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– That’s World Tea Staff
Grandma Tatooie was a bitter lady.
She hated her biscuits soggy and her socks wet, ugly scarves and adamant adults. She was gifted all four that day, by no other than her granddaughter.
“Jeanie,” she sighed, rubbing her wrinkled fingers against her forehead. “I told you, no mushy cookies!” Her Rafkan accent jutted out on her irritable mood, clashing with the Temoran language.
Jeanie wrinkled her nose as her arms flew up into the air. “Mushy cookies, mushy cookies, there’s nothing else Gra!”
Grandma Tatooie glared at Jeanie. She wanted her cookies.
“Child. I asked for cookies, dry ones. Is it hard? You walk to the store, you get the cookies. Simple.”
Turning away, Jeanie made efforts to clean up the fabric littered on the floor to hide her annoyance.
“Your Rafkan is showing, Gra.”
“Oh hush,” Grandma Tatooie said. “So what if it shows? I’m tired of all these Temoran men huffing and puffing about with their little bayonets, barking orders at me.” She straightened her brown skirt over her knees before folding her arms neatly onto her chest. The sun loomed into the room, casting its golden glare over astray books and makeshift furniture. Grandma Tatooie hated it.
Clicking her tongue, she hobbled over to Jeanie and began picking up the scraps alongside her.
“Stupid Temorans,” she huffed, her knees a little wobbly. “I make scarves, not uniforms. Ugly, ugly, ugly colors. Why this green?” She said, lifting a piece with two fingers. “Disgusting. Just like them.” She slid her eyes over to Jeanie. Usually the child would interject but she was oddly quiet today. And like everything, Grandma Tatooie hated it.
“What’s wrong with you child? You too quiet today. I don’t like it.”
“Gra,” Jeanie swiveled. “You don’t like anything.”
“Nonsensical. I love my scarves and not wet cookies.”
Jeanie slumped against the wall, a sigh escaping her lips. Grandma Tatooie studied her granddaughter through squinted eyes. Her hair was matted and dirty, and there were patches of dirt tattooed onto Jeanie’s face. Were her eyes always that tired?
“Do you like me, Gra?” Grandma Tatooie stopped squinting. “Do you love me?” Jeanie repeated.
Grandma Tatooie felt her bony fingers curl around the nasty green, and her mouth grow dry. What a ridiculous question. Of course she loved Jeanie, even with the wet cookies she brought and her scolds when Grandma Tatooie spit on a Temoran guard. She was still her granddaughter, a child.
Grandma Tatooie huffed. “Maybe if you brought me some nice, dry cookies.”
Jeanie released a soft chuckle, head now resting on the splintering walls.
“I love you too, Gra.”
Grandma Tatooie only nodded, her eyes still lingering on Jeanie. Did the child really question her care? If Grandma Tatooie didn’t love Jeanie, she would have left her out ten years ago when she arrived on her doorstep.
“What’s wrong with you child?” she prodded, bending back down to pick up the rest of the scraps. But the only answer she received were the quiet snores of her granddaughter.
***
Night had arrived, and it had brought the cold air with it. Grandma Tatooie wrapped her beloved scarf over her shoulders as she hunched closer to the table and her sewing needles. It returned no warmth. Her fingers felt like little puppet fingers, numb and cold. She watched her hands move under invisible strings that stitched endlessly. She didn’t even need to look at the stupid instructions the Temorans had distributed to every seamstress to find where the holes and loops were now. She refused to read it anyway. She hated everything about the Temoran people and even her own Rafkans.
They sold our country, a voice inside her whispered. They sold away your livelihood in exchange for these monstrosities. They sold Tamara and Joel. They sold your dry cookies, and they almost sold Jeanie. The voice was ringing, screaming now. It simmered and sparked, it swelled up inside her until her eyes began to protest with water. She wanted to silence it, the thunder, the storm brewing. She wanted it quiet. She let herself get hypnotized by the fluid movements that were her fingertips. Despite the waves lessening, her throat felt burnt and tight. She didn’t like it. She blinked, pushing the storm down. The Temorans had come and she had only herself to protect Jeanie and whatever was left of her childhood. She shook her head, grey curls bouncing. If it were these loops and holes that brought her food and water, and these hats and vests that allowed her granddaughter to go out, so be it. She sat enchanted for a little longer.
Her spell was broken by a loud bang coming from the study, which was really just a cramped bedroom held together by a creaky bed and leaky ceilings. She arose from her metal chair, its screech against the concrete floor beckoning her to stay imprisoned.
