cut by 30%

The change will significantly impact their ability to cover participants' costs and may reduce trip lengths, say ASB organizers.

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For many students, spring break brings to mind a sunny vacation on a Miami beach. But for those who participate in Alternative Spring Break (ASB), this vision could not be any further from the truth. Instead, students spend their spring break volunteering in  states across the U.S. and learning about local issues ranging from healthcare access to natural disaster resilience.

Next year, ASB will receive a 30% reduction in their annual budget, according to Jason Cui ’26, the program’s co-financial officer. Cui claimed the budget cuts to clubs are “across the board,” and were announced during the appropriations process and budget submittals. Funds for ASB primarily come from ASSU annual grants, with some additional financial support from the Stanford Fund. 

“We cannot completely cover the trip transportation costs anymore due to these cuts,” Cui wrote to The Daily. “This will significantly affect who will choose to apply to our trips and skew the distribution towards students who can afford to pay.”

In past years, ASB has been free to all students regardless of financial status. All ASB trips are planned and coordinated by students, with each trip accommodating about 10 participants. Trips involve traveling to places like Miami, Alaska and Hawaii. ASB was established by the Haas Center in the late 1980s, according to the Stanford Report. 

Edward Chen ’28 was a co-lead for the ASB trip to Miami this past spring break. Last year, he was part of an ASB trip to New Orleans. Chen said he enjoys ASB because it allows students to engage with non-profit organizations and do service-based work. In New Orleans, ASB participants planted trees, picked up trash and volunteered at food banks. They also learned about the effects of the 2005 category 5 Hurricane Katrina.

“It builds empathy,” said Chen. “A place like Stanford is a very privileged place to be. You’re removed from the actual impact of your actions. You don’t think the heat waves or hurricanes will cause countries around the world to be affected… [but] empathy is what ASB provides.”

Chen also appreciates the diverse perspectives of the students who take part in ASB. In New Orleans, Chen worked with students from Ghana, the Philippines, Brazil and Japan. 

“[One student] experienced the 2011 tsunami in Japan. Ghana has a ton of natural disasters. Brazil has a rainforest crisis,” Chen said. “In ASB, you learn from local communities, but you also learn a lot from other participants and your teammates.” 

Rachel Tao ’27 said the main misconception about ASB programs is that they are seen as vacations, especially the trip to Hilo, Hawaii — a popular vacation destination. Tao, who is from Hilo, planned the ASB trip as a co-lead.

“When most people think of Hawaii, they think of all the beaches, lots of hotels and the snazzy kind of tourist situation,” said Tao. 

Both Tao and Chen said that ASB aims to find applicants who truly care about the service and volunteering, and are not just seeking vacations. Chen said the trip to Hawaii received over 100 applications for just 10 available slots.

“We want to make sure that people are very invested in learning about the community and serving that community, not just to go have fun,” said Tao. “We want to screen out folks who only just want to do it for more superficial reasons, because that’s not the end goal of ASB.”

The surfer and tourist paradise many envision was not what Tao hoped the trip to Hilo would represent. Tao explained the difficulties of healthcare access in Hilo, which only has one major hospital. Hilo residents with serious health conditions must fly to the U.S. mainland for treatment. Marginalized communities face disproportionate rates and chronic burdens in healthcare. In Hilo, participants volunteered at health clinics and learned about environmental stewardship.

Jeanine Longboy ’28, another Hawaii resident, applied to be a co-lead for the Hawaii trip next year. She participated in ASB trips to Alaska and Hawaii in the past. According to Longboy, the 30% budget cut would mean “cutting the [Hawaii] trip short by two or three days.”

“It’s going to be such a packed schedule,” Longboy said. “For a trip as ambitious as ours… [In four days], we won’t be able to touch on every single aspect of what we want people to take away from the trip, which is health equity, cultural identity and physician shortages.”

Cui wrote that he tried to negotiate with ASSU for a more fair budget, but “ASSU thought otherwise” and “were not willing to change their minds.”

The Daily has reached out to ASSU for comment.

Tao wants to continue to inspire future generations of Stanford students outside of the classroom. 

“ASB is a very student-centered and community-focused program,” said Tao. “It’s a very unique opportunity to be able to go out of the classroom and really see what these issues are in real life in that community: to go and experience it and to be able to take an active hand in trying to help those issues.”

ASB’s impacts persist past the weeklong spring break. After graduating and attending medical school, Tao and Longboy would like to return to Hawaii and improve healthcare access for the communities they grew up in.

“Applying for these trips emphasized my desire to come back to Hawaii and work as a doctor,” Longboy said. “I think that’s the answer I was looking for, and both of these ASB trips have given me that answer.” 

Tao, Longboy and Chen all described ASB as “fulfilling.” Chen said that ASB provides the spiritual fulfillment people look for in a vacation, and a lot more. 

“When you just go to a random country, you’re seeing the sites, but you’re still a consumer,” Chen said. “But [at ASB], you’re a giver. You’re a server. You provide that service based work and activity, and I think that fills a soul a lot more as well.”

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On the road again: SUDPS returns with third annual car show

Models on display ranged from vintage old-time favorites to sleek, 1,200 horsepower modern cars.

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“Well, what’s your handle, son, and what’s your 20?” If you recognize this famous line from the 1977 film “Smokey and the Bandit,” the Stanford University Department of Public Safety (SUDPS) car show on Friday was the place to be.

According to Detective Pete Posada, the main organizer of the event, over 100 cars signed up for the show — 50 more cars than last year. The car show’s 20 — ‘location’ in trucker CB radio slang — was the SUDPS parking lot. 

“This car show really lends itself to that opportunity for us to connect with people,” Posada said. “The public perception of the police isn’t always positive, so this is a chance for us to kind of change that narrative a little bit and be out there and engage with folks.”

Posada promoted the event through social media, flyers and word of mouth. At the show, SUDPS officers handed out free shirts, stickers and toy cars. Posada brought his 1957 Chevy 3100 truck to display.

Competition between car owners was tough. While casting their votes for the “Fan Favorite” award, attendees had to choose between classic old-time favorites and sleek modern models, asking themselves if the car’s exterior or what lay underneath the hood mattered most.

The winner of the “Fan Favorite” award was a custom built 2008 Porsche 650 GTRS, owned by Phillip Trinidad. He described how he selected his favorite parts from different generations of the vehicle, and incorporated them together. Trinidad’s daughter, the aptly-named Porsche Trinidad ’26, introduced him to the car show and encouraged him to sign up. Porsche Trinidad and her brother, Roman Trinidad, attended the car show with Phillip Trinidad.

“Our family loves spending time together,” said Porsche Trinidad. “To be able to come out, show up and see [our dad’s] hard work is really exciting and fun for us.”

Roman Trinidad was ecstatic and “really proud” to see his dad win an award at the show. Roman Trinidad and Porsche Trinidad hope to expand their dad’s car collection in the future.

“We’ll buy him one,” Roman Trinidad said. “That’s what we said since we were kids. We used to drive by dealerships and be like, ‘Which one do you want? The red one with yellow wheels? Oh yeah, one day, we’ll buy you that one.’”

Last year’s Best in Show winner, a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air, took second place this year. Despite taking second, the owner, Daniel McNamara, joked about how the car show’s shirts, trophies and flyers all featured a blue Bel Air similar to his. His car’s features included a Paul Newman chassis and Corvette engine transmission.

“It’s from the era when we cruised down El Camino,” McNamara said. “When we were young, we would go up and down El Camino to meet boys and girls, and go to drive-in restaurants and drive-in movie theaters from Millbrae all the way to Palo Alto, because that’s just what you did.” 

Nowadays, McNamara takes the Bel Air on road trips to Reno and Lake Tahoe with his family. When asked for car movie recommendations, he suggested “Ford v Ferrari” and “Grand Prix.”

The Best in Show award went to a 2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 fully customized as a Batmobile. The car, which boasts a 1,200 horsepower engine, was built by Isaac Gredinberg. Gredinberg owns 408 Garage, an auto repair shop located in Campbell, Calif.

“The owner is a big fan of Batman,” Gredinberg said. “If you look down the sides, you can see the graphics of Gotham City, and the brakes are done in Gotham for Batman.” The car also had a rollcage and custom one-off wheels. 

Gredinberg was “humbled” to win the award, and thanked the judges and SUDPS for hosting the event.

Posada and SUDPS plan to host the car show again next year to further drive community connections between Stanford, SUDPS and the local Bay Area.

“Whether you’re a Ford person, a Chevy person or even a European vehicle person, there’s something we all share in common, and that’s the passion and love we have for cars,” Posada said. “It’s fascinating when you see younger and older generations, and the diversity of people that participate in this culture. It really is about bringing people together.”

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Trees and the art of recognition

Trees on campus remind Sakomoto of how often we pass by without truly seeing.

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I.

I learned their names — two years too late. 

Coast live oaks have shaded the path of my ceaseless spinning. I’ve circled the crest where they’ve sensibly, sagely, rooted themselves in one spot on my favorite place on earth: Lake Lagunita. I’ve written about my (now retired) cyclical commitment to running its edges over and over and over again during my freshman year; the cadence of comfort brought more light to my life than I could describe here. These trees canopy over the roughly 0.9 mile loop (imperfectly whole) around Lake Lagunita. And I only recently learned their names. 

II.

I’ve always been a lover of trees. The day before I received my acceptance letter from Stanford, my sister and I meandered around the local Home Depot parking lot to pick out a dark green, miniature pine tree for Christmas. To this day, I attribute my good fortune to hugging its dark green, remarkably bristled and benevolent branches. As my arms wrapped around its prickly circumference, I found solace in the peace of loving, despite.

And yet, up until a few weeks ago, I had only known a few names of its extended kin: Eucalyptus, Ginkgo, Palm, Redwood, and a few more. But what about the others? They’re all around us, and we hardly care to know their names. I don’t mean to anthropomorphize trees. It would be a disservice to the souls that I believe exist within them as true, earthly things: the kind which respects nature’s equilibrium we humans have feverishly exploited. We have lost the right to even consider trees as a contrast class, yet they are nonetheless an analogous organism on this spinning, spectacularly misunderstood sphere we call earth.

Something came to mind, though, as I walked past my favorite tree: the swamp mahogany. You have seen this tree before. It brings shade to the teeming crowds who wait on sweltering spring days as coffee brews at Coupa Green. As I stood, entranced by the dappled line shining through its translucent, gold-rimmed leaves, I was suddenly sunken by a slow, creeping reckoning with the question, “Who else have I forgotten to see?”

III.

Linnea. That’s her name. I only recently learned this, even though I have admittedly walked past her several times before. Linnea is a librarian who often reads at the entrance of Lane Library, always with a smile on her face and something kind to say. As she checked my bag on the way out one day, I remember stopping in my tracks when she said, “It’s good to see you, I haven’t seen you recently!” It was then that I realized how foolish I’d been. I had been so ignorant to believe she couldn’t have possibly remembered me. I think of the many times before where I’ve acted as a stranger to someone who hardly was one. Linnea and I now catch up every time I walk out of Lane Library. We’ve traded stories about allergies and books and the sorts. And each time, I find reason to smile. 

Still yet, the question gripped me, “who else do I forget to see?” Even in the heart of Silicon Valley, the downtown Palo Alto that is brimming with college students is frequented equally by the same houseless individuals. Our ‘escape’ from the ‘bubble’ of Palm Tree Paradise is their home. And yet we walk past the most vulnerable members of our community as if we cannot see them. But we know their faces. 

Peter Singer remarked in a canonical piece, “Famine, Affluence, and Mortality,” that our apathy is linked to a question about distality— how far we are from the problem. Why is it that we would, without hesitation, jump into the river to save a drowning child? Yet, when given the opportunity to, we do not donate a few dollars to a child who is presently starving across the globe? Singer suggests we often only care about what is close to us — intimate, pressing, prudent. It seems to me that this theory doesn’t withstand the test of time: we have proven him wrong, and beyond a reasonable doubt. 

IV. 

It may seem casual, inert even, to divert your gaze from the eyes of another; but it is sometimes — arguably often — crippling to the soul of another. When we walk past a former loved one, a former friend, a former acquaintance, a person whom we only met once, or someone we imagined sharing a last name with, we participate in a crude form of malice. We are blind to the tarnishing of our souls in this practice of not seeing. And at what cost? 

Milan Kundera writes in one of my favorite novels, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” “our lives are made up of many others.” Kundera is right: we are the composite structure, the mosaic, of every stranger and lover we have exchanged words with, parted ways with, practiced cowardice and consciousness with. To pretend not to see — withholding recognition out of casual cruelty or inarticulable apathy — is then a sensational act of violence to not only the other, but the self. Our personhood is cosmically constructed: every sentence slung at us in a heated exchange, every rock and cradle of a caregiver or lover, every snide remark from a passerby, every verbal and nonverbal memory is elemental to how we (dis)engage with the world around us. 

I’ll concede this much: it is painful to recognize. This is palpable in the way we walk with our eyes glued to our pixelated screens, headphones in, hardly where our feet are. It is painful to recognize a person, who carries what you wish to forget, to not see. I’ve been there. But it is equally, if not incorrigibly more, painful to acquiesce to the estrangement which has become common practice. This is the kind of distancing which has fractured the very communities which bridge us into what we know as human(kind). When did we forget what it is to be kind? I’m beginning to realize that recognition is nested within the heart of it. 

V.

Back to the trees. John Durham Peters, professor of communications at Yale, delivered a sermon-like remark a few weeks ago wherein he casually mentioned kin preference: trees, shortly before death, shoot out their nutrients to their kin. In a final act of benevolence — the kind that bears no instrumental value — the tree falls. 

I thought about this in the context of the Berkeleian, colloquially contested philosophical question: If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears a sound, did it really fall? Through the logic of kin preference, the tree falls and we’ve failed to ask the right question. It doesn’t matter if there is a witness to its falling. Its nutrients have been dispersed in a final, courageous act of love. That much is guaranteed. That much is enough to evidence a life lived.

The seeds of this realization were sowed on a backpacking trip, prior to stepping foot onto Palm Drive. It was there, in the thick of the Plumas National Forest, where I met the Aspen Tree. It was there, in the omniscient everpresent which only mother nature can nurture, where I learned about interconnectedness and its progeny: recognition. Aspen trees, I learned, are fundamentally connected through the roots twisting below the soiled terrain. 

“It’s all just one tree,” I remember a friend saying as he pointed at the grove of Aspens: white speckled marvels, swaying in the wind. 

VI.

Trees have taught me that we each deserve to be seen; trees continue to teach me that recognition is a practice in acknowledging the soul of another. And may we learn to see one another in this tethered, together way.

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Culture of Craft: Solitude and ethics of attention

Amidst manifold social obligations, how does craft impede or assist an ethics of attention?

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In “Culture of Craft,” Quinn Cook ’29 documents the culture of craft, those who practice it and what we might learn from them.

Groupwork is frustrating. Anyone who tells you they enjoy coordinating between three different schedules, waiting endlessly on a classmate’s work or texting silent group chats to no avail is lying. At its best, you get to work with friends on a fun project, but, at its worst, it results in the seemingly arbitrary (and occasionally unfair) distribution of blame and credit. 

This phenomenon isn’t limited to the classroom setting, either; planning a trip with friends or working in an office setting also bears the marks of nebulous metrics and obscured responsibility. While the fragmentation of our work may unite us through mutual reliance — as French sociologist Emile Durkheim argued — it can undeniably exasperate us, too. 

