By Ashton York

Zero Hour Arkansas (ZHA) and Students Advocating for the Environment (SAFE) hosted a film screening and discussion about poultry malpractice in Gearhart Hall on Nov. 13. The discussion featured award-winning journalist Rachell Sanchez-Smith and filmmaker Diana Campos, who showed attendees the trailer for Campos’ upcoming documentary about racial and labor justice for poultry workers in Northwest Arkansas.

Campos’ film is called “The Price of Poultry,” and it will mainly focus on chicken catchers, which are the people who catch birds and transfer them from poultry farms to trucks. Catchers are required to handle the birds in such a way that they are not harmed or stressed in order to reduce the number of chickens that die in the process.

The majority of the workers are undocumented, which prevents them from having many protections, Campos said.

“A lot of them, their wages aren’t protected,” Campos said. “So, if they don’t meet certain quotas, they just are not paid.”

Campos said there are several different ways that local contractors have taken advantage of their workers, such as violating child labor laws and not allowing injured workers to tell hospital staff they were hurt on the job. 

Campos’ father was once a chicken catcher, which inspired her to create a film that aims to expose the harsh and dangerous conditions these workers face. They usually work overnight and have extremely long hours. Her dad once had to work 16 hours straight.

She went on to describe what it was like when her dad was working for poultry contractors in Springdale. She said he would miss birthdays and holidays because he had to work constantly, no matter the time of year. 

Many workers like Campos’ dad do not come forward about unfair work practices because their job is at risk, and it is hard to find other work when they are undocumented, Campos said. She said this also has impacted her documentary production because not many people want to partake in it out of fear of getting fired.

“I’m hoping (the film) will at least make people more aware of (catchers),” Campos said. “There is a lot of conversation about the poultry plants, and there’s been a lot of movement with that, but I think the catchers are still getting the short end of the stick in terms of the entire chicken process. I’m hoping more people are more aware of how chicken gets to their household.”

Zero Hour hosts several similar events, as it is a statewide organization with a university chapter that aims to advocate for nature and society by fostering discussions about climate issues and amplifying underrepresented voices. Likewise, SAFE aims to educate students on environmental issues and encourage people to make choices that are better for the planet.
Both organizations hold many different events at the University of Arkansas, the next of which is a SELF Coalition and Campaign Meeting on Nov. 19 in Gearhart Hall.

The post The Hidden Cost of Poultry in Northwest Arkansas appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Ella Karoline Hendricks

The air is crisp, with temperatures dropping as fast as the leaves. This break from the suffocating heat and humidity is welcome among Fayetteville residents, especially students at the University of Arkansas. Gone is the monotony of heat-mandated athleisure, instead the cool weather allows students to explore their style creatively. It begs the question, what are the upcoming fall fashion trends from those at the heart of our campus? 

Nicholas Skiavo, a junior majoring in philosophy and pre-English education, defines his style as ‘80s and ‘90s midwestern garage vintage, taking heavy influences from Marlboro magazines and fashion icons such as Justin Bieber. 

Skiavo finds inspiration through creating mood boards, focusing on colors and photos that speak to him. Many photos featured in the mood board include Joe Camel (the old Camel cigarette mascot), the style of the cowboys from the Marlboro magazine ads and peace activists from the ‘70s. 

“My favorite fall trend that I have seen is women’s fashion taking a focus on style icons such as Princess Diana and Winona Ryder,” Skiavo said. “Seeing powerful women influence future powerful women’s fashion is such a great ode to the vintage scene.”

Elise Wilkin, a sophomore studying anthropology and classical studies, defines her style as natural. She prioritizes comfort and ease when choosing her outfits, choosing clothes that fit her laidback and approachable appearance.  

“I find most of my inspiration from people around me,” Wilkin said. “I’m mostly off of social media now, and I think social media and high fashion trends are so different from what I see around me every day on campus, so (online trends are) barely even worth keeping up with.” 

Wilkin prioritizes sustainability when shopping, even creating her own clothes. Wilkin knits and crochets, often handcrafting her own sweaters, which are her favorite fall fashion staple. For Wilkin, sustainability is the most important factor when purchasing. She tries to limit her clothes shopping, as she explains most people have all the clothes they need already, and it is important to wear what you have first. 

Skiavo also prioritizes sustainability when shopping, citing it as the most important aspect of purchasing as a consumer. 

“The average American will throw away 1 in 4 pieces of clothing that they have of fast fashion,” Skiavo states. “The amazing thing about vintage fashion is it causes your closet to always rotate. When something does not fit or you are finding new things that you want, you can always trade or sell your closet to acquire the pieces you desire. If the fashion is not sustainable, then the means it took to create it probably was not moral.”

Skiavo’s favorite local shop in Fayetteville is Kick, located at 339 N. West Ave. #103. It has a large curated selection of vintage clothes, which is why it is one of Skiavo’s personal favorites. Wilkin’s favorite local shop is Potter’s House, located at 2703 N. Drake St. 

“I love thrifting because it’s more sustainable, and you can usually find much cooler clothes, and I love that the Potter’s House organizes clothes by size,” Wilkin said. “ It makes it so much faster and easier to find nice clothes that will actually fit.”

Walking on campus, you will see an amalgamation of style and aesthetic, yet, some commonalities arise. Matching sweat sets, with many donning sorority and fraternity letters, are popular in the cold weather. Chunky, neutral sweaters are paired with baggy jeans and sneakers, most often Adidas Sambas. These trends can be seen within both women and men, as the modern trends are leaning more androgynous.  

Maddie Still, a junior communications major, favors comfort and casual when choosing her daily outfits. She often dons sweat sets, leggings and warm athleisure to class. Still finds inspiration on social media apps such as TikTok. 

Still’s favorite fall trend is baggy, oversized jeans with Ugg Ultra Minis. She often shops at local downtown boutiques on the square, and her favorite store is Buckle, where she purchased her favorite pair of baggy dad jeans. 

Pops of color have been trending overall this fall, with many spouting ‘unexpected red’ within their outfits, a trend where you wear a bright red accessory such as a cardigan, hair clip, or shoes (often Mary Janes) in order to spice up an outfit and add some flair. For others, sticking to their favorite color is necessary to their style.

“I love purple,” Still said. “So, if I find anything in purple, I will get it.” 

Overall, warmth and comfort are key to many people’s fall styles. Baggy is trending, with an overall trend toward androgyny in a turn moving into winter.  Sustainability is an important factor to consumers when purchasing, and personal style continues to prevail, with students incorporating trends that fit into their wardrobe.

The post Sweaters, Sweat Sets and Uggs, Oh My: Fall Fashion Trends on Campus appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Anna LeRoux

Attention spans, media content and trends have all developed a parallel structure of becoming increasingly shorter in form. The cycle has produced micro-trends, which are fleeting periods of obsession that last only a month or a season, that result in both waste of product and potential, a phenomenon fueled by fast fashion companies eager to capitalize on short-lived interests.

As Emmy Lee, a freshman apparel merchandising and product development student at the University of Arkansas, said, “Fast fashion is just like social media trends; they come and go so quickly because trends are made to make people happy in the here and now.” 

When we reflect on past decades, we can often associate them with distinct styles: the 1980s punk movement, 1990s streetwear and brightly colored athleisure, and the 2000s Y2K aesthetic. In contrast, the 2010s to present day have been increasingly difficult to characterize, largely due to the rapid succession of trends. Lee said, “The fashion industry is moving toward quantity over quality,” emphasizing how the relentless pace of modern fashion has made it challenging to pinpoint defining looks or cultural moments in the industry. 

This evolution is not just about aesthetics but rather the broader societal changes, which include how we consume media and interact with brands. 

The sheer volume of trends has made it difficult to categorize any one style or fashion experience, therefore transforming the retail landscape. The now fragmented consumer experience with the rise of online shopping has led to the decline of in-person shopping as retailers can no longer keep up and cater to all trends and consumer preferences. 

While this also may be due to people’s increasing appreciation and confidence in individual expression, the age of overnight and quick-emerging viral sensations play a role as well. These shifts have created an environment ripe for impulsive purchasing behaviors and a heightened sense of urgency.

