Tam Vu ’25 came to his friend Neil Shah ’26 around a week ago, informing Shah that he had gotten bored and figured out how to hack RankYale. Vu figured out that Addison Goolsbee ’25, who created the website, didn’t privatize the password, allowing Vu and Shah “free reign over the rankings.” 

“It was so unbelievably easy to hack,” Shah told the News.

Rank Yale allowed the undergraduate population to vote on their peers’ popularity, resulting in a list of the top 100 “most popular” people in each year, as well as an overall list of the most popular people at Yale.

Goolsbee told the News that he was aware of “a pretty easily found exploit” but figured that it would take too long to fix it and that possible hacking would be “so easy to track.” 

“After the rankings closed, I wrote a script to detect people with suspicious behavior, and then went through each person manually to reset their scores if I could prove their vote history to be impossible,” Goolsbee said. “This was not a single hack, but rather several students independently finding the same exploit.”

Shah said he emailed Goolsbee after the rankings were posted, informing him that he and Vu had hacked the platform.

Shah initially believed that Goolsbee’s intention was to expose superficiality at Yale, citing that “it is obvious how much status matters to people at Yale.” He went on to discuss the theme of vanity as a shame, noting that passionate underclassmen often become trapped in the “superficial social spheres” that exist at Yale.

One of the people Vu and Shah placed on the final list was Andrea Chow, who later informed the News about the site being hacked.

“I am not particularly popular and have no desire to be. My friend hacked the website to put all his friends at the top of the rankings,” Chow said. “Mostly he thought it would be funny, but it also highlights the superficiality of a system that self-identifies as toxic and non-consensually subjects students’ faces and names to be part of a project that would rank them numerically.”

Shah hypothesized that Goolsbee changed the rankings that Shah and Vu edited. Goolsbee was ranked the No. 1 most popular by the website. Shah said that Goolsbee’s changing the rankings would have removed the brilliance of the idea to expose superficiality at Yale. The final ranking has people that were added during the hack, but Goolsbee went back and tried to correct what he suspected to be interference with the rankings. 

“The existence of the ranking platform served its purpose. So in my head, the fact that he tried to restore the ‘legitimacy’ of his rankings by removing 21 of the people I put at the top really confuses me,” Shah told the News. “I am unsure if I support his intentions anymore. From two hackers to a troll, we’re disappointed.”

Chow told the News that other people caught the “error” and have been talking about the rankings. 

They also shared they had no qualms in interfering with a system that they don’t believe should exist in the first place.

“I guess the more unique reason for building it is that I just thought it would be very interesting and also pretty funny to see how this works as a social commentary,” Goolsbee previously told the News when asked about creating the site.

Yale Computer Science Department is located at 51 Prospect St.

The post “It was so unbelievably easy to hack”: Yale popularity ranking site manipulated by students to highlight its flaws appeared first on Yale Daily News.

3,599 students — a little over half the undergraduate population — used the site and submitted around 669,000 votes before the site closed down for voting Thursday night. Each user was limited to 100 votes per day, and rankings fluctuated throughout the week, powered by an Elo algorithm similar to chess scoring systems.

“I like building things that people use,” Addison Goolsbee ’25, a computer science major who created the website, told the News. “I thought this would be something people liked — and a lot of people did like it. A lot of people didn’t like it, though. That was an interesting dynamic.”

Though Goolsbee said he initially wanted to build a platform ranking the prestige of Yale clubs, he pivoted to people, finding the idea “way more fun.”

He described Rank Yale as “part prank, part social experiment,” referencing inevitable comparisons to Mark Zuckerberg’s 2003 Harvard platform, Facemash. Goolsbee said he was careful to avoid privacy violations, allowing students to opt out on the first day — a feature he said was ultimately used by 122 students.

“I got a few comparisons with Facemash and Zuckerberg. I mean, like, obviously that was part of the inspiration,” Goolsbee told the News. “It wasn’t actually how I came to the idea, but when I came to the idea, I realized, oh, that’s super similar. I can use that for some design tips.”

Zuckerberg appeared before the administrative board on account of “breaching security, violating copyrights and violating individual privacy.” Goolsbee told the News that he was very careful in ensuring his platform did not violate the data usage policies.

“Some people got really obsessive,” Goolsbee said. “But that made the final result kind of the ultimate joke: the number one person was me.”