Ignoring its howling commands, she trudged over to the bedroom, grumbling about Jeanie’s clumsiness. This child was nearly eighteen yet she still managed to fall off the bed.
But instead of a sound Jeanie on the floor, she was welcomed with another cold draft, ruffled blankets and an empty bed.
***
The wind whipped around her, pulling Grandma Tatooie in all sorts of directions. Yet none of them seemed to point to where Jeanie could be.
“Jeanie!” She yelled. “Jeanie!” Her voice was carried out by wind, diminishing whatever sound had left her lips seconds before. She knew she should have been thankful for the roaring winds that hid her from lurking Temoran guards, but it silenced all her calls for Jeanie. She didn’t like that at all.
Fumbling around the dark, she gripped the brick walls as her sole guidance as her feet were met with mud, sticks, and the asphalt floors. Her grey curls flew around her face, blurring her vision with silver wisps and her other arm clutched her shawl, hand resting on her heart.
“Jeanie!” Her voice was getting hoarse, her knees groaning against the movement. Her ankle slipped, forcing her hands to smack the wet, sticky ground as water joined her hair. Grandma Tatooie would have gotten up–her spirit would have refused to–had she not felt a rough hand clamp over her mouth.
The wind held its roar and her boney fingers felt warm for the first time that night. It was an opportunity for her to ask for Jeanie. Then the stars spiraled.
***
Quiet, she thought, eyes still shut. Jeanie already making a fuss, no doubt. Probably about the scraps she left across the floor.
The shouts grew sharper. Peeking through her left eye, she was met with a young man with remnants of a handsome beard and scruffy eyebrows. At least he’s not wearing that wretched green, the voice said as she eyed the deep purple sash around his neck.
“You kidnapped a grandmother, what part of you thought that was a phenomenal idea?” Another man in purple said pointedly.
“Are you alright, ma’am? You fell,” he said.
Grandma Tatooie blinked. Then smacked the boy.
Now it was the boy’s turn to blink. Holding her head high, Grandma Tatooie forced herself to leave the cot. Stupid, she thought. I know I fell. Grandma Tatooie straightened her skirt. She stood fully tall in a concrete room and a flimsy light, staring directly into the other man who doubled over in laughter.
“Very, very, well done!” he cried, clutching his side.
She would have laughed, had she not remembered she was being held in an unknown cell with unfamiliar men. She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw.
“Where am I?”
The other man was still howling with laughter. It irritated her.
“We can’t tell you that, ma’am,” the boy said, rubbing his cheek.
The laughter was still echoing off the walls. “Fine, little Temoran devil. I’m leaving.”
“We’re no Temorans. I just-” he said before a door slamming open interrupted him.
“Gra?” Jeanie was huffing, eyes wild and searching. Then enlarged twice its size as she saw a hooting Stylan, a hurt Te and her own teary, running Grandma Tatooie.
***
Grandma Tatooie straightened her skirt.
“You made me get my socks wet,” she said, pointing at her brown stained wool socks now fresh with tears and rips.
“Sorry Gra.”
“For what child? For jumping out the window without telling me, for leaving, for being with these Temorans-”
“They’re not Temorans.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Jeanie. This, this is dangerous. We live in a world where monsters pretend to be neighbors, child. How many times have I told you to keep quiet-” Grandma Tatooie hissed.
“Gra, you literally hit a Temoran last week,” Jeanie said, eyebrow raised.
She paused before waving her hand dismissively. This was different.
“Jeanie,” her voice softened. “I know you’re trying to make allies with people who you think share your motives, your ideals, your vision.” She turned and held Jeanie’s hands in hers. They were rough and chapped, and it wanted to make Grandma Tatooie cry. “But you cannot, Jeanie. There’s none left to trust in this world, in this era. There were none in mine, and the world is cold. They will not hesitate to hurt you.”
“Gra-”
“I was one, child,” she said, rubbing her thumb over her granddaughters’ hands. “I joined for the sake of my fabrics and scarves, my liberty; our Rafkan culture, our blood and culture. This rebellion has been around since my waking youth and I see it hasn’t stopped its lies yet.” She eyed the purple wearily.
“Gra, listen to me.”
“No,” she whispered. Her eyes burned. “I saw the Temorans walk in and strut their power, laugh as we ran, cackle as they stole love and hope. I saw my own friends expose our plans for power, commanders become cowards. Liberty was only an illusion.” She was tired now. “I survived our last rebellion, Jeanie. I was angry, and I wanted to be with my comrades. But Jeanie, I survived to meet you. To tell you to keep your hope in refuge, to prevent you from being me. Rebellions don’t work, people don’t work. We’re all the same. Allyship is achieved just as easily as adversary.”