“We’re living in a culture where buying new and more is what keeps you trendy,” Lee said. These anxieties to fit in have created an increase in the sense of FOMO, or fear of missing out. Consumers are driven to constantly seek out how to adopt the newest trend in the quickest and most affordable way to feel connected to modern culture. 

The phenomenon of “dopamine dressing,” where individuals seek out new styles, trends and clothing to receive instant gratification, further fuels this cycle of consumption. As people strive to keep pace with the ever-changing fashion industry, the thrill of consumption and acquisition has become a primary motivator. 

However, if people cannot keep up with the new movements in fashion, the feeling of gratification may fade. This pattern of behavior may be linked to a hedonic adaptation, where repeated exposure to novelty leads to diminished satisfaction over time.

Kadyn Grisso, a freshman social sciences major at the University of Arkansas, noted our generation’s expansive interests play a significant part. 

“Our generation’s fast-paced curiosity fuels fast fashion, driven by a desire to experience everything,” Grisso said. “While the popularity of super-cheap brands raises concerns, it’s also true that evolving trends keep the industry alive.” 

The diversity of interests in fashion now raises questions on how to keep style without sacrificing sustainability and ethics in production. When companies such as Temu undercut the market prices dramatically, it becomes undeniably alluring to customers. However, this allure often blinds consumers to the environmental and ethical implications of their purchases. The human cost of producing such pieces has become a blind spot.

“Before you buy that cute shirt that you’ve seen all over social media, think of how long you would keep that shirt before it’s out of style and you give it away,” Lee said. “Even if it seems like you need it in the long run, you’ll probably be better off without it. Instead, you could find something that will be a staple in your closet for years.” 

In order to avoid fading from relevance, many companies have resorted to unethical practices such as unfair wages, unreasonable hours, and unsafe working conditions. The cost of keeping pace with the consumer interests of this generation has caused a human cost from the workers it often exploits. 

In a generation that has begun to champion social justice and environmental preservation, we have contributed a fair amount to human exploitation and environmental degradation through the fast fashion industry. This paradox creates a disconnection between our values and our purchasing behaviors. 

“Fashion consumers are not all industry professionals, but all industry professionals are also consumers,” said UA teaching assistant professor of Apparel Merchandising Sarah Hixson. “Apparel merchandising and product development students are uniquely positioned to facilitate the change desired by the new generation of consumers, who value transparency, while maintaining the supply chain structures that keep business going. One of the most important things we want our graduates to understand is the impact they are capable of making in the apparel industry.”

As consumers, we have the power to maintain quality over quantity and therefore influence the mass market. “By making conscious choices with our style, we can commit to ethical consumption and reduce overconsumption,” Lee said. “Even if it seems like you need it in the long run, you’ll probably be better off without it.” This requires personal discipline and a collective movement toward supporting brands that prioritize affordable prices, sustainability and ethical labor practices. 

The post Chasing Cheap Frills appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Ella Karoline Hendricks 

Trigger Warning: This book review mentions suicide, drug addiction, and death. 

America has had an infatuation with the Presley family since Elvis hit the music scene in the 1950s, quickly becoming a worldwide sensation. Known as the King of Rock and Roll, Elvis Presley and his music became a household name, an obsession with him and his family never dimming since.  

Published posthumously, Lisa Marie Presley’s memoir offers a unique look into the life of Elvis’ only daughter. The memoir blends transcripts of Lisa Marie’s voice and outlook on her life with sections of her daughter Riley Keough talking about their relationship. In chapters, the voices of Presley and Keough are sectioned and differentiated with fonts.

“From Here to the Great Unknown” was released Oct. 8 and instantly became a New York Times bestseller. The memoir explores themes of motherhood, grief and the circular nature of family dynamics through the lens of America’s princess. 

Born to Elvis and Pricilla Presley, Lisa Marie grew up in the spotlight living at Graceland, the famous Presley home located in Memphis, Tennessee. The memoir begins with an introduction by Keough, where she explains that her mother had been planning on telling her story before her death, and Keough felt it was her duty to see it through. 

The book details early aspects of Lisa Marie’s life, from her childhood at Graceland to the traumatic loss of her father. To many, Elvis was a larger-than-life icon, yet Lisa Marie got to see her father in all of his humanity, with his triumphs and struggles. The language in which she talks about Elvis is similar to how her mother, Priscilla discusses him in her memoir, “Elvis and Me.” Both describe him as a god-like figure, with an enigmatic presence over any room or situation. It speaks to the presence of her father in her life, even after his untimely death. 

“He was a god to me. A chosen human being.” said Lisa Marie on page 5 of “From Here to the Great Unknown.”

Elvis tragically died of complications from drug use and addiction, which impacted the lives of those around him greatly, especially his young daughter. Lisa Marie talks about his funeral and her following tumultuous teenage years, filled with a complicated relationship with her mom, drug use and religion. 

The first five chapters of the book are written heavily in Lisa Marie’s voice, with few interjections from her daughter, offering more insight into her life and how these events affected her. As the book progresses, Keough’s voice becomes more powerful as she reflects on her mother’s life from an adult perspective. 

The book follows Lisa Marie’s life chronologically, discussing her marriages, relationships and children as well as her music career. While on paper everything looked great, she struggled with insecurities and attachment; she seemed to carry a sadness with her that permeated her life. Her daughter wrote she thinks she never really got over her father’s passing, the death of Elvis really impacting the remainder of her life. 

This idea of familial loss speaks to the memoir’s overarching themes of repetitive family dynamics; it is shown throughout the book that Lisa Marie’s relationship with her father mirrored the relationship Elvis had with his mom, Gladys, and how her relationship with her son, Benjamin, mirrored theirs as well.

Keough wrote on Page 159, “Just as Elvis had with his mother, and my mom had with Elvis, my brother and my mother had a kind of ‘I can’t live without you’ relationship. They shared a very deep soul bond.”

Motherhood was deeply important to Lisa Marie, not only with her son but with  her three daughters as well. 

“I was married at twenty, a mother at twenty-one, similar to my own mother,” Lisa Marie said on Page 120. “ I fell in love with being a mom. I realized I had been called to care for something else.” 

“From Here to the Great Unknown”  also shows how Lisa Marie’s life echoed her mom’s, especially as a teenager in her first relationship to an older man. Priscilla was 14 when she first started dating Elvis, and similarly, Lisa Marie got involved with an older man when she was underage. 

“But it was also history repeating itself,” Lisa Marie said on page 91. “My mom was fourteen when she met my dad. I was replaying her life in a weird way.”

This family cycle continued in other aspects of Lisa Marie’s life as she grew up, as she ultimately struggled with addiction as her father did. She began relying on drug use later in life, reflecting on how it can happen to anyone at any time. Keough wrote about how this was a hard time in both of their lives and how hard it was to watch her mother struggle. It only seemed to isolate Lisa Marie more, despite the family’s best efforts to stay close. She ultimately chose to go to rehab and get better.

The final part of the book reflects on Keough’s younger brother Benjamin’s death. Benjamin died by suicide in July 2020, and the memoir greatly discusses how his death affected the family. This section is mainly written by Keough and discusses how deeply his death affected Lisa Marie and herself. Keough emphasized the close relationship her mom and Benjamin had and how deeply the grief set in. 

“When Ben died, I thought it would be a matter of hours until my mother relapsed. But she surprised me and remained completely sober to honor him” Keough wrote, page 248.

Lisa Marie Presley died on Jan. 12, 2023, leaving behind her three daughters. The memoir was completed by Keough as a final goodbye to her mother and a way to make sure her story is heard. It is narrated in a way only a loved one can, with love and affection and loss haunting each word. Heartfelt and raw, “From Here to the Great Unknown” is a lovely tribute to a life well lived from the view of those who matter most: family.

The post Motherhood, Grief and The Circular Nature of Life: A Review of “From Here to the Great Unknown” by Lisa Marie Presley and Riley Keough appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Ashton York

For many of our kin, pets are more than just animals — they are family. Especially after COVID-19 sent the world into isolation about four years ago, many people sought out the company of animals. Although many know the joy of owning a dog or cat, some may not realize how deep that connection actually goes.

A human-animal bond is a mutually beneficial relationship between people and animals in which both the human and the pet benefit mentally, physically and socially. 

Throughout history, animals have been incorporated into religious ceremonies and folklore tales. The human interest and love for animals trace back to around 100,000 years ago, according to The New York Times.