Despite its tongue-in-cheek tone — including a satirical  “sandwich mode” feature for turning student profile photos into an image of a sandwich — the site stirred deeper conversations about Yale’s social dynamics.

“To be honest, I did not expect to be ranked. I’m technically not a current sophomore — I’m on a gap — and I am not involved in many things on campus right now,” said Iris Henry ’27, who was ranked first in the class of 2027. “I also think Rank Yale as a whole is a pretty questionable idea. Even if it was not to be taken seriously, I think it can feed into some of the more toxic dynamics that already exist here.”

Henry, who never visited the site while it was live, also called Rank Yale “kind of like Tinder for popularity.”

“Even if it wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, it can feed into the more toxic dynamics that already exist here,” she said. “Yale can feel elitist — especially socially. A lot of clubs are built around exclusivity. Combine that with the academic pressure, and people start tying their self-worth to things like success or social validation.”

Henry added that many students didn’t take the platform seriously and got a laugh from seeing their names — or their friends’ — appear. But she still questioned the motivations behind the project.

“I still find myself questioning the motivation behind creating a platform centered around ranking peers,” said Henry. “It reinforces the idea that your value on campus can be quantified or voted on.”

Henry also acknowledged, however, that at the same time, there wasn’t a “single type” of person ranked. She noted that the top 100 lists had students from all sorts of communities, which “maybe helped show that these surface-level things aren’t as important as we think.”

Others noted that the inclusion of Yale ID photos in the voting process may have introduced visual bias.

“I think having pictures made students more likely to vote for people they found attractive, even if they didn’t know them,” said Jack Carney ’28.

Goolsbee agreed that profile images influenced votes — but not always in predictable ways.

“I’ve met people who always voted for someone with a photo as a kind of protest,” he said. “It wasn’t always about attractiveness.”

He also pointed out that Yale’s ID photos, unlike curated social media pictures, were “basically mugshots,” which made the platform feel less performative. “That’s part of why I think this ended up being less toxic than Facemash,” he said.

Now that the site has shut down, Goolsbee said he has no plans to relaunch it.

Five members of the current Yale Daily News Managing Board were among the Top 100 in their respective classes.

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Driving over the causeway’s crest, the Gulf of Mexico reveals itself. You can see the Galvestonian economy at work: commercial and local fishermen motor out of the marinas; tankers weighed down with oil and cargo, drained from international voyages, gather in throngs and wait at anchor to unload cargo; Carnival cruise ships bring Texans back home. If you listen closely, you can hear the shrimpers going out to sea: they pray for bountiful catches that will see them through the off season. 

From the causeway, the drive to the oceanfront is short. The buildings on the island are battered. Most of their exteriors are scarred and weathered, like the callouses on a shrimper’s hands. After getting through the stop lights, you reach the ocean, where the Texan sky collapses into the Gulf of Mexico.  

Galveston Island looks like the arm of Man of War jellyfish that frequently wash up on the beaches. Over two millennia, the constant churn of the ocean deposited sand in one spot, creating the barrier island. It’s seventeen miles long, and in some places three miles wide —  populated with around fifty-thousand people. Transients come down with their kids for a cheap vacation, filling campgrounds and shabby hotels. Galveston is a haven for Texans of every class and creed. 

The population is composed of whites, African Americans, Hispanics and the descendants of many Vietnamese immigrants who came in the aftermath of the war to work in the American fishing industry. All are represented in the shrimping business. The shrimpers in the Gulf of Mexico supply 9 million pounds of shrimp to the United States yearly, and the Galvestonian shrimpers represent nearly half this catch. The fleet, once numbering over a thousand vessels, has shrunk below 100 and struggles to meet market demand in the face of government regulations. 

Many of the residents live behind a wall of concrete called the seawall: a coastal Alamo, fortifying the shore. However, it isn’t a wall dividing people from the ocean, but rather a platform on which the city is built to allow for peaceful coexistence with the strong-willed sea. For 122 years, the 17-foot-tall, three-mile-long wall has stood guard for the Galvestonians and transients alike. The top of the wall curves back towards the sea to keep the waves from overstepping their bounds. The beach sits at the base of the wall, where beachgoers can use stairs spaced to access the ocean. On top, a sidewalk runs parallel to the sea, with the main road nestled next to the sidewalk. On the other side of the road, opposite the ocean, businesses sit elevated out of the water’s reach, marked with stains of salty air. Many sport plywood bandages, which barricade windows and roofs broken in the last hurricane. 