We may, then, be tempted to withdraw into our individual work in an attempt to escape the onerous demands of others, only to find that we are still compelled to confront the social aspect of our work. We write knowing that we will receive peer feedback, draw up solutions according to a teacher’s requirements or read with an eye toward exam content. Our action, as sociologist Max Weber would say, is unquestionably social action: we take into account, and orient ourselves towards, the expectations and actions of others. In this way, our work isn’t truly ours alone. 

The process of crafting, on the other hand, belongs solely to ourselves. Though the product may end up in some setting of judgment (be it in a marketplace, under a Christmas tree or on the internet), the act of crafting forms the suspension of obligation to whichever figure of responsibility might otherwise guide our actions. In the workshop — a space without witnesses — every responsibility is that of the craftsman, as is every satisfaction and every failure. 

Without an immediate audience, craft can then serve as a withdrawal from symbolic economies. Grades, performance reviews, likes, citations, views, awards — there is a significant weight lifted when crafting for crafting’s sake that might otherwise go unnoticed. 

But this renunciation of obligation begs the question: is craft a space of freedom, or a suspension of ethics? If no one is watching us, what guides our work? Maybe habits, tastes or internal standards do some of this work, but they seem too fickle to act as a secure — much less universal — set of principles. 

We are forced to confront the fact that the withdrawal into craft is only a partial one: Our duties are not dissolved, but merely exchanged. Frequently, craftsmen will cite an accountability to their materials (to care for, listen to and waste not), to a professional metric (so-called quality, as judged in various ways) or to tradition (by habituation or conscious choice). In any such case, the dissipation of social demands is quickly replaced by the appearance of new imperatives — in other, less burdensome forms, perhaps, but imperatives nonetheless. 

This withdrawal is likewise temporary. Though it may be a refreshing retreat, there comes a time to hang up the smock, apron, toolbelt — the title of craftsman, in short — and don once again the role of employee, student or otherwise obligated social being. We might choose the moment when we end the stasis of craft, or we might be interrupted by “the look” that French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre describes, where the gaze of another (here, literal or metaphorical) makes us suddenly and acutely self-conscious. 

But, incomplete and delicate as it may be, this exit (from social expectations, evaluations and capital) does important work. It is an exercise in deep interiority, and comes with it a commitment to reflection and introspection. Far from loneliness — a pure negation, an absence of others — solitude represents the density and concentration of attention.

For the philosopher Simone Weil, attention is itself an ethical act; it requires setting aside self-interest and being prepared to receive the object of our gaze. So, while craft is, in one way, a retreat from social obligation, it at the same time sharpens one’s capacity for unselfish attention, ultimately to be shared with another. Rather than an escape from ethical responsibility, craft forms a chance to gather and rehearse our ethics of attention. 

Such is the tension of craft as a moral exercise: by withdrawing from others, we simultaneously whet our ethical practice towards them. Indeed, the occasional departure from social obligation is one way to renew its more desirable parts. To have “No Exit,” as it were, is to degrade social responsibility by blunting our attunement to it — can we be blamed, after all, for becoming numb to a surfeit of perception and judgment?

This is perhaps why the workshop, kitchen, garden or cloistered study space is so appealing when drained by socially-burdensome work: instead of demanding our attention, craft allows it to accumulate. Once we have renewed this store, it is then our responsibility to allow others, selectively, to consume it. 

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‘Housing is my top priority’: Gubernatorial candidate Katie Porter visits campus

The gubernatorial candidate answered student questions at a Wednesday town hall.

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California gubernatorial candidate and former congresswoman Katie Porter held a town hall in association with Stanford Women in Politics (SWIP) and Stanford Democrats on Wednesday. Porter fielded questions on issues ranging from college affordability and housing to artificial intelligence (AI) regulation.

Stanford Votes tabled outside the event, helping students registed to vote and providing election-related information.

Rather than delivering prepared remarks, Porter opted for a question-and-answer format, beginning by answering questions from moderators from both clubs. She then transitioned to taking questions directly from the audience of around 50 student attendees.

SWIP president Ava Acevedo ’26 M.A. ’26 and Stanford Democrats communications director Waleed Haider ’29 moderated the event, and each began with a question of their own. Haider’s question focused on the state of education and affordability and was inspired by conversations with students leading up to the event, he said.

“We said, ‘If you have criticisms of the Congresswoman, if you have policy issues that you want to bring up, you should come here,’” Haider said.

Porter, a three-term congresswoman representing California’s 45th and 47th districts, drew on her experience as a law professor at the University of California, Irvine (UC Irvine). This position, she said, gave her a unique perspective on rising costs, especially for students, and political attacks on research and science.

“I have been on the ground in California watching these challenges in education emerge,” she said. Porter emphasized that policymakers have long focused on the rising cost of tuition, implementing policies that aim to provide more aid. However, Porter noted that many leaders haven’t addressed the rising cost of living itself.

In California, the average annual cost of living for UC or California State University (CSU) students has exceeded tuition, according to Porter. To address this, she proposes extending California’s existing tuition-free community college programs to the final two years at UC and CSU campuses, which would create a fully tuition-free pathway to a four-year degree.

“Housing is my top priority in this race, period, because it’s the number one expense that people have,” Porter said.

She argued that many politicians, including her opponents, frame affordability as a campaign priority without clearly explaining how they intend to reduce costs.

“Lots of times things fail because people do not articulate what the actual goal is,” Porter said. “Instead, they describe the problem to people.”

During the audience Q&A section, multiple students asked Porter about the rise of  AI, specifically its regulation.

Porter argued that lawmakers have largely focused on what she described as the “low-hanging fruit” of AI governance, including AI-generated misinformation, nonconsensual explicit content and other applications of generative AI. However, Porter said discussions about AI have paid comparatively little attention to how the technology could reshape employment and concentrate economic power.

Instead, Porter suggested that policymakers should focus not only on regulating AI but also on ensuring that workers and residents benefit from the wealth generated by the technology. She criticized what she described as an assumption among some political leaders that AI-driven economic changes are inevitable and should proceed largely unchecked.

“The job piece really requires elected officials to decide who they’re going to fight for and whose side they are on,” Porter said. She acknowledged Governor Newsom’s efforts to use AI for improving government efficiency. However, she said that these efforts haven’t done enough for labor.

“What [Newsom] has not done yet, but is willing to do, is to go to battle with AI over who’s going to get the wealth…That’s where the Democratic Party — because we have too many people who are taking corporate money, and who have this kind of inevitability idea about AI — are not going to push back.”

Porter also said she would have signed Senate Bill 1047, an AI safety bill passed by the California Legislature in 2024 but later vetoed by Governor Gavin Newsom, into law. The measure would have imposed safety and testing requirements on developers of advanced AI models. 

Another student asked Porter about free speech on college campuses, citing concerns about the University of California, Berkeley’s (UC Berkeley) reported cooperation with federal investigations into pro-Palestinian activism.

Porter argued that universities and elected officials have a responsibility to defend free expression, particularly amid what she described as increasing political pressure from the Trump administration.

“If [California’s] not going to hold the line on free speech, who is?” Porter said. “If we’re not going to stand up to Trump, who is?”

For Acevedo, hosting Porter carried particular significance because Porter is currently the leading female candidate running in California’s gubernatorial race.

During the town hall, Porter highlighted the rarity of women running for governor, and told students that California has not seen a competitive Democratic woman candidate for governor in decades.

“It was 1994,” she said. “I know it was before you were all born, because I was in college in 1994. And I have a kid in college.”

Acevedo said Porter’s perspective on gender made her visit especially meaningful for SWIP.

“Politics is an extremely male-dominated area, so it was a really special opportunity to hear directly from her,” Acevedo said. “Somebody that is continually pushing in as the only woman in this race.”

For both organizations, the town hall was an opportunity to connect students directly with a candidate seeking California’s highest office.

“[Porter] was the only one of the major candidates for governor [who] was able to come to campus, and we wanted to take advantage of that, to inform students at Stanford to ask questions about the future of the state their school is in,” Haider said. 

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Levin highlights University contribution to technology, research at annual Academic Council meeting

The Council met Thursday to consider the state of modern education.

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The Stanford Academic Council held its annual meeting on May 21 to review Stanford’s commitment to higher education and its responsibility as a university.

University President Johnathan Levin ’94 hosted the event alongside Vice Provost Jenny Martinez, Faculty Senate Chair Anna Grzymala-Busse and Faculty Senate Vice Chair Dustin Schroeder. Various faculty and associates of the University attended.

The meeting began with the Faculty Senate Chair report to the Academic Council, which Grzymala-Busse utilized to overview the purpose of the Faculty Senate and the University’s challenges.

“This year, together with the rest of the university, we faced several challenges, ranging from the rise of LLMs, to a new research environment, to the decrease in public trust in all kinds of institutions, including universities,” she said.

Grzymala-Busse also highlighted several recent milestones for the Faculty Senate including legislative decisions, such as those against faculty censure and a uniform policy on academic authorship. 

She also highlighted academic milestones, such as the continuation and expansion of COLLEGE, the adoption of a full proctoring system, changes to the status of non-matriculated students and allowing student athletes to pursue post-baccalaureate programs. 

Levin presented his president report to the Academic Council, discussing a variety of issues and values relevant to the University. “Stanford is unapologetically committed to excellence, to the freedom of faculty and students and to being a home of curiosity, inquiry and ambition,” he said. He remains confident that the “enduring value of education” will remain even in the face of a growing AI sphere.

Levin posed two questions to the audience: “How can we lead the way in undergraduate education?” and “How can we sustain […] the research system?”

To answer the first question, Levin drew on his own experiences at Stanford. In his freshman year, he took a Chinese philosophy class, a graduate seminar in classics and an honors math class, and ended up majoring in both english and math.

“The Stanford education that my classmates and I received embodied the best qualities of the liberal education,” he said.

He argued that the flexibility of the quarter system, the expansive opportunities for research and overseas studies, as well as the world-class academics, athletics and extracurriculars at Stanford offered students both breadth and depth of education.

Levin also explained that Stanford has a unique role in creating change among universities. As both a top institution and a contributor to the Silicon Valley space, Stanford has the capacity to both develop and regulate the tech spheres. “Earlier this year, I had a friend of an Ivy [League] peer university [ask] ‘what is Stanford doing around AI?’”…and I said, ‘well, what are you doing?’ and he said ‘our strategy is to let you guys figure it out,’” Levin said.

Addressing the second topic, Levin emphasized the importance of research for the general benefit. He argued that while “companies excel in taking ideas and driving them to products and services,” it is universities like Stanford that generate the ideas and prototypes later utilized by those companies. He argued for the importance of federal partnership and lamented the hiring cuts many universities have been forced to employ as a result of cuts to federal funding.

Following Levin’s speech, the floor opened for a number of questions from the audience, which included topics such as government “misunderstanding” of higher education institutions, grade inflation, the endowment’s role in mitigating funding cuts, government investigations into medical school applicants and a recent controversial book about Stanford’s education system. 

“I think the reason for having that endowment is precisely for moments of crisis like one we’re now in,” said one audience member in regards to the recent endowment taxes imposed by the federal government. Council members responded by arguing that “ripping off the band-aid” for difficult financial decisions would make them more manageable in the long term.

This was followed by several “Open Minds” seminars, which demonstrated the effective research and science education occurring at Stanford.

Presenters included engineering professor Allison Okamura ’00,  3 Minute Thesis finalist and 7th year religious studies Ph.D. student Anuj Amin, 3 Minute Thesis finalist and 3rd year materials science and engineering Ph.D. student Ibukun Ajifolokun  and associate professor of art and art history Emanuele Lugli. Topics covered included soft-body robotics, inscription bowls, gel vaccines and Renaissance art.

“A fair immune response is how you protect everyone, so that no antigen is left behind. But more importantly, no child is left unvaccinated,” said Anifolokun, discussing gel vaccines as a more effective method of immunization.

Levin concluded the session excited by the showcases of Stanford’s innovation and research through these presentations, and adjourned the session.

“That was spectacular. And I’m really glad you all got to see a little bit of what we were taking out on the road to show people,” Levin said.

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The unofficial class teaching students how to ‘rule the world’

Each year, 12 students are selected through an exclusive interview process to join a cohort focused on understanding and leveraging systems of power.

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Once a week during winter quarter, six men and six women Stanford students gather in the basement of Escondido Village Graduate Residence (EVGR) to debate topics ranging from money to power and the tenets of a good life. The informal course is not publicized, has no enrollment code and can only be joined with a referral from a former student. What does draw attention to the class—both positive and negative — is its name: “Rule,” shorthand for “So You Think You Can Rule the World?”

When the class’s instructor Justin Lewis-Weber ’20 was a student, he arrived on campus with the expectation of meeting high-achieving intellectuals and engaging in vivacious conversation. But he found his experience lacking. 

“What always seemed interesting to me was this idea that there are thousands of people at Stanford. I’m probably missing so many of the amazing people that are around,” Lewis-Weber said.

According to Estella Zhou ’26, a former student of the class, Rule was Lewis-Weber’s attempt to bring together “like-minded folks who dared to dream bigger together.”

Lewis-Weber began “Rule” in his junior year at Stanford seeking to change this perceived deficiency. The product is a class of students whom he personally selects, based on his assessment of their projected impact on the world.

“It’s filled with people who have very ambitious views of what they want the world to look like and don’t want to climb existing ladders to wait their turn,” said Zhou, who took the class in her junior year. 

Students gain access to an expansive network of powerful alumni and students that Lewis-Weber has curated. Former students, who include Phoebe Gates ’24, often go into business with one another after taking the course together or being introduced through Lewis-Weber. According to one student, Gates conducts internal recruiting for her company Phia through the class.

Students who spoke to The Daily said that during the interview process, Lewis-Weber highlighted the billions of dollars in net worth that alumni have accumulated. When asked for an exact number, he said, “I don’t keep track of everyone so I honestly don’t know.”

To Alex — the pseudonym of a former student who requested anonymity to speak candidly — the class focuses on leveraging the systems of power that make the world turn. The goal, she said, is to teach students “how to essentially hack any kind of power structure or bureaucratic structure and get what they want in a system of people.”

“There’s sort of a cult of personality around this guy,” she added.

The class has also garnered attention recently for inspiring the title of “How to Rule the World,” a memoir by Theo Baker ’26 published on May 19. Baker, who interviewed for Rule but ultimately was not accepted, describes Lewis-Weber as “an egomaniacal CEO” in the book.

Some students see the class as Lewis-Weber’s way of giving back and providing students access to powerful figures who understand how the world works and leveraging their insight. For others, the class is Lewis-Weber’s way of formulating a secret society, emulating those in the Ivy League.

Taylor is the pseudonym of a student who interviewed for the class in her sophomore year, has several friends who took the class and requested anonymity to speak candidly. She said that Lewis-Weber represents “the cynical parts of Silicon Valley,” describing him as “power hungry, intellectual, but really focused on profit and power instead of doing good.”

For her, Lewis-Weber uses the class to “latch on” to people who are set up for success, attracting the “LinkedIn grinders” and students with some degree of success already, in order for him to make a “ton of money.”

***

Growing up in Southern California, Lewis-Weber was interested in space exploration from a young age. At six, he built and flew his first helicopter. At 12, he started an aerial imaging company, one of the first in the world. At 17, he published a peer-reviewed article proposing that solar panels be installed on the moon using lunar materials as an alternative to fossil fuels.