In Fayetteville, there are several opportunities for anyone to bond with animals, even for those who do not own a pet. Places such as the Good Dog Cafe and the Smitten Kitten NWA offer a chance to kick back with a coffee and watch animals play.

The Good Dog Cafe is open Thursday through Sunday and allows people to bring their dogs inside the building as long as they are well-behaved. There is a fenced play area with an obstacle course available for either a one-visit or subscription fee, according to the Experience Fayetteville website.

Tryphina Renz, owner and manager of Good Dog Cafe, said her family started the business nearly six years ago when they bought the property and renovated it themselves.

“My family and I used to spend a lot of time at our local dog park,” Renz said. “It’s terrific for the dogs, but we noticed that we were usually ready to leave before the dogs were just because there’s not anything to drink and there’s not a restroom nearby.”

This experience gave Renz’s family the idea to create something equally for humans as it is for pets. The cafe has a full menu for humans featuring breakfast, lunch, drinks and snacks, and customers are welcomed in even if they do not bring a dog.

The cafe regularly hosts events for specific types of dogs, such as Dog Pawties it has for different sizes and breeds. On Oct. 12, the cafe held a small dog party, where they only allowed small dog breeds and sold food and drinks from a limited menu.

The Smitten Kitten, on the other hand, is catered more toward cat people who wish to spend time with new animals. According to its website, people can pet, cuddle and adopt cats from local rescues and shelters at the cafe.

Smitten Kitten is a nonprofit that is open Wednesday through Sunday with varying times. Entry is $12 per person and allows unlimited time and coffee with entry. 

Justine Lentz, superintendent of Fayetteville Animal Services, said she has noticed an increase in cat adoptions since the pandemic began in 2020. She said she believes it is because of the accessibility of owning a cat.

“With the shortage of housing and landlords having tighter restrictions, (people) usually stay more open to cats than they do with dogs,” Lentz said. “It’s really hard for us to even keep them in here because they can adopt so fast, which is wonderful.”

Lentz said she wishes more people would check out local animal shelters. Fayetteville Animal Services not only offers adoption services but has animal control and veterinary services for animal shelters in Fayetteville.

“Even with our spay/neuter program, seeing people that want to make sure their pet’s health is taken care of even though they may not have the resources to have it done at a private vet, it’s always really good to hear that stuff,” Lentz said.

Human-animal bonds have been proven to reduce stress, anxiety and depression, ease loneliness and improve overall health, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness. 

According to University of California Health, 60% of dog owners meet the recommended weekly amount of exercise. Owning a pet gives one the responsibility needed to add structure to one’s daily routine, providing a sense of stability and purpose.

Chris Tanner, who has 20 years of experience in the Marines, personally knows the importance animals bring to their owners, as his dog Daisy helped him every day when he left the military.

“I had a lot of medical issues, including PTSD, and when I left, I was having probably about 30 to 50 anxiety attacks a day,” Tanner said. “I occasionally still get one, but it’s not to the severity it was, and there’s much fewer of them. I think just the comfort of having her with me was hugely beneficial.”

Even after Daisy passed away a couple years ago, Tanner said his current dog, Kepler, plays a huge role in his day-to-day life. He takes Kepler everywhere with him, whether to the store or on a daily walk. 

“Now that I’m divorced, the house is so quiet,” Tanner said,” but no matter when you come home, no matter what you’re doing, (dogs are) always happy to be there. They’re always happy to see you. They always want to be by you and that’s a big comfort.”

Tanner said Kepler brings the most comfort to his life by making him laugh and being protective. He said it feels like Kepler gives him a better sense of security because he knows he will get alerted if someone is at the door or in the house.

“It’s a feeling of acceptance,” Tanner said. “It’s a feeling that they’re there to protect you. It’s a feeling of loyalty.”

The post Paws and Effect: How Our Bonds With Pets Enrich Our Lives appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Emma Bracken

As the Thanksgiving season approaches, many of us are preparing for a holiday season full of family gatherings and warm meals. We look forward to indulging in our favorite holiday classics and gathering around a feast of comfort foods. For many others in our community, however, the holidays only bring an influx of stress. 

“As is the case in many places across the country and around the world, food insecurity is a prevalent issue here in Northwest Arkansas,” Reverend Joshua Bland of Springdale First Methodist Church said.  “Access to food and the rising costs of both food and living create challenges for families in our community.”

In the Northwest Arkansas area, food insecurity plagues around 89,000 people according to the NWA Food Bank. As our community grows, the numbers of food-insecure residents follow suit. As defined by Feeding America, food insecurity is when people do not have enough to eat and are not sure where their next meal will come from. During the holidays, this problem is only exacerbated as so many of our traditions and connections to family and friends are centered around food. 

Hunter Engel, programs coordinator at NWA Food Bank, explained the urgent need for food banks and pantries to address this growing problem in our area.

“Arkansas is the No. 1 food-insecure state out of all 50 states,” Engel said. “Picture the U of A stadium completely packed with people; that is how many food insecure people we have in NWA.”

As the biggest food bank in the area, NWA Food Bank serves as a hub for food resources and works with over 100 partner agencies including local food pantries. Engel works with other organizations such as Feed Rogers and Feed the 479 to connect with clients and make sure they are able to put food on the table. As a staff of only 48 people, the food bank depends on the service of volunteers to keep the place running. 

“Last year, we had over 18,000 hours of volunteer time, and that equals out to having about nine to 10 more full-time staff members every day,” Engel said. “They help the organization run. We literally couldn’t do it without them.” 

Though food insecurity continues to be a problem in our community every day, it is the work of these organizations and their volunteers that is making a difference daily. For those looking either for food resources or to lend their time to volunteer work, there are so many different places to turn to. 

Even the University of Arkansas runs its own food pantry, which serves both students and staff every day. Full Circle Food Pantry focuses on fighting hunger on campus and is a necessary resource for many students. Full Circle is also a great opportunity for students looking to get involved in the community and lend a hand where it is needed during the coming holiday season. 

“When I first got involved, I was surprised by the number of clients we see on a daily basis,” said Madeline Crisp, the Full Circle Volunteer Coordinator. “After working with clients, I could really see the need for it within our community.”

Crisp explained that those who are not seeking out these resources for themselves may have no idea that they exist and that the demand is high. Therefore it is equally as important to spread awareness about the issue of food insecurity and make it known to people where they can either volunteer or donate. 

“It’s always really gratifying to be able to serve them and volunteer your time if you are able to, either at the NWA food bank or, if you’re a student, volunteer with us,” Crisp said. 

As well as educational institutions, churches and religious organizations are also one of the most vital and productive groups in our community who are fighting food insecurity. Springdale First Methodist Church runs a ministry called Bread of Life, which is both a food pantry and a USDA warehouse and distribution center for Washington County. This means it supplies necessary resources beyond food, such as toiletries and diapers. 

“The needs of our community are always changing,” Bland said. “We need to listen attentively and compassionately to our neighbors to better understand what they are experiencing and what wisdom and insights they bring to solving these issues in our community.”

Bread of Life works tirelessly to provide resources as well as a safe space where people always feel welcome in times of crisis. For Bland, it is in the building of relationships through programs such as this that embody hope and point toward a stronger, healthier community. 

“I have the joy of sharing life with our neighbors,” Bland said. “I know that I am standing with them on holy ground each time they invite me into their story and circumstances.”

Getting involved in the fight against food insecurity in Northwest Arkansas is essential to supporting our growing community, and there are plenty of ways to get involved. If volunteering doesn’t fit into your schedule, all of these pantries and even the warehouse at NWA Food Bank accept food donations. As we enter the season of giving, it is important to remember the privilege of knowing where our next meal is coming from as well as finding ways to make sure our neighbors can have the same. 

For most of these pantries, you can just show up to offer your donation or service. NWA Food Bank has no qualifications for volunteers besides an age requirement of 13 and up. Bread of Life is open for volunteer service from Tuesday through Thursday each week. As a campus organization, Full Circle does require applications each semester for volunteer staff. Applications to be a volunteer next semester through Full Circle open in November and can be found here through the VAC volunteer actions page.

