I’m commonly asked What is Ethos, exactly? I normally stutter for a bit while assorted thoughts of culture bounce around the many clogged corridors of my head. It’s a multicultural magazine, made by students I usually respond, always disappointed with my vague offering. Then I get the follow-up question: Well, what do you write stories about? The floodgates open. We’ve covered a wide spectrum of culture in the last four years. There’s that story about toilets around the world ( Winter 2010) or Eugene’s fiery Papa’s Soul Food Kitchen ( Fall 2007). What about when we covered the culture of breeding and riding bulls ( Fall 2008) or that feature investigating female circumcision ( Summer 2009)? Even after working as Ethos’ editor for nine months, I still can’t quite encapsulate this magazine into something concise and tidy. I fail to tighten and pull it into a fashionable bow. Perhaps multiculturalism as a concept is too ornate to iron down to simple terms. So, it’s a multicultural magazine . . . made by students becomes my only mumbled response. For me, Ethos has been the opportunity to explore and attempt to understand the murky depths of culture, and I hope it provides the same for our readers. Maybe that’s what Ethos is all about: opportunity for exploration. Our staff has the great fortune to experience life through the lens of a journalist, which is no simple commission. There’s an immense, alluring challenge to telling somebody else’s story accurately, especially if that somebody is from a culture as foreign as stunna shades are to your grandmother (to be fair, I don’t completely get those either). Ethos doesn’t always get it perfect, but we embrace the tricky task. Sadly — maybe fortunately — my time stumbling through nebulous descriptions of Ethos has come to an end. Graduation is here. This is my final edition working on this remarkable, student-driven publication. I am grateful for the experience, but more so for the exposure to an incredible staff passionately invested in the exploration of curious, cool culture. At the end of the day, maybe the question should be how do you define culture? How do you explore it? Open the floodgates.
Here are a few of my designs from my final edition as editor of Ethos Magazine.
Scrambling through the chaos, I attempted to identify each band. Piles of equipment grew on stage as six Eugene bands loaded into WOW Hall for Ethos’ first annual Bandest of the Bands competition. Through the disarray I examined a small crowd wandering the room, fully clad in homemade Native American costumes. I asked the stage manager who they were. “Uh, that’s Sea Bell – the big band” he mumbled, glancing over the set list. The band had painted their faces and neatly tucked vibrant feathers into braided hair. That night, Sea Bell decided they wanted to dress as Indians – one of the many themes the band features in their energetic shows. Since the ‘60s, the debate surrounding Native American costumes has been as heated as it’s been complex. Some argue such costuming is disparaging and others — like Sea Bell — believe it’s empowering and respectful. The debate has been widely played out with professional and college teams’ mascots and logos; the results have been varied. Stanford University, for example, dropped the Stanford Indian mascot in 1972. Now the cardinal (the color, not bird) represents the school. But the Washington Redskins, among many other teams, still uphold Indian themes. While I was apprehensive with Sea Bell’s stereotypical Indian attire, I also had the sense the band members were well intentioned. However, well intentioned or not, some in the crowd were offended (see this e-mail Ethos received after the concert). This issue, like any other involving ethnicity, heritage, or faith is multifaceted and the means to adequately address it are muddled. The recent debates surrounding Pacifica Forum and the attempt by campus leaders to clarify the definition of hate speech depict exactly how intricate cultural considerations can be. Diversity dilutes simplicity. Complexity creates confusion and ignorance. Far too often ignorance sprouts into hate, progresses into hate acts, and ultimately hemorrhages into violence. Understanding and compassion are the only combatants to such rampant abhorrence. The collegiate atmosphere is ideal for engaging in the thorny dialogues surrounding racism, classism, sexism, and any other micro or macro aggressions that empower hatred and discrimination. The muscle of student voices paired with the idealism and energy of campus life create a unique opportunity to deflate hostility and gain understanding. While we’re here, it’s imperative that we attempt to engage, question, and challenge all walks of life — vile or otherwise — in order to combat hatred in all of its forms. Only then will we shift this intricate, odious paradigm. LinksOriginal Article2010 Winter Edition, Ethos Magazine
Working as Editor in Chief, I designed the cover and back cover for the winter 2010 edition of Ethos Magazine.