Each day, Galvestonians and visitors line the seawall. Crime and pleasure exist in pockets up and down the beach. Plumes of marijuana smoke curl up from the lips of a group of men in front of the Waffle House. Children giggle as they fly kites. A man rolls a bike from the public rack that he did not come with. A woman sanctifies herself among the seagulls as she throws them pieces of bread. A green flag, signifying a safe surf, waves the beachgoers into the water.

Among them are hundreds of ghosts of bodies burned on the beaches here. The effects of the hurricane of 1900, the Galveston Flood, sit in the bones of this town. The seawall reverberates with the echo of the wails of drowning bodies being washed out to sea. In the aftermath, survivors gathered remains of loved ones who hadn’t been taken onto funeral pyres, all trash and sargasso weed, and burned the corpses because the cemeteries had been washed away. Galveston hasn’t changed much since then. Its victims haunt the seawall, souls turned phantoms, living as they were before the disaster came.

Buildings on the seawall are marked with a red line showing how high the water breached in 1900. Extreme weather has long ravaged the city, looming over the town like a guillotine waiting to fall. Texans hold their breaths during hurricane season — June to November — praying saltwater won’t claim their livelihoods. If you ask the old women of the island, they’ll tell you to look in the windows of the once-illustrious Hotel Galvez in the light of the moon. You’ll see the ghost of Sister Katharine, a nun washed out to sea on the night of the storm. The story says she died with a group of orphans huddled around her, tied together with a clothesline in a vain attempt to survive. 

More than a century after the hurricane, the night offers a peaceful version of Galveston, the dark providing cover from the glaring sun. Ghost Crabs scuttle across the sand, the moonlight turning them white as they arrive back at holes dug before the tide came in. A parent teaches a child to pick crabs up by the carapace to avoid being pinched, as the child’s finger bleeds from the pince of a claw. An old couple admires a Kemp’s Ridley sea turtle laying its eggs.  

After dark is when the fishing pier comes alive: mosquitoes swarm the lights that reveal the brownish-green hues of the water below. Vietnamese mothers pass homemade bánh mì to their children, while their fathers fish for flounder. The surf fisherman cut up squid as an offering to the elusive sharks that police the end of the pier. 

Bait, hook, reel it in. For a fleeting moment, the unspoken language of the 61st Street fishing pier acts as a lingua franca for Texans, uniting the rednecks, the rich Austinites, the immigrants, the pro fishermen and their children. One can always find people pridefully pulling in all the local catches. Those who fish to eat gently remove their prizes from the hooks to avoid mutilating their dinner. Those who fish for fun rip hooks straight out of creatures’ mouths, while scales fall like glitter back into the sea. 

As people leave, they renounce the language of the pier; a community is divided again. Some put on their Sunday best to dine at Gaido’s, where they will have lobster bisque and bountiful plates of seafood. Others return to homes and tents to fillet their catch and say grace over what they feel their God so graciously provided them. 

Early in the mornings, still under moonlight, the shrimp boats pour into the gulf, their hulls marked with names of shrimpers who survived hurricanes, oil spills, and the decline of the industry. The Rusted Pearl, Shrimp Kiss, Miss Lola. They purge the gulf of its shrimp to afford food for their families. They turn the bay into a sacrificial altar, performing the daily ritual of gather and slaughter. One must wonder if the shrimpers will rise before the sun to fill their nets until the gulf is empty of its shrimp and the town collapses into the sea. Gulf of Mexico, spare the seawall. Forever allow the ghosts, immigrants, shrimpers, rednecks and the haughty alike to find refuge on your shore.

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The hallmark of most states is the license plates tacked onto the back of their cars: Washington’s iconic Mount Rainier; the blue and yellow of the Alaskan plate with the big dipper flag; and New York’s Niagara Falls and the silhouette of the Statue of Liberty. Now, Connecticut has joined this trend — residents can celebrate the state’s culinary claim to fame by registering for the new Pizza State Connecticut License Plate.

“The license is giving homage and support to the families [in the pizza business]. That is the American dream,” Colin Caplan, New Haven historian and business owner, told the News.

Caplan started looking into commissioning a license plate last September. He began talking with the Department of Motor Vehicles in Connecticut to begin the process for getting a special interest license plate with pizza on it, which can be done either through passed legislation or through a nonprofit.

Caplan worked with the Connecticut Food Share, which is the largest food bank in the state of Connecticut.