The post Fighting Food Insecurity in Northwest Arkansas appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Anna LeRoux

Greek life has been intricately involved with college culture for over a century, providing valuable social connections and leadership opportunities. Yet, as students eagerly flock to join sororities and fraternities, there exists a less-discussed reality: the mental health challenges that often accompany this transition. The need for resilience is essential, particularly for those navigating the pressures of fitting in while upholding academic performance.

The roots of Greek life at the University of Arkansas date back to 1890 with the establishment of the Xi Alpha chapter of Kappa Sigma, marking the beginning of a long-standing tradition. In 1895, Chi Omega was formed, eventually becoming the largest women’s Greek organization in the world. The establishment of the Interfraternity Council (IFC) in 1909 provided a forum for fraternities to discuss their challenges. By 1992, the university established its charter for the National Pan-Hellenic Council, reinforcing the framework of Greek organizations on campus.

Today, approximately 31% of students at the University of Arkansas are members of Greek-lettered organizations according to the campus’s official website. While these communities foster a sense of belonging, they can also come with considerable pressures that affect mental health.

Transitioning into Greek life can be overwhelming. Bid day, the time when students receive their offer from the different sororities and fraternities, often creates both heightened excitement and anxiety. The expectation to fit into a specific mold, engage in social activities and maintain academic performance can lead to stress and feelings of inadequacy. Lindy McLeod, who was in a sorority her freshman year, said “It can be hard to transition if you don’t fit the ‘norm’. For some it works and for others it doesn’t.”

To combat these challenges, developing personal strategies for stress management is crucial. Many members discover that establishing a routine helps them maintain a sense of balance. “I would journal and talk to my mom. I realized writing my thoughts relieved some of the stress.” McLeod said.

Peer support plays a vital role in navigating these pressures. Rachel Riley, a freshman in Chi Omega, noted the supportive role of the Big-Little relationship: “The whole Big-Little process truly does make the transition into college much smoother! Having a Big is like having a BFF and older sister all in one!” This mentorship provides new members with guidance and emotional backing during their transition. 

Many organizations are beginning to recognize the importance of promoting mental health, encouraging open discussions about well-being to normalize the conversation. Support systems within these organizations can significantly impact members’ mental health. Regular mental health check-ins can help normalize these conversations year-round, creating an atmosphere of understanding.

For those considering joining a Greek organization, balancing commitments with personal well-being is essential. New members should remember that it’s perfectly okay to set boundaries and prioritize their mental health.

It’s not uncommon for new members to feel conflicted about their decision to join a Greek organization. Engaging in conversations with trusted friends or mentors can help clarify thoughts and emotions during these moments. “Sororities welcome all women but they’re not for all women!” said Ella Cooper, a sophomore Alpha Delta Pi. “If you didn’t find your place through recruitment, there are so many phenomenal female organizations.”

Ultimately, the experience of Greek life can vary widely among members. While some may thrive in this environment, others may find it misaligned with their identity. Creating an atmosphere of vulnerability and support within organizations is essential. Cooper adds having sisters and Bigs contributes significantly in creating this atmosphere because you can vent to them to gain perspectives to add to your own experiences. 

As members navigate their experiences, they should remember that mental health should always take precedence. Finding balance between social obligations and personal well-being is not just necessary; it’s vital for fulfilling a positive college experience.

The journey through Greek life can be one of growth, resilience, and connection. “When I find myself overwhelmed and overthinking, I do my best to try and vent to a friend or, as cringey as it is, journal if I don’t have a listening ear,” Cooper said. “I find organizing my thoughts into words either makes me realize I’m maybe overthinking something really simple or that it makes the problem seem less overwhelming!”

By prioritizing mental health, members can navigate the complexities of Greek Life with resilience, ensuring that they emerge not only as part of a community but also as individuals who have learned to thrive. 

The post Rush to Resilience: Navigating Mental Health During Greek Life appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Meredith Pinkston

April Wallace rolls out of bed much later than she anticipates. It’s a lazy Sunday, Sept. 13, 2015.

She slowly starts to make breakfast for her and her newfound roommates — her boyfriend, Sam, and his son. She became the new resident in August, so this arrangement is still fresh.

The move was not as easy as she thought it would be — just last week she and Sam argued about something that in the grand scheme of things did not matter much. She honestly did not remember what it was even about. They worked through it, and she is happy.

She is happy because they have found a new groove for the weekends. She is happy as she cooks and reads in her pajamas while Sam works and his son plays video games.

She smiles as she plates her breakfast.

The new domestic normal, she thinks.

She eats her breakfast still in her pajamas, and Sam says bye, grabbing his keys, off to meet with a client, a kid being tested for ADHD. Today, he decides to bring his son with him.

April realizes then she has free alone time.

So, she decides to do what she never finds much time for anymore. Run.

She does not put makeup on, wearing long shorts as she laces her typical old running shoes. She grabs her earbuds so she can listen to Zella Day radio. She hops in her car and heads to her normal running route, Lake Fayetteville.

She reaches the park around 1:45 p.m. and begins her run right by the lake. The trail is crawling with families with their kids, cyclists zipping by, and mothers with strollers and dogs. She likes her pace, not too fast or slow, and the weather is more than ideal. Gone with the scorching Southern heat, onto bright warm breeze-filled days. She does not even need a jacket. 

Her phone keeps dinging. Her childhood best friend Maggie keeps texting her updates after giving birth to her precious new son. She slows down to reply every few minutes. Smiling down at her phone as new pictures of the baby boy come and news of a healthy mother. She is happy — happy for Maggie, happy for her future with Sam, happy for the weather, happy for the run.

She receives another few texts about the baby and hits 2.5 miles. The trail is 5.5 miles of beautiful forest, trees covering the cement casting cooling shadows, and stretches of asphalt leading to a shimmering body of water. April reaches the first bend of the trial, shadows covering her. She sees the last family in view passing her.

She looks up from her phone and notices a man is there, standing, in non-athletic clothes. She notices him, and as a single woman jogger, she makes a mental note. She runs alone for most of her runs if not all of them, so she knows the precautions to take. Her music is never blaring. She is aware of her surroundings. She is a woman runner.

What was he wearing?

Cargo pants, a dark T-shirt. A ball cap and sunglasses. A backpack.

What was he doing?

He is just standing there.

The trail is suddenly seemingly empty. She just keeps her head down. She had heard about the homeless population being around trials. And the Botanical Gardens of the Ozarks is only a mile away.

He waves at her with a small grin, looking directly into her eyes. April keeps running.

Do not give him much attention. Do not give him an invitation.

She reaches the tree line of the trail letting go of a breath she did not know she was holding.

But through the echoing of Zella Day’s radio, she hears big heavy footsteps.

The bottom of her stomach drops.

No. No. This cannot be happening.

The epidemic of violence in America against women is a clear problem, with surveys in 2019 revealing that around 71% of women in the United States have experienced street harassment. According to a study done by the University of Manchester, two-thirds of the 498 women who took part in the survey are concerned for their safety while out running, and 68% of women runners have experienced abuse while running.

Women’s habitual thoughts of fear and violence committed against them have become typical, especially for women runners, specifically in light of the horrific murder of Laken Riley. 

Laken, a 22-year-old nursing student at the University of Georgia, went on a morning run by her university’s intramural fields Feb. 22 and never made it back to her apartment. She was later found by the police with blunt-force trauma to the head. She died at the hands of Jose Ibarra, an illegal immigrant, which sparked controversy. Articles flooded the internet, first about the tragic passing of the young woman but then twisted into something else entirely — a political debate. Many articles came out blaming President Joe Biden, using her murder as a reason to vote for former President Donald Trump. Others were angry that Trump commented on the incident.

A woman being attacked is not a political issue. The blame should not be on a political figure, and it should not be on her. It is on the man. 

The blame shifts upon women for many reasons. The Independent Office of Police Conduct explains the reasoning: “These views may be rooted in misogyny, sexism, ableism, and racism. Others may blame victim-survivors in order to cope with hearing about their trauma…making them feel like they are restoring a sense of control and order in a chaotic and unpredictable situation. They might do this by reassuring themselves that ‘because I would never do XYZ, the same thing could never happen to me.’” 

Jackson County, Arkansas, faced a “this could never happen here” moment in 2021 when Sydney Sutherland, a 25-year-old nurse was kidnapped and murdered on her run by 29-year-old Quake Lewellyn, admitting to first hitting her with his car, kidnapping her, raping her and killing her. 