The first decade of the 21st century has come and gone and luckily we’re all still here. Y2K came and went without so much as a light bulb going out. Technology didn’t falter as predicted; rather, it enabled profound progress. We’ve spent the last ten years illuminated by blizzards of information. Nobody seems to remember the way things were—like the days of pagers and dial-up—all the way back in the 20th century. The Web for example, has snowballed, rolling over itself again and again while redefining the ways we walk through life. Forward motion appears to be the driving force of humanity. We can’t stay still. Our rate of progress is scary, almost too swift to adjust. But we are adjusting; we must adjust. The University of Oregon’s School of Journalism and Communication, just two years shy of its centenarian, is scrambling with heavy breaths and gritty determination to adjust. The world of journalism is evolving faster than it ever has before and we’re all attempting to rapidly rethink our roots for the foggy future that’s barreling towards us. I’m surprised even Google, with a reported 100,000 news-related hits a minute, has been able to keep up. But this is the fun of humanity, the fun of progress. This is what we do—we adjust and move forward just to redefine it all again, hopefully for better. Ethos is doing our best to embrace the modern whirlwind of journalistic evolutions, investigating cost effective printing, and investing further into the cyber world. Ethos has some exciting things in the works. Who knows where we’ll progress from exploring the world’s toilets, examining the nuances of socialist health care, or getting a feel for Eugene’s eclectic barbershops. All we ask from you is to keep reading, and maybe hand a free copy to a friend. Links2010 Winter Edition, Ethos Magazine
Guest Commentary
Despite an economy that’s spread the fear of unemployment deep into the thinning pockets of students nearing graduation, it’s an exciting time to be young.
Politics and young adults united in wake of the 2008 election with nearly 24 million votes tallied up by Americans between the ages of 18 and 29. This was the second largest turnout by young adults in U.S. history.
Change rattled the youth back into politics, but the young fire that fueled much of Sen. Obama’s campaign now seems trumped by a media more worried about balance than correctness. And we, along with the rest of the country — politicians included — are getting sucked in. As a result, we’re on the bench while bureaucracy is stabbing at the big ticket: health care. And oh, what an embarrassing debate it’s become.
On a broad and sweeping scale, a brutal and disingenuous political process has silenced logic and given unqualified clout to media catch phrases, those red-hot ones like “socialism” and “death panels.” You can just feel a town hall crack and hiss when somebody mumbles such senseless rhetoric. It’s to the point where Sarah Palin has found a boisterous national voice via press announcements of her status updates. Thanks for that one, Facebook.
But that’s just the reality of the technological, media-storming times of today. Our parents’ generation has caught up to Comcastic 24-hour news shows, dedicated to partisan bickering. And it’s working. We’re eating it all up along with our five-dollar footlongs
(toasted, of course).
Somehow, we’ve been twisted to fight for companies that profit from the sick. Health insurance companies don’t provide a service — rather, they only provide a great cost. Health insurance giants have run so far from ethics and compassion it seems unfair to categorize them with health care.
So why isn’t the president’s plan pushing these viruses out of the system? When he addressed Congress with his health care plan, he said he is going to keep what works and fix what’s broken. Health insurance is what’s broken and doesn’t appear to be going anywhere soon, or ever. As long as we have profit-driven health insurance, we’ll have a corrupt health care system with a bottom dollar backbone. Why aren’t we fighting this?
Youth in the collegiate environment have gained the power for progress in the past — 40 years ago Woodstock was one of many symbols of such a movement. Where is that movement here? Folks, this is our health we’re talking about. We are so afraid to embrace needed change that we cling to compromised reform.
The power for the change this country really needs is drowning in cloudy media muck. Controversy within politics has become more important to us than progress, and it’s sad. This very publication is used as a leveraging tool for young student politicians at this University much as the 24-hour networks are for the big wigs on Capitol Hill. It’s like the training camp for a Washington press conference, complete with rhetoric and all.
This summer I couldn’t help but pick up a copy of the ODE to read a headline that barked, “Friendism or no, president to appoint executioners.” Ah, the men wearing black masks, holding a noose.
Although, I admit, the massive mound of dirty politics surrounding former ASUO presidential candidate Michelle Haley’s attempt to remove current President Emma Kallaway from office was nearly worthy of the sexy executioner headline.
If you picked up the ODE this summer, you know all about this. You were, alongside me, suckling on the cheap headlines about bitter tactics best saved for reality TV.
