WORD! OMA Fall 2025 Newsletter

By Dean Sherry Hernandez, Dean of Multicultural Affairs

New beginnings are a wonderful way to start anew – set new intentions, goals and ways of thinking.  This fall, I return for my sixth year in The Office of Multicultural Affairs after an 11-week sabbatical where I was privileged to visit my birthplace, The Philippines after being away for thirty-four years.  Thank you, Dean Camilus for steadying the ship while I was away!  Sabbaticals are an incredible benefit that faculty are afforded as a way to reinvigorate and recharge to come back to Exeter feeling fresh and bring new ideas.    One of the fresh ideas I enacted was bringing the OMA Team to Star Island at the Isles of Shoals, 10 miles away from the NH coast for our half-day retreat during Faculty Week.  We took a short boat ride to the summer retreat island for many groups that come each year. While together on the island, the OMA Team reflected on our past years, as well as onboard the newest member of the team, OMA Intern Lauryn Burdine. She is a recent graduate from Yale, well-versed in the experiences of first-generation college students and navigating spaces like Exeter.  Surrounded by only the Atlantic ocean, the sound of the waves, the seagulls singing, it was the perfect backdrop to imagine new and creative approaches in how we support our students and each other. This year’s first OMA event for the whole school was our OMA Mixer. We’ve taken the lessons we’ve learned over the years in our delivery of this year's event. While we have enjoyed having it at the Field House in the Wrestling Room, we decided to try something new this year by bringing our event to a more central location.  We launched the event at OMA in the Academic Quad with Principal Rawson welcoming members of the community and underscoring the value of creating community to create a sense of belonging.  The OMA Team, along with our student proctors introduced themselves, then we broke out into smaller affinity groups and dispersed into different rooms in our student center within the Elizabeth Phillips Academy Center (EPAC).  It was a great way to introduce Club Room B (affinity space for Black/Latine students), Club Room A (affinity space for Asian/Pacific Islander students) and the GSA Room (an open space for all, celebrating our LGBTQ students).  That event gave way to many others that have become a fixture in our community during my tenure. Each fall, we celebrate Hispanic/Latiné Heritage Month and partner with the Principal’s Office. La Alianza Latina members and Latine faculty were once again welcomed to Principal’s Rawson’s home on Sept. 30th for delicious chimichangas from Jalisco’s Family Restaurant in Kingston, NH. The Principal’s Dinner was a wonderful segway into our Dia de Los Muertos Festival on October 25th which was carefully and thoughtful planned and executed by members of La Alianza Latina, Students of Caribbean Ancestry, Afro-Latinx Exonian Society and OMA Proctors. Student Activities hired our favorite salsa band, Grupo Gozarsa, the sound team, New England Mobile Audio and secured us the best room on campus for a large festival, Grainger in Phelps Science Center. While the Academy Building is under construction, spaces on campus have been very limited and Ms. McGahie did a phenomenal job working with Ms. Lovett who oversees the temporary testing facility in Grainger and allowed for us to use the space that fits our catering and dance floor needs. In October, we celebrate both LGBTQ+ History Month and Filipino American History Month. We brought back a PEA favorite – Queeraoke and Trivia led by Interim LGBTQ+ Coordinator Mx. Elle.  Ms. Tinsley helped coordinate behind-the-scenes details for this well-attended event in Phelps Commons in EPAC.  The unbridled singing, dancing and spending quality time with friends on this Friday night was a wonderful way to start the weekend.  In addition, I hosted another Filipino dinner in combination with my mom and sister, and this time, we centered the event on a traditional Filipino dessert called Halo-Halo which translates to mix-mix.  We served pancit, egg rolls, lumpia and Mr. and Mrs. Mamolo brought ube pan de sal - so good!  Co-Heads of International Culture Club and their adviser Mrs. Smith, who also serves as our International Students Coordinator, hosted an event in mid-October that celebrated Indigenous Peoples’ Day by inviting Holden Sage-Murillo '27 to do a cooking demonstration of how to make fry bread, a recipe from his Navajo tribe.  Mrs. Smith and her family joined the event and celebrated the occasion with many students. This was, yet, another event that was open to the whole community.  A couple of weeks later, Ms. Tinsley, our Asian Students Coordinator, brought her mom here to lead a Korean Cooking Demo event with nearly 60 attendees at Phillips Church Basement.  Her mom taught students how to make tteokbokki and sangchu ssam.  She got ingredients for this event from a school-sponsored trip to H-Mart days earlier.    We are so lucky to be able to offer opportunities for students to find cultural snacks and experiences outside of campus.  Mrs. Smith and Ms. Dickinson, once again, brought a bus full of students on the Sunday of Family Weekend for students, many of whom are from abroad, whose parents were unable to come to campus for Family Weekend. Mrs. Smith treated students to lunch at Faneuil Hall, a historical and celebrated food hall in Boston.   As the term came to a close, our office observed Transgender Awareness Week, culminating the week with the Transgender Day of Remembrance Vigil in late November. In partnership with Rev. Casey at Phillips Church, the Gender and Sexuality Alliance (GSA) co-heads planned an event with Mx. Elle that gave space and reflection for the many transgender lives lost to violence.  While it was the last day of finals and the eve of the last day of the term, we had great representation from our senior leadership team. Their attendance meant so much to our students. Through tradition and innovation, OMA continues to be anchored by the cyclical heritage months while reimagining new ways to create meaningful connections with ourselves and the variety of identities we carry and each other. I continue to be grateful for the many teams that support OMA and the many partnerships we have on campus. Without them, we wouldn’t be able to support our students in such meaningful ways. Know that I am deeply grateful for your continued support.