It also was not Eliza Fletcher’s fault when she was kidnapped and murdered while on a jog in September 2022. It was not Karina Vetrano either, a 30-year-old New Yorker who was killed in 2016, along with Vanessa Marcotte who was killed jogging in Massachusetts. These stories flash in the minds of female joggers everywhere, on every run.

Fayetteville Police Department Sergeant Stephen Mauk advises women to become proactive, minimizing the chance of any crime and being conscious, which means not wearing headphones, bringing a weapon and running with a partner. Coach Cole teaches Krav Maga and preaches something similar.

In his many years as a self-defense coach, Cole has worked with countless women who have been harassed or assaulted, and his wish, other than the safety of these women, is that women start to prepare and take self-defense classes before anything happens. To be proactive. Despite women having to be proactive, Mauk explained the protection that runners are guaranteed with the dedicated trail patrol program under the Special Operations Division of the Fayetteville Police Department. The patrolling of the 45 miles of trails is done by patrol officers either in cars, on foot, or utilizing the electric SPIN and VEO bikes. But he later noted his need for his two college daughters to keep their location on their phones for their safety.

Mauk expresses, “There are people who prey upon others everywhere, but being of a sober mind and being smart can help stop it.”

Though, sometimes you are just a woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. The actions and decisions that women must make to stay safe daily might help, but ultimately might not.

And again, unfortunately of these 68% of women who have been harassed, only 5% report.

Madi Mason and Kate Bailey are a part of the 5%.

I am a part of the 5%.

In 2022, Madi and Kate were freshmen at the University of Arkansas. Madi and Kate were finally settling into their dorms in Reid Hall and were getting used to living in Fayetteville, both moving from Dallas, Texas. Both roommates ran track in high school, so running was normal for them.

Madi texted Kate.

“wanna run today?”

“yeah! Just lmk when”

Madi put on her running gear — a Lululemon top and shorts and her Hokas. Kate met Madi at the dorm and off they went. They decided to run around campus, not needing or wanting to go to the Razorback Greenway, a trail through Northwest Arkansas. The trails seemed more dangerous anyway. And they were not training for anything, so there was no need for a long run.

They warmed up with a light walk, talking about their days and schedules, and after a while, they started on the jog.

Madi and Kate felt safe together. In fact, running in pairs is one of the safety precautions recommended by police and suggested by Mauk.

Madi and Kate’s paces don’t match, so Kate speeds up slightly leaving Madi following for a short time. But it didn’t matter how quick the separation was.

Madi turns and sees a white pickup truck slowing down, and the window is rolling down.

Oh no.

The immediate realization of what is about to happen. The man in the truck starts yelling.

Is he trying to catcall me?

She scans for Kate; they need to reconvene. She speeds up to meet Kate, and the truck follows.

The truck follows both for what feels like forever, still yelling incoherent catcalls. Kate and Madi finally find a turn to try to get him off their tails.

“It was freaky because they wouldn’t just leave us alone,” Madi said. “We were literally just running, leave us alone.” It’s small acts such as this that plant the seed to create a culture of fear around running.

Like Madi and Kate, April in 2015 is just running, she wants to be left alone.

So, when she looks over her left shoulder and sees the man with the baseball cap hightailing toward her, she feels sick. He is not running for exercise; he is after her.

She speeds up, but he keeps gaining on her. She is 2 miles in and getting tired. It was supposed to be a lazy Sunday.

Where am I supposed to go?

Nothing is close, her car is 2 miles away, and the Botanical Gardens is 1 mile away.

But the exhaustion gets to her. Seconds later, he catches her. He hooks his arm over her right shoulder bringing her to the asphalt.

Immediately, her head hit the ground. April and the man tumble until he is on top of her. She tries to scream, scratch, claw.

Get him off.

He closes his fist and punches her in the face.

He hit me. Why? Why is he hitting me?

He is hitting her, and all her brain can do is count.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8.

Her brain loses count then. He starts on the other side. She will not go unconscious. She struggles against him, trying to scream.

“Stop screaming. No one is going to hear you,” he speaks. The first time she heard his voice.

She gets her breath again and screams for help.

I only need one person to hear.

He puts a hand around her throat and over her mouth. Her panic deepens because of his hands.

His hands smell like soil. Why did his hands smell like soil?

Did you dig a grave?

Her brain flashes images of a woman broadcast reporter in Little Rock in 2003, who was murdered in her apartment, she was beaten to death. She was young.

She fought until the end, too.

He keeps readjusting his hands. Squeezing the breath out of her, trying to squeeze the life out of her. Then the horrific realization — there is going to be very little time for her to get away.

This must be what dying feels like.

She needs to find a way to get another breath. She had to make it look like the strangling was working. She stops struggling. She stops screaming. Maybe for the chance he will let up or stop so she can just get one more breath.

For a split second, it seems like it is working.

Then he looks past her, ahead, looking at the trial, as if someone is coming. For April, this is a miracle. Someone can witness this. Someone can call the police.

Someone can help.

But he stands up. He puts his arms under her armpits and begins dragging her to the edge of the trail and the beginning of the thorn-filled forest.

She starts to scream again.

This is my chance.

April screams and screams, but he threatens her. She does not remember what he said, not then and not 9 years later. 

She goes quiet, then she hears the people pass. Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach. He pulls her further and further into the woods while she tries to make her body as heavy as possible.

Make this difficult for him.

He finally stops and shoves her away, and in a struggle, she stands and looks at him. She looks around, she is too disoriented to know where she is, and she is not able to see which direction is the trail.

Then, he does something she never expected, “Are you okay?”

What do you think?

She tells him she is not okay.

“Why did you do that?” she asks him.

He is paranoid, she realizes with his pacing, and he says, “There’s Blacks in the woods with guns.”

He is insane.

He tries to explain they were waiting for her to walk by.

“Maybe that’s my problem,” April spits at him. She is angry. She is disgusted.

“They took my daughter,” he explains. She is finally able to see his face, his sunglasses are gone, and she notices a ring on his finger that reads “Dad.”

He has lost his nerve.

She pulls out her phone and tries to call the police, but he threatens her, so she calls her boyfriend. He asks to call his wife on her phone. She ignores the man. She remembers Sam is at work with a patient.

Pick up, please. Please, please. Pick up.

Sam’s voice comes through her phone, “Hello?”

Her already splintering composure completely snaps. She simply cannot say a word, only a sob escapes her, with one overwhelming horrific thought.

This might be the last time we ever speak.

It is 2016, and the trial is finally ending, and April is thankful. The man who did this to her is finally going away for good. He was caught six weeks after the attack took place. The case went to trial in 2015, and he pleaded not guilty.

He tried to appeal and argue there was insufficient evidence to identify him as the perpetrator or prove that he had the purpose to inflict physical injury or terrorize her. The court disagreed.

She had been public about the attack from the very beginning, first to put pressure on finding the man who was out in the open for six weeks, but then to tell her own story to the public, trying to keep others safe.

But this publicity came with its harmful spotlight for April, with comments on her story from the public blaming her for what happened.

“They said that I must have been running really early or really late,” April said, “sometime when it was super dark and dangerous; with various comments about how stupid it was to run alone, and I should have had a friend or partner. Many said I should have been carrying a gun or weapon. Some people actually even said that my claims could not possibly be true, and I was making the story up for attention.”

Why would someone want attention for that?

Being victim blamed happens to many female victims and can be heard in more common ways, such as a comment about “What was she wearing?” or others, especially regarding sexual assaults, implying that the reason for the abuse or harassment was her fault. Women must first face the fear of running alone, and then, if something does happen be blamed for not “being smart”.

Kate Knox, a woman self-defense coach, tells me about the blame she and the women she works with have faced. She has had her fair share of being harassed on runs while cycling and running. She remembers a man standing 10 feet away from her car at a gas station before work one morning, and when she returned to her car with her fresh coffee, the man sped to her car. Before she could even think, even lock her car door, a police car pulled into the station. It taught her she must be more aware of her surroundings.

But she, similar to many women, has been blamed for the things that happened to her.