To get production and distribution going, the license plate had to receive a minimum of 400 applications. The online form received 600 entries. The plate then launched on March 14, or Pi day.

“We had to stop because we got so many applications, and that had never been done before,” Caplan said. “We had to pause it to make sure we could complete every one of these applications, and that is where we are at now.”

The DMV sets the license plate prices. Caplan and his team added a processing fee associated with credit card processing, printing and digital signing fees.

According to the state comptroller’s Special Examination on Pizza, Connecticut has a total of 1,376 pizza restaurants, with the city of New Haven boasting the most, at 63 pizza shops.

The State of Connecticut ranks first in the number of pizza restaurants per capita, with 3.65 pizza establishments per 10,000 people. This proportion puts Connecticut at the highest density of pizza restaurants in the country.

According to Kadir Catabasoglu, the owner of Brick Oven Pizza, the introduction of pizza plate will be good for his business: “You see the pizza plate, and you want pizza.”

“You know, Georgia is the peach state, Connecticut is the Pizza state. I’m sure it will be fun,” George Koutroumanis, the owner of Yorkside Pizza, told the News. “You know, anybody sees it anywhere, so it sticks in your mind.”

This pizza culture has driven the Connecticut economy, with an estimated $600 million in annual sales, making up nearly 20 percent of the state’s economic activity. 

New Haven draws over 2 million visitors annually each year for pizza, contributing an additional $100 million to the local economy. 

“We are trying to create a positive rally call around something that is wholesome. These are family businesses, these are major employers, major parts of our economy and points of pride,” Caplan said. “These businesses are feeding us, it is building up together. That is how I see it.”

Caplan hopes to take the next set of plate orders in about three weeks. He plans to limit the number of plates to around 3500, with 600 already being sent out, meaning 2900 plates should be available for purchase in the next application cycle.

Connecticut Foodshare was founded in 1982.

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Measles is a highly contagious virus characterized by symptoms such as high fever, cough, runny nose and watery eyes. The uptick in cases, Yale experts the News spoke to suggest, can be attributed to vaccine hesitancy and decreased vaccination rates, among other things. Though the virus is contagious, the measles, mumps and rubella vaccine is highly effective at preventing infection, with a 93 percent effectiveness rate. The first dose is given at 12-15 months and the second at four to six years of age. 

“The evidence indicates that the measles outbreak in Texas is due to reduced vaccination rates in that geographic area. Measles is a very contagious disease, but the routine childhood vaccination schedule in the U.S. prevents it,” Dr. Ellen Foxman, associate professor of immunobiology at the School of Medicine, told the News. “When the vaccination rate drops, if there is even one case, the virus can spread quickly to any unprotected contacts. The straightforward way to counteract this is vaccination.” 

The Texas Department of State Health Services reported an outbreak of measles in the Panhandle region of Texas, beginning in January. A majority of these cases are located in Gaines County, with the state health services department reporting one death of a school aged child who was not vaccinated. This is the biggest measles outbreak the state has seen in more than 30 years. 

The child’s parents are members of a Mennonite community, with a kindergarten vaccination rate for measles, mumps and rubella in the county sitting at around 82 percent — the state average vaccination rate is at around 91 percent for the first dose and 80.9 percent for the second dose. In terms of full series vaccination rates, Texas falls behind the rest of the nation, with a state average vaccination rate of 67.8 percent. 

“This outbreak is occurring in an area where there is a low rate of measles vaccination. Measles is one of the most contagious diseases in existence, so to stop an outbreak you need a roughly 95 percent vaccination rate or higher,” Dr. Scott Roberts, associate medical director for infection prevention at the School of Medicine, told the News. “There are pockets of the U.S. where it is significantly less than that, and we are seeing the impact of that in real time.” 

The child’s parents had five children catch measles, and they treated the children with inhaled steroids and castor oil. The couple made comments about not taking the MMR vaccine, saying that the infection “wasn’t that bad” for the other children. 

This outbreak came around the same time Robert F. Kennedy Jr. was confirmed to be secretary of the U.S Department of Health and Human Services. Kennedy has made statements in the past about COVID-19, stating the Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System record “confirms that this [COVID] is the deadliest vaccine ever made.” He has also made statements to Fox News about how he believes “autism comes from vaccines.” 