Warmest regards, Dean Hernandez

By Collin Moore '26, OMA Proctor

A new initiative at the Academy provides students with the opportunity to form bonds with faculty on campus. Started by senior Marcus Lopez, Table Talk is a weekly event that invites an adult from the Exeter community to converse with students at the Harkness Table in a non-academic setting. At the table, students are able to learn more about their instructors through lighthearted, yet meaningful, discussions about whatever emerges as a topic of interest. Health and Human Services Instructor, Ms. Courtney Shaw, was the first faculty member featured at a Table Talk discussion and she used the meeting to share her journey from Memphis, Tennessee to Exeter, New Hampshire. Other faculty who participated in a Table Talk were Mr. Sean Campbell (Computer Science) Ms. Nova Seals (English), and Jack Gronau (History). Lopez, who initiated Table Talk, offer the reason he launched this needed initiative: “I was inspired to start Table Talk because I wanted to create a space where students and teachers could have conversations beyond the classroom. Most of the time we don’t get to connect with teachers or other students about things outside of class, whether it’s current events, culture, or personal experiences. He continued, "I wanted to change that and build a sense of community through honest dialogue between faculty and students.” Table Talk is open to all in the community, and is broadly advertised. The Office of Multicultural Affairs has sponsored the event by booking a room for the conversations and providing attendees with pizza each week. Lopez hopes that students come to a discussion with an open mind and emphasizes the value everyone brings to the table when they are ready to listen and share with others. During a recent Table Talk, Lopez noted a moment that captured the essence of his idea when a student and Dr. Gronau connected over a shared appreciation for women's basketball. In the absence of this opportunity, the two may have never recognized this commonality.

The success of Table Talk has led to its expansion. During winter term, many more faculty members are being invited to participate in a Table Talk during the Core Values period. Additional students have emerged to serve as facilitators so that many more of these conversations can occur in different rooms, simultaneously. Beyond getting to know Academy instructors on a personal level, a byproduct of this initiative may result in more students feeling comfortable asking Instructors for help because they are no longer intimidated by the idea of conversing with them one-on-one. Another aspect of Table Talk worth noting is how it has been supported behind the scenes. Dean of Multicultural Affairs, Ms. Sherry Hernandez, has played an integral role in formalizing this program while Associate Dean of Multicultural Affairs, Hadley Camilus has provided Lopez with guidance and encouragement along the way. Table Talk is a shining example of how OMA supports leadership development and community connections.