“I had a man grope me at a restaurant,” Kate said, “and I was told it was because ‘I must have looked older than I really was.’ I was in my prom dress. I’ve seen a lot of ‘Are you sure?’ attitudes toward women when they’re vocal about what they have experienced and people rationalize or make excuses for the offender’s behavior. It really sucks to see women being invalidated as they try to be open and vulnerable, it sucks to see women having to spend energy defending why they feel what someone did was wrong or how what said person did was wrong.”

“It’s not fair,” April said.

Blaming women for men’s actions is one of the many reasons women do not report, and the blame makes no sense because women are not the only ones being harassed.

It is 2016. April’s case is finishing, and 140 miles away in Little Rock, Arkansas, I am a brace-faced 13-year-old. A minor. A girl. I am on a run with my mother; she walks, and I jog.

She never lets me go alone.

I am not allowed to go to many places alone. We have a compromise on certain places, such as the promenade where I can go with a group or the park with my older sister. But running, I absolutely cannot go without someone.

Not until I am older. When even is older?

I don’t understand my mother’s persistence until we see a blue, beat-up car slow down on the busy street we walk by and pull into the neighborhood right next to our street.

“That was weird,” my mom mumbles.

My mom and I turn onto our street with a steep incline, and I sprint the hill.

I need to get faster for soccer.

But then, the blue, beat-up car turns right onto our street. And I am at the top of the hill. My mom is at the bottom. The car gets closer and closer.

Maybe it will pass?

I am 13, not stupid. I know this will be bad. I feel my anxiety ignite, and suddenly, I am planted to the ground when the car stops right beside me. The window rolls down, I cannot see him, but I know it is a male.

My mother does not waste a second. She sprints up the hill, and before he can open his door, he stomps the gas and shoots up the rest of the street.

So, that is why I do not run alone.

“Run,” Sam pleads with April.

She did not know where the trail was. She did not want to risk it; she did not even know if she could. She did not know the extent of her injuries.

Then, with limited options, she looks at him and asks, “Where is the trail?”

He motions her to the trail as if she were to walk in front of him.

No.

So, instead, he is the one who leads her to the trail and swiftly leaves the scene once she is out of the woods. Sam hangs up to call the police, so does April.

She limps to the Botanical Gardens, the dispatcher asking her question after question, as April looks over her shoulder, terrified. People pass her. She just wants to talk to a uniform.

She sees the police cars, a cop escorts her to the parking lot, as the ambulance arrives at the scene. Sam arrives at the scene seconds later. She has a concussion, she is bruised. She is missing patches of hair. People ask her what happened. What the man looked like.

But her only thought is, I escaped.

I escaped.

Nine years later, I parked my car at the Botanical Gardens and put my running vest on with the water compartment full and pink taser in the left pocket. I normally ran from my parent’s house, which is only around a mile away from Lake Fayetteville, but today, I wanted to try a new route. I tied my shoes and placed only one air pod in my ear. Maybe it was writing this story or my interview with April two days before, but I had become much more aware of my safety, almost hyper-aware. A squirrel scared me on my last run.

Nevertheless, I started my warmup jog. I decided to run toward Lake Fayetteville. The hills seemed much less steep. I planned on running 7 miles, and when I looked at my watch I was already at 0.5 miles. Until I saw a woman with her hands out, she signaled me to stop.

I took out my air pod.

“Hey, I just want to stop and warn you, there’s a man on the trails, and he is really creeping people out,” she continued on and on about him.

I had already heard enough.

“Thanks. I’ll find somewhere else to run,” I said. 

I turned around and walked directly to my car. Flashes of the stories I had been researching raced through my mind. In 2022, 47% of female runners had been assaulted, by 2024 in 2024, the percentage grew by 21%. The women that I had talked to. I walked to my car and took off my vest, with only three words April said in my interview repeating in my head.

“It’s not fair.”

The post Fight and Flight: The Fearful Reality Women Runners Face During Their Daily Jog appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Emma Bracken

Since the 1980s, the number of women in prison has skyrocketed. As mass incarceration continues to sweep the nation, this once narrow population has risen by over 500% over the past 40 years, according to a study from The Sentencing Project. As the population grows here in Northwest Arkansas, resources and productive facilities for these women are struggling to keep up.

For 17 years, Northwest Arkansas Community Corrections Center was a beacon of hope for the community as a valuable facility for incarcerated women. Beyond a traditional women’s prison, NWACCC offered rehabilitative programs to prepare these women for reentry into society. From treating substance abuse and addiction to therapy and education, this facility prepared women to rebuild their own lives rather than be thrown back into the environment that led them to prison in the first place. 

In the spring of 2024, Washington County Judge Patrick Deakins announced NWACCC would be closed by the end of the year. Instead, Deakins planned to use the space as an expansion for the overcrowded Washington County Jail. While addressing one issue of overcrowding in our local prisons, a great resource has been tragically taken away from the community. 

Lowell Grisham, the former rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church and co-founder of Magdalene Serenity House, a program that worked with NWACCC to provide support to incarcerated women, said he feels that this is an immeasurable loss for the community. 

“I can tell you those programs worked,” Grisham said. “It was a really strong, healthy place that allowed women to change their lives in a positive, productive way.”

Grisham said the constant struggle within the county quorum court to come to a decision about financing programs focused on creative solutions to reduce crime and rehabilitation over prison space. Though some support the initiative, many people seem to be more comfortable with a punishment approach rather than these alternative facilities, Grisham explained. 

“This kind of prison is constructive and humane,” Grisham said. “The warehouse form of prison is inhumane and is destructive to people’s very being. People aren’t built up in prison, they’re broken down.”

With the lowest recidivism rate in the state, NWACCC was an irreplaceable haven in a world of traditional warehouse-style prisons. Grisham described incarceration as a way to be punitive, yet NWACCC was a way to be rehabilitative. Beyond serving time and taking accountability for their mistakes, he explained it is crucial for people to have access to education, family and friend support, job opportunities, and overall healthy environments if they are expected to stay out of jail in the future. 

“Sometimes people don’t need to just be incarcerated, they need help,” Grisham said.

Grisham recounted a story of a young woman he saw through St. Paul’s work with NWACCC succeeded in these programs. According to Grisham, she seemed to have really been supported by and learned from them during her time behind bars. However, as soon as she was released, she had no choice but to return to the toxic environment that landed her in prison in the first place. He saw the way a toxic home environment can reverse the progress made in prison in an instant. A woman who he had seen turn her life around in prison fell victim to the same drug abuse that landed her there, and tragically lost her life to an overdose. At the young woman’s funeral, held in part by St. Paul, Grisham’s colleague Reverend Suzanne Stoner turned to him and said, “We have got to do something.”

Grisham and Stoner worked to establish Magdalene Serenity House here in Fayetteville, a two-year program that provides services to women who have been trafficked, incarcerated, and struggled with substance abuse. By providing resources for women after their release from prison, it hoped to stop them from being stuck in toxic environments and build new lives for themselves after incarceration. 

Takama Statton-Brooks, executive director for Magdalene Serenity House, described the essential work of helping formerly incarcerated women face the barriers they are presented with once freed. 

“It’s one thing to hear about it, but witnessing it firsthand is a whole other ballgame,” Statton-Brooks said. 

Statton-Brooks explained the difficulties women in her program faced with seemingly simple tasks, such as getting their IDs renewed, finding a job and searching for a place to live. For convicted felons, there are an endless amount of hurdles to jump on their way to being integrated into society. 

“There’s an expectation that once you are released you start paying your fines and fees, but you have to find a job, and very few jobs will hire a felon,” Statton-Brooks said. “Very few housing places will accept applications from felons. It’s expensive to be poor is really what it boils down to. It’s expensive to have a criminal history.”

Having programs such as Magdalene Serenity House are vital for supporting formerly incarcerated women to rebuild their lives, but alone, it cannot meet the demand that the Northwest Arkansas population demands. The loss of NWACCC as a resource has certainly stunted progress toward this initiative, however, these resilient organizations are fighting to give incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women a voice. 

Statton-Brooks explained the resourcing for rehabilitation is taking a significant hit with the closing of NWACCC. She feels the loss for the community as she witnessed firsthand the way the women were able to heal from their past trauma and establish tools, knowledge and strength to create a life they are happy about. 

“I don’t think there’s enough resources for the growth in this area,” Statton-Brooks said. “The growth in this area would dictate more mental health services, food banks and different resources. It really takes a community effort to support a population that needs it.” 