The ODE’s very own Robert D’Andrea concisely poked through the ASUO circus. “If there is anything Kallaway needs to learn beyond checking and sending e-mail,” he published in an early August opinion piece, “it’s how to feed the media beast before it
eats you.”
Of course, the ODE will continue to report the news as they see it. I guess that’s its purpose. And I suppose they are obligated to publish stories about said accusations of friendism, which I am still not sure is a real word. Is this balanced? Possibly. Is it correct? Not in my eyes. But it sure does make for good headlines.
Whether it be in the mass media or the student paper, politics seem to be more about drama than education and progress. We have to take the time to be truly informed. Then, the right thing will no longer be associated with the left or right. Morality, after all, is not above Republican nor Democratic principles.
If we, the youth, concentrate on ideals that are much simpler, like compassion, we simplify the debates. We can be the educated passion pushing for the change this country needs. It is, after all, an exciting time to be young.
A Celtic Tale won a 2009 Hearst Award for feature magazine writing."They blew up my car,” Istvan said in a thick Hungarian accent. “It’s completely destroyed.” I could hear the numb roar of the fire brigade’s sirens outside my five-story apartment in Dublin’s city center. His phone call rattled me out of a deep sleep at five in the morning. I rubbed my eyes and managed to scrape out, “What?” Istvan repeated himself then hung up, leaving me disoriented and wondering what to do next. Nine hours prior to Istvan’s wake-up call, he invited me to keep him company on his balcony while he smoked a cigarette. The light blue Camel cigarette pack had a white stamp invading half of the front’s tranquil invitation. In bold black letters it read, “Toradh caithimh tobac — bás / Smoking kills.” He blew out his match and threw it in an overfed ashtray. His brown hair, buzzed short on the sides, disappeared in the thick white smoke from his freshly lit cigarette. The sulfur and smoke floated away, presenting a clear view of the north side of Dublin. It was a cool February night and the air still had a moist taste left over from the day’s rain. Istvan zipped his olive-colored fleece jacket up to his neck. “Damn Irish weather,” he shivered. We looked down when we heard teenagers throwing glass bottles at the wall surrounding our apartment complex. Istvan yelled at the hooligans, who lived in low-income housing nearby. Soon, bottles started to land on our side of the wall, shattering beer-stained glass on parked cars. “Why are you throwing bottles!” His voice projected down the street. Bracing his legs, he stood shoulder width apart, supporting his sturdy frame. His square, smiling face had quickly transformed into a stern mien. “Why are you throwing bottles?” one of the teens shouted back. “You Hungarian fuck—we’ll destroy you. We’ll demolish that red Fiesta of yours!” I could almost see the veins flare out of his forehead from five floors up. Their aggressive Irish voices, soaked with inebriation, echoed throughout the narrow streets below. The glass-ridden cars belonged to tenets of the Christchurch View Apartments. As the caretaker of the building, Istvan became friends with many of the residents. His job was to look after them, as well as the apartment property. But warding off bottle-throwing teenagers drunk with rage was not necessarily in his job description.
Istvan and I sorted through our options. His thick, brown eyebrows crunched together, subduing the calm, collected look that normally rested on his face. I had never seen his dark blue eyes so wide open. Fighting on the streets is common in Dublin—night or day—and violent debauchery outside Istvan’s balcony was deafeningly familiar.
We were high up in an apartment complex, guarded by three security gates. Still, uneasiness crawled up our necks. We both knew there were ways they could get in, and these belligerent thugs could certainly follow through with their threats, although I figured they wouldn’t.
But what if they weaved past security and found their way to Istvan’s door? What if this confrontation became face to face, escalating beyond an oral clash?
“Come down and fight us!” they shouted.
“I’ll be right down,” Istvan waved, still holding his cigarette. The drunkards below didn’t detect the derision in his tone.
He climbed through the sliding glass door into his bedroom and called the Garda, the Irish police. The instigators clenched their fists and paced, awaiting a battle. Before long, flashing red and blue lights bleached the damp streets below. We watched the Garda haul off the teens in handcuffs. They continued to snarl at us until the van door slammed, muffling their voices behind the glass.
