“Goodbyes to Homecomings”
Spring at Exeter is always a whirlwind of emotions. It’s full of energy, but it’s also a time when I find myself looking back and feeling incredibly grateful for the people who make this place what it is. This year, those reflections feel even deeper as we navigate some big transitions. Thank you, Principal Rawson First, I want to give my sincerest thank you to our retiring principal, Bill Rawson. When I think about his time at Exeter, the word that keeps coming to mind is commitment. Bill didn't just support OMA from a distance; he was right there with us, showing up for everything, and popping into the office just to say hello. I’m so grateful for the warmth he showed our club leaders and members, opening up his home for dinners and making everyone feel so welcome. Whether he was sitting with us at Table Talk, celebrating at our affinity gatherings, attending our events (large and small), his presence meant the world. Thank you, Principal Rawson, for genuinely investing in our OMA community and always making time for our students. Unexpected Reunion The culture of belonging that Principal Rawson helped support is exactly what brings people back—and I got to see the living proof of that during reunion weekend. I had the most amazing time catching up with the Class of 2021. It was so wonderful to see so many former members and leaders of Asian Voices, along with several of our former OMA Proctors. On Saturday morning, these Proctors wanted to come visit the OMA space, and what followed was just magic. We organically fell into a Harkness discussion, sitting around the table, just to catch up on how everyone is doing five years out. It was incredibly moving. Many of them talked about how healing it felt to be back in the room. With five years of perspective, they had this strong, beautiful realization that what they had here at Exeter was extremely special. At the end of the day, they considered Exeter—and each other—home. To be honest, I felt super touched to bear witness to that kind of lifelong connection to OMA, our team (both current and past), and Exeter. Moments like that remind me just how lucky I am to be here doing this work. To the Class of 2026 Finally, I want to look forward to our seniors. To the Class of 2026: I am wishing you all the success in the world—however you choose to define it for yourselves. As you get ready to graduate, take a page out of the Class of 2021's book. Remember that the connections you made here don't expire when you get your diploma. No matter where you go or how much time passes, remember that OMA and Exeter will always be here for you to return to. You always have a home here. With love, Dean Hernández
On the evening of March 25th, Exonians gathered in the home of Assistant Principal Dr. Eimer Page to kick-off spring term with a Women’s History Month Panel hosted by OMA and Feminist Union. Dr. Page’s home, cozy and comforting, provided a welcoming environment for panelists and members of our community to connect. I had the privilege of moderating the panel and asking our speakers questions. We were joined by leaders: Xiomara Albán Delobato, April Richer, Joanna Kelley, and Heidi Heath. Each panelist came with unique experiences and perspectives, but their similarities lied in the fact that they each hoped to empower other young women to be leaders. Dean (Sherry) Hernandez tapped into her wealth of relationships to ensure that the perspectives of women in leadership were broadly represented in the group. From business ownership to politics to nonprofit management, these women sat down ready to share their plethora of experiences with the students and faculty present. As I moderated and listened to their stories, I was heavily struck by their optimism. Many of them spoke about being the first in their families, or communities, to accomplish what they did. While they recognized the hardships of breaking through the glass ceiling, they were excited to see how the future of leadership will look among women. The room was full of laughter and snaps as inspiring words flowed from each speaker. The end of the evening allowed for more one-on-one conversations as people helped themselves to dessert from Southern Girl Bakery, a small business owned by a black woman in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and found inspiration in each other. As students at the Academy, we are fortunate to have an office like OMA that thoughtfully devises events of this sort to inspire and cultivate consciousness.