By Anushka Noori '26, OMA Proctor

If someone were to ask you (an Exonian), “What is one piece of guidance you wished you had received before coming to Exeter?” what would you say? Would you tell them to wave to the cars while crossing the street, for safety and the sake of tradition? Would you explain how to navigate Harkness as a new Upper? Would you recommend the best restaurants in town to ease homesickness, or warn them that DoorDash often delivers to the wrong dorm? Or, perhaps you would caution new students to not walk beneath the arches and tell them about Exeter’s superstition? Personally, I might suggest day students keep a spare pair of socks in their lockers, especially during rainy months. Having stepped in one too many puddles on the paths to class, I’ve learned that dry socks are not to be taken for granted. More broadly, I would urge new students to share their struggles. While it can sometimes be difficult to ask peers, mentors, or teachers for help, seeking support is a universal milestone. Yet seeking support doesn’t always look the same. For some, it might mean conversations with proctors or dorm faculty at check-in, or conversations after class with your teacher. For others, the smaller challenges that often go unspoken can be the hardest to navigate. Your experiences are uniquely your own: however, the lived experiences of others who share parts of your identity or background may offer practical tips and solutions for academic, social, and personal challenges. To help bridge this gap and to create more opportunities for mentorship and connection, I am launching OMAdvice as my proctor project: a collection of stories and guidance from past and current upperclassmen for future Exonians. By reaching out to upperclassmen to share their advice, OMAdvice will become a resource for all students—especially new students and underclassmen—as they navigate their PEA journey. It's also a way for alumni to preserve their memories and legacy at the Academy. Ultimately, I hope that OMAdvice will become a published anthology of Exonians’ experiences, available across campus for all students to learn from. To my fellow Exonians who are reading this article, if this sounds interesting to you, please reach out to me to share what advice you would offer to a new student.

By Mr. Hadley Stena Camilus, Associate Dean of Multicultural Affairs

(The following is an excerpt from a chapter in my personal memoir that I've been working on for the past year. Since this is just an excerpt, important context is not noted here. Buy the book one day to get the missing parts!)

On a late August evening when I was seven years old, Dad summoned me to join him on the front porch of our second-floor apartment to discuss something. The weather was balmy, and the street was uncharacteristically quiet, as if he had signaled the neighbors on our portion of the block to unplug and simmer down for a bit so we could talk. It's an exchange I'll never forget. Dad wanted to discuss my future, more like stoke my ambition and cement his expectations of me. The weekend prior, Mom, Dad, Reggie, and I had taken a trip from Boston to New York City to attend a wedding. During the drive there, the matter of future aspirations came up. Reggie interjected first. “I wanna be a doctor when I grow up,” he announced. That was news to me. Have at it, I thought. It was my turn to chime in. Without missing a beat, I declared, “I wanna be a cab driver.” And I meant it. This wasn’t a case of a petulant kid responding dismissively. I genuinely thought it would be cool to drive a cab for a living. I had no clue that it would set Dad off the way it did. His son? A cab driver? That’s not why he immigrated to this country. Dad wasn't feeling my response one bit. I learned that when he called me onto the porch for an early intervention when we returned home from the trip a few days later. “So, tell me again—what you wanna be when you grow up?” he asked. I was confused. Just two days earlier, I’d answered this question. “A cab driver. I wanna be a cab driver.” I could see that he didn’t like my answer. “No,” he shot back. “You will be doctor or lawyer,” his thick Haitian accent accentuating each syllable. Dok-teh or Law-yeh. Funny guy. I had no interest in either profession. Carefully, I persisted. “But I wanna be a cab driver.” He was dashing my dreams. Why? “Okay. No school for you no more,” he blasted. That was a low blow. Dad knew where to hit me. He knew I liked school. Confused and growing increasingly sad, I protested while a heavy lump formed in my throat, “Why?” He continued, “Cab driver don’t need school. If that what you want to be, no school for you,” he huffed. That’s when the tears started flowing. No school meant no more recess. It meant I couldn’t Hulk up on the other kids like my idol, Hulk Hogan. It meant, no more school bus rides. I wasn’t expecting any of this. It wasn’t fair. Through a stream of tears, I promised that I would go to college one day to become a doctor or lawyer, just like he wanted. Mission accomplished. He was satisfied. Now I was back to the regularly, and strictly defined, program. The only problem with that was, I didn’t know anyone with a Bachelor's, Law, or Medical degree, nor could Mom or Dad offer much direction about how to attain this pursuit beyond getting good grades. Was that it? Get straight A’s and hope that a college notices? Where would I go to college? What could I study? Was I smart enough? So many questions, and no straightforward answers. The expectation Dad set forth was clear, but everything else was blurry. It was as if he had dropped me off in the middle of a forest and demanded that I find my way out. Step by step, I figured out how to get there as the clues slowly filtered into my life. I had no idea that the fascination that started with basketball when I was nine years old would bear the fruit that it did. Unknowingly, the NBA was going to provide me with some direction. I began watching the NBA towards the end of the 1989-90 season but my fanhood blossomed the following year. Beginning in the fall of 1990, I watched every Celtics telecast from the pre-game show through the post-game analysis. But I was most drawn to the player introductions that preceded tip-offs.