Statton-Brooks said some resources are out there yet are not widely known to the public, so those who need them do not know where to look. It is crucial not only to support these programs when voting but to raise awareness about the topic in general in order to build a more supportive community for these women and incarcerated individuals in general. 

“We keep punishing people who have felonies by making it hard for them to rent, get a job or make it impossible for them to vote,” Grisham said. “There’s just a lot of dehumanizing things that happen to people when they fall on the other side of that line.” 

Beyond St. Paul’s and Magdalene Serenity House, NWACCC worked with numerous programs to provide a wide scope of opportunities for its inmates. From religious services to drug rehabilitation, NWACCC was bursting with volunteers and organizations willing and excited to help them rebuild their lives. 

Though its loss rings through the community, action can still be taken to hopefully rebuild more of these organizations in the future. It is important to remember the attitudes toward incarcerated community members when voting season comes around and continue to support those suffering from our carceral system.

The post Love Heals: The State of Women’s Incarceration in Northwest Arkansas  appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Edward McKinnon

“Happiness, more or less,

it’s just a change in me, something in my liberty.

Happiness, coming and going.”

—The Verve, “Lucky Man” (1997)

I sit inside a bar on Fayetteville’s busy Dickson Street just before things get really busy. Blinking, colorful lights illuminate a wall of spirits in front of me. A woman several stools down is armed with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. The only other customer in the bar at 9 p.m. on a Thursday night, I am armed with my first whiskey and coke of the evening in one hand, my iPhone with an open Spotify playlist in the other, and a building sense of anxiety on the inside.

Several thoughts race through my head: “What am I doing alone on Dickson Street?” “What am I doing at a bar with no college students?” “Am I really about to sing in a public space?”

Bar and club environments are not exactly my speed since frenetic settings can trigger my social anxiety, so trying a place with other social tools was equal parts scary and exciting. I was in the middle of working on a story about music therapy so that subject matter was top of mind, and that night, I suppose I was in search of my own music therapy.

The bar I am sitting inside is appropriately called Infusion since it specializes in infused liquors. But like almost everyone who walks through the door, I am there for the bar’s other specialty — karaoke. 

I search my playlist for the perfect first song to perform. I scroll past several dozen Green Day, Oasis, U2, Beck and White Stripes tracks that all look enticing, but when I see “Lucky Man” by the Verve, I suddenly become confident. I have listened to the song on a loop and have grown to love it due to its uplifting nature. The lyrics are vague enough for me to conjure up my own idea of what the song means, but the song’s central theme of happiness, and how difficult it can be for people to find level emotional ground, is universal. The refrain, “Happiness, more or less, is just a change in me, something in my liberty,” provides a good mantra. As someone who struggles with depression, I try to gravitate toward songs such as “Lucky Man” that elicit positive feelings. The best part: I can hit every note relatively easily as an inexperienced baritone.

Not long after picking my song, the DJ kicks off karaoke, and I am called to the mic. I feel a bit stiff and sit at a bar stool for most of my performance, but my vocals are rock solid. Four minutes and 53 seconds later, I am proud of my performance and immediately request another song. As someone who is generally shy, I view singing in public as an effective method of public exhibition. Additionally, because people bond over shared music interests, people you might never talk to might approach you if they like your song choice, performance or both.

There is a surprising amount of research on the subject of karaoke and its positive impact on people’s social confidence. One centered on Finnish karaoke singers — published in The European Journal of Social & Behavioural Sciences in 2013 — concluded that “alcohol drinking is not part of the behavior model of karaoke singers. Karaoke singing is rather a joyful way to spend time together.” Researchers observed that participants in the study almost unanimously alluded to “star moments,” instances where vocal performances are met with positive audience feedback as a primary motivator for the surveyed karaoke singers.

After one song, I felt I had achieved one of those “star moments.” But four minutes and 31 seconds later, I felt humbled. My decent attempt at a British classic was easily topped by the woman at the other end of the bar who bodied Whitney Houston’s 1992 cover of “I Will Always Love You.” Doug Teaster, an older man I will eventually become more familiar with, gives back-to-back impeccable deliveries of Pearl Jam classics “Better Man” and “Jeremy” not long afterward. More people come through the door and give enthusiastic performances of rock, pop, hip-hop and country staples. Some exit on top, others hang around. I now notice the standard is much higher than I expected.

Alas, as I began drinking more throughout the night, my performances weakened. I stumbled through Oasis’ hit “Champagne Supernova.” I pushed my vocal boundaries further on U2’s 1991 deep cut, “Acrobat.” I even sang “D’You Know What I Mean?” which is Oasis’ overindulgent seven-plus-minute mess of a rock anthem that begins with a full minute of random helicopter and Morse code sound effects. “The music video is badass, though,” I thought to myself upon choosing the song. My performance was not.

My night ends with a small sense of regret. My performances were not maligned since the karaoke bar atmosphere is generally non-judgemental, but I feel a bit self-conscious about my song choices. I am not in good enough shape to socialize either. But I still have an itch to return the next night to improve my performance and talk to more people. I sense a change in myself. Happiness, more or less? If I want to socialize, I must keep singing.

The socialization benefits of karaoke are more relevant than ever. In the past several years, social isolation brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic caused more people to report feeling depressed. Fittingly, as COVID restrictions have been lifted worldwide, the karaoke business has rebounded and is expected to grow significantly throughout the 2020s. In Fayetteville, Big Box Karaoke opened its doors in 2018, offering private karaoke rooms for group gatherings, and has remained a popular destination even after the pandemic. JJ’s Grill and Tin Roof on Dickson Street also offer weekly karaoke nights, attracting college students looking for a fun night out midweek where they can deliver either ironic or sincere renditions of their favorite songs in front of hundreds of their peers. Performing music does not just produce an endorphin high in participants. It generates social opportunities.

Over the past couple of decades, the introduction of new technology has greatly impacted how we socialize with one another. Early research has shown that overexposure to digital technology can prevent people from developing and refining social skills. I have anecdotally become aware of karaoke’s power to combat social disconnectedness through my conversations with the regulars at Infusion, hence their patronage. One who I’ve heard echo this sentiment frequently is Doug Teaster, a 66-year-old attendee at Infusion.

“Learning to walk again.

I believe I’ve waited long enough.

Where do I begin?”

— Foo Fighters, “Walk” (2011)

Two months since my first visit to Infusion, I have essentially made it a part of my routine, where I go once or twice a week. Just as I have suspected, I find Teaster sitting at the bar, sipping on his usual drink — water. He does not drink alcohol, or at least has not in six months, and has no desire to go back. Drinking has mainly served as a social tool for him in the past. Singing is a better one, he said. At the bar, he is contemplating his next song choice.

I greet him, and we jump into conversation. Neither of us is extroverted, but after several previous interactions, we know each other well enough to talk about many things before shifting the discussion to his nearly two decades of experience as a karaoke singer.

In 2006, Doug Teaster walked down an almost unrecognizable version of Dickson Street, searching for a sense of fulfillment akin to a coming-of-age college student. Off the heels of a divorce, he wanted to get out and meet new people. He found fulfillment initially in a now-closed karaoke bar, but another karaoke bar, which would later become Infusion, would pique his interest.  

One night in 2009, he walked in. The subsequent series of events would ensure that amending his usual karaoke routine at the other bar would be more than worth it. He fondly recalls his first social interaction with the karaoke DJ.

He handed him a song slip since the place had yet to adopt a computer-based system. The slip read “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” He looked at the song, then looked at Teaster, then looked at the slip again.

“This I’ve gotta see,” the DJ said, amused.

“You will,” Teaster clapped back.

 He proclaims this series of events solidified Infusion as his go-to bar.

I have never heard Teaster sing “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” but I am familiar enough with his vocal range and usual — or unusual — song selections to know that he did not just pull off the performance but truly owned it. He challenges himself with the microphone regularly by pulling from every rock subgenre you can think of. For years, his favorite song was “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by the Beatles. He still sings Beatles songs but will follow them with equally competent renditions of grunge, post-grunge, nu metal, punk-rock, metal and new-wave anthems.

Following his divorce, his music taste expanded when he began listening to whatever was on the radio and soaking in the karaoke scene on nights when he did not have his kids. “I actually discovered ‘90s music in the 2000s. I learned about grunge in 2006,” he quipped.