On Thursday April 2nd and Friday April 3rd, Curtis Chin, an award-winning author, filmmaker, and activist, visited the Academy. His story of perseverance and commitment to social advocacy was incredibly inspiring to Exonians of all walks of life. On Thursday evening, several student leaders affiliated with the Office of Multicultural Affairs (OMA) and I had the privilege of having dinner with Mr. Chin at Principal Rawson’s house. During the dinner, he shared his life story with remarkable honesty. He spoke about the challenges, successes, and experiences that shaped him. Growing up in Detroit, Michigan, as a queer, Chinese-American from a working-class family was far from easy. Still, Mr. Chin used these experiences as the foundation for the stories he would later tell in his writing and filmmaking. As an aspiring journalist, I found Mr. Chin’s successful career especially inspiring. I had the opportunity to ask him about his experience in journalism as an Asian-American, and he introduced me to several Asian-led journalism groups whose workshops I could attend. In a profession where Asians remain underrepresented, Mr. Chin’s success is remarkable. On Friday, Mr. Chin spoke at Assembly, where Dani Mendez ‘27, Marcus Lopez ‘26, and I facilitated a panel discussion. Though we were unable to get through all the questions we had prepared, Mr. Chin’s responses were thoughtful and evocative. He reflected on his childhood, college years, and the many career paths he has pursued throughout his life. He also read a passage from his memoir, Everything I learned, I learned in a Chinese restaurant, which was published in fall of 2023. His vivid descriptions painted an image in my mind of a place I had never personally experienced. Getting to know Mr. Chin was an eye-opening experience, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to have learned from him and his experiences.
I have always loved watching cooking shows, so it was no surprise that when Culinary Class Wars debuted on Netflix, I immediately wanted to watch it and knew I would love it. What I was not prepared for was how much a cooking competition show would impact me, nor did I expect to feel such a deep connection with one chef’s journey to finding himself. Chef Edward Lee, a Korean-American, quickly became my favorite contestant on Culinary Class Wars. I cheered him on feeling oddly connected to his journey from a distance. Without including any show spoilers, a pivotal moment occurred toward the end of the season where he shared personal details about his life and identity and the quiet complexities of belonging. It brought me to tears. It was at that moment, that I thought to myself, “I am going to ask him to come to Exeter.” After several weeks of emailing, Zoom calling, and coordinating schedules, Chef Lee was on campus. Chef Lee’s visit was more than a culinary event—it was a deeply personal exploration of identity, belonging, and the courage to carve one’s own path. Drawing from his memoir Buttermilk Graffiti, he led a thoughtful and engaging discussion about the intersections of culture, migration, and cuisine. Students, faculty, and staff leaned in as he described traveling across America in search of stories about how food shaped the identities of people from varying cultural backgrounds and how food became the lens through which he could better understand his own place in the world. That search formed the emotional core of his evening dinner talk, which was moving and, at times, emotional for both Chef Lee and attendees. Chef Lee spoke candidly about growing up as a Korean-American, navigating expectations, and feeling caught between cultures. He shared how those tensions eventually expressed themselves in his cooking—dishes that do not fit neatly into categories, but instead tell a story of duality, resilience, and self-discovery. He also described how producers of Culinary Class Wars downplayed his language ability and did not expect him to get far on the show. “I knew everyone was making fun of me…I wanted to go home.” Then, in an emotional admission, Chef Lee talked about shifting his perspective of his time on the show in Korea. “I started cooking from my heart…I didn’t care about winning anymore, I was just trying to find myself.” One of his most resonant messages centered on the expectations many young people face, particularly within immigrant families. He spoke about the pressure to pursue stable, traditional careers—becoming doctors, lawyers, accountants—and acknowledged the weight of those expectations. But he also gently challenged them, emphasizing that fulfillment does not come from following a prescribed path. Instead, Chef Lee urged students to pay attention to what excites them, what keeps them curious. By the end of the evening, it was clear that Chef Lee had offered something lasting—not just a story about food, but a reminder that identity is not something given to you. It is something you build, much like a curated dish: ingredients are brought together and layered in a way that transforms separate elements into something distinct, intentional, and entirely your own.
As I bit the sweet, chewy tteok-bokki, a smile took over my face watching my friends converse with each other, strangers enjoying different cuisines, and people anxiously practicing their speeches. This spring, my favorite memory was the Asian American Pacific Islander (AAPI) affinity lunch on May 17th held at The Meadow. I attended because I identify as Indian-American, am joining the Asian Advisory Board, and because my region was rarely something a school made space for growing up. With a delicious assortment of Japanese, Korean, Thai, and Indian food, attendees enjoyed catered foods like sushi, tteok-bokki, rangoons, and samosas. At the beginning of the lunch, the graduating Asian Advisory Board members gave a heartwarming farewell, reflecting on what the AAPI community meant for them during their time at Exeter. Then, the incoming members introduced themselves and their goals for next year.