Grandma Tatooie was a bitter woman. And that was the only thing she liked. Emotions were dangerous, passion was dangerous. She might have dared then, but it was selfish and stupid. And she gave that up the moment she set eyes on Jeanie.
“Gra,” Jeanie said carefully. Her eyes were focused on the dusty ceiling, hands wrapped tightly in Grandma Tatooie’s skinny fingers. “You work.” She turned to meet her grandmother.
“What do you mean child,” she replied, the irritation already seeping in.
Jeanie smiled. A cracked one, one with some dirt on the side and mud, with fear when she saw the Temoran strike Grandma Tatooie, the resentment when she saw her toiling over the ugly scarves, the disappointment every time she reminded Grandma Tatooie that Rafkan no longer existed. But it also harbored the pride when she saw her yell back at Temoran guards, the laughter she stifled as she watched the woman elevate her age to her advantage, the anger over soggy cookies.
“You work, Gra. You’re stubborn and you don’t like a lot of things,” she let out a laugh. “But you don’t bow to the rules, you ignore them. You’ve always ignored them because you know what you deserve. You know we deserve more than dirt. You know we have the right to eat dry cookies, not steal and hope for mushy ones.” Jeanie was fully looking at Grandma Tatooie now.
“Gra,” eyes earnest and bright.“Don’t you see? They’re still here. The revolution, it’s still here. Rebels might have ceased in unity, but we never disappeared. It’s true there might be traitors but have you forgotten the allegiants? What about them, you? We deserve to be here, not just in history. I, I want my place, my existence here. I know I’m worthy of that. You taught me we all are. I can’t just ignore the rules anymore, Gra. I won’t. Rebellions–we fight for the hope of liberty, the future. And the Temorans are not victors, we are. Because we’re still here.” Jeanie turned back to the ceiling. “I don’t want wet cookies anymore. Don’t you?”
Grandma Tatooie clicked her tongue. She hated that she agreed. She hated that she was inspired. And she absolutely despised soggy biscuits.
She sighed. “I want to know every time you leave and I better see you back by midnight.” Love was dangerous.
“And-” she said before swallowed in a warm embrace. Her vision was blurred again, but this time by Jeanie. Maybe love was stupid as well. “And, ask if your commander would be interested in design change. The scarves are ugly.”
– Janet
They would call her the villainess of the story.
The traitor, the con artist, the betrayer.
The blade scraped across the dingy cobblestones that outlined the road, lifting a harmonious, disassociate tune. Or was it her, dragging herself by? The soft jangle of her chains accompanied the piece.
Maybe a whole legend would arise around her infamous leave from this sacred town.
The shutters were closed, and the homes that bloomed from these stone tiles showed no welcome behind its buckled doors. Yet warmth glinted off the roofs and burst from their little hidden crevices, lawns littered with flowers and bumbling bees. The sky was a blur or dusk and dawn.
Was the sun peeking or slumbering? No matter, the town was coming alive with its antique glow.
She walked.
She walked over the tiled hills, past the shuttered homes and softly lit lamp posts. Really, she could have convinced herself that the neighborhood itself was the one who strolled by, in its lousy taverns with beer spilling from its sides, the dressmakers’ shop tight and tidy with its rolls of silk, the musician’s fountain, drab without its typical tune.
She decided to stop with the dramatics. They had never wanted her anyway.
Out of the forest of wooden towers and spiraling roads, the rolling hills shifted under the lazy sun, lapping into green waves onto the cobblestone shore, pulling at her leather feet and weaving through the flimsy fabric. She drew the sword out of its reverberant song and held it close to her face.
It reflected only a fraction of her identity. Who are you? But the girl in the sword was silent, only her pursed lips and harrow eyes looking back.
They promised a home to her once.
The sun loomed over the crescent hills. Perhaps it was sunrise. She lifted the blade higher into the arms of the sky, the sunlight refracting from its metallic glow. She squinted.
She would not turn.
She refused to look.
But she did.
And in those cottages were homes, and in the dressmakers shop she delved into the magics of friendships, the musician who had taught her the stories of musical notes, the jostling laughter that lightened up the drab tavern, the people.
The sun was brighter now. It cast its golden breath over the sleeping town. She promised she would keep these friends, stay with them, grow with them. She promised herself to this town, to this love.