“Secretary Kennedy has been quite vocal about his skepticism toward certain vaccines and has promoted misinformation,” Jackson Higginbottom MPH ’20, vaccine demand strategist at the CDC foundation, told the News. “That said, I think it is important to understand that these outbreaks reflect broader trends. We’ve been seeing declining vaccination rates for several years now, well before the current administration.” 

Deaths as a result of vaccination are a rare occurrence, as there are numerous rigid guidelines that must be met in order to release vaccines to the public, and once they are prepared for human use, there are precautions taken about who gets vaccinated to ensure the utmost safety. 

Despite rigorous evidence from the CDC on the safety of vaccines, the dissemination of Kennedy’s misinformation on vaccination are playing a role in government leadership, and with sweeping cuts to state and community health departments, education and access to vaccines has been affected. 

“What’s happening is that public figures with platforms as significant as Secretary Kennedy’s can amplify existing concerns and potentially accelerate these trends through their policy positions and public statements,” Higginbottom told the News. 

Higginbottom also described the ways in which the COVID-19 pandemic has transformed dynamics involving vaccine hesitancy, citing factors such as social media platforms being algorithmically designed to amplify content that generates reactions, shifting trust in medical institutions and government agencies and changing ideas on individual choice versus collective responsibility. 

The COVID vaccine’s rapid development raised a lot of questions for people about public health. The nation saw an unprecedented politicization of public health measures, which made it difficult for some to separate true scientific guidance from political messaging. 

“Disproven myths, such as the [measles, mumps and rubella vaccine] causing autism, are continuing to be circulated. Also with the recent changes at Health and Human Services, I worry that local public health departments, who are already resource-strained, will be further reduced over time,” Dr. Roberts told the News. “I worry that misinformation being promoted, coupled with the changes in public health infrastructure, will make stopping this outbreak all the more challenging.” 

The Yale School of Public Health is located at 60 College St. 

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This consolidation of the workforce comes after what the agency describes as “the biggest action in U.S. history.” On March 12, Administrator Lee Zeldin announced a series of 31 actions to advance President Trump’s executive orders, stating that while the agency is committed to protecting the environment, they are also interested in fulfilling the Administration’s promises to reduce living costs for Americans, strengthen American energy, among other actions.  

“When the agency was founded, there was this old saying that the air is so polluted that the people of Denver wanted to see the mountains again, the people of Los Angeles wanted to see each other again, the water was so contaminated that we had rivers bursting into flames,” Paul Anastas, professor in the practice of Chemistry for the Environment, told the News. “These are not history lessons, these are guarantees of what our future will look like if we don’t take the actions necessary to preserve our environment.”

Anastas is widely known as the Father of Green Chemistry and served as the assistant administrator of the EPA. During this time, Anastas worked to create the EPA’s Scientific Integrity Policy which prohibits political interference with scientists, the conduct of their work and the share of their work. 

The EPA was created by Richard Nixon in 1970 to address a growing number of environmental concerns including environmental pollution, industrial waste, water pollution and interactions between human health and the environment. 

The Office of Research and Development, ORD, is the arm of the EPA responsible for providing a foundation for decision making to protect human health and the environment from pollutants. 

“We don’t have to see research on climate change as being so awfully different from research on cancer, and paint the picture so black and white, but I do think that is what’s happening,” Karla Neugebauer, professor of Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry, told the News.

The information generated by the ORD is the basis of all the regulatory programs, decision making throughout the offices of the EPA, and it is the basis for all of the State departments’ environmental protection initiatives. It is also a widely used source for governments around the world.

The ORD manages the Integrated Risk Information System, IRIS, which is the go-to source for understanding risks involving activities, such as monitoring water quality and quantifying risks associated with various pollutants and how those risks can be mitigated. 

“EPA’s mission of protecting human health and the environment rests on the scientific foundation provided by the ORD. IRIS appears to be a target of both the ORD cuts and the No IRIS Act introduced in Congress,” Shimon Anisfeld, a research scientist in water resources at the Yale School of the Environment, told the News. “Trying to protect water quality without IRIS and ORD is driving blind, an approach that will certainly lead to increased pollution with real-world consequences for ecosystems and communities, especially those with the least power to fight polluters on their own.” 

The agency claims that its actions will roll back trillions in cost of living for American families. The purpose of these deregulatory actions are to remove the government control on industries and sectors to increase competition and lower cost.