Later, flipping through the pages of Feast, the spring term publication passed out by The Asian Magazine, I paused on a piece celebrating South Asian culture. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of community and recognition; having come from a school that did not host affinity gatherings, this shared meal and celebration of culture was an unforgettable experience. I had arrived mostly alone, which at most events feels uncomfortable. But talking to new people felt easier than usual. Something about the shared context made starting a conversation feel natural. That afternoon, I realized the ease that comes with representation was the most valuable aspect for me.
Hartford and Phillips Exeter Academy (PEA) could not be more different. Hartford is a majority-minority city where people of color make up roughly 87% of the population, including large Hispanic and Black communities. Growing up there, I rarely found myself questioning whether I belonged in a space, or if I was expected to represent an entire group of people. Coming to the town of Exeter was a completely new experience for me. PEA was the first predominantly white institution I had ever attended, and the transition made me much more aware of my identity. For the first time, I found myself constantly conscious of where I came from and how people understood places like Hartford. There was often an assumption that making it to Exeter meant I had somehow escaped where I came from, as if success only existed outside of my community. At times, I felt pressure to present Hartford as either a city defined entirely by struggle, or as a place I had overcome, when the reality was much more complicated than either version. There was also a subtle pressure that came with being one of the few students from my background in certain spaces. I felt expected to explain experiences larger than myself, whether that meant speaking about Hartford, Puerto Rican identity, or broader conversations regarding race and inequality. I often felt caught between wanting to share my perspective honestly and not wanting to become reduced to a spokesperson for an entire community. At the same time, the transition pushed me to grow. Through Harkness discussions, dorm conversations, and spaces like OMA, I learned how to navigate environments where people came from vastly different backgrounds and perspectives, people I never would have met in Hartford. The spaces that OMA supports, and later the office itself, became especially important to me because they created a sense of familiarity within an environment that initially felt foreign. Moving from Hartford to Exeter has made me more aware of both the importance and the limits of representation. I am deeply grateful for the opportunities that PEA has given me, but attending a place like this has also complicated the way I think about success, belonging, and what it means to leave one community while still feeling responsible to it.
When I first came here as a new Upper (third-year student), I came with the heavy burden, as most do, of feeling not-good-enough for this school. However, one added weight to this burden was my queerness. I came to school noticing some students who were openly queer and purposefully didn’t reach out to them, feeling as if I had to make “normal” friends first. So, I changed my story: my ex-girlfriend became my ex-boyfriend, my favorite Chappel Roan song was "Hot To Go", not "Red Wine Supernova." And don’t worry girls, it’s not like I have a crush on you or anything. The feeling of hiding ate me up inside, I was terrified of my first friends seeing me differently. So I continued to pretend. The more I hid, the harder it was to find my voice. As I sat in a study group with my friends, their comments and language only confirmed my suspicions of being myself and being othered. Slurs, rude comments, but also the small remarks that made my stomach sink left me feeling alone despite being surrounded by people. I resented myself for hiding but it was worth it to not be alone. However, the inevitable day came where I just couldn't ignore my friend’s behaviors anymore. Then despite all my efforts, I was still alone. The betrayal of those who I thought were my friends ate at me and my voice buried itself deeper inside me. Then one of the openly queer students I noticed at the beginning of the year reached out to me and offered me kindness when it felt as if no one else would. Her friend group welcomed me in with no-questions asked. For the first time in two weeks, I had friends who understood me. Thereafter, I started going to the Gender Sexuality Alliance (GSA) meetings and found an even larger community of people who support me, the kind of people whose favorite song was also "Red Wine Supernova." Over the past year this community has consistently encouraged me to find my voice and regain my confidence. Now as I transition into college life, I’m excited to start making friends as my real self.