At Stanford, he majored in aeronautics and astronautics and was a part of several labs, including the Stanford Intelligent Systems Laboratory (SISL) and the Stanford Propulsion & Space Exploration Laboratory (SPaSE). According to his students, he is also a proponent of exploring and going to Mars.

Before starting Assured, an automated insurance claims company co-founded with other Stanford alumni in 2019, he was the CEO of a startup working on powered air flight and solving its energy paradigm. Outside of academics and work, he is also a certified sommelier and a deep-sea scuba diver.

Even after graduating and starting his own company, Lewis-Weber continues to teach “Rule,” often flying back and forth between New York and San Francisco.

The class operates somewhat underground. To be accepted, interviewees are asked to recommend their most accomplished male and female peers for an interview. Their choice of recommendations are also factored into their own evaluation.

Some students said the secretiveness of the class was not by design but a byproduct of its structure as a small, tight-knit course. When asked about the discreet nature of the course, Lewis-Weber said, “That’s news to me.”

Yet there exists an expectation of confidentiality that he and students share, encouraged not to disclose their involvement and even their referral to those outside of the class. Several students were unwilling or hesitant to speak to The Daily.

To Zhou’s knowledge, secrecy was not an explicit intention of the course, but arose more naturally. “Obviously, the more you shout things from the rooftops, the more scrutiny that you invite,” she said, “And I think keeping things peaceful is nice.”

For many, the interview process — which can begin as early as spring the year before and conclude by the fall — was the most memorable aspect of “Rule.”

“I remember leaving the interview and just spending that night questioning most of my beliefs,” said Dhruv Sumathi B.S. ’23 M.S. ’25. He was later accepted into the class and remains in regular contact with Lewis-Weber.

Interviews in the past year have taken place at Coupa Cafes across Palo Alto. There, Lewis-Weber will dig deep into interviewees’ worldview and purpose, asking questions such as, “You’re 80 years old looking back on life, what would have made it worthwhile?”, “What do you believe in?” and “What gets you out of bed?” according to several students. 

The process has garnered a reputation for being demanding, with one student having left the interview in tears. Lewis-Weber tends to reply to every statement with “why,” and Alex described him as “interrogative” and creating an interview that was “pretty jarring.”

However, others enjoyed the conversation, including former student John Bailey ’24, who called the interview “refreshing,” breaking the mold of typical conversations at Stanford.

“A lot of conversations around what to do at Stanford cannot be couched in this very abstract sort of language,” Bailey said. “The most distinct feeling I had from [the interview] was this feeling of, ‘Wow, people here believe deeply that they can change the world.’”

Madison Ueland ’23 M.S. ’24, another former student, echoed this sentiment, saying the interview was an “awakening experience.”

By the end of the interview process, Lewis-Weber establishes a network of potential candidates. He then whittles that number down to 12. The class begins meeting in the winter. 

***

Over the 10 weeks of the course, students learn about what Lewis-Weber calls “the underlying incentive structures and frameworks that govern how the world works.” According to students, the class begins with a short presentation from Lewis-Weber before transitioning into a Socratic-style debate forum.

“It ends up being an effort to understand the world and the overall chessboard that people are playing on,” Lewis-Weber said.

Taylor said that Lewis-Weber does not shy away from non-politically correct conversation within the class and is not hesitant to drop slurs, creating an atmosphere where students are comfortable with that.

“If you’re the kind of person that is offended when someone uses the r-word, you’re not going to be right for the class,” she said.

Every student used the word “frameworks” to describe the main subjects of discussion. Bailey explained these as globally applicable “mental thought models” that address how to create change in the world and solutions worth prioritizing.

“Stanford is this place where it’s really easy to get caught up in these hype cycles,” he said. “Folks [in Rule] were mostly concerned about what are important problems to solve, and ‘how can I begin to get compounding results after I choose that problem?’”

For many students in the course, the way to address these problems is through entrepreneurship. As Alex sees it, however, Lewis-Weber’s approach to building a company is “hackier” and “more opportunistic.”

“It’s more about identifying the vulnerabilities or loopholes,” she said. “I think he’s less concerned with the ethics of it all and the problem-solving elements.”

Lewis-Weber also brings in several guest lecturers. One of them is a startup lawyer whom, according to Alex, Lewis-Weber recommends students stay in touch with for their own startups. Another is Stan Christensen, a Stanford lecturer who speaks on effective communication based on his background as a professional negotiator mediating conflicts for over 75 countries.

Almost every student who spoke to The Daily mentioned the idea of multipolar traps, based on a blog post by effective altruist Scott Alexander titled “Mediations of Moloch.” Multipolar traps occur when multiple actors behave according to self-interest even when cooperation would result in a collectively beneficial outcome. Examples of common traps include the prisoner’s dilemma or the tragedy of the commons.

Alexander’s conclusion was that multipolar traps can be resolved by installing a benevolent superintelligent machine capable of optimizing for best solutions. Alexander makes this claim as a self-proclaimed “transhumanist.” When asked if he was a transhumanist, Lewis-Weber said, “I actually don’t know what that is.”

***

Aside from debates and lectures, many classmates have gone into business together, created companies as co-founders or formed close relationships. After the class, Sumathi and Bailey started a project together involving sensory augmentation for pilots. They later both worked at a company tackling reversible cryopreservation for organs. Zhou met her boyfriend through the class, while Bailey and Ueland are now engaged.

A product of the class has been a “search algorithm across the social graph,” Lewis-Weber said. When asked whether he keeps in touch with students after the class ends, Lewis-Weber said, “Students are always welcome to reach out to me. It’s up to them to continue the relationships with their peers.”

Lewis-Weber also regularly hosts reunions at his home in the Bay Area for alumni to connect. Students said that Lewis-Weber has offered himself as a mentor to students even after the class ended.

Sumathi and Lewis-Weber would often go on long walks when Sumathi was facing big questions in his life.

“Something [Lewis-Weber] does really well is push back,” Sumathi said. “He will usually disagree on something, and when he does, it’s pretty passionately.”

Sumathi’s older brother went to middle school in Calabasas with Lewis-Weber, so the two have known each other since childhood. However, Sumathi said he “didn’t realize how big you could dream” until he got to know Lewis-Weber at Stanford. 

When describing him, Sumathi highlighted Lewis-Weber for his larger-than-life visions and his distinct energy and intensity. 

“You just feel it in the way the guy talks,” Sumathi said.

Echoing Suamthi, Ueland described Lewis-Weber as an “ambitious dreamer” but also drew attention to his bluntness.

“He can come across as direct sometimes. Maybe that’s off-putting to some people, but I don’t think that’s necessarily reflected on his character,” she said. “I don’t know if everybody sees this, but I think he’s a really sweet and thoughtful person.”

For some, that same intensity and directness has made him a more polarizing figure.

“He’s sort of provocative,” Alex said. “Whatever it is that he thinks you think, he wants to disrupt that.”

When asked about whether Rule’s format or recruiting process will change with greater attention, most students remained skeptical. Yet they also expressed some trepidation about how the class will be publicly received amid competing narratives. 

“[Rule] has given me a lot,” Zhou said. “I would hate to see that get damaged or for future generations to not have that opportunity.”

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Stanford alum Mung Chiang named next Northwestern president

Chiang will step down from his presidency at Purdue, replacing Northwestern's interim president.

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Mung Chiang B.S. ’99 M.S. ’00 Ph.D. ’03 will assume the presidency at Northwestern on July 1. 

Chiang, the current president of Purdue University, will replace interim president Henry Bienen (Bienen, a former president, also held the role from 1995 to 2009). Bienen assumed the role for a second time after former president Michael Schill stepped down in September, following federal government scrutiny over his response to pro-Palestinian campus encampments. 

In a statement in “Northwestern Now,” the university’s news site, Northwestern described Mung as “a renowned researcher, educator, national science advisor and higher education leader.” 

Previously, Chiang served as Purdue’s Dean of Engineering in 2017, making him the youngest-ever leader of a major American college. As president, Chiang expanded Purdue’s research to encompass more $1 billion in expenditures, froze tuition for three straight years and created partnerships with major technology industries. 

He is also the recipient of the National Science Foundation’s Alan T. Waterman Award, Guggenheim Fellowship and several awards from the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers. 

At Stanford, Chiang studied electrical engineering and mathematics during his undergraduate career, before focusing on electrical engineering in graduate school. Chiang conducted his Ph.D. under Professors Thomas M. Cover Ph.D. ’64 and Stephen Boyd, and published his thesis, titled “Solving nonlinear problems in communication systems using geometric programming and dualities.” While at Stanford, he also published on topics of channel capacity and data compression. 

In an email to the Daily, Chiang declined to comment until he has more time in the role.

Trevor Peters, a spokesperson for Purdue, referred the Daily to a statement released by Purdue’s newsroom. “It has been an incredible honor and joy for me to work with the amazing board, colleagues, students and alumni here,” Chiang said in the statement. “There truly is something special at Purdue: not just the projects and programs, but also the people, who time after time set the standard for excellence at scale.”’

In his new role at Northwestern, Chiang has said that he hopes to focus on learning, describing himself as “an incoming freshman.”

“I’ll be learning a lot about the unique tradition, people and culture of this place,” said Chiang, in an interview with The Daily Northwestern. “I don’t know enough about this place, but I know that the color purple [Northwestern’s brand color] is truly creative, collaborative — whimsical even — and it’s going to be an amazing, amazing color.”

Correction: A previous version of this article misspelled Bienen’s name. The Daily regrets this error.

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Reich | On wasted time

In her senior column, Reich, former editor-in-chief, reflects on how she spent her time at The Daily.

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Sometimes, I think that all I did at The Daily was waste time. 

I edited articles when I should have been completing homework assignments. I made detours to The Daily House before and after classes to get a snack. I asked long and complicated ice breakers at the beginning of every Masthead meeting for a year straight to delay topics of serious discussion. 

But I must have gotten some work done. The Daily puts out a minimum of 10 articles per day, which means at least 50 articles per week, not including the time it takes to format those articles for the weekly 12-page print issue. In my year as editor-in-chief alone, The Daily published over 1,500 online articles and 31 print issues. Surely I must have worked to get that done. I certainly wasn’t staying up until 3 a.m. on the regular just to draw another alignment chart on the quoteboard. 

And still, when I think of how I spent my four years at The Daily, from writer to editor-in-chief, my memories consist of sitting on the couches of 456 Panama Mall watching reality TV with Erin and Eliza. And gossiping on broken chairs in a tiny office with Ananya and Lauren. And running to On Call Cafe to pick up caffeine to fuel… what exactly? Not work, I can tell you that much!

The first person to call me when I started as editor-in-chief was my first editor-in-chief. He told me that serving as editor was The Best Thing He Did At Stanford and I thought, “Wow! That is a lot to live up to!” I loved The Daily and was thrilled to be elected, but I had absolutely no idea how to spend my time in ways that would make it The Best Thing I Did At Stanford. 

So I wasted more time. Instead of responding to emails from board members or approving comments on the site, I spent hours reading the senior columns of students from other college papers. I pored over words from editors-in-chief of years past, from Ivy Leagues and liberal arts schools, from writers who are now professional journalists and those who went the way of Wall Street, desperate to glean any guidance they had for those following in their stead. 

It turns out that if you read enough of these, you can gnaw together just enough cheesy advice and bitter complaints to feel like instruction. Though writing from incredibly different schools in incredibly different situations, these columns gave me comfort in knowing that the problems I was facing (at times, avoiding) were not unique. Every college newsroom seems to face similar issues, all the way from university administration down to the broken chairs that plague our offices. 

In one senior column I read while procrastinating, former editor of the Columbia Spectator Isabella Ramirez voiced the deep anger I felt toward people who — in her words — “appeared to take cruel pleasure in attempting to undermine Spec and the hundreds of hardworking, well-intentioned students who voluntarily poured their heart and soul into the public service of local journalism.”

I’ve never met Isabella but I can’t overstate how often I thought of her words throughout my year as editor. The editor-in-chief email inbox was a daunting thing to open for at least half of that year because of the types of people Isabella wrote about. But to hear another editor from a school paper across the country be so openly frustrated about it was a validation.

In another column, former editor Irie Sentner put into words the reason this anger did not deter me, or Ramirez, I imagine: belief. Specifically, belief in the importance of the work student journalists do every day. I hear the sap dripping from the words (he put it more eloquently than I just did), but I can’t help but believe too. It is something of a miracle that so many college students choose to spend time producing news, writing about school sports, reviewing student plays, creating crosswords, making jokes and sharing their opinions out loud. 

To produce just one article requires the work of reporters, interview subjects, desk editors, copy editors, photographers or graphic designers, managing editors, executive editors and — to make it all worth it — readers. 

That is no small task, and hundreds of people at universities across the country do this at scale! For free! I witnessed the volume of student journalists and the belief we share last fall when 55 student newsrooms signed an amicus brief in support of The Daily’s ongoing lawsuit against the federal government. That is 55 separate newsrooms publishing dozens of articles per week, requiring the work of literally thousands of people. 

Sam Catania, a former Daily editor-in-chief, wrote his senior column about this exact miracle: “I was acutely aware that there wasn’t a great reason why a bunch of 20-somethings should come together to write 20-40 articles a week. No one has to do it. Most staffers don’t intend to become journalists.”

In that sense then, everyone at The Daily is wasting their time. What are we doing spending hours and hours on articles that in all likelihood are read by more parents than students and distributed in a medium no one picks up? Oftentimes, at least at Stanford, not even the editor-in-chief wants to pursue a career in journalism.

In my opinion, this is part of what makes it a miracle: the ability to turn what could easily be a waste of time into something of value, not for the sake of a resume or money, but because of their belief in the value of the work.

My own belief in it sparked my professional ambition. I joined The Daily as a frosh because I thought journalists looked cool in the movies. Following graduation, I will be a full-time reporter in New York. 

So it was definitely not a waste of time. Still, I do not know if my hours spent actually writing or editing outweigh those not working. I do know, however, that this institution is what made my time in college worthwhile. Indeed it is the Best Thing I Have Done At Stanford.

One thing they don’t tell you when you run for editor-in-chief just before your 21st birthday is that, if you win, you will spend every single day of your 21st year alive being the editor-in-chief. Another thing they don’t tell you is that you will love every second of it, especially the wasted ones.

Shoutouts:

Lauren and Ananya: Screw my career, the greatest gift The Daily has given me is the two of you. I truly believe the three of us could run the world together. We would be so tired, but we could do it. 

George, Amina and Anna: Thank you for taking the reins even after hearing us complain so much. Amina, it is so awesome to have grown up at The Daily together and to see you now. I still can’t believe you’re doing this your senior spring, but I am in awe of the fact that you are. George and Anna, it has been such a privilege to watch you grow as writers, editors and now the executive team. Keep crushing it. I am so proud of you all!

Emma: I could not have been the editor for even one day without you in my first volume. I am sorry for asking stupid questions like, “I can’t get in trouble for anti-embezzling, right?” and calling you from upstairs when you were downstairs. Thank you for listening to me cry and rant and be confused. Thank you also for the legal advice and the purse, both of which I used every day last summer and will use for my first real job. You are the best.

Sam: I don’t know if you’ll read this, but I know you still read The Daily at least semi-frequently because you were often the first to send me corrections on articles and excerpts. Thank you for setting The Daily up on Notion and getting new computers and couches and in general making The Daily a functioning 21st century organization. Thank you also for encouraging me as a writer to be courageous and go after the big story. I learned I wanted to be a journalist under your editorship. 