A wave of relief slid down my spine. I looked to Istvan expecting to see the same. “They know who I am,” he said, his eyebrows now climbing up his forehead. “They know which car is mine.” He lit another cigarette and took in a large drag. I danced around my jumbled thoughts and assured him it would be all right. He insisted otherwise, but my naivety had already convinced me the confrontation had reached its conclusion.
Sunlight bled through my foggy skylight the following morning. I awoke, instantly remembering Istvan had called just hours ago. Somehow, I had fallen back to sleep.
I quickly dressed and ran downstairs to find the remains of his car, tucked to the side of the building where Istvan had parked. It was completely charred, the interior melted. The tires remarkably survived the heat and remained intact. A blackened halo around the colorless frame of Istvan’s Ford Fiesta had formed on the wall. The remainder of a gutter hung, nearly liquefied, in front of his car.
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The Dubliner Magazine had granted me an internship in Ireland for the winter. Istvan had befriended me the evening of my arrival. He is one of the nearly 600 thousand foreign nationals who have immigrated to Ireland because of its (now-formerly) opportunistic economy. Ireland’s economic strength first started in the early ‘90s when corporations moved to the island’s shores to take advantage of its low corporate taxes and attractive provisions for businesses. Foreign investment and a young, educated work force led to a massive and legendary economic boom known as the Celtic Tiger. Ireland transformed from a historically poor country into one of the wealthiest nations at the turn of the century.
“When I moved here Ireland had a strong, reliable economy with one of the biggest salaries of Europe,” Istvan explained to me. “I can save 1,500 quid [euros] a month in Ireland. In Hungary, I would be happy if I could get 400 a month – I could not save anything at all.”
Istvan decided to move away from Hungary in 2006 when he found a job through a Hungarian service advertising for air conditioner technicians in Ireland. The wages were low and the job was technical and demanding, but it offered Istvan the opportunity to not only work, but also improve his English. “I had three trades at home and still no job,” he said. “In Hungary you can find a good job if you have connections, otherwise you have no chance. It’s very corrupt—there is no free market anymore.”
Today, the Celtic Tiger is a thing of the past. The boom that had once attracted immigrants like Istvan as well providing jobs for locals, has all but died. Ireland’s job market is weak. In April, an Irish convenience store called Londis advertised a job opening in one of its Dublin store’s front windows. More than 500 people, both Irish and foreign, lined up to apply for the single cashier position.
Istvan has a job — fortunately. He moved on from being a technician in 2007 and now works at Christchurch View Apartments, where I lived during my internship. It provides him with a good salary and a free place to live – not to mention a spare bedroom to rent out. But the teenage punks could strike again. They knew where Istvan lived and that he wasn’t going to move anytime soon. The sour job market has left Istvan with no options to find employment elsewhere. Even if he wanted to move out and still keep his current job, he couldn’t; as the apartment caretaker, he is required to live at the complex.
I left the car ruins, already late for my internship. As I hustled through morning traffic, I thought how grateful I was that neither Istvan nor myself were physically harmed. Yet my subconscious refused to relax; we were lucky in a disturbing, twisted way.
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Dublin at times carried an odd ambience of vulgarity and contempt. The vomit on the sidewalks was there every time I went to work. It was difficult to ignore. Heroin addicts huddled inside old sleeping bags on the corners of most Dublin streets were also tough to overlook. And the drunken aggravation we experienced was impossible to disregard, especially with Istvan’s car now destroyed.
After work, I accompanied Istvan to the Garda station to drop off what we optimistically hoped would be incriminating video surveillance footage to the officer assigned to the case. We watched the video of the suspects in hooded tracksuits jumping the wall and running towards Istvan’s car. Conveniently, they stayed out of the frame. Some 30 seconds later, they darted across the screen. Thick, white smoke eventually came into view and the black and white camera shorted out soon after, likely due to excessive heat.
The officer informed us the two drunken teenagers arrested were released later that night—45 minutes before Istvan’s car was destroyed. Reluctantly, he walked us out the door. He would do his best, he said, but a conviction was unlikely.
If the Garda were persuasive enough to obtain a confession, sentencing would be completely up to the judge. They could receive anything from significant jail time to a warning. A warning? Bollocks.
“It’s these damn Irish scumbags,” Istvan explained as we walked back. “They get on the doll [welfare] and just get pissed [drunk] all day. Nobody stops them from causing trouble.” His voice was calm. He didn’t appear to be angry – he was just defeated. His defeat was not out of weakness, but rather it was an element of strength in his kind nature.