This lacrosse season, during an especially tough game, we were down by eight (9-1) and felt like the game was slipping away from us. As we huddled, it was easy to feel like the team’s momentum was gone. Rather than give up, we fought our way back one goal at a time and turned the game around. The experience of being an Exonian can often make one feel like they're down by a considerable deficit when you feel exhausted and unsure of whether you’re capable of succeeding here. In those moments, you can lose confidence in yourself. However, I’ve found that some of the hardest moments here can also be the catalyst to the greatest motivation. A quote that has repeated in my mind throughout this year is: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” It sounds dramatic, perhaps even harsh. But during especially tough stretches, it reminds me that struggling has a purpose. On nights when I stayed up late with assignments still left to finish, I remembered that I would be okay. And more than that, I would come out of it more resilient and capable than before. That mindset became especially important during what I now can jokingly call my “Lower” slump. As a Lower taking classes that many Uppers take, there were times when I felt unqualified or inadequate. However, being challenged taught me that I am capable of doing hard things, and that success at the Academy is all about continuing to push forward despite setbacks, even when things feel impossible. Moreover, this school year helped me find purpose beyond myself. Through my work in the Office of Multicultural Affairs (OMA) as an OMA proctor, co-head of Japanese American Society (JAS) and member of the Asian Advisory Board (AAB), I remembered how important community can be. In these spaces, I was reminded that the work I do matters not for my own success, but because it impacts people beyond myself who are perhaps attempting to mount their own comeback. Whether it was helping to organize events, produce content, or simply being a friendly presence in OMA, my involvement gave me a sense of belonging and purpose during an overwhelming time. Most importantly, it reminded me that growth at Exeter happens through community, sometimes this may come through a lacrosse team. Knowing that there were people counting on me was never a source of pressure, but rather a source of motivation to push me to keep on showing up. The Academy will challenge all of us throughout our time here. There will be moments when we feel behind or discouraged. But I have learned that no challenge is insurmountable, and the only way to mount a comeback is to maximize your community and believe that the obstacle can be overcome. To that end, my team emerged victorious after falling behind by eight goals. We ripped off eight consecutive goals to tie the game, then clinched the victory in overtime by a score of 13-12.
Water sprays over the bow of the eight. Oarlocks click and thud rhythmically. Our coxswain yells at us for a power ten, we’re going through the bridge. Seven seconds of fear, “Are we ahead?” “Are we behind?” Under the bridge, we can only hear the frantic beats of our hearts, our coxswain yells for us to pick up the pace. Suddenly, the sun emerges, and we can hear the crowd roaring on the shore as we near the finish. I lock eyes with the other boat’s three-seat. We pull frantically, our rate climbing, 36… 38… 40! “Faster! Show me the money” our coxswain screams at us. My muscles feel as if they’re tearing from my bones, but we continue to push and push until we hear the announcer call, “That’s the Exeter Girls’ fourth boat coming in first." We fall back exhausted and screaming our heads off, basking in our win. A race is only five minutes and forty-five seconds. There are no redos, no false starts. There is only your crew and your boat. Winning our last race of the season was the result of months spent doing things that were uncomfortable, frustrating, and exhausting. We practiced in freezing temperatures, heavy rain, and strong winds. There were mornings when getting out of bed felt impossible and afternoons when every muscle ached. It would have been been easy to complain, put in less effort, or wish for easier conditions.