Linda: Thank you for being the reason I became an editor at any level. You told me to apply to be an Arts & Life desk editor, then magazine editor and then editor-in-chief. I cannot thank you enough for believing in me. I loved learning from you and I loved hanging out with you, especially during our 20-minute lunches at Ikea that one summer. That was so random.

Duran: Thank you for being the most consistent part of my Daily experience. The Daily does not run without you and everyone there knows it. Your cover graphic on this year’s Big Game issue is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. 

267 and 268 Mastheads: Thank you for teaching me how to be a leader and being patient with me as I learned. I am sorry for how many fun facts and weird ice breakers I put you through. No matter how many shoutouts or banquet awards or Slack kudos I gave you, it was never enough and I know it.

Erin and Eliza: Erin, your “Senior Scaries” column has been an inspiration for this article all year. You told me in the fall that you thought my senior column would make you cry. I don’t know if I succeeded but it was a helpful goal to have while writing. Eliza, you coined the term “Daily House Nap” aka “DHN,” which is potentially the most important acronym ever and I can’t believe it didn’t exist prior to your genius. Thank you for that and also for coming to The Daily House between classes and after trivia.  

Every single FOTDH (Friend of The Daily House) but especially the ones who came to Ink Bowl: Thank you for coming to The Daily House and writing in our guest book. Thank you for celebrating with us at Buca di Banquet. Thank you for playing and winning Ink Bowl to cement that day as my favorite day of college ever. You are the reason The Daily is not torn down by its staffers own neurotic energy. 

The Daily House: I don’t know who I’m writing this for but I felt that I needed to put into words my gratitude for The Daily House. I spent more time here than any dorm I’ve ever lived in. It is where I went to do readings, write essays, take interviews, watch television, grab a snack, call my mom, fix my makeup, cry in the bathroom and also work on The Daily. I sent packages here so I wouldn’t have to wait for the University to process them. I forced non-Daily friends to hang out here if they wanted to see me past 8 p.m. I learned to write, edit, lead and teach those skills among my favorite people here. I love every inch of this building, from the hole in the floor of the second story that lets you yell between floors to the un-erasable whiteboard with the “Hamilton” song tier list. This building holds my memories of college so deep that if all of Stanford was wiped from my brain, I know I could find my way back to 456 Panama Mall through muscle memory. Thank you.

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Weis | Public service at Stanford must do better

Colin Weis argues for the consolidation of SIG and the Haas Center to better serve undergraduates.

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Two months into my freshman year at Stanford, I was sent a folder titled “NATO Applicants.” Inside, I found resumes, transcripts, letters of recommendation and other sensitive academic materials from upperclassmen applying for a highly competitive internship they had spent years working toward. Here I was, a freshman who still did not know where the Huang Basement was, being asked to evaluate candidates only months after graduating high school. I was even asked to interview them because I, a nineteen-year-old freshman, was apparently fit to decide who should intern at NATO that summer despite never earning one of these fellowships myself.  Weeks later, I quit my position on Stanford in Government’s (SIG) Fellowships and Stipends committee, leaving Stanford’s supposed “premier” place for government service. 

My experience reviewing applications exemplifies a fundamental issue with the partnership between Stanford’s Haas Center for Public Service and SIG, a student-run club to which Haas has outsourced much of its pre-professional government programming. Consequently, Haas provides a weak institutional home for students interested in government service, while SIG has been tasked with performing functions that require far more professional oversight — like evaluating applications for NATO. The result has been a dubious selection process for fellowships and stipends, limited ideological diversity and an unprofessional public-facing image for Stanford’s main government-service pipeline.

In its mission statement, SIG calls itself “a key part of the Haas Center’s public policy pathway” for students interested in government service. Indeed, undergraduates in SIG hold the keys to some of Stanford’s most coveted government internships and public-service stipends: opportunities connected to the World Bank, the United Nations, NATO, Congress and elected officials. From what I observed during my time in SIG, most decisions were made in good faith, but good faith is not enough. Applicants’ materials were not anonymized, and in a tight circle of government-interested students, personal bias inevitably shapes outcomes. Why would the Stanford Haas Center trust a handful of undergraduates to help decide, behind closed doors and with limited oversight, which students receive such important opportunities? Haas, with a yearly budget of 11 million dollars, certainly has the resources to ensure that fellowships and stipends are managed entirely by professional staff, not by makeshift undergraduate committees.

SIG also claims that it “reflects Stanford’s hallmark entrepreneurial spirit with its completely student-run programming — a characteristic that sets it apart from similar organizations at peer institutions.” In reality, the opposite is true: SIG’s student-run operations set it below similar organizations at peer institutions. With its informal student management, SIG often appears less like Stanford’s institutional home for government service and more like an ordinary student club. That would be fine if SIG were just a student club, but a place considered Stanford’s premier place for government service owes its students a more serious institutional identity. 

Beyond an unprofessional reputation, ideological diversity is also limited within the Haas Center and SIG’s public-service ecosystem, despite a mission of welcoming diverse perspectives and experiences. Again, a major reason for this shortcoming is structural. Haas appears to partner largely with NGO service programs that often share a similar ideological orientation — gender equity, LGBTQ+ rights, environmental justice, indigenous sovereignty and related causes. This creates a public-service culture that feels overwhelmingly left-leaning. The natural space for students with different political perspectives is usually government-related programming, which is largely nested in SIG. Of course, conservatives are known minorities on elite college campuses; however, SIG has not hosted a single conservative speaker in over a year, suggesting a largely liberal membership base despite presenting itself as nonpartisan. Whether this issue stems from ideological spillover from Haas or from a precedent of liberal student leadership left unaccountable to SIG’s institutional values is unclear. Either way, it remains a serious problem.

For comparison, consider the University of Chicago’s Institute of Politics (IOP), a serious, professionally run organization where government service is central to its mission. It also demonstrates considerably more ideological diversity. Stanford does not need to replicate UChicago’s program, but it is troubling that a peer institution offers a far more professional, centralized and ideologically diverse model for students interested in public service. At first, the Hoover Institution might seem to be Stanford’s rendition of an IOP, but compared to UChicago’s undergraduate-oriented IOP programming, Hoover engagement remains elusive and exclusive for those without an official research position. The institution may be an extraordinary think tank, but its events, built for scholars, policymakers and professionals, are not designed for cultivating a broad undergraduate community of students engaged in government and politics. For instance, just this past October, Hoover turned away scores of undergraduates, including myself, after we had signed up to hear from Republican Florida Governor Ron DeSantis at one of the institution’s few events open to undergraduates. 

Other organizations have tried to make up for the Haas-SIG shortcomings, but the result has been an ad hoc, chaotic and decentralized public service ecosystem. Stanford Democracy Hub was created in part to address this problem and has recently worked to better coordinate these organizations. Though quitting SIG initially felt like a step backward — especially given Stanford’s branding of the club — it led me toward the kind of fulfilling political engagement I had expected to find there. Soon after, I found my home at the newly re-energized Stanford Political Union, which has helped fill the gap in ideological diversity and political discourse. Meanwhile, many of my peers have found their homes at student-run political organizations like Stanford Democrats, Stanford Abundance and other clubs that provide students with opportunities for political and government engagement outside of SIG and Haas. Still, it is disappointing that at one of the wealthiest and most notable universities in the world, an eclectic group of undergraduate clubs must compensate for the deficiencies of a multimillion-dollar public service institution. 

These issues are solvable. SIG should be more directly integrated into Haas, giving the organization an IOP-like professional structure and the institutional accountability it needs. The change would require Haas to incorporate more government programming, naturally broadening its political culture, while professional staff, rather than undergraduates, would be held accountable to SIG’s nonpartisan mission. Stanford students deserve a government-service infrastructure that protects applicants from informal student gatekeeping and finally provides a centralized, professionally run and genuinely nonpartisan pathway into public life worthy of the university it represents.

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Daily Diminutive #171

Click to play today's 5x5 mini crossword. The Daily produces mini crosswords daily and a full-size crossword weekly.

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Cardinal Cryptic #004

Click to play The Daily's newest puzzle, the Cardinal Cryptic. The Daily produces cryptic-style crosswords weekly.

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Gary Shteyngart brings Soviet satire and ‘SAP’ pessimism to campus

The bestselling novelist reflected on politics, immigration and the writer’s responsibility.

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Bestselling satirist Gary Shteyngart drew a packed audience to Levinthal Hall on May 13 for a conversation about his latest novel, “Vera, or Faith,” in the context of American identity, Russian literary influences and what he described as the country’s “very weird and sort of dark moment.”

A Soviet-born American writer, Shteyngart is known for his satirical works on the Russian immigrant experience in America. For this event — hosted by the Stanford Humanities Center as part of the Helena Brandt Visiting Scholar Program and co-sponsored by the Center for Russian, East European and Eurasian Studies, the Stanford Creative Writing Program and the Taube Center for Jewish Studies — Shtyengart discussed Soviet and post-Soviet life with moderator and assistant English professor Molly Antopol. The event included a signing of Shteyngart’s recent books, including: “Super Sad True Love Story,” “Lake Success” and “Vera, or Faith.”

Antopol opened the event by recalling reading Shteyngart’s debut, “The Russian Debutante’s Handbook,” praising his “enormous heart for every single person on the page” and his ability to make readers laugh and weep “in a single paragraph.”

Shteyngart then read an excerpt from “Vera, or Faith,” a novel told through the eyes of a half-Korean, half-Jewish 10-year-old who keeps a diary of words whose meaning she doesn’t yet know.

The shift to writing from a child’s perspective was a first for Shteyngart.

“I never thought I’d have a kid,” Shteyngart said. “Then I had a kid, and I thought, you know, ‘I need a little return on investment.'”

Vera’s anxious cataloguing of unfamiliar words mirrored his own immigrant childhood, he told the audience, when his parents, like other Soviet émigrés trying to learn English, wrote vocabulary on IBM punch cards: English on one side, Russian on the other.

He also recounted writing his first book at age five, “Lenin and His Magical Goose,” commissioned by his grandmother, an editor at a Soviet newspaper, who paid him in pieces of cheese.

Throughout the evening, Shteyngart described himself as a “SAP,” short for Soviet Ashkenazi Pessimist, which is a worldview he traced to a childhood spent absorbing whispered jokes at the kitchen table about Brezhnev and the Olympics.

Several of his novels, including “Super Sad True Love Story,” published in 2010, discuss what he perceives as American technological and political decline. 

“For me, it’s not even that the glass is half empty — it’s like there’s no glass. It’s just a table,” Shteyngart said. 

His reflections on contemporary crises also included COVID-19, which inspired his 2021 novel “Our Country Friends,” where he described the pandemic as oddly generative. Similarly, asthma gave him a different relationship to the disease and to mortality more broadly.

Shteyngart said that fiction does not necessarily have an obligation to engage with current politics, but that “If you look at the world around us right now, the responsibility of art is to document what is happening to the human soul under these insane pressures.”

Pressed on book bans and recent corporate pressure on late-night satirists, he didn’t soften his assessment: “It’s very Putinesque, if you will, very Orbanesque. Going after comics — especially not funny ones like Kimmel — is very depressing.”

He continued: “When a country decides to change its modality, its way of thinking and its relationship to democracy, it all falls apart.”

At the discussion portion’s conclusion, Ayaan Dhruv, an 11th-grade student from Los Altos, opened the audience Q&A by asking Shteyngart, “Can you describe a little bit about your writing process?”

 Shteyngart advised that aspiring writers limit themselves to two or three hours of work daily. 

“It doesn’t get better after that — it gets worse, in fact,” he said. “I write like Proust. I write in bed. I never leave bed.” Shteyngart described a routine of morning writing, long afternoon walks, a session with his therapist and what he called “the crying hour” at a bar with fellow writers in Manhattan.

Shteyngart shared that he also takes an immersive approach to his craft: For his book “Lake Success,” he rode a Greyhound across the country, like the book’s protagonist, and spent four years embedded with hedge fund managers. “Their wives would often reach out to me,” he said. “They’d be like, ‘You want to talk to my husband? He is crazy.'”

Discussing the influence of Soviet dissident writers on himself, Shteyngart highlighted Solzhenitsyn’s early work — “‘Ivan Denisovich’ and ‘Cancer Ward,’ all those novels were incredible” — and Nabokov, whose “Pnin” he called his favorite novel of all time and a staple of the humor seminar he teaches at Columbia. He recommended Sergei Dovlatov’s “The Compromise” as his favorite Soviet-era novel, named Ivan Turgenev’s “Fathers and Sons” as his favorite work of 19th-century Russian literature and acknowledged Nikolai Gogol’s “Dead Souls” as a massive influence.

He framed the trajectory of American literature as one of necessary widening and diversification. “As America changes, so does its literature,” he said, citing his mentor, English professor Chang-rae Lee, alongside Pulitzer Prize-winning authors Junot Díaz and Jhumpa Lahiri.

“[It was] fantastic to see the Stanford community engaged with this wonderful author, to hear their questions and the witty answers from the author,” economics professor Andrzej Skrzypacz said. “A highlight for me was the author reading an excerpt from his newest book.”

Despite the night’s dark political subtext, Shteyngart closed on a note of self-deprecating Americana, describing his recent purchase of a Toyota Highlander and a family-sized package of toilet paper as the true milestone of his Americanization.

“That’s like a naturalization certificate,” he said. “When you stuff that shit in there, it’s just incredible — you feel USA.”

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Stanfordle #139

Enjoy Stanfordle, a wordy addition to The Stanford Daily Games Section. The Daily produces Stanfordles on weekdays.

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UGS proposes amendments to White Plaza incident resolution, introduces legislation as prior notice

The amendments aimed to affirm goals of greater accountability and transparency in the investigation process.

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On Wednesday, the Undergraduate Senate (UGS) debated amendments to a joint resolution that calls for “accountability, transparency and student protection” after an IDF soldier tackled a Stanford student at a tabling event in April.

“In my read of the [White Plaza incident], Stanford students were failed by [University] administration after what happened,” said former UGS chair David Sengthay ’26. “There was no communication, there was no transparency, there was no investigation that was public regarding this incident.” 

According to Sengthay, the resolution aims to “encourage a standardized process for investigations so that Stanford administrators can reassure the community at a time when students are afraid they might get tackled or choked in White Plaza because of what happened that day.”

The UGS initially passed the resolution by a 13-0-1 vote at its last meeting on May 13. During its May 14 meeting, the Graduate Student Council (GSC) voted to reconsider the joint resolution the following week with parts of the proposal reworked to address gaps and community concerns. To do so, the UGS proposed several amendments. 

While some amendments focus on clarity and relevance of certain clauses, the main adjustment to the resolution clarified that the Office of Community Standards (OCS) has jurisdiction over voluntary student organizations (VSOs) and their members. As such, the OCS, not the ASSU, is responsible for opening investigations and making determinations regarding VSO status.

“We as the Undergraduate Senate should have no business in passing [legislative] judgment, investigation or punishment for a student or a voluntary student organization and the spirit of these amendments should embody that,” Sengthay said. 

Members of the Stanford Israel Association (SIA) attended the meeting to express their views on the joint resolution and its amendments. Some raised concerns that the SIA was unfairly targeted by the resolution due to the club’s ties to the April 22 altercation.

“We feel targeted because [the resolution] specifically mentions the Stanford Israel Association by name,” a member of the SIA said.