While Istvan’s point was harsh, it was difficult to dispute. Irish adults have the highest consumption of alcohol and the highest degree of binge drinking in Europe, or so Alcohol Statistics Ireland claims. More than a quarter of Ireland’s population is on welfare. Those over 21 can receive up to €334 a week, the equivalent of roughly US$476, which opens up opportunity for drug or alcohol abuse. In fact, Ireland’s Drug Policy Action Group found drug treatment has a lesser impact in Ireland because it is so far removed from other social care services. Even worse, a committee assembled to assess public expenditures released a report in July proposing to close half of Ireland’s Garda stations because the funding simply isn’t there.
During the Celtic Tiger, Ireland enjoyed the second highest GDP per capita in the European Union. Public spending rose, unemployment fell, infrastructure grew, and Ireland experienced a shift from mass emigration to mass immigration, luring those like Istvan to leave their home country for the third largest island in Europe.
As an American, I rarely hear the term emigration. Immigration, however, has been a hot political topic for years in the U.S.—members of Congress have fretted over paying billions of dollars to build a wall along the U.S.-Mexico border. But in Ireland, emigration was a genuine fear, and immigration was a gorgeous prospect. Between poverty, starvation, and violent conflicts, a large portion of Ireland’s citizens have historically fled. More than 34 million U.S. residents claim Irish ancestry—over eight times the current population of Ireland.
I found myself in the capital of a country with a rich, harsh history in a scary, downward spiraling time. Sadly, the blissful Celtic Tiger began to slump in 2001, but made a recovery in 2003 when property values shot up and the country once again experienced great economic strength. However, in 2008, that strength diminished when the global economy began to plummet. As a result, Ireland, what had once been Europe’s best performing country, became the first in the EU to sink in the current global recession.
By 2008, the Celtic Tiger had taken its last breaths. Now, many foreigners who originally moved to Ireland for work are without jobs. Unemployment currently is a staggering 13.2 percent compared to 9.8 percent in the U.S. By 2010, some experts expect Ireland’s unemployment to reach as high as 16.8 percent. With unemployment on the rise, immigration is starting to be viewed as a threat. The Irish Times reported two-thirds of Irish adults believe in more restrictive immigration policies due to the current economic state. Also, the same committee that advised closing nearly 450 Garda stations suggested cutting away 240 jobs from the Irish Naturalization and Immigration Services’ staff. “We were eejits to think ninety years of poverty could just turn around in a quick moment,” a pub owner said when I asked about the Celtic Tiger. - Eventually, Istvan purchased a new car. But just as calm and safety set in again, his car was stolen and destroyed, likely by the same parties as before. A successful prosecution still does not appear to be promising. A community meeting for the Christchurch View Apartments decided Istvan is no longer allowed to park on the premises. “They think this is the solution of the problem. But I am still alive and have a job,” Istvan said recently. “These guys causing trouble on the street have no sense for responsibility. If somebody tries to stop them, they steal and burn his car continuously and cause lots of inconveniences. The worst thing is the Garda can’t protect the normal tax payer because of the soft laws … or who knows why?” he continued. “Of course we can’t forget the normal part of the Irish population who are lovely, open-minded, and have a great hospitality. I have learned a lot from these nice Irish people and I have many good Irish friends.” Istvan is right. Although both burdened by Irish crime, we saw the remarkable character of the Irish people. The people surrounding me in Ireland were deeply sincere—I was often entwined in a delightful excess of upbeat conversation. The Irish people have a reputation for being warm and kind. That reputation is well deserved as their warmth and welcoming embrace is difficult to ignore. Ireland has begun to shift the paradigm in the last twenty years as it developed into a strong and prosperous country. Intel, for example, was one of the foreign companies that paved the way for the Celtic Tiger when it first opened a manufacturing center in Kildare in 1989. The corporation created over 5,500 jobs for Irish citizens. Unfortunately, today, Ireland can’t offer the same completive manufacturing as it used to. Intel is considering cutting back production in Kildare, sacrificing 400 to 500 jobs. The Irish economy is losing its grip on the remains on the Celtic Tiger. How Ireland reacts now will factor greatly into what we see from the island in the future. - A week before I left the island and said my goodbyes to Istvan, The Dubliner