Instead, we kept showing up. Looking back, those difficult practices mattered far more than the comfortable ones. Struggling through rough conditions taught me that growth often comes from the moments when you want to quit. When something is hard, our natural reaction is to look for a way out. However, pushing forward despite discomfort builds confidence and resilience. Each challenge becomes proof that we are capable of more than we could have ever dreamed of. As a new student at Exeter, I found myself facing a similar challenge. I was suddenly thrust into an environment filled with talented, ambitious students and high academic expectations. The workload was heavier than anything I had experienced before, and there were moments when I felt overwhelmed. Just like rowing against a strong headwind, it would have been easier to focus on how difficult everything felt. Instead, I learned that the only way forward was to keep putting in the work, one assignment, one class, and one day at a time. Over time, I began to realize that the pressure at Exeter serves a purpose. The classes don’t challenge us simply to make life more difficult; they challenge us because growth requires getting out of our comfort zone. The same goes for clubs and social settings. Exeter pushes us students to think critically, manage our time, advocate for ourselves, and persevere when answers don’t come easily. These aren’t just academic skills; they're life skills. Long after exams are taken, the ability to confront challenges with determination and confidence will remain within us. This lesson extends beyond Exeter and rowing. Across cultures and continents, everyone faces obstacles that demand perseverance, whether they’re adapting to a new environment, pursuing educational opportunities, or overcoming personal hardships. Success is rarely the result of just talent alone. It comes from the drive to continue moving forward, even when circumstances become difficult. Our victory was not won in the final ten seconds of the race. It was won during every cold morning practice, every exhausting workout, and every moment when we chose to keep rowing and showing up for each other despite wanting to quit. The results only revealed what months of perseverance had already built.
Doing hard things is not about dealing with the struggle; it’s about embracing it, trusting that each challenge makes you stronger, and continuing forward even when the finish line is nowhere in sight.
It is a simple truth that those who are deemed attractive are rewarded in society. The conveniences afforded to those who fit within the conventional standards of beauty in society have not gone unnoticed, like a free coffee, a higher chance of getting hired, and increased romantic interest, as millions of people turn towards everything from different hair colors to surgical extremes to feel more confident in themselves and be treated better by the rest of society. But what determines these standards of attractiveness? That is the question I sought to answer during my free time in the summer leading up to my Upper year (third year at the Academy). Wanting to involve myself in research, I reflected upon societal issues that I had personally felt a victim of, and immediately set on one—what better topic was there for a ragingly insecure sixteen-year-old than looks? Growing up, I aspired to become a size-zero and blonde movie star and magazine cover model. Their Hollywood-esque, glamorous lives were much more fascinating to me than the lives of people of color in the media—the public figures who were shoved to the sidelines, the Disney movie villains who were always defeated in the end by a blue-eyed hero. Wanting to help other youth of color who had struggled, like me, with identity insecurity, I reached out to Sociology professors at Yale University and scoured hundreds of scholarly articles to attack the roots of underrepresentation and find a way to spread more awareness of the Eurocentrism in popular media, which consequently dictated conventional standards of attractiveness in society. Initially, I presented my findings to a cohort of 1,800 youth while attending the Yale Young Global Scholars program, which was recommended to me for a greater understanding of literature, philosophy, and culture after discussions with professors. After successfully being selected for the annual summer Speakers’ Series, I found myself walking up the stairs, onto the stage, staring at my shoes to avoid the intimidating glares of thousands of eyes. “Who determines who is pretty?” My voice trembled initially, but as I settled down, my voice gradually grew into a crescendo until I felt as if I were my younger teenage-self again, sharing a vulnerable rant about my struggles with not feeling enough when surrounded by images I could never become. After my speech, multiple people came up to me and related how seen they had felt as I relayed my struggles of not fitting into an exclusively-white mold. Meanwhile, others expressed their curiosity to learn more about how to combat the continued underrepresentation that plagues communities of color. Their comments invigorated me to speak at several more events regarding racial identity, including at an Orange County Bar Conference to dozens of lawyers and Asian American Heritage Celebration festivals around Southern California. I now plan to study Sociology in college to further delve into the mysteries of socialization, and how systemic structures either inhibit or encourage certain demographics of people to succeed in a society that is continuously uncovering biases that are deeply ingrained into our collective consciousness.