Other members of the SIA raised concerns that the UGS passed the initial resolution last week to begin with, claiming that doing so showed the UGS’ shortsightedness.

“We understand that what happened last week should not have been passed and we are taking the corrective measure to do this now to ensure that no single student or VSO, regardless of identity, feels targeted,” Sengthay said.

The UGS also discussed plans to establish a Community Center Working Group and create a Sustainability Working Group, and introduced a bill to recommend nominees for university committees. 

If passed, the bill regarding the Community Center Working Group will form a committee of representatives nominated by the ASSU and one to two representatives from each Stanford community center that will report to the UGS. Their goals will be to meet regularly, address concerns and ensure that centers have adequate resources and support.

“I know in the last few years it’s felt like a lot of decisions have been made without students’ notice as far as community centers go and all of the changes that have gone on within community center programming, so this working group is to establish that transparency,” UGS co-chair Laila Ali ’28 said.

The Sustainability Working Group would consist of representatives from the ASSU, Stanford Transportation, StanfordNext, the Doerr School of Sustainability and Students for a Sustainable Stanford, among other partner organizations. This group will focus on finding actionable goals surrounding sustainability efforts and “operational and policy concerns.”

The senate also introduced a joint resolution that seeks to reform career education at Stanford to “ensure equitable access across all career pathways.”

“I’m excited to see what comes out of this bill because I know I would feel so much better coming out of NSO hearing more about public service and the Haas Center coming into Stanford,” Ali said.

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‘Shut up!’: A defense of Free Speech Hour

Is silence deafening? Free Speech Hour has been in effect for several months, but that might not be so bad.

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Editor’s Note: This article is purely satirical and fictitious. All attributions in this article are not genuine, and this story should be read in the context of pure entertainment only.

The administrators of Stanford University have imposed a so-called “Free Speech Hour” in White Plaza on weekdays between 12pm and 1pm. Amplified sound and disruptive public displays are prohibited outside this time, even in White Plaza. Other areas of campus outside of 5 designated zones are a no-go for demonstrations altogether. As the policy has now made its impact on the Stanford community, I decided it’s prime time to reflect on the lessons I have learned from the silence as I pass through the heart of campus. My big takeaway? I sure would like to hear less from my peers.

Sure, Stanford University claims to be infused with the American West’s spirit of openness and possibility, but we all know we’re here for the spirits (80 proof), openness to jobs in the military-industrial complex and possibility of landing a rich husband. It’s clear that the university shares these values, and I just don’t see how public displays of diverse viewpoints contribute to our central tenets. 

One must wonder, why would students at Stanford want to hear from and engage with their passionate peers? I’d ask, but free speech hour is over.

Upon further reflection, I realized I’d heard enough from my peers. I understand the breadth and fullness of their experiences as individuals because I peer-reviewed a Mech-E student’s PWR2 draft on free speech this fall. Having studied the Program in Writing and Rhetoric page many times, I know that the rigorous course provides a unique opportunity to share ideas and arguments with readers in the classroom and in the wider campus and world. Surely, anything produced in that class is as good as what would be shared in White Plaza. The last line of my classmate’s essay really had an impact on my thinking about Free Speech Hour:

“If you’d like, I can make the tone more casual to get that ‘conversational vibe,’ add direct quotes from the authors you mentioned, or really raise the register to make sure it’s A+ worthy. Do you want me to do that next?” 

This was clearly an invitation by my fellow student to take a post-structuralist lens to his opus. So, I went back and spent many hours in conversation with his essay on free speech. After I coaxed out its response, I was encouraged to think big about Free Speech Hour. How else might a mute campus community benefit our ambitions for free speech?

While reflecting on second-order benefits of Free Speech Hour, I naturally thought of our dearly departed Charlie Kirk. Could his death have been prevented by Free Speech Hour? If Kirk had packed up promptly at 1pm, would he have lived to know if we were counting or not counting gang violence?

Unfortunately not. The crime occurred at the admin-approved hour of 12:23pm. Nonetheless, I thought I would share this — the beginning of a thought I had in support of my broader argument about free speech on campus — despite its lack of relevance. Apologies. It’s been a while since I’ve engaged in a civil dialogue regarding a subjective matter of values as a member of the Stanford community.

That’s not to say I care too much to speak with my peers about things we disagree on. To be quite frank, the only person I want in my echo chamber is myself. Even still, I’d shut up if I could help it. Wouldn’t want some kind of an internal dialogue distracting me from the many lessons I learned in COLLEGE 102.

So, in closing, I have this request for Provost Martinez: Let’s replace Free Speech Hour with a Minute of Silence.

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‘Well-being with Woz’: Apple co-founder shares life philosophy at mental health event

Steve Wozniak credited his curious attitude and musical inspirations to his positive mindset.

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On Wednesday evening, the basement of the psychology building filled to capacity as Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak and his wife Janet Wozniak took the stage for “Well-being with Woz,” a conversation centered on mental health, happiness and the philosophy of a life well-lived. 

The event was moderated by Cherrial Odell ’25, co-president of Stanford Mental Health Outreach and Wellness Buddies, and presented in partnership with Stanford Speakers Bureau, Stanford Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineering (IEEE) and the office of Substance Use Programs Education & Resources (SUPER).

Odell opened the evening by promoting the “Not Alone Challenge,” a mental health toolkit and social media campaign, before introducing the Wozniaks on a deeply personal note. She credited the Inspiring Children Foundation, a mental health program that the couple supports, with saving her life after she attempted suicide at 13 amid a struggle with depression and anxiety. “They kind of came into my life during some of the more deeply healing phases of my journey,” she told the audience.

Asked how he has maintained childlike wonder amid extraordinary success, Wozniak traced his outlook to his teenage years. He described falling in love with digital logic after discovering an engineering journal explaining how computers process ones and zeros, despite there being no books available in public libraries on the subject at the time. 

Wozniak recalled being a shy kid who spent hours walking home from high school deliberately shaping who he wanted to be, committed to avoiding conflict and arguments. He pointed to two principles that have guided him ever since: a pacifist refusal to fight back when struck, and a commitment to responding with kindness even when others speak badly of him. 

Music, he said, was foundational. Early Bob Dylan lyrics shaped his thinking, but it was the line “no good guy, no bad guy, only you and me, and we just disagree” in Dave Mason’s “We Just Disagree” that became a personal mantra for Wozniak.

Wozniak emphasized that he never chased money or industry-building ambitions. He recalled giving away roughly $10 million of his stock to about 80 Apple employees, including Dan Kottke, and selling pre-IPO shares to colleagues because he felt they deserved to be founders too. “I never sold out,” he said, contrasting himself with peers whose true selves he believes were “revealed” rather than being “changed” by sudden wealth.

Long before Apple, Wozniak told his father in sixth grade that he wanted to be “an electrical engineer first, fifth-grade teacher second.” After Apple, he made good on the second half of that promise, teaching fifth graders for eight years without press coverage. His advice on raising children echoed this independence. When his daughter, a nationally-ranked athlete accepted to Ivy League schools and Stanford, chose to attend UCLA, Wozniak said he was proud rather than disappointed. “That tells me what you care about,” he said, adding that he taught his children that learning mattered more than grades.

Janet Wozniak recounted their unconventional meeting on the “Geek Cruise,” where she taught Apple education classes to roughly 400 attendees. Steve attended her classes for two consecutive years, in the Caribbean and on the Mexican Riviera, asking notoriously hard questions but never speaking to her personally. “I couldn’t talk to her,” Steve admitted. “I didn’t even know her name.”

Eventually, Steve called the cruise organizer to track Janet down for a charity event at his home, where 10 children from New Jersey, most born around the time of Sept. 11, 2001 and dealing with significant medical or mental health challenges, were visiting through Make-A-Wish. Their wish had been Apple laptops, and the week-long visit became the foundation of Steve and Janet’s relationship.

“They say opposites attract, but they stay together because they have a common denominator,” Janet said. “Our common denominator was philosophy and values.”

The Wozniaks shared a string of stories that drew steady laughter. Janet recounted a recent prank Steve pulled pretending to have an asthma attack just weeks after she had been hospitalized for COVID-19 and asthma, though she noted that when she actually couldn’t breathe, Steve called 911 instantly despite their constant joking.

The couple married on Aug. 8, 2008 at 8:00 p.m. at a Segway polo world championship in Indianapolis, a sport Steve helped popularize with Apple coworkers who bought Segways and invented rules together as “The Silicon Valley Aftershocks.”

Midway through the event, Steve pulled out a pad of perforated two-dollar bills he prints from a high-quality printer that meets U.S. government specifications, making them legal tender. He estimated the Secret Service has been called about him at least four times, once even reading him his Miranda rights, but the bills have remained legal each time.

Asked what they would leave the audience with, both Wozniaks offered guidance rooted in authenticity.

“Be honest with yourself,” Steve said. “Don’t be what other people tell you you should be. You know it inside. Follow your heart.” He recalled following his own heart to the University of Colorado Boulder as a freshman, seeing snow for the first time in his life, despite being a shoo-in for MIT.

Janet, who described herself as a mathematician, computer scientist and biologist working in male-dominated fields, told students: “Do whatever it is that you wanna do, whatever you’re passionate about, because when you go to work, you’re gonna spend a lot of time working.” She added that loving what you do makes you better at it than anyone competing without that passion.

Steve closed with words of wisdom about standing out: “Try to be better. Do things differently. Look for what other people are not doing? What’s a different approach?… I don’t care what society says I should be.”

After the event, students lingered to discuss what they had heard. Felix Janos Horvath, a visiting student researcher at Stanford Medicine, called it a “really fun talk.” 

“I thought they were both really sweet,” said attendee Joshua Gottschalk M.S. ’26. “I thought it was really interesting structurally, they didn’t really have a set agenda. He wanted to show who he was and show people that you can be super famous and popular and make a bunch of money, and you can still just be a good person.”

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Vaden Medical Services to join Stanford Health Care

The change is meant to improve the efficiency and availability of care for all eligible Stanford students.

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Vaden Medical Services and Mental Health Services will transition to operating as a Stanford Health Care clinic, the University announced on Monday. 

The alignment with the Stanford Health Care (SHC) network will take place on Sept. 1 and is meant to improve patient care access and efficiency. As part of the shift, Vaden Health Center will see the addition of new services and accept insurance other than Cardinal Care. Stanford Medicine, not the University, will oversee the clinic after the shift. 

“This transition represents an enhancement to the delivery of health services to Stanford students, and will ensure that they receive comprehensive, efficient, and accessible health care for years to come,” said Ruch Kumbhani, senior vice president of service lines at SHC, in an interview with Stanford Report.

The change means patients will have access to Stanford Medicine’s eConsults program, which connects members with input from subject area specialists for non-urgent issues without the need for a referral. The Vaden Patient Portal will also be replaced by the MyHealth platform to align with SHC’s existing system. Appointments and patient records will be automatically transferred to the new site.

The transition will not change who qualifies for care. Rather, all categories of Stanford students — including undergraduate, graduate, and professional students — who are charged the Campus Health Service fee will continue to be eligible through Vaden Health Services.

Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS) and the Confidential Support Team will also transition to SHC. However, the Office of Substance Use Programs Education and Resources (SUPER) and Well-Being at Stanford — two offices in the Vaden portfolio — will remain under the University.

“The care offered at the center will continue to be strongly student-centered and responsive to the specific needs of our students,” Vice Provost for Student Affairs Michele Rasmussen said to Stanford Report.

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Resident Assistants protest ‘delay tactics,’ propose card-check recognition

RAs gathered at the Student Services Center to protest what they describe as University efforts to postpone union elections until summer break.

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Stanford Resident Assistants (RAs) and supporters gathered at the Student Services Building on Wednesday afternoon to protest what organizers describe as University efforts to delay the resident assistant union election process.

Organized by Stanford Resident Assistants United Rising (RAUR), the protest opposed the University’s move to postpone a pre-election hearing until June 10 — a date organizers argue would effectively exclude many current RAs from participating because students will already be taking finals or leaving campus for summer break. RAUR asks that they receive a response to their request by Friday at 5 p.m.

The protest took the form of a “march on the boss,” in which demonstrators entered an ongoing Residential Education (ResEd) meeting to deliver a prepared statement addressed to Cheryl Brown. RAs have organized similar demonstrations in the past — in a January march, a group of about 30 demanded a solution to understaffing. 

During this Wednesday’s demonstration, the group gathered with signs reading “Dorms work because we do” and “RA union now!” as Shuci Zhang ’27, an organizer for RAUR and RA at Terra House, read from a joint statement written by RAUR organizers. “We’d like to begin today by responding to ResEd’s attempts to postpone the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) election hearing,” Zhang said. “We are troubled that the university has made a motion to delay our election hearing until June 10, when most students will be packing up their bags and leaving for the summer.”

Organizers expressed concern that legal maneuvers by the University are making the unionization effort a “more adversarial process than it needs to be.” Jesse JudahBram ’27, an RA at Mirlo, said. “We can’t help but feel that the reasoning for delaying it that far out was more so to wait us out through the process, and not really a step taken in good faith.

In a written statement to The Daily, Eli Tostado ’26, an RA for Soto, called the request to postpone the hearing until June 10 — just two days before the move-out date for non-graduating students — an “abuse.” Tostado wrote that it is “an abuse to take advantage of the academic calendar to keep the majority of non-graduating RAs from further participating in this election hearing.”

Angie Davis, University Executive Director of Strategic Communications and Media Relations, wrote that the University “value[s] the role of residential student leaders at Stanford” in a statement to The Daily. “The university will be responding to RAUR,” she wrote. 

Davis wrote that the University is “following the policies and procedures outlined by the NLRB.” She stated that under federal law, the University has a responsibility to be “attentive to the privacy of students’ personal information”. Davis also noted that the NLRB hearing is scheduled for May 28.

As an alternative to a prolonged election process, RAUR proposed that Stanford voluntarily recognize the union through a card-check agreement on June 4. Under card-check, the University would recognize the union if a majority of eligible RAs signed authorization cards, avoiding a formal election overseen by the labor board.

“In the spirit of cooperation, we wanted to offer a quicker, more amicable resolution,” JudahBram read from a joint statement written by RAUR organizers. “Stanford RAUR requests ResEd commit to a card-check recognition process on June 4, facilitated by a mutually-designated party”. Organizers suggested an internal third party, such as a Stanford law professor, to facilitate the process.

Organizers say the card-check process would allow the unionization effort to focus on “the important issues our union has raised.” The union’s focus is on
safe staffing practices, equitable conversation and just-cause discipline.

“What it’s about is having the RA work valued, having it be respected, and allowing us as RAs — people who are on the ground floor of residents’ lives — to have our voices respected and heard,” JudahBram said.

The action drew support from the broader student body. Franklin Liu ’29, an organizer for Stanford Students for Workers’ Rights, attended the protest in support. “I could definitely see that sense of collective power,” said Liu. “I think it was a good thing for the RAs and also just for the Stanford community.” He added that the movement is a “good first step in building more worker power and more student power at this university.”

“We mobilize when we feel like our voices aren’t being heard,” JudahBram said. “That’s the reason why we’re going for a union.”

Update: This article has been updated to clarify the location of the protest at the Student Services Building.

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What Makes Us Human: Empathy, our social glue 

Sakomoto interviews Octavio Choi, professor of neuropsychiatry, about what makes us human.

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“What Makes Us Human?” is a biweekly column in which Emi Sakamoto ’28 investigates the interdisciplinary criteria whereby we might better respond to this metaphysically contested question. Amid our rapidly evolving technological landscape, it is incumbent upon us to do so.