I can still hear the monotonous voice of Andy Jick, the team’s Public Address Announcer, delivering the starting line-ups at the game's outset. First, he'd cite the visiting team's starters, then transition to the home team: “And now, introducing the Boston Celtics... Starting at guard, from the University of California at Santa Barbara, 6'6, number 20, Brian Shaw. The other guard is from Northeastern, 6 foot 7, number 35, Reggie Lewis. At small forward, from Iowa State, 6 foot 5, number 34, Kevin Gamble. The center is from Centenary, 7 foot, one half inch, number double zero, Robert Parish. The other forward is from Indiana State, 6 foot 9, number 33, Larry Bird!” Lots of colleges, and that was just the five players who started games for the Celtics. By the end of that first season of watching, I reasoned that my love for basketball could someday lead me to a college campus.

By Mrs. Jennifer Smith, International Students Coordinator

I’m realizing that my books have become like my ChapSticks: I have a book for my car, one for my purse, one for upstairs, and one for downstairs. I never know when I might find a pocket of unexpected free time. Even if I only read 10 minutes a day, that adds up to just over 60 hours in a year. (Never underestimate small habits!) As I look back on the books I’ve read this past year, I see that I’ve read all genres. Many of the books on my list are pure entertainment and escape, but sometimes you get lucky and pick up a book that changes your life in some way. As I pull up my Goodreads app and look back at the year of reading to date, “The Lion Women of Tehran” by Marjan Kamali is where I got lucky, as it’s truly a remarkable, life-changing book for me. This story spans the political climate of Tehran from the 1950’s to the 1980’s. “Lion Women” is a coming-of-age story about girlhood at a tumultuous time. It explores female friendship of two young girls: Ellie and Homa, whose lives are irrevocably shaped by their early connection, and the lasting effects of betrayal. This novel navigates the time of extreme political turmoil and upheaval in Tehran, as well as the fight for women’s rights. The story delves into the experience of emigrating to the United States, and how to simultaneously leave one’s culture behind, but also bring it with you. This book is culturally rich, taking its reader into the Grand Bazaar of Tehran, (a visceral and immersive reading experience,) and describing Persian foods that though I’ve never had, found myself salivating for. Kamali adeptly tackles extreme disparities in class, without the topic feeling gratuitous. I fell in love with the characters. Though flawed, I admired Ellie’s commitment to helping Homa’s daughter find a better future. I loved Homa’s spunk, loyalty, love of family, and determination to find a better future. I also admired her grit to fight for what she felt was right, even when it came at a great personal cost. “The Lion Women of Tehran” will stay with me forever. I always find myself reflective in the month of November, and it’s a month synonymous for me with gratitude. It has been another wonderful year of reading. I am thankful for the stories that have found me, the lessons learned, and the gifts found within the pages.