James Baldwin is one of the most important writers and intellectuals of the twentieth century, known for both his writing and public speaking, a figure I look up to as both an author and activist. This spring, I took a course on Baldwin with Ms. (Mery) Carbonell. We have read both his nonfiction and fiction, including essays such as “Notes of a Native Son” and “The Fire Next Time,” as well as his novel “Giovanni's Room.” Much of Baldwin's work is around race, American identity, and sexuality, topics he discusses with unflinching honesty and, as one of my classmates described, a “profound introspective clarity about himself.” Before this course, I knew Baldwin as only a Civil Rights activist. Through the course, I learned about his magnificence as a writer. For starters, his writing incorporates symbolism masterfully. One image that appears repeatedly throughout his work is the mirror. Mirrors become a way for Baldwin’s characters, and his readers, to confront their own reflections. His writing constantly asks what it means to truly see oneself and what parts of ourselves we avoid or deny. The introspective nature of his work is what, to me, makes his work feel emotionally direct. His social commentary is also sharp, vivid, and deeply human. As a result of reading Baldwin’s work, I have begun to think differently regarding many ideas, specifically the purpose of education, itself. He believed education should encourage people to question society rather than simply accept it. He asks readers to confront uncomfortable realities about inequality and belonging.
These questions he asked decades ago still do not have simple answers. Baldwin challenges people to examine themselves critically and recognize their responsibility to others. In the end, everyone understands and interprets his work differently. Still, I encourage you to read his work for yourselves.
This spring, I began a new project: read a full-length work by an author from each nation, or its diaspora. My goal began as a conversation with a close friend about our shared tendency to gravitate towards similar books–time after time reading narratives, themes, and characters with strong resemblances to one another. For me, a background in American Studies often draws me towards American literature, especially the Southern and Black literary traditions. These stories are important. From reading them I came to understand what it meant to be an American in a particular time and place, contextualized by social identities. I challenged myself to take on an international reading list in the hopes of extending my understanding to include more such contexts. As of late May, my reading has taken me to twenty-three countries, introducing me to unfamiliar histories and deepening my understanding of those I’ve previously studied. Most recently, I read Shehan Karunatilaka’s novel The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida. Within a surreal narrative surrounding the titular character’s murder in 1990s Colombo, Karunatilaka weaves a compelling account of the Sri Lankan Civil War and its human cost. I kept a search engine open beside me as I read to look up Sinhala terms, as well as important names and events referenced in the text. For each work I’ve read, I have done so and thus learned more about the culture and lived experiences of communities around the world in specific historic contexts. While I am by no means an expert, every text offers opportunities for expansion and reflection. With each novel I am reminded of the power of storytelling, particularly for marginalized communities to self-define and to combat erasure, to ensure that stories are told for generations to come. Reading in a global context is allowing me to draw throughlines between human experience across time and place, particularly by making meaningful selections. Imperialism and conquest, for example, appear as themes across continents: in Dominican-American Julia Alvarez’s In the Time of the Butterflies, Palestinian Mourid Barghouti’s I Saw Ramallah, and Zimbabwean Tsitsi Dangarembga’s Nervous Conditions. I am reminded by each work that what we choose to read- and thus, what we choose to learn- is never neutral or apolitical.
Table Talk is an initiative led by Marcus Lopez ‘26 in partnership with the Office of Multicultural Affairs (OMA) to help connect students and faculty under more casual circumstances, complete with catered lunch, desserts, and a Harkness table. What began as a small effort to create informal conversation quickly grew into something much larger. Attendance steadily increased throughout the term, at times requiring additional chairs as the space filled beyond capacity. Each session followed a familiar rhythm. As a facilitator, Lopez would begin by introducing himself and reviewing the norms of Table Talk, encouraging students to stay present, keep their phones away, and engage respectfully. Students would then introduce themselves in a round-robin before opening the floor to conversation. Questions often began with more formal topics such as backgrounds, careers, and life experiences, but gradually shifted into more relaxed, lighthearted exchanges as students and faculty grew comfortable with one another. Over the course of the spring term, Table Talk hosted a wide range of faculty members, including Mr. Jason Baseden, Dean Ashley Taylor, Mr. Jeff Wong, Principal Bill Rawson, and Dr. Szu-Hui Lee. Each guest brought a unique perspective, offering insights into both their personal journeys and professional lives. Students not only learned