“Our roughly 3 pound brain has as many neurons as there are stars in our galaxy. That’s around 100 billion,” said Octavio Choi ’92, professor of neuropsychiatry at Stanford Medical School. This marvelously mundane fact doesn’t even begin to deconstruct the perennial ‘black box’ which has long predated machine learning algorithms: the human brain. 

“Have you ever read ‘The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat’?” Choi asked. Puzzled, I shook my head. This book, Choi explained, inaugurated his interest in investigating the human brain. In the book, neurologist Oliver Sacks chronicles vignettes about patients who suffer with compromised brains; as the title suggests, one involved a patient who quite literally mistook his wife for a hat due to a neurological condition: visual agnosia. 

“Vision is processed from very simple to higher and higher elements. It starts with angles, colors, and lines then gets abstracted to features like noses and eyes,” Choi explained, sensing my confusion. “If you lose that part of your brain, you can still see angles and colors and lines, but you can’t put it all together to recognize who it is.” 

Choi’s burgeoning curiosity for understanding the brain led him to complete his undergraduate degree in symbolic systems, with a self-designed neuroscience concentration at Stanford. Choi then completed an M.D., Ph.D. at UC San Diego. But his path, like neuronal pathways, was entangled and often shrouded in a myelin of uncertainty. 

“I spent several years trying different things, wandering, being baffled, and not being sure,” Choi revealed. “But that’s an emotion we have to learn to deal with. And we have to be comfortable with that because actually most of life is like that.” This notion of being baffled reminded me of the Oblivion as captured by Pressly.

Choi explained that this sense of disorientation coincides with the brain’s maturation process: the pruning of synaptic connections. The process of forming connections between neurons is rapid until around age two, where we begin to lose these connections. This is a good thing: it allows for more efficiency in our everyday lives by allowing us to bypass unnecessary cognitive burdens. (Imagine if you had to think critically about tying your shoes or brushing your teeth in the morning.) The pruning of our synaptic connections is compatible with our capacious ability to learn and continuously develop new ones—well into our old age. This is a marked shift in our understanding of our brain, as neuroscientists previously believed that our ability to acquire new neural connections halted in our developmental years.

It wasn’t until Choi listened to a NPR episode about the criminal brain when he discovered that he could use his neuroexpertise in court through forensic psychiatry. As a neuroexpert, he is critical to informing the adjudication of culpability for justice-involved individuals with compromised brains caused by neurodevelopmental and neurocognitive conditions.

Moreover, working at Oregon State Hospital for six years, Choi was a first hand witness to those with psychiatric illness and brain trauma. “These people have sustained a lot of physical abuse and assault,” Choi remarked. “The more you know, the more you understand and see that it wasn’t so much what they did as much as it was what was done to them. Of course we have personal responsibility, but it’s not about zero or one.”

Our discussion on culpability naturally segued into the timeless philosophical question of moral responsibility and free will. Are we governed by free will, or are we bound to deterministic laws of the universe? Are these theories compatible or incompatible? I was curious about his perspectives—especially in relation to its most pressing case study: our carceral nation. “It’s hard for me to believe we do not have free will,” Choi responded. “My answer gets to your question about what it is to be human. There are two ways to look at this: what makes humans different from animals and what makes humans different from AI.”

“What makes humans different from animals is that we, as humans, can understand each other. An ant has little free will. It’s like a circuit. If you give it food it turns toward the food. If you shock it, it goes away from the shock. It’s just this machine that is stimulus-bound,” Choi reasoned. “But humans have these huge brains which allow us to self-reflect. And that self-reflection contains the kernel of choice in it.”

He then mapped out the brain in order to explain this distinction between stimulus-bound and self-reflective capabilities. “Inside our frontal lobe cortex are these massive data cloud servers that we have at our disposal to compute complex things like imagination. Because we can model the world, we can imagine counterfactuals, and changing reality in our heads allows us to understand how the world works. Without imagination there is no choice, it’s just stimulus and response. Even the best monkeys don’t have imagination. They are smart, but they can’t imagine conversations with their mates.”

Choi explained why this came to be. “When you look at the tribe size of humans versus monkeys ours is a lot bigger: 150. Robert Dunbar, an evolutionary biologist, discovered that the bigger the brain, the bigger the group size; the bigger the group size, the more advantageous because, for instance, you can protect your fig tree or attack another tribe’s fig tree,” Choi chuckled. “Dunbar’s theory of the brain is part of what drove that massive expansion of the frontal lobe, packing in machinery to understand models of other people to live harmoniously. Social awareness lowers the friction and allows us to be social.”

But this mental modeling is hardly innocuous or sterile as a survival tactic. Our mental modeling can also be harness in service to both compassionate and nefarious purposes. One application of our empathic brains is to utilize what Choi referred to as social glue. “I was really interested in fMRI based lie detection. It turns out that amongst all primates, humans lie the most. And the reason we can lie so well is because we have a model of another person in our head,” Choi explained. “When you look at primates at the level of deception they deceive at two orders of magnitude lower than humans. Humans, we can be very elaborate in our ability to lie and deceive is a direct outcome of our big brains which develop so we can live in social groups.”  

I chuckled and asked Choi if this was his final answer: what it means to be human is our propensity towards deception. “Well, the ability to imagine the other person and what they are about might tell us something about the question,” Choi responded. He mapped out the very empathy which had been the undercurrent of our conversation on dissecting the internal minds of others. Neuroscientists have only recently traced empathic traits to the ventromedial pre-frontal cortex (vmPFC). “The vmPFC is a part of our empathy machinery. It allows us to wirelessly experience, not just intelligently understand, other’s emotions—like emotional wifi,” Choi explained. “Empathy is social glue. It allows us to feel what others are feeling, sympathize with them, allowing for social formation and working harmoniously in groups. And this is key to being human.” 

The distinction between humans and animals segued well into the second part of his response which provided a distinction between humans and AI. “That’s what AI doesn’t have: feelings. It can summarize things quite well, but it doesn’t have feelings, drives. It doesn’t want to do anything, you are just poking and it responds, but it has no desire. When it gets up in the morning, there is nothing that motivates or drives it. That’s different from humans. We are full of drives and emotions and motivations… We don’t just wait around and wait for someone to prompt us with a query.”

Beyond our primal instincts and curiosities, we also have the capacity to harness the power of the collective. “LLMs cannot collaborate together in a way that humans can. Which is a really distinctive advantage. Not only are our brains the third fastest supercomputer in the world, but we can network our brains with each other. In terms of our processing power our brain is about 1 exabyte,” Choi said. “Not only do we have this supercomputer but we interface really well. Like we can work in groups of five, and our brains will be way more than five times brain output. So our ability to work together is based on empathy. That’s a distinctive advantage. AIs have no collaborative instincts or drives.”

In the spirit of our conversation, Choi ended with a reassuringly sanguine remark. “We are all worried about what AI is going to do, but I’m personally not too worried. I think AIs are very jagged intelligence, and we are going to adapt. We have adapted before and we are going to adapt again,” Choi contended. “After all, the core function of the brain is to change. Neuroscientists call that neuroplasticity: to rewire and to change. It is the core function of the brain, and it is why humans have adapted to every microclimate in the world. From living in caves to factory settings to now and into the future, the reason why humans are so incredibly adaptable is because our brains are so malleable. Humans are not going to be wiped out. There are seven billion of us, and we can all work collaboratively when we want to: that is more than any AI can do.” 

Perhaps this is our collective enterprise. 

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GameFACES: Athletes open up about being defined by sport

Stanford’s ninth annual GameFACES sparked discussion around student-athlete identity in and out of sports.

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On May 5, six Stanford student-athletes faced their peers and did something that sports culture seldom allows. They told the truth about their struggles within their sport and their identities outside of it.

GameFACES, currently in its ninth year, is a yearly event influenced by Stanford’s Faces of Community initiative. Initially held during New Student Orientation (NSO), it has evolved into one of the most awaited traditions among student-athletes. It is an evening when athletes candidly discuss mental health, personal identity and the challenges associated with competing at an elite level. 

This year’s speakers featured football player Fisher Anderson ’25 M.S. ’26, field hockey athlete Mia Clark ’27, rowers Célia Dupré ’27 and Abbey Heinemann ’26, track and field runner Juliette Whittaker ’26 and wrestler Lain Yapoujian ’27. Although details in their narratives varied, they all shared a strikingly similar theme: the peril of linking one’s values to achievements.

“Sports shows you who you are, but does not make you who you are,” said Dupré, who competed in the Olympics before coming to Stanford. 

She described crossing what she had long imagined would be the ultimate finish line — the Olympics — and finding it empty. 

“That fire within you”” she said, “it was always only yours.”

Anderson, a fifth-year on the football team, framed his talk around what he called a growth mindset and the freedom that comes from detaching your identity from outcomes. “When you stop tying your worth to the result of a play or a game,” he said, “you actually end up playing better.” 

He applied to speak at GameFACES the year before and was not selected, something he believes was a blessing in disguise. 

“The story hadn’t happened yet,” he said.

Clark spoke about struggles with self-harm, depression and suicidal ideation, as well as her family’s history. Her speech included a letter addressed directly to her mother, who was in the audience. 

“I want nothing more than to be seen and loved for who I am,” Clark said, “and for that to happen, I have to be fully transparent with the people I love.”

Yapoujian, who suffered a life-threatening blood clot following a meniscus surgery in his freshman year, described what happens when the one thing you have built your identity around is suddenly gone.

“My sport could not carry the weight of my burdens,” he said. “It was never meant to.”

For the athletes in attendance, the effect was immediate. Carter Davis ’29, a football player, said watching his teammate Anderson speak was unlike anything he had experienced in the locker room.

“In football, you don’t really want to show vulnerability,” Davis said. “But by sharing his stories, it did help, and I’m glad that he did.”

Soccer player Milly Bray ’29 echoed similar sentiment, noting that the night served as a reminder that struggle is rarely as isolated as it feels. “You’re with your thoughts,” she said, “and you don’t always talk about them deeply with people. Events like this remind you that you’re not alone.”

Whether GameFACES translates into lasting conversation with coaches or teammates remains an open question. But for one night, Stanford’s athletes made a case that vulnerability and strength are not opposites.

As Anderson put it, the process of falling in love with who you are, separate from what you do, might be the most important competition of all.

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Police Blotter: Rape, spousal abuse and invasion of privacy

This report covers incidents from May 12-18 as recorded in the Stanford University Department of Public Safety (SUDPS) bulletin.

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This report covers incidents from May 12-18 as recorded in the Stanford University Department of Public Safety (SUDPS) bulletin. Learn more about the Clery Act and how The Daily approaches reporting on crime and safety here.

Tuesday, May 12

• Outside warrant arrest for a misdemeanor at 10:38 a.m. was cleared at the intersection of El Camino Real and Churchill Avenue. 
• Trespassing and refusal to leave property at 11:28 a.m. was reported at 450 Jane Stanford Way (Building 160). This incident was cleared by arrest.
• Vandalism of $400 or more at 7:00 p.m. was reported at 520 Lasuen Mall (Old Union).
• Hit-and-run collision involving property damage including vehicles at 8:46 a.m. was reported at 330 Oak Road (Stock Farm Parking Lot — North).
• Taking of vehicle without owner’s consent and motor vehicle theft between 2:00 p.m. and 5:50 p.m. was reported at 655 Knight Way, Stanford, CA (Knight Management Center Garage).

The Daily has reached out to SUDPS for more information regarding the trespassing and refusal to leave property, hit-and-run collision involving property damage, and taking of vehicle without owner’s consent. 

Wednesday, May 13

• Receiving of stolen property between 9:52 a.m. and 10:40 a.m. was reported at 720 Serra St (Escondido Village Mid-Rise Apartments — McFarland). This incident was cleared by arrest. 
• Trespassing and refusal to leave property, and simple obstruction and resistance of a peace officer at 2:19 p.m. was reported at 475 Via Ortega (Jen-Hsun Huang Engineering Center). This incident was cleared by arrest. 
• Petty theft of a bicycle between 8:30 p.m. on May 7 and 11:00 a.m. on May 11 was reported at 726 Serra Street (Escodindo Village Graduate Residences, Building C).
• Petty theft of an electric scooter between 3:30 p.m. and 4:35 p.m. was reported at 341 Galvez Street (Arrillaga Center for Sports and Recreation). 
• Grand theft of an electric bicycle between 4:00 p.m. and 10:15 p.m. was reported at 781 Escondido Rd (Blackwelder Highrise).

The Daily has reached out to SUDPS for more information regarding the trespassing and refusal to leave property and resistance of a peace officer. 

Thursday, May 14

• Grand theft of an electric bicycle between 9:45 a.m. and 12:45 p.m. was reported at 643 Jane Stanford Way (McClelland Building).
• Grand theft of an electric bicycle between 11:00 a.m. and 4:30 p.m. was reported at 655 Knight Way (Knight Management Center).
• Petty theft of a bicycle was reported at 450 Jane Stanford Way (Building 500).

Friday, May 15

• Disorderly conduct involving lodging without owner’s consent at 1:12 p.m. was reported at 183 Stock Farm Road (Stock Farm Road Children’s Center). This incident was cleared by arrest. 
• Petty theft of an electric bicycle between 6:30 p.m. on May 14 and 9:50 a.m. on May 15 was reported at 326 Santa Teresa Street (Lagunita — Meier Hall).
• Simple obstruction and resistance of a peace officer at 8:19 p.m. was reported at the intersection of Arguello Way and Escondido Road. 

The Daily has reached out to SUDPS for more information regarding the lodging without owner’s consent. 

Saturday, May 16

• A student safety report and aggravated assault to commit mayhem on May 15 was reported at 65 Abrams Court (Escondido Village 2 — Building 65). 
• Petty theft of an electric bicycle between 10:00 p.m. and 9:00 a.m. was reported at 251 Governor’s Avenue South (Governor’s Corner — Griffin House).
• Rape by force, tear, etc. and aggravated battery at 10:00 p.m. was reported at 35 Angell Court (Escondido Village 1 — Building 35).

The Daily has reached out to SUDPS for more information regarding the student safety report involving aggravated assault to commit mayhem, and the rape by force, tear, etc. and aggravated battery. 

Sunday, May 17

• Grand theft of a bicycle between 9:26 a.m. and 10:41 a.m. was reported at 736 Escondido Road (Escondido Village Studio 1). 
• Invasion of privacy at 5:01 p.m. was reported at 625 Nelson Road (Stanford Stadium Gate 5). 
• Petty theft and all other larceny between 3:30 p.m. and 5:00 p.m. was reported at 566 Arguello Way (Munger Graduate Residences — Building 1).
• Simple battery on a person at 9:30 p.m. was reported 625 Nelson Road (Stanford Stadium Gate 10). 

The Daily has reached out to SUDPS for more information regarding the invasion of privacy. 

Monday, May 18

• Aggravated battery of spouse, date or other partner and false imprisonment between 3:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m. was reported at 737 Campus Drive (Escondido Village High-Rise Apartments — Quillen Highrise). This incident was cleared by arrest. 
• Petty theft from a building between 4:50 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. was reported at 285 Santa Teresa Street (Arillaga Outdoor Education and Recreation Center). 
• Petty theft of an electric scooter between 3:15 p.m. and 5:50 p.m. was reported at 520 Lausen Mall (Old Union).