By Lauryn Burdine, Administrative Intern of Multicultural Affairs

I encounter this question often. Several folks have asked why I didn’t do “more” with an Ivy League degree than work in education, a sentiment which unfailingly reminds me that financial gain is equated with success under capitalism. Pursuing material success seems central to the “good life,” the most meaningful use of knowledge and energy. Soul work, the work of activists, creators, and educators, reads as “less” through this lens. When I first described my upcoming position at the Academy to a relative of my partner, she suggested I prioritize job security and transition to a line of work that was “not Democrat or Republican.” Her statement captured the immediate political party association triggered by mentions of diversity, equality, and/or inclusion. In her understanding, a particular public reaction to social values being weaponized and reduced to media buzzwords overshadows an office’s core purpose: to support the needs of a diverse student body, especially those whose needs have been historically ignored by institutions. As someone with an academic background in American politics and communities- and frankly, a member of the American public- I understand how and why our work is politicized in the way that it is. My knowledge does not lessen my disappointment. I would like to see equity and ensuring belonging embraced as universal social standards, but they are not. The work exists because they are not, and I do the work because they are not.  In 2025, my friends and family wonder how a high school “Office of Multicultural Affairs” survives, let alone keeps six faculty on payroll. So many similar spaces have not.  In less resourced schools, they never existed. It is easier to do our work here, backed by financial, institutional, and social support. Many others do not have this privilege. A great deal of the work surrounding representation, justice, diversity, equity, and inclusion takes place on streets and in courtrooms. The work we do is in conjunction with theirs.    I say “the work,” though it’s vague, because it doesn’t end at 5pm, when I shut the lights off in OMA. It cannot. The stakes are so high and our- my- personal convictions to it so strong. For example, my own overlapping identities- including queer, first-generation, low-income, Appalachian- are a large part of what drew me to work in OMA. I inhabit those identities outside of working hours. My experiences living them reiterate to me daily why I am here, as well as the lived experiences of my friends and community members living across marginalized identities, whether by race, class, gender, sexuality, citizenship status, sexual and romantic orientation, ability, or any number of intersecting identities declared less than by power structures and a hierarchized social world.   It is not work, meaning job, but work meaning the labor of advocacy, learning, community-building, and caring for those in our communities. It is a lifelong labor and can be taken up across discipline, age, geography. I do this work in the hopes that it makes a small contribution to the world I hope to see built, one centered in empathy, equity, and justice. It began long before the Academy- after all, this is my first term at Phillips Exeter; it will continue after, regardless of formal title. It is work that I do out of hope for me and for you and our linked fates. 

By Arisa Yoshino '28, OMA Proctor

Every Saturday since preschool, from 9am to 3pm, I attended Japanese school in DC. It was not just a casual language class, but a full immersion in Japanese education. From reading and writing, math, to even history, my classmates and I learned everything in Japanese. The building, a local Catholic school rented out for the day, looked nothing like a school in Japan, but by mid-morning, the halls were filled with the sound of children greeting each other in Japanese. During lunch, we would unwrap our bento lunches carefully prepared by our parents, and trade our seaweed and treats while chatting about kanji quizzes or the next undokai (field day). I often complained about having to spend my weekends studying, but those Saturdays gave me something irreplaceable: a space where my identity as a Japanese American felt real. When I was accepted to Phillips Exeter Academy (PEA), I knew I would have to stop attending Japanese-school. Even the Boston Japanese school was too far, and I knew my weekends would be swallowed by homework and activities. But more importantly, PEA gave me an opportunity to reinvent myself. I imagined I would finally be confident and effortlessly social, meet people from everywhere, join a ton of cubs, and excel in my classes. Quitting Japanese school felt like a small sacrifice for an abundance of opportunity. What I did not realize was that in changing myself, I threatened to lose parts of myself as well. That summer, before moving in, I had made one decision to hold onto that part of myself. I signed up for Japanese 500. I did not know who else would be in the class, or what it would be like, but I knew I could not let go of the language that had shaped my entire childhood. On the first day of classes, I walked into a tiny classroom on the fourth floor of Phillips Hall with three other students: a quarter-Japanese senior, a Japanese prep, and another prep who was Korean but had grown up in Japan. Some people I met questioned my choice. “Why take Japanese? Don’t you already speak it?” they’d ask, genuinely confused. But Japanese, for me, is not just about speaking. It links me to my grandparents, to my summers in Japan, and the stories my parents tell me at night. It is central to who I am. Our teacher, Mr. Easthope, was an American man with a warm smile and a thick accent. He was an interim teacher, only here for a year. Initially we were all nervous, as even he was new to PEA. But as the weeks went on, I realized how deeply he understood the language. His vocabulary was sharper than mine, his grammar was flawless, and he taught us to think about Japanese, not just as a means of communication, but as a way of seeing the world, and how a single word could carry layers of formality, emotion, and history. In that tiny class, we built our own community. We shared stories about our connections to Japan. We laughed at our mistakes, and we celebrated learning elementary level kanji. Those small moments made the classroom feel like a piece of home. By spring term, our class had become one of the few constants in my busy first year. Knowing that Mr. Easthope would leave, and that we had reached the maximum level of Japanese available, was bittersweet. It was such a gift to have the opportunity to meet him and connect with my classmates who I otherwise may have never crossed paths with at the Academy. The Japanese class reminded me that I did not have to choose between growing into a new version of myself and holding onto my roots. It helped me see that my culture is never fully established, and grows with me everywhere I go.