about their work on campus but also about formative experiences, challenges, and unexpected personal interests. What initially drew some students to the sessions (the appeal of catered meals), quickly became secondary to the value of the conversations themselves. Many attendees returned week after week, viewing Table Talk as a meaningful way to connect with members of the community they might not otherwise encounter. Many students left each session with memorable takeaways. Kyle Kennedy ’26 reflected on Mr. Baseden’s visit, sharing, “We were able to learn more about Mr. Baseden’s personal life, his story and how he got to Exeter. I was glad he was able to get the space to share the struggles and experiences he went through.” Alex Trotman ’26, reflecting on Dean Taylor, noted a more lighthearted detail: “I learned that Dean Taylor likes all genres of music, and her favorite rapper is 50 Cent.” Other students connected with more personal themes. Abi Sagna ’26 appreciated Principal Rawson’s reflections on his own Exeter experience, particularly when he spoke about his soccer team as a safe and meaningful space. “One thing that he left with me,” she shared, “is that you never know where opportunities could come from and be open to change.” Rick Osei-Addae ’28, reflecting on Dr. Lee, noted her emphasis on both family expectations and her passion for working with teenagers. These moments of insight, ranging from deeply personal to unexpectedly humorous, illustrate the strength of Table Talk as a space where authentic connections can form. What began as an effort to bring students and faculty together outside the classroom evolved into a widely embraced community initiative. As Lopez reflected, “At first, I just wanted to create a space where students and faculty could talk outside of class, but once it became a CVP and so many people got involved, it felt like it turned into something much bigger.” As the initiative continues to gain momentum, Table Talk has become a central part of student life, fostering conversations that might not otherwise happen and encouraging openness across different parts of the community. Its success highlights the importance of creating spaces where stories can be shared, connections can be formed, and voices can be heard. The strong student interest suggests that Table Talk will continue to bridge communities on campus for a very long time.
The Office of Multicultural Affairs (OMA) supports 29 student organizations, a combination of cultural clubs and affinity groups. Both serve a critical role in supporting students and cultivating community. They’re both run by students with the guidance of faculty advisors. Recognizing the labor of love that comes with community-building in a club that revolves around identity development and celebration, OMA offers a Leadership Summit in partnership with the Student Activities Office to support student leaders. Together, the offices bring student leaders (co-chairs) together to network and offer best practices for running cultural clubs and affinity groups at Phillips Exeter Academy (PEA). It’s also a time for them to share tried and true methods that lead to greater engagement and connection. Along those lines, we encourage students to lead with several concepts in mind that we refer to as “Club Concepts for Co-Chairs.” They are as follows: Constant Communication, Community Building, Cultivating Consciousness, Collaboration, Cultural Celebration, Connection to Campus Resources, Career Awareness, and Community Service. I derived these concepts from careful observation about how our clubs have been operating along with what I've recognized over the years as being critical to what allows them to serve their members broadly and effectively. The accompanying infographic offers brief definitions for each concept. As you can see, they all start with the letter "c." C what I did there?! Through Leadership Summit, these concepts are reinforced with the hope that they'll be universally adopted. It's important to note that all of the clubs naturally incorporate concepts like community building and constant communication, as they are foundational to the operation of every club--even outside of OMA. The way the student organizations carry those out, however, often varies. One group for instance may prioritize playing team-oriented games during meetings and sending invitations mostly through group chats and emails while another might choose to open every meeting with an opportunity for members to share something about themselves and communicate more regularly through social media: different activities and approaches, but with the same objective of community building and constant communication. Earlier in the newsletter, Dani Mendez '27 writes about a Women's Leadership Panel. That kind of event cultivates consciousness. It also was a collaboration between OMA and the Feminist Union, spearheaded by Dean Hernandez and supported by students. In this section of the newsletter, the work of a couple of other clubs is highlighted along these lines. The submission from LA Alianza Latina (LAL) exemplifies how a leader's consciousness about her ethnicity was cultivated while the piece from Black Students of Excellence (BSE) emphasizes community building and collaboration (since the event brought together students from different black-student organizations).
Watching our students enact these ideas gives me great satisfaction. They have such great energy, and we’re fortunate to have several adults in the community who help them carry out their vision.