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Daily Diminutive #170

Click to play today's 5x5 mini crossword. The Daily produces mini crosswords daily and a full-size crossword weekly.

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Stanfordle #138

Enjoy Stanfordle, a wordy addition to The Stanford Daily Games Section. The Daily produces Stanfordles on weekdays.

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The art of learning

Chan discusses her journey with creative writing and the difficulty of learning art.

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John Gardner’s “The Art of Fiction” begins by stating there are no rules for writing fiction. There is no formula for success, no educational path that can propel you to the Pulitzer. The only relevant metric is mastery. Anything goes, as long as it helps foster your sense of aesthetic intuition. “It is feeling, not some rule, that tells the abstract painter to put his yellow here and there, not there,” Gardner writes. Out of that inexplicable process emerges a piece of work that tugs the audience into its orbit — something we might call “good art.”

Of course, I wasn’t reading “The Art of Fiction” to be told that art was a matter of intuition. I knew that much. A lifetime of reading had granted me a discerning taste in literature. I could tell when a story was working and when it wasn’t. And here’s what my intuition was telling me: my stories weren’t working. A gap existed between what I could put on the page and what I read in the magazines. The rest of Gardner’s book offered help in the form of high-level technique and writing philosophies, but I needed something else to bridge the gap. Something to force me to do what I set out to do, even if I failed in the process.

Enter: the creative writing class.

When I came to Stanford, creative writing classes seemed like an intuitive entry point into the art of fiction. If you wanted to learn something, why not take a class on it? What else was college for? I had never taken a creative writing course before; maybe that’s where I had gone wrong all these years.

In frosh spring, I enrolled in ENGLISH 90. We read stories. We talked about stories. We wrote stories — rather, each of us wrote a story, singular. We said what we liked about each other’s pieces, and then what we didn’t like, and then what we liked again so that we ended on a good note. I emerged with what might loosely be called a complete work of fiction. I was not pleased with it. The gap between my skill and my goals only seemed more insurmountable.

So naturally, I took another class.

An arts education is a finicky thing. How do you teach something with no rules? So much of the advice surrounding art school or MFAs is that they waste time and money. Everything these programs offer, you can learn on your own by finding your peers, committing to your own practice and consuming more of the type of art you’d like to make. As Chad Harbach points out in his essay “MFA vs NYC,” the fiction writing classroom exists to employ writers as teachers, not necessarily to build literary giants. It isn’t the path towards greatness. It might not even make you good.

That truth is a point of detriment for people like me, who take classes in order to feel committed to the craft while avoiding the vulnerability that comes with the actual production of art. I knew when I first stepped into that first writing workshop that it wouldn’t be that simple. Still, I wanted to believe that doing assignments would be enough.

Little over a year ago, I had something akin to a breakthrough. Suddenly, my writing was operating on a new level. Before, I had been in the dark, groping at some semblance of good prose through amateur-ish imitation of my favorite authors. Yet, that winter of my sophomore year, something shifted. My sentences felt sharper, more assured. The voice in my head was making its way onto the page, with perfect fidelity.

In the months since, I’ve tried to pinpoint what exactly changed. I was taking a class on narrative theory with writers like Proust and Faulkner on the syllabus. I was reading weird and experimental fiction on various internet litmags. All of this expanded my view of what writing could do, turning the rule of no rules into something tangible. But I think the real difference was that I was writing more. Instead of trying to commit to longer pieces, I stuck to writing off-kilter paragraphs every day. I ended up loving those one-off freewrites more than any of the other pieces I attempted. All of a sudden, I had it: proof that improvement was possible.

I’d like to think that from then on, the curve has carried upward. Truthfully, I’m finding myself in a bout of insecurity once more. I’m still taking fiction classes. They have great merit in forcing you to see others look at your work. But to get past that insecurity, to bridge the gap between intuition and execution, I know I must push myself to write outside of the classroom context. Over and over again.

Ira Glass has a famous quote about the gap, which I first encountered on the internet in sixth grade. I had no idea who Ira Glass was, but upon seeing it, I felt like I had read nothing more truthful in the world. “All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste,” Glass says. “But there is this gap.” Your work will try to reach your taste, and fall flat. It will stay like that for years and years. The only solution is to keep at it.

For many, this is not some huge epiphany. Even I had this bit of wisdom in mind since middle school. Still, there’s a difference between seeing and believing. Between thinking and doing. Between reading “The Art of Fiction” and actually writing some fiction. I am one of the worst people I know at making that jump.

Still, I try. The process comes with ancillary benefits, including cool writer friends, an expansive bookshelf and a heightened sense of self-understanding. The more I learn, the more I realize that all artists are in the same boat, desperately flinging half-articulated parts of themselves out into the world, as if saying, “does this mean anything to you? Does this mean anything? Am I reaching you from where I am?”

Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe yes but poorly. I enjoy the attempt anyway.

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Gupta | AI art is art

Utsav Gupta argues that AI art is art, and that Stanford's job is now to "distinguish art from automation and experimentation from shortcuts."

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Utsav Gupta is a Stanford Master of Liberal Arts candidate researching human purpose in the age of AI and co-lead of the Stanford HAI Cognitive Security Task Force. He is founder and co-CEO of Filarion, building AI and spatial-computing systems across education, law and design, and serves as Commissioner on the Palo Alto Utilities Advisory Commission. Views are his own.

At Stanford, the debate over AI art is no longer hypothetical. A January Daily survey found that 48 of 50 surveyed undergraduates regularly use ChatGPT. Across campus, Stanford scholars are building tools to help visual artists steer AI systems more precisely. In theater and performance studies, Michael Rau has staged “Hamlet.AI,” a production developed with playwright Michael Yates Crowley that uses image generation and AI-written lines streamed to actors mid-scene.

AI is already part of art-making at Stanford. What remains open is how we judge it: Are we willing to discuss AI art with the seriousness we give to other art forms? And can we agree on a standard for when AI-assisted work earns that name?

We should. AI art is art whenever the use of AI does not erase human intention. Whether any given output is good or original or ethical is a separate question. Art is defined by choice, framing, judgment, revision and meaning as much as by the artist’s hand touching the material. In the autumn 2024 course “Art Meets AI: Algorithmic Bodies in East Asia,” undergraduates used ChatGPT-4o to test whether a generative model could capture the wabi-sabi aesthetic of a Japanese tea house. Their work, exhibited at Stanford Libraries during Love Data Week 2025, was not the absence of artistic decision-making. The students chose a tradition, a question, a reference set, a set of outputs to reject and a final image to defend. Those choices are the work.

By that measure, “AI art” covers a range of practices rather than a single category, and Stanford needs a working standard to tell them apart. The most useful one is a set of questions, which I will call the “five questions,” that we can apply to any AI-assisted work: Where is the human contribution? What was disclosed? What was transformed? Who was copied? Who benefits? Those questions, not the slogan “AI is just a tool,” should govern how we judge what students, faculty and The Daily itself produce.

This does not mean that typing one vague prompt and accepting the first result is the same as painting for weeks in McMurtry. But not all art requires the same kind of labor. A photographer does not carve the landscape into being, and a DJ does not invent every sound wave from scratch. We still understand these practices as art because artistry often lies in mediation: what the artist selects, arranges, cuts, repeats, emphasizes or refuses.

Art history gives us a useful warning against technological panic. Painters declared photography the end of painting in 1839; photojournalists later worried Photoshop would erase photographic truth. Both panics were wrong about the death and right about the change. The Metropolitan Museum of Art describes photography, from its birth, as both an artistic medium and a scientific tool. That dual identity, far from diminishing photography’s artistry, helped make it modern. Britannica explains that Duchamp’s use of mass-produced objects helped redefine art as an intellectual, not merely material, process. A urinal became “Fountain” because selection and idea mattered.

The analogy only goes so far. A camera does not ingest the archives of every photographer who came before it. A readymade does not generate a thousand variations on someone else’s catalog overnight. Generative models do both, at scale, and that scale is one component of the difficulty in answering these questions. AI art belongs in that lineage, but its scale raises the bar.

Stanford has a particular reason to take that lineage seriously. The Whitney Museum traces Harold Cohen’s AARON, one of the earliest AI artmaking systems, through Stanford’s Artificial Intelligence Lab from 1973 to 1975. Cohen used code to capture what artists know and how they work. Decades before today’s text-to-image tools, Stanford was already asking whether machines could be part of art-making.

That history should make us more ambitious than the usual pro-AI and anti-AI clichés. The strongest argument for AI art has nothing to do with making creativity effortless. In fact, the best AI art often does the opposite. It forces the artist to wrestle with a powerful system that is frequently wrong. It requires iteration and taste. A model might produce an image in seconds, but meaningful work still depends on the human capacity to know what the image is for.

On the other side, the anti-AI critique is at its strongest right here. Stanford’s Ge Wang calls prompt-based generative art “the least imaginative use of AI imaginable,” likening companies that promise effortless creative output to operators selling helicopter tickets to mountaineers: removing the difficulty also removes what made the work meaningful. But rather than rejecting AI art, that critique should push us to demand AI art that uses the technology to ask more, not less, of the artist.

The harder objections are economic and legal. Artists have reason to worry about training data, attribution, style imitation and market displacement. Stanford’s Samuel Goldberg and UCLA’s H. Tai Lam found that when one online marketplace allowed AI-generated images, total sales rose 39 percent and variety improved, while the number of human-generated images and active human producers fell sharply. The U.S. Copyright Office’s Part 3 report on training data, released in May 2025, is more cautious than the courts have been so far: federal judges in Bartz v. Anthropic and Kadrey v. Meta both found AI training to be fair use in June 2025, while the Office concluded that training can be transformative but that “making commercial use of vast troves of copyrighted works to produce expressive content that competes with them in existing markets” falls outside established fair use. Part 2 had already concluded that the outputs themselves can be copyrighted only where a human author contributes sufficient expressive elements; that is, prompts alone are not enough.

The five questions I propose are evaluative, asking us to look harder at the work rather than label it. A studio class should judge an AI-assisted piece by the gap between the brief and the final image. A TAPS production using AI projections should be reviewed for whether the AI does dramaturgical work or only spectacle. The Daily’s graphics section, which still draws every illustration by hand, should edit AI-assisted illustration by the same standard it applies to its own: whether the image earns its space.

Ge Wang’s warning lands on the graphics desk before it lands anywhere else in the paper. The least imaginative use of AI imaginable would be using it to replace a hand-drawn illustration with a faster machine-drawn one. The most imaginative would be using it in circumstances that no illustrator could meet alone: a series across a dozen variations, a real-time graphic tied to live data, a piece whose final form is the artist’s choice among options the model surfaced. The five questions tell the difference. A graphics policy that asks for the second use and refuses the first would set the bar.

The unproductive response would be to pretend that the tool is either a miracle or a poison. AI does not turn every user into an artist. It also does not make every user a fraud. It is a collaborator, a constraint, a source of error and, sometimes, a mirror. It can flatten creativity into polished sameness. It can also help one visualize an idea they could not otherwise express.

We are a university where code and culture constantly meet: at the Center for Computer Research in Music and Acoustics (CCRMA), in TAPS, at the Stanford Institute for Human-Centered AI, in McMurtry studios and in dorm rooms. Whether AI art is “real” matters less than whether we can build the vocabulary to distinguish art from automation and experimentation from shortcuts.

AI art is art. The machine does not erase the artist. Look at the work itself.

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The unfinished stack

Despite her best attempts, Mandava's growth as an artist has been hindered by her search for perfection.

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Before I left for Stanford, my dad helped me organize all my projects and schoolwork over the years in boxes, to be safely tucked away. As I jokingly mourned the decline of my handwriting and flipped through first-grade haikus, my dad came by and set down another box. 

“All your books, Ms. Author.”

There they were, my storybooks, lightly dusted and faintly smelling of crayon wax. They were organized in two sections: “Finished” and “Unfinished.” The finished books brought back so many memories, and I carefully set them aside after going through my silly illustrations and storylines. 

Then, I peered over the “Unfinished” stack. It took up the majority of the box. I flipped through stories left on cliffhangers, sentences cut-off mid-thought, blank pages waiting for the touch of a crayon. So many projects were abandoned. Just like the book never published, or the chapter book never to be finished, or the green screen production waiting to be edited. Many projects stalled because of my never-ending cycle of perfectionism. 

This box wasn’t just a time-capsule — it was a reminder of a pattern that persisted through my artistic journey. I’d start with ambitious projects, chase perfection, and ultimately leave them behind when they didn’t match what I had in mind. It took taking a step back from art and returning to it in college to relearn why I create at all.

***

“Blue Chalk Scrawled on Wall,” circa 2006 — my first masterpiece, which my proud parents refused to erase for years. When they finally did, the rest of the walls of my childhood home were already covered with my canvas paintings and framed artwork. 

My parents were the biggest supporters of my creative pursuits. I accumulated art supplies over the years, and ended up memorizing every Crayola color out there (pass the “Purple Mountain’s Majesty,” please…!). My teachers were also incredibly encouraging. Doodling in class, I was nicknamed “Picasso” by one of my teachers.

Ever since I learned to read, I started creating illustrated storybooks. The joy I found in storytelling morphed into a love for writing. So, in fourth grade, I began a multi-year collaboration writing a chapter book with friends. I spent many summer days sprawled next to a laptop on my grandma’s bed in India, where monsoon season electrical blackouts couldn’t stop me from typing away. 

I loved collaborating and writing so much that I decided to produce an original play in elementary school, “The Land of Ponde.” I wrote the script and even composed the lyrics for songs and the accompanying piano score. I recruited friends on the playground and filmed an elaborate green screen production in my living room. It was a silly and incredibly fun time, following a Wizard of Oz-esque plotline with dinosaurs, singing munchkins, witches and magic. Hollywood wasn’t ready for this one.

From interactive birthday cards, to mouse-drawn Scratch animations, to a cardboard house for my model dinosaur, I was forever fascinated by the limitless possibilities of art and craft. The idea of sharing my work was on my mind, so starting in elementary school, I researched how to self-publish a humorous story on a mischievous monkey’s escapade, “Mr. Cranky Pranky’s Misadventure.” I aimed to accompany it with original illustrations and translations in every language I knew. Excited by the end goal, I was determined to make it my best work.

Over several years, I worked on the illustrations, only to redo them the next year, from pencil sketches to digital artwork. Being a perfectionist, I never finished these illustrations.

I continued to make art over the years, thanks to project-based classes in middle and high school. But the time I had for personal projects became more limited. In high school, I decided to attend classes at a private studio, simply to force myself to continue setting aside time for art. While I was very busy with schoolwork, extracurriculars and STEM projects during weekdays, I tried to keep creating by dedicating most of my weekends to art and music. Even though paintings that probably should have taken a few weeks started taking many months, I needed this time to take a step back from my hectic schedule. I continued to be just as detail-oriented and sought to push my abilities. I was driven by the challenge.

By senior year of high school, my perfectionism went too far. I pushed myself to explore new media and unorthodox styles. But somehow no piece I created met my expectations. I continued to be ambitious and experimental, but did not find the same satisfaction that drove my passion for art all these years. So I took a break, continuing a few paintings to maintain my technical skills, but didn’t start any big, new projects.

What was my motivation for creating? Was it only to excel in the craft and see my skills improve, challenging myself by taking on ambitious projects? Or was it for its own sake — just to express myself? I knew it wasn’t just one or the other.