By Avery Im '26, OMA Proctor

I am from the suburbs of Irvine, California, where every three houses look the same, every child attends the same SAT cram schools, and 80% of the town’s population identifies as either Asian or White. The same demographic translates to the high school I attended in my nineth grade year, with all my friends being Chinese, Korean, or Japanese. We achieved the same test scores and studied at the same cafés. The greatest variety of thought was in our future career paths, where (not surprisingly) my friends and I dreamt of becoming a lawyer, a doctor, or a musician. People appreciated this sameness. To disagree had the same outcome as social exile; the unspoken truth that harmony in thought was valued more greatly than honesty. This sentiment differed greatly from my upbringing, in which I had attended international school in Seoul, South Korea. I built sandcastles with friends from India, Brazil, and Turkey. Afterwards, we’d devour our lunch using chopsticks, forks, and our hands. We debated which language was hardest to learn and whose father made the best dumpling/empanada/ravioli/gyoza. It was in this cafeteria of calico consonance where I learned that there are 100 different ways to solve the same problem. And so, I sought the same celebration of difference when I arrived at Phillips Exeter Academy (PEA) as a new lower to pursue more diversity of thought. Rather than scold me for conflicting opinions, my teachers encouraged disagreements during Harkness discussions, where my peers scribbled down each new insight to supplement their own understanding of class materials. Outside the classroom, although I’d originally chosen PEA to celebrate diversity of thought, I now aimed to actively foster a gratitude for difference beyond borders. By heading several cultural clubs, my co-heads and I nurtured intercultural collaborations with other affinity groups on campus with events like the Hot Wings Challenge, Spooky Stories, Ramen Nights, and Night Market that invited students to engage in a breadth of diverse perspectives, histories, flavors, and identities. Having attended two educational institutions situated at the opposite ends of the spectrum of diversity, I’ve learned how delicious life becomes when you stir in different spices and flavors rather than sticking to what seems safe. At PEA, I speak Korean to my classmate while simultaneously studying for an upcoming Spanish exam. I fill my plate with jollof rice and beef fajitas in the dining hall. The people I meet every day constantly challenge the assumptions I hold. A debate about climate economics with a lower from Ethiopia, a conversation on government censorship with a club member from China, or a library discussion on faith with a friend from Minnesota: all of it ameliorates my worldview as I strive to reconstruct a world I once missed.

By Dani Mendez '27, OMA Proctor

As hard as I’ve tried for my first two years at Exeter, I could not make myself a committed Notion user. Notion, for those who don’t know, is an online platform that combines note-taking, assginment tracking, calendars, and several other productivity tools. It’s essentially endlessly customizable. Because it can be used for many things, lots of Exeter students use the app to manage their own busy schedules. For some, it is the perfect way to balance school, extracurriculars, and social life, but it can also be overwhelming and time consuming to set up. 

The organizational flexibility and task management resources the app has makes it very attractive to busy students. I’ve seen my friends and peers use Notion to stay organized, productive, and as a bonus, aesthetic. The “grindset” of Exonians is hard to keep up with, and while there may be pressure to use a specific method to stay organized, I’ve found that everyone has to find what works best for them.    For me, a detailed physical planner has worked best. It's a physical display of how busy the coming days might be, but also a reminder that tasks have been crossed off the to-do list. It’s important to note that for some students, having the time, or even just the personality type, to adapt to an app like Notion feels natural. For others, though, it can feel inaccessible or simply not how their brains work. I decided to write about this because conversations about organization often overlook inclusion. Not everyone enters the academic environment with the same habits, resources, or learning styles. A community that values equity makes room for multiple ways of succeeding, and honors that productivity doesn’t have to look the same for everyone.    I acknowledge that figuring out my productivity style is a learning process that may be subject to change. As I head into the middle of Upper year, I’m prepared to make adjustments as needed. I invite students to consider what works best for them and to lean on school resources for support. Believe it, or not, there are people in this community rooting for you.