“Latino” is an incredibly broad label. It covers more than twenty countries across Latin America and the Caribbean, multiple racial identities, dozens of dialects and accents, and vastly different political, cultural, and economic histories. Before coming here, I didn’t fully understand how much diversity existed within a label that is so often treated as a monolith. Phillips Exeter Academy (PEA) introduced me to people directly from countries across Latin America that I had not met before through La Alianza Latina (LAL). I met students from places like Colombia, Venezuela, the Dominican Republic, Mexico, Brazil, and Peru, all with different accents, traditions, histories, and relationships to their Latino identity. Even when we mostly spoke the same language, our experiences and perspectives could be completely different. For example, some friends had immigrated to the United States recently, while others, like me, grew up here. Some felt deeply connected to their family's country of origin, while others felt caught between multiple cultures and identities. This realization did not occur all at once. It developed through the connections and friendships I cultivated.
Of course, I knew this diversity existed, but it felt different actually knowing people with experiences so different from my own. Even though I grew up in a majority Latino community, there was still so much I had not been exposed to since most of the Latinos around me shared my Puerto Rican background. Through becoming close friends with people whose experiences differed from mine, my understanding of Latinidad became much wider. To me, Latinidad is the shared, yet diverse, experience of people connected to Latin America and the Caribbean. It is not a single identity but a collection of cultures, histories, languages, and perspectives that overlap.
A lot of that learning happened naturally in LAL. Some of my closest friendships at PEA came from sitting around after meetings talking for hours. Some conversations were small, but others were much deeper, involving immigration, politics, race, family expectations, and what it meant to leave one country and adapt to another. Those conversations made me realize how often Latinidad gets flattened into one generalized experience when it actually contains so many different histories and identities. Being co-head of La Alianza Latina has made me appreciate that complexity more deeply. Through those conversations and connections, I began to understand my own identity in a much wider context.
The air is thick with the sweet smell of Ting and Jamaican soda wafting from the glass bottles in everyone’s hands, perfectly complementing the heavenly aroma of the flaky golden beef patties in aluminum pans on the table. “Before I Let Go” blasts from the speakers as the gleaming sun dances on the radiant honey, bronze, and mahogany melanin of the bunch. Bodies swing, shoulders bounce, feet shuffle, and hands clap to the rhythm of the music that we feel in our soul. A few yards over, a red rubber ball flies through the air as the cheers and screams of a chaotic kickball game add their own rhythm to the party. The atmosphere is marked with pure joy, every brown face accentuated by laughter and bright white smiles. While we didn’t exactly take over a street block, being out by the fields in the hot sun reminded me of back home; it took me back to 90 degree days in New York, where kids sprinted through water bursting out of fire hydrants, bouncy houses lined the pavement, and burgers, hot dogs, and chicken sizzled on a dozen grills with music so loud you could hear it for miles. Police cars blocked both ends of a long street so people could move around freely, bringing out everyone from all over the ‘hood.’ Kids and adults swung long ropes, double-dutching to the beat of their rhymes, while others shot a basketball on the looming net by the curb of the sidewalk. These fields held a similar spirit, alive with community and Black joy. What I loved about going to block parties back home was that people never needed a reason to party. It could’ve been a birthday celebration, a holiday, or just a party for the sake of having one. The BSE Block Party was exactly that: a beautiful display of culture and community for the purpose of celebrating each other. As a four-year senior, I’ve grown an appreciation for these moments of unfiltered connection. While I write, I find myself reflecting on how easy it is to get caught up in the Exeter routine; wake up early, spend all day in class, play a sport, go to a club, do your homework, go to bed late, and repeat. So much of my energy throughout my time here was focused on that routine, my responsibilities, and my next commitment, yet spaces like BSE or YBS, and events like the Block Party forced me to take a pause, one I didn’t recognize I needed. It reminded me that one of the most fundamental parts of Exeter wasn’t just being able to say I got an A in a class, but also the valuable time spent with the people around me. As I think back on the day of the Block Party, I’m flooded with so many emotions. I think about the fun and laughter, the joy within the Black community that we were able to come together and celebrate, but I also think about the family I created and chose to be a part of – each and every one of the people who shaped my journey from my days as a prep to who I am today.