Boards rustled and creaked. They danced and teased her as her arm shook under the weight of the sun. Wind wrapped around her and pulled stray pieces of hair towards the unfolding city. She smiled, releasing a soft laugh.
They said to never go to the top of the hill, the edge of town.
She promised that too, to never look. And she had forbidden herself to ask why.
But she didn’t need their answers now. Peering down the twisting roads, the town was nothing more than a mere alleyway with a flicking light that illuminated the idea of safety. She saw the lingering, foreboding shadows that climbed on the cottage walls. It was the shadows turn to peek out of the corners.
She had to admit, it still looked beautiful. She knew if waited just an hour longer, she would be promised a glistening town, and open smiles. It would be beautiful, she would feel so incredibly beautiful. She’d smile and laugh and dance and sing and nod to strangers.
But it didn’t diminish the shadows, nor would it ever.
She promised herself to these people. She promised herself. Her whole being, wrapped up in a verbal seal.
How quaint.
But maybe they’d twist the story to show she had kept her promise in some part. She dropped the sword. An identity enclosed in a silver blade.
But really, who cares? In every tale, only the speaker decides the wicked and the pure.
This town would be her shadow, she knew. She would make it that way. Even if it meant she were to leave some of herself behind. She would be the speaker of this story.
Her feet shifted over the rusting stones and onto the moving meadows.
She had also promised herself a home with kindness. Warmth cupped her face while her palms held nothing but freedom.
She promised herself happiness.
So she would live in this shadow no longer. The sun was in front of her.
– Janet
Crumpled wings, tattered baby cloths
Broken dolls turned grey with age
Forgotten childhood melodies, held in metal
Hidden caged joy sat on a lap backstage
Through the velvet curtains, another song
Rested gently with her hands on ivory
The notes she forced did not belong
To the trapped melodies they were too binary
But tired of the dullness, tired of care
She stood up from her cushioned chair
From there the metal object dropped
A necklace from childhood that was always locked
And opened up new melodies that had since then only watched
Each note flew free, wild and clear
Vibrant colors like wispy thread intertwined
Here, she unknowingly released a tear
And remembered the melodies she left behind
Out of the curtains she emerged
In hand her locket caused an applause well deserved
Melodious notes flew out of her with wings outspread
Leaving behind the heavy notes that filled her with dread
– Ava
Timnit Gebru, an accomplished and respected figure in the computer science field, is particularly known for her revolutionary work in artificial intelligence (AI) and its ethics. As a strong advocate for expanding diversity in technology, she is also the co-founder of Black in AI, an organization of Black researchers working on AI. At Google, she assisted in the construction of the most diverse AI team with leading experts, and often challenged various mainstream AI practices, such as the commercialization of face recognition to police because of its inaccuracy towards recognizing women and people of color- bringing up the possibility of misuse and discrimination against POC.
Recently, however, Gebru has left the multinational technology company over complicated disputes. A series of tweets, leaked emails and online articles have revealed Gebru’s exit was the result of a conflict over a paper she co-authored.
According to Jeff Dean, the head of Google AI, stated that the paper “didn’t meet our bar” and “ignored too much relevant research” on the efforts of minimizing the effects of large language processing models on the environment and bias; quickly cutting off Gebru’s access to her work email after a series of internal email conversations (MIT Technology Review). Gebru, however, among many others, claim that she was wrongfully fired, and forced out of the company. In fact, more than 1,400 Google staff members and 1,900 external petitioners have signed for her support.
According to the MIT Technology Review, who had access to early drafts of the paper–unavailable to the public as of now–covered a series of ethical issues and risks regarding the usage of large language processing models, which Google has been using and building overtime. For some context, natural language processing models are essentially machine learning systems built to sort through sample text to draw some conclusions or “predictions” from them. So, the larger the system, the more text needed.
The four main issues discussed in the paper include environmental and financial costs, enigmatic or inscrutable datasets, misdirected research efforts, and essentially the potential of conning users and providing misinformation.
Firstly – not only can training machine learning models be extremely costly, they produce a whole lot of CO2 as well. According to the MIT Technology Review, training a variation of Google’s language model (BERT), which supports the company’s search engine, has produced 1,438 pounds of CO2. Worse, this number should be viewed as a minimum and the emissions produced after testing the model once.