By Cristina Ortiz '26, OMA Proctor

Conventional wisdom would say that leading the Architecture Club and La Alianza Latina has nothing in common. One is about drawings and measurements, and the other focuses on culture and community. But being a co-head of both helped me realize they actually share the same purpose: creating spaces, whether physical or social, where people feel welcome, included, and able to participate. In Architecture Club, this became clear during our affordable housing project. The prompt seemed simple until we realized that none of us knew the actual requirements for accessibility. We pulled up New Hampshire ADA (ADA meaning the Americans with Disabilities Act) regulations and local building codes together. It was overwhelming at first. We had to look up what a 1:12 ramp slope meant in real dimensions and learned a legal turning radius for a mobility device that a legal turning radius was usually around 60 inches, allowing someone using a wheelchair to fully rotate in a room or hallway. We checked door width requirements and talked about why lever handles are easier to use than round knobs, and found it was because they can be opened without twisting your wrist, gripping tightly, or even using your hands at all. Every time one of us found a rule, we stopped and imagined what it would mean for someone living in the space. Learning the codes helped us understand who benefits from thoughtful design. Affordability shaped the rest of our design. Because it was an affordable housing project, we researched which materials were durable but not expensive, and how modular layouts, designs composed of repeated, standardized units, could save money by reducing waste. We talked about daylight and ventilation because these reduce long-term energy costs for residents. In other words, affordability and accessibility worked together. It did not make sense to design a building that met the regulations if the people who needed it could not afford to live there. As co-heads, we also work intentionally to make Architecture Club itself accessible. Architecture has historically been a male-dominated field, but our club has a much more even balance. Our co-head advisor is a female architect who makes a point of encouraging girls in the club and making sure we stay engaged and confident in our ideas. We try to make sure all newer and younger members feel confident speaking up by giving them specific roles, asking follow-up questions when they share ideas, and encouraging them to present models they’re proud of. In La Alianza Latina, accessibility and inclusion revolve around the social element of the club rather than projects that are undertaken. As a co-head team, we start meetings with a quick game or simple check-in so everyone feels comfortable contributing. We ask broad questions first so multiple voices are heard before we narrow into a topic. We begin with broad questions so younger members or students who are still building confidence can contribute before we move into deeper discussions. We also rotate leadership during meetings and try to make sure students from different Latin American backgrounds feel represented. In both spaces, the work is the same. Remove barriers, listen to people, and make sure everyone can take part.

By RJ Edmond '26, OMA Proctor

At Phillips Exeter Academy, we are privileged enough to be surrounded by people from all over—different countries, states, backgrounds, and a plethora of experiences. Stepping out into the surrounding community, however, those differences become fewer and fewer—eventually, everyone begins to look the same, racially. Still, there are a few students who stand out against the sea of white. These kids were the target audience of the newest initiative undertaken by the Young Brothers' Society (YBS)-an affinity group for young men who identify as Black and/or Latino that I lead, along with three other students. As co-heads, our goal with the YBS Big Brother Meeting was to build connections between the young Black and Latiné children in Exeter’s town and the Academy’s students, through games, sports, academics, etc. As a young Black man myself, I recognize the importance of having strong role models in your life as you get older, especially ones that look like you. In a place like Exeter, those are hard to come by.

At the Big Brother Meeting, we welcomed six young children (ages 6 to 8 years old) to our club, where we talked to them about their interests, played games like chess and Connect Four, and built Legos. Additionally, each of the older students wrote what we wanted to be when we were older on a nametag. We wanted to have fun, but we also hoped to give the younger kids the opportunity to learn and to strive for a goal, showing them that they, too, can be excellent. We had a successful first meeting, and look forward to many more throughout the rest of the year and years to come.