During a conversation, I notice Teaster looking through a list on his phone. He tells me he has compiled a list of the songs in his repertoire. He estimates he has sung over 500 tracks that he would not try again, leaving only 150 songs in his regular rotation. A rangy tenor, he identifies songs from artists such as Guns N’ Roses and Aerosmith as being in his wheelhouse. But he also has the range and vocal power to emulate the gruffness of iconic grunge-adjacent vocalists such as Chris Cornell, Eddie Vedder and Dave Grohl. “Walk” by Foo Fighters is his current go-to song.

In the past few years, Teaster has developed a lung condition, bronchiectasis, which affects his vocal abilities. But you would never know this based on the ambitious choices he makes. Just when I think I have him figured out, I watch him mimic Chester Bennington’s screams on “One Step Closer” without breaking a sweat before tackling a much smoother track, Post Malone’s “Better Now.” Each performance begins with cheers from patrons who recognize Teaster. When he finishes, he receives some of the largest cheers of the night.

In his 15 years of going Infusion, Teaster has witnessed the place transform from a small pub with the occasional karaoke offering into a full-fledged karaoke bar where self-proclaimed vocalists take up residency. While he has played the role of customer and vocalist for the most part, he did take a turn at DJing for several months in 2011 when the previous one walked out.

“In the beginning, I just did it to help the owner,” he said. “I told her I would cover until she could find a replacement. But then, when I got into it, I discovered it was my favorite job that I had ever had. So it was for fun. I was getting compensated. Not a lot, but it was still about $600 extra a month to spend on my kids.”

In the years since, Teaster has seen plenty of customers and employees come and go. Management shifted hands in the mid-2010s when Amber Hurlbut, one of the bartenders, purchased the place. After all of his children moved to college, Teaster made the karaoke bar a bigger part of his lifestyle. Two to three times a month became two to three times a week. In a good week, he gets to perform more than a dozen songs, which gives him a dozen opportunities to be approached by someone new after hearing him sing. Attending the bar is not indulging in a vice. It is his hobby.

“I am an addict though,” Teaster said. “I’m addicted to this bar.”

Though bars ideally offer a good social atmosphere, karaoke can add another dimension to these establishments if they choose to adopt it. Selling drinks keeps the business afloat, but judgment-free vocal exhibition enables individuals to meet new people in a musical context, find their social confidence and indulge in a healthy dose of braggadocio. The regulars insist that karaoke bars such as Infusion are different. Performance art is a jumping-off point to talk to unique people. On my best days, this is why I go to Infusion. For regulars such as Teaster, this is what it is all about.

Through more than half a year in total I have spent going to Infusion, I have become a recognizable patron. The workers know my name and face, but I am not a frequent enough visitor to fear I am adopting a bad drinking habit. As weeks pass, I notice the bar’s clientele is shockingly age-diverse, ranging from 21-year-olds, who are hoping to shake up their weekend evening routine to folks Teaster’s age, and anyone in between. 

It does not take a genius to figure out why Infusion has a different, arguably better aura than neighboring establishments. The drink selection is good, and the tight space creates a very intimate vibe, but it is also one of the only all-nights-a-week karaoke spots in the area. The social benefits are evident.

For instance, business owners and even the military have cited karaoke as a method for boosting morale and retention. But, from a social-scientific standpoint, there is strong evidence that singing as performance art is more than just an activity that adds an additional element to a fun night out. One qualitative research study published in the European Journal of Public Health  found that group singing activities such as karaoke can help individuals “develop a sense of belonging and enhance self-confidence in participants.” Around the same time as my sit down with Teaster, another character approaches me who also preaches about these benefits, and then some.

“We’re all in the mood for a melody

and you’ve got us feelin’ alright.”

—Billy Joel, “Piano Man” (1973)

Though I am starting to get acclimated to the familiar faces at Infusion, I feel relieved when someone else is eager to make conversation. Brian Jackson, a 26-year-old diesel technician in Tontitown, Arkansas, thinks the bar is a good place to blow off steam. He rings off a familiar mantra I can picture coming from an old man making love to his tonic and gin: “Anytime I have a stressful day at work, I don’t like taking it home.”

Jackson tells me he spent six years in the Army before moving to Northwest Arkansas, stationed through most of his tenure in Oklahoma while having brief stints in Iraq and Europe. Growing up, he developed a strong interest in music, first gravitating to ‘90s alternative rock. Later in youth, he became infatuated with punk rock and thrash metal. He said his music taste has matured with age, and he now has gotten into more synth music and slower rock. While in the Army, he formed a punk-rock band with fellow soldiers called Iggy Six and the Ground Pounders.

Jackson plays bass, keyboards, and some guitar and is a confident vocalist. While he acknowledges that music is a hobby, he enjoys working with other artists and making friends through common musical interests. Infusion is one of his go-to spots not just because he likes to perform but because the usual clientele includes aspiring musicians he hopes to work with.

Our conversation is interrupted when the DJ calls for Jackson. I have seen him perform enough times to know that his go-to song is Billy Joel’s classic “Piano Man.” Unlike Teaster, I’ve mostly seen Jackson stick to bonafide crowd-pleasers. His other go-to song is Paul Anka’s “Put Your Head On My Shoulder.” By selecting the favorites, he lives the dream only the greatest rock stars get to fulfill — hearing the audience sing the lyrics back at him.

This is why people come to karaoke bars. The environment ideally provides a safe social space. I remember the four rules that Teaster had during his tenure as DJ: Respect the equipment, respect the singer, there is no such thing as a bad singer and don’t fuck with the DJ.

Good karaoke bars operate under this kind of social contract. Everyone within the walls is encouraged to sing. Applause is mandatory. Heckling and mic drops are forbidden. I have yet to hear boos from crowd members at any karaoke night. The environment is engineered to negate negativity.

Still, Infusion is different from the average karaoke bar. Customers, bartenders, security guards and DJs all sing — and well. Teaster recalls a conversation with a professional tennis player from New Zealand who approached him after finishing his song. Blown away by the experience in the bar, he turned to Teaster to ask how all of the singers are so good. 

Jackson also agrees. An attendee at Infusion since February, he has concluded the place doubles as a place to meet everyday people and a viable medium for connecting with fellow artists.

“This is a good way for independent musicians and beginners to network,” Jackson said. “This is the place to come.”

“How many lives are living strange?”

—Oasis, “Champagne Supernova” (1995)

After my less-than-stellar showing during my first night at Infusion, I decided to exercise some restraint. I limit myself to two beers. I am there to have a good time but also want to sing better. I fare better, make a few social connections, then dip.

I want to believe that karaoke bars such as Infusion are different. Most regulars claim they get the most value from the establishment by singing and using people’s performances to start conversations. Teaster goes as far as to tell me that karaoke is so beneficial that he can confidently call it a lifestyle. His assertion is supported by a study published in the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health that found karaoke offers a “fun, arts-based intervention that can improve well-being” as a component of the “Creative Aging” movement — a trend encouraging older adults to express themselves through painting, drawing, acting and music.

Even at 21 years old, this is the mindset I adopt when I enter a karaoke bar. One Saturday night, I am lucky enough to fit in four songs the day after a less-than-stellar showing. At the beginning of the night, I perform “Lonely Boy” by The Black Keys and feel less lonely when the sparse crowd applauds. As the night goes on, more people file in and applause grows louder for each performer. I sing “All These Things I’ve Done” by The Killers and feel as though the lyrics “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier” are mine for a brief moment. I sing “Wake Me Up When September Ends” by Green Day knowing many people in the bar were raised by the American Idiot album. I conclude with “Champagne Supernova” again, which I now have gotten the hang of, and the nonsensical lyrics of the chorus suddenly mean something when I hear multiple people around me also sing along with conviction. I see dozens of lives around me happy to be living strange.

After hearing applause one last time and sensing the night is coming to a close, I begin to file out. I tip the DJ and thank them for hosting. I close my tab at the bar. I bid farewell to some fellow regulars. I head for the exit and back to my apartment, allowing my memory to rest. When I am ready to visit some old friends, make new acquaintances, and feed my ego for just a few minutes at a time with a microphone and a supportive crowd, I know a karaoke bar will be waiting for me.

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