Secondly, and this is where everything begins to intertwine, there’s the problem of using massive amounts of text to train the machine. Large language models are going to need more text samples to sort through and learn from. Today, much of that data comes from the Internet and all the websites that come with it- even I used a sample from Amazon for my own RNN sequence. Nonetheless, the problem isn’t the Internet itself really, but the potential content the machine might be sorting through. It’s important to keep in mind that an AI model learns what it is given- it cannot distinguish between racist, sexist, or abusive language in the dataset.
Obviously, with the expanse of the internet and massive dataset, there is no guarantee such language will not be included in the training set. Simply put, teaching an AI model that such language is “ok” would be bad. In addition to the normalization of such language, these AI models will not be able catch the nuances of new anit-sexist and anti-racist vocabularly that has arisen from recent political risings, such as the MeToo and Black Lives Matter movements. Furthermore, these models will miss the complexities of languages, cultures, and norms of marginalized groups, those with less access to the Internet and smaller linguistic footprints online. The language generated from such AI models will only be able to produce homogenized results, disproportionately reflecting the richer countries and communities, and failing to properly mirror the diversity we find today.
This disproportion is the limitation of AI- these language models cannot understand language, but merely analyze the patterns employed in language. The real problem is Google is willing to ignore these potential consequences and profit off of them. By commercializing this skill–analyzing data and language– the focus for multiple companies, and likely Google as well, becomes to solely increase the accuracy results of these models rather than producing learning models that project to understand language and overcome these limitations for POC. Not only will such companies be sweeping mass amounts of profit from these models, there are no guidelines as to how such models can be used. These models can also learn to mimic human beings and spread misinformation or other malicious content.
As another person of color and aspiring computer scientist, not only is this disheartening to hear, but also concerning. AI ethics is already a touchy subject, and with the increasing use and research towards AI functions, it’s crucial we get the ethical foundations correct and fair. Technological innovations designed to benefit one group cannot be considered innovations. It simply becomes a disadvantage for another group. Technology should benefit the large majority and constantly aim for the amelioration and consideration of all groups, regardless of background, race, ethnicity, or gender. As the world gravitates towards the increased use of tech, it’s only fair that it’s constructed to include everyone- not a select few.
– Janet
Whether you are one of the many Kpop “armys” or not, I am sure someone has introduced the song “Life Goes On” by BTS to you. If no one has, I suggest listening to it because it will leave you feeling wholesome and hopeful for the coming year.
“Life Goes On,” released on November 20th, is the first track of BTS’ mini album – BE – and is personally one of my favorites to relax to at the end of a long day. The song accurately captures the past year, saying: “어느 날 세상이 멈췄어, 아무런 예고도 하나 없이 [One day, the world stopped, Without any warning].” Immediately, the beginning draws listeners in and relates to their feelings of loss. Many of us have felt like the world stopped, and with it the lives we were looking forward to. We feel robbed of a year…but “Life Goes On” gifts it back to us.
The song continues: “끝이 보이지 않아, 출구가 있긴 할까? [There’s no end in sight, Is there a way out?]” I personally resonate with these lines. 2020 has been like the photo calendar you hang on your wall or keep at your desk. Except, instead of seeing pictures of kittens or Harry Potter characters at the start of each month, we saw wildfires, police brutality, illness, homelessness and political instability. The government has not been as forgiving as I would like in response to these events, and unfortunately there are many people who lack decent empathy towards those affected by 2020. I often asked myself if the cycle of events would ever end so I could return to my normal life. However, after listening to this song, I do not doubt that the cycle will.
“Like an echo in the forest, 하루가 돌아오겠지, 아무 일도 없단 듯이 [The day will come back around, As if nothing happened].” Towards the end of the song, BTS sings these lines and I am not an optimist, but I believe in what they sing. With Covid-19 vaccinations underway, the world will eventually return back to normal. I will be able to go to Quickway with my friends and sit in the lounge, drinking sweet, mango slushies with them. And you will be able to stop scrolling through TikTok and go outside to experience the world we have neglected in our time at home.
That being said, I disagree with the line that it will be “[as if nothing happened].” Society, particularly the medical and science fields, will remember this. People who have been forced onto the streets, or work multiple jobs, or struggle with maintaining their food supply will remember this because it will be a struggle to go back to “normal.” Although this is not a political article, I will say that I do not believe the US government is doing enough to help those affected by Covid-19; by a virus that was created naturally and spread because the government did not respond fast enough. But I digress, “Life Goes On” gives me hope for a better future. This year has been a struggle for sure, but with lows comes the highs and I think we are all due for a good year.
– Ava
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