Magazine sponsored a debate on Irish identity. The debate came on the eve of St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin’s Liberty Hall. I arrived and wandered around the buoyant crowd. A mixture of Dubliners, tourists visiting the capital for Patty’s Day, and foreigners living in Dublin eagerly loaded into the large auditorium for the night’s debate. I sat down amongst curious chatter, joining the crowd in wondering what the so-called Irish experts paneled for the debate would argue about Irish identity. “It’s time for us to stumble and remember who we are and try and just be stronger about things,” The Irish Independent’s columnist and social critic Ian O’Doherty said to the crowd. “We have to look in the mirror and collectively check ourselves and say, ‘Right, let’s turn things around.’ Let’s become the country not that we think we are, but who we hope we can actually be.” Leaving Ireland, I couldn’t help but remember O’Doherty’s evaluation. The Celtic Tiger’s swift rise and fall is an opportunity for the Irish to revaluate. Perhaps this is Ireland’s chance to continue to show its strength and to rebuild: rebuild into a nation that foreigners like Istvan can safely settle; into a country that can again take the lead as an economic strength in Europe; into an island that can truly boast the luck of the Irish. LinksOriginal ArticleFall 2009 Ethos MagazineEthos Magazine
The following designs are from the summer 2009 edition of Ethos Magazine. This was my first issue as art director. The designs from the "Power of Ondikuhole", including the cover, received awards from the Columbia Scholastic Press Association.
I worked as a designer on the 2009 spring edition of Flux Magazine. These three spreads are my designs from the issue.
 Click to view full size. The Dubliner staged a debate about Irish identity, when else but on the eve of Paddy’s Day; where else but lovely Liberty Hall. Our foreign correspondent Kevin Bronk was there
Most of us have a think about our national identity in March. But this year it was extra hard not to, what with the double whammy of St Patrick’s Day and U2’s new album – their handsome Dublin mugs were everywhere you looked. So what better time than March 16th to discuss what it means to be Irish at a panel discussion in Liberty Hall hosted by the best damn magazine in town? (That’s us, by the way.)
The good people at Hennessy, who are very proud of their Irish roots, jumped onboard, providing a free drinks reception afterwards. But before we could toast this great nation, we had to figure out what this great nation is all about in 2009. “What is it that makes us proud to be Irish?” asked Eamon Keane, NewsTalk presenter and chair for the evening. “Many of you are familiar with the sight of grown women crying on the streets of Dublin,” Keane continued. “Crying because they’re unable to buy Crème de la Mer anti-aging cream. That’s what it’s come to in this country.”
Sadly, the panel didn’t work out asolution to the current economic mess, but to be fair, not even the combined powers of Barack Obama and Brian Cowen can do that. “We seem to have gone from an agricultural, rural nation to being this post-modernist IT country. We missed out on our whole adolesence, and now we’ve crashed,” offered panelist Carol Hunt of the Sunday Independent. “But that’s not actually such a bad thing. Now we have to stop, but we can decide exactly what we want to be in the future.”
Hunt thinks Ireland is in its “early-20s”, still trying to figure out exactly what it is, what it wants to do. That idea really got the panel going. “It’s time for us to stumble and remember who we are,” said Irish Independent columnist Ian O’Doherty, raising a stiff fist of conviction. “We have to look in the mirror and collectively check ourselves. Let’s not become the country we think we are, but who we hope we can be.”
GAA legend Brian Mullins, writer Ulick O’Connor and comedienne Anne Gildea engaged in the argument. After nearly an hour of our panel weighing in on the matter, the crowd, made up in equal parts of Irish and foreigners, was given the opportunity to pose their own questions and bark their own opinions.
A gentleman in the crowd from the Philippines shifted the tone of the discussion by asking what it takes to be Irish, and what room there is for true immigration into Ireland and its culture.
“Speaking on behalf of my people –the non-nationals of Ireland – there is a confidence in being Irish and in that Irish identity,” answered our very own Managing Editor, Paul Trainer, a proud Scotsman, “that sometimes means there’s a lack of acknowledgment of the fact that people can feel Irish who have no blood ties to this country. But they identify with something at the heart of this country, and that’s something that must be encouraged.” Hear hear!
The next day saw thousands of pints of green beer pulled, and even more oversized novelty hats. But figuring out who we are isn’t going to happen overnight. Even with the help of Hennessy.
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