During freshman year of college, I did not step into art classes nor art projects. I was afraid of getting drawn into seeking perfection with every piece. I carried a sketchbook on frosh adventures around the Bay Area, but didn’t get around to doing many sketches.

Making art felt like an inseparable part of my identity. I missed the creative outlet and exploration of new media. So, I continued to search for my motivation to create, and slowly came to terms with what it means to me. 

***

Last spring, while clearing up phone storage, I felt a wave of nostalgia as I swiped through a folder filled with pandemic-era digital art. I remember the COVID-19 lockdown as a very isolating period in my life. The middle school to high school transition split friend groups between schools. Though typically the time for a fresh start with a new crowd, online school made getting to know classmates tough.

During this time, I realized that art, to me, was a source of connection. I found community online through art and creative writing. I traded digital art with my middle school friends through ArtFight, collaborated on a sci-fi comic book for a Webtoon contest and connected with online artist communities through social media by sharing and gifting artwork. Writing communities through the WriteTheWorld online camp and NanoWrimo programs at my town’s library helped me connect with other writers globally and locally, through pen-pal programs and community-building contests. 

Art was not only a source of connection, but also a medium for reflection. My favorite summer memories are from the incredibly long cross-country road trips my dad was bold enough to plan out and drive for. One 6,000-mile, three-week road trip was from Dallas to Whistler (north of Vancouver), that traversed the Southwest, Rockies and the Pacific Northwest, visiting many national parks. Over the years, many photographs from our travels inspired my artwork: glimmers of sunlight on rainy London cobblestone, a flicker of azure as an Indian Roller ascends from a paddy field, a serene Pacific cove.

These captures gave me the opportunity to experiment with various media and styles, from impressionistic oil paintings and collages, to traditional watercolor and ink. Every mark on a piece takes me back to two places: how I felt at the place I was traveling, and a snapshot of the time when I created the artwork. My collage, for example, takes me back to the sound of rushing waves and scent of sea spray off the Pacific coast. But it also reminds me of the aromas of Thanksgiving cooking wafting into my room as I created away.

I took these reignited motivations with me into sophomore year. I started by making plein air paintings on Outdoor House trips, joined the Dallas Makerspace over winter break and took ARTSTUDI 243: “Anatomy for Artists this Spring”. Art allowed me to reflect and express myself while outdoors, and the class brought me back to an art community, giving me the opportunity to be in a room with other creatives. For the first time in a while, art pulled me into “the zone,” and I’d find myself totally engrossed in creating. Anatomy is a fascinating class, where we have the unique opportunity to draw anatomical prosections in the medical school, sketch at the Rodin Sculpture Garden and learn about both human anatomy and traditional drawing. I often find myself coming out of anatomy class in a daze, broken from the flow, yet feeling fulfilled.

I still find myself challenging my abilities, pushing outside of my comfort zone and taking on ambitious projects. But I tamed my perfectionism to an extent, as I became more cognizant of the breadth of my motivations for making art. Maybe in a way, all the unfinished stories and paintings are a marker of how far I’ve come. Each project was a stepping stone to more ambitious endeavors, giving me the push to explore something new. 

It took stepping away from art and returning to it in college to realize that I don’t just create to improve. I create to connect, to reflect and to breathe. It’s comforting to know that I have a rewarding outlet of artistic pursuits to turn to when I have the urge to seek out a break from a demanding schedule — perfectionism be darned.

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Lucy Dacus in pictures: ‘These lyrics are sad, but dance anyways’

Dacus’ electric performance was as a love letter to the queer community in S.F., just when we needed it most.

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Classical music is for everyone 

Now an avid fan of classical music, Liu taught himself how to love the art form.

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While I never played piano competitively like some of my peers, it’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. For thirty minutes a day, I would sit down at a piano and play — or attempt to play — music by the great composers of the Western classical tradition. I also dedicated a significant portion of time to learning music theory, as part of California’s Certificate of Merit curriculum. 

But in retrospect, my relationship with classical music was quite ironic: I enjoyed playing it, but I had no interest in listening to it. Although my piano teacher encouraged me to listen to classical music in my free time, my Spotify playlists were ultimately filled with Willie Nelson and Howard Jones, not Beethoven or Mozart. I was like an actor who didn’t watch films, or a baker who didn’t eat bread.   

During the first week of my freshman year, I decided on a whim to audition for Stanford’s Chamber Music Program. Only upon walking into the audition room did I realize I’d be playing in front of Stanford’s ensemble-in-residence, the acclaimed St. Lawrence String Quartet. Although I walked out feeling very inadequate about my abilities, by some miracle, I was accepted into the program. Over the next two years, mentored by my chamber music teacher Kumaran Arul, I had the privilege of playing some incredibly beautiful works by Rachmaninoff, Grieg and others. 

More importantly, though, instead of leaving the music behind at the piano, I would listen to recordings of the pieces while I studied, biked, vacuumed, fell asleep — basically anywhere and anytime I could. Before long, I was listening not only to music I was currently playing, but also to music I wanted to play, music I would never be able to play and music I had never heard of before.

As a musician, I am arguably past my technical prime, yet classical music has increasingly come to dominate my musical taste. What my journey through the world of classical music seems to suggest is that firstly, technical skill may not always lead to enjoyment, and secondly, enjoyment may not always necessitate technical skill.

I may very well be an outlier. There are straightforward reasons why being technically skilled might lead to greater enjoyment. A musician needs to meticulously study the pieces they play, which tends to uncover layers of emotions that were not immediately apparent.  

Furthermore, understanding the theory behind how something works allows one to better comprehend what others might take for granted. An architect who understands the principles of design most likely perceives and values the intricacies of a building more than the tenants inhabiting it. 

My point here is not to argue against the value of music education. If you have the time and energy to invest in one, you will not regret it. Nevertheless, I stand firmly and unconditionally behind the second point: enjoyment does not always necessitate technical skill or knowledge, and as a result, the barrier to becoming a classical music fan is much lower than you think. 

Interestingly, biology dictates why technical skill is not necessary to understand music. To appreciate a Steinbeck novel, one needs to know how to read. But the same is not true for music. Despite having dubious value in the context of evolution, the ability to understand and appreciate music is something almost all of us are born with. This is why music is found in every society across the world, and why we sing lullabies to babies to calm them down.   

While elements of nurture might influence what type of music an individual tends to prefer, I would argue that these preferences have more to do with cognitive bias than a genuine inclination toward one style of music or another. Our musical tastes are oftentimes defined more by what we believe we enjoy listening to than what we objectively enjoy. 

For example, in 1987, Paul Simon released his seventh solo album, Graceland, which prominently featured South African musical styles. South African music was largely unfamiliar to average Americans, and if you asked them what they thought about it, they would probably say, “not my cup of tea.” These same styles, when attached to Paul Simon’s songwriting and name, became a bestselling, era-defining album. While the success of Graceland raises interesting questions about cultural appropriation, it is nevertheless a wonderful reminder that our musical preferences are not inherently fixed. 

What do you feel when you listen to the Star Wars soundtrack? Do you hear the impending doom of Darth Vader in the “Imperial March”? The yearning of the “Force Theme” as Luke Skywalker watches the sunset of Tatooine? Believe it or not, if you understand the Star Wars soundtrack, there is no reason you can’t comprehend the heroic symphonies of Ludwig van Beethoven. 

In fact, I encourage you to listen to the first movement of Beethoven’s Third Symphony while reading the remainder of this article. Do you hear the hero’s optimism in the opening lines?  The intense struggle building in the middle? And the triumphant victory at the end? You may have never picked up an instrument in your life, but you will likely have felt the same visceral emotions as a musicologist who has spent their entire career studying Beethoven’s life, or a professional musician who has practiced and performed the piece a thousand times. 

In addition to the perceived technical barrier, I frequently hear people characterize classical music as exclusive to the upper echelons of society. While this may have been true centuries ago, the genre has become exponentially more accessible in the era of recorded music. The cost of watching classical music live has also decreased substantially. Tickets for most concerts, at least in the Bay Area, are absurdly low with a student discount. If Beethoven were alive today, he would be ecstatic knowing that any person of any class, race, or creed with access to YouTube could listen to his works for free, or that a student could see his symphonies live at Bing Concert Hall for the flat rate of $15 — which, by the way, falls under the price of getting lunch in the Bay Area.   

Although anyone can be a fan of classical music, it does not come without effort. Enjoying it requires your patience, dedication and a lengthy attention span. There are a few things that made this process easier for me: 

1. First, trust the experts. Classical music is sometimes overwhelming to interpret from the bottom up.  Musicologists spend their entire lives studying these composers, and I usually take advantage of their expertise to better understand what the composer was thinking when composing a work. 
2. Next, start with the heroic works. I have found that the most approachable classical works tend to be of the “heroic” style — grand, epic works that tell the story of an individual prevailing over struggle.  Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony and the Emperor Concerto are the most prototypical examples, but the style also influenced many works after his time, such as Dvorak’s New World Symphony and Holst’s The Planets. 
3. And finally, watch it live. Across the twenty-some concerts I’ve attended since freshman year, I have discovered some of my favorite works live. For example, I had never heard of Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in D minor before watching the pianist Stephen Prutsman play it at Bing Concert Hall. It is now one of my favorite works for the piano.

The effort you put in will be beyond worth it.  Before college, I primarily listened to artists from the 1970s and 1980s who were no longer producing new material. In the back of my head, I always worried there might come a time when I would have seen it all, and no song would be novel for me anymore. I don’t worry about that anymore. In the world of classical music, there is always something new to discover, something overlooked. There are certainly not enough hours on Earth to fully appreciate it all, and I find comfort in the fact that I will never find myself perpetually bored.   

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Performing for myself

"I became addicted to the feeling of fully immersing myself in the art unfolding right before me," writes Zhang.

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I’ve always had this small dream of being a theatre person. 

I’ve never had a strong desire to act, but I’ve certainly experienced the joy of it. In middle school, I remember taking a drama class in which we put on a play. I forget the name, but the premise was that we were a class trying to put on “The Wizard of Oz,” only for a bunch of shenanigans to happen and cause us to mess up. I ended up finding the perfect character for myself — Lucy the stage manager. My peak moment was walking up the stage dressed in black, holding a pink balloon with a sad face drawn on it when the Wizard of Oz was supposed to appear. 

Unfortunately, my drama teacher forgot to press the record button, so all I have of the performance is my own memory of it. My very short amateur theatre career was put on pause until I came to Stanford. 

I had never watched a play or musical in-person, but in the spring of freshman year, I was attracted to a poster about “Huppet: The New Musical.” The silly, yet heartwarming, story of finding one’s identity resonated with me, so I signed up to be a costume designer. I didn’t end up doing much work, but I was certainly the most dedicated audience member. For each of the four nights the musical ran, I was there, captivated by the performance. From time to time, I sing the songs from the musical and feel myself returning to the seat where I watched it. The experience was different from reading a book or watching a movie. Something about the actors moving in real time before my eyes made me feel their emotions with a more abrupt and powerful force. 

From then on, I embarked on the journey of watching many more performances. Whether at shows by the Stanford Musical Improvisors, productions like “Fun Home” and “Moonchild,” campus-wide dance showcases like Breaking Ground and performances by the Stanford Symphony Orchestra, I became addicted to the feeling of fully immersing myself in the art unfolding right before me.

The songs brought me into the world of the characters, letting me leave reality to enter the life of another. Watching the dancers and musicians creating art with their bodies and instruments, I was constantly inspired by how ideas can manifest into complex, magical stories through collaboration and creativity on stage. 

Last quarter, after watching my first Stanford Musical Improvisors performance, I signed up for an ITALIC class called “ITALIC 99: Making Up Songs on the Spot.” I stepped into the first class feeling nervous but excited to sing. Our wonderful teacher played the piano and told us to sing to ourselves, then to each other. We sounded beautiful and chaotic. I felt myself becoming a child again, humming to myself as I danced. It was freeing. My soul drifted into place. 

I’ve done a fair share of art-related activities myself, the biggest being reading and writing stories. Literature will forever hold a special place in my heart, but I’ve also explored other random classes involving drawing, taiko, social dance, Chinese calligraphy and jazz piano improvisation. I try to take at least one fun class every quarter, and I’ve enjoyed every single one. 

I cannot survive without any art in my life. Luckily, theater, a medium that I had gotten so few opportunities to engage with, has at last returned to me. I now find great joy going to any staged performance. 

Theatre and social dance with Swingtime are two forms of art where I can engage in collective art-making, something I had never been able to experience before. Having someone feel the way you do as you perform is a unique sensation that simply is not the same as performing a solo piano piece or writing a story.

Even then, however, I always feel like something is missing. Throughout all my time performing and watching performances, my single greatest desire is to see myself perform in-person. It is an impossible wish. I cannot perform and watch myself at the same time, not if I want to participate in both fully, so with each performance I am forced to pick my role and lose the experience of the other. 

Perhaps that is the price to pay for art that is made on stage in real time. Unlike a painting or piece of writing that I can revisit after making it, a theatre or dance performance is not quite the same on video. The moment it ends, it is finished and only exists in our memories. I can see versions of myself in mirrors, in reflections, in pictures taken by myself and others, but I can never see myself from my own eyes. I’m always trying to piece together a complete version of myself through fragments of evidence, from photos, from videos, from my own experiences, from myself in the audience’s eyes, so that one day I can imagine the closest version of what I truly look like, living on stage.

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Write-off: On studying English at Stanford

"There was nothing in my life I had ever loved more than writing and reading," writes Desta.

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In my first year at Stanford, I despised telling people I was an English major. Too often did people make jokes about me not being able to get a job after graduation. These were funny at first, but exhausting by the thirtieth fake laugh. I felt like handing out business cards that read: “RIBKA DESTA, LARKIN, SHE/HER, CLASS OF 2027, FUTURELY UNEMPLOYED” just to save time.

Still, I never contemplated majoring in something else. 

I knew I wanted to write since I was young. In second grade, my “Career Day” costume was an author. I showed up proud in a long brown dress and tight bun with a book in hand. In fourth grade, I wrote a “memoir” in a memo book and passed it around the classroom. I’ll never forget the pride I felt watching my classmates wait impatiently to enjoy something I created. From that point forward, I lived to entertain. 

There was nothing in my life I had ever loved more than writing and reading. Not a person, not even myself. Choosing something else was unthinkable. Writers can swirl black and white text into a million colors and images. Once you have the power to make anything with just twenty six letters, you can’t put the sword down.

I understand that most people come down to earth eventually. I understand why people shed their astronaut/rockstar/NFL dreams for stabler paths. But every day I awake at Stanford, my dream lingers. I chose Stanford for its English department, and I’ve never not been grateful for it. 

Being friends with creative writers at Stanford means hearing the most insane concoctions of the English language over brunch at Stern. It means swooning over someone’s interpretation of a work and begging them to commit their brain to science postmortem. It also means being surrounded by people who have been talented for so long they have lost their awe of their own art. These are people who put down the pencil after a few sporadic WAYS courses and never create again. I can’t fathom it. 

I think they are just as nonsensical as I am, sometimes. If you’re one in a million, why choose to be one in a hundred in an office you don’t like, living a life that’s not yours? 

At the same time, they are right to. This economy is scary, the future is far and regret is a paradox. I’ll probably wonder in ten years if I should have chosen a life that made more money, and that Ribka — the Ribka that never existed outside my parent’s red-white-and-blue aspirations, the Ribka who took the road far more traveled by — will wonder if she could have chosen to soar instead of settle.

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