Some of these actions include terminating Biden’s Environmental Justice and diversity, equity and inclusion arms of the agency, reconstituting the Science Advisory Board and Clean Air Scientific Advisory Committee, reconsidering the National Emission Standards for Hazardous Air Pollutants and reconsidering Mercury and Air Toxics standards. 

“We have to recognize that science has been the golden goose for the U.S. economy, it has been the driver of innovation. Science drives innovation. Poison in our environment is poison in our economy,” Dr. Anastas told the News. “We have run this experiment before, and it didn’t work out very well. Run it again, we are going to do it at tremendous cost to people’s health and even the economy.” 

James Payne, former acting EPA Administrator, issued a directive ordering the staff at the EPA to halt communications outside of the agency, on Jan. 24. 

When asked for specific examples of research initiatives that have been blocked or delayed, Dr. Anastas admitted he was unable to share without revealing who the scientists are involved, as they currently feel under threat. 

“I know that scientists have been told to stop their work, stop their projects, and not communicate with scientists,” Anastas told the News when asked about colleagues currently at the EPA. “There are examples that I am personally aware of scientists from the EPA who are invited to conferences because of their expertise, who are being directed not to attend and not to participate.” 

The Yale School of the Environment is located at 195 Prospect St.

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I grew up on the edge of the Texas pine belt, right on the border of the West and the Deep South, where the desert and dust storms mingle with farmland and pineywoods. In my part of Texas, the most enviable sunsets spill across the sky, tornados beckon for victims each spring and thunder claps like the hand of God against the tallest pine trees. I spent my childhood on a cattle and hay farm, bought 40 years ago by Nana. She bought the land with her husband, and they built it up out of love — a shed for the John Deere tractor, garden beds where zinnias and beefsteak tomatoes grow in the springtime and a pond full of yellow belly perch for us to catch in the summers. My parents moved onto the land when we were young.  Nana helped bring us up out there, with Pillsbury biscuits soaked with homemade peach jelly; books read in the empty hay barns, sheltered from the August sun; and lessons on the snakes, spiders, and bugs that make their homes in the rich soil. With a firm hand and a gentle heart, she brought me up as a proud Texan child. 

My hometown in Texas is nothing remarkable. Its greatest sources of pride are our monthly outdoor flea market and the county courthouse that stands unchanged like a monument with its empty jail cells and weathered facade. The rest of the county is made up of similar little towns, all populations hovering right around a thousand people, where most have never once dared cross the county line. Our neighbors of the town are like my grandparents: a farmer who grows tomatoes and watermelon and drives them into Dallas each summer weekend to sell them at the farmers’ market; the old woman down the road who makes jams and pies and sells them off a little red cart her husband built; and the catfish man, who runs the fish farm where landowners buy tilapia to stock their ponds.

When I mention growing up in Texas at Yale, I am frequently met with a disdainful look. Many view my regional identity as a hallmark of stupidity and ill will, and this recent election has plunged the world’s idea of Texas further into darkness. I simply smile when I am met with their condolences, but at the same time, it fills me with a great grief that those from East Coast intellectual centers and West Coast paradises write off the Texans as ignorant and hateful. 

On Nov. 5, I stood in line at the New Haven City Hall for four hours to cast my vote because I had failed to receive my absentee ballot in time for the election in spite of my attempt. I talked with my friends as we watched the map fill with blue and red, secure with Connecticut being called blue as soon as voting had closed. My friends from blue states reveled in the promise of four more years of being from a blue state, but my eyes traveled to the bottom of the map, watching nervously as voters from Dallas, Austin, Houston and San Antonio fought against the sea of red counties all across my home state of Texas, including my own, as I feebly crossed my fingers for Texas to go blue. 

The Trump Administration ran on the promise of revival, to make America great again, a sweet lie dripping like a hymnal off their tongues. Even though a strong country was very exciting, the only thing greater than a well-led nation in the eyes of many Texans, is Jesus. On July 26, 2024, Donald Trump stood in West Palm Beach and stirred his voters with an almost messianic promise: “Christians, get out and vote, just this time. You won’t have to do it anymore. Four more years, you know what, it will be fixed, it will be fine, you won’t have to vote anymore, my beautiful Christians.” These promises stick in the mind of the mother of three kids who relies on meals at the local Baptist church, the veteran drafted into the Vietnam war who found God after losing his friend in an explosion, the nurse at the local clinic with the cross necklace tucked beneath her scrubs and people like my grandparents who live off social security checks and their retirement savings, but always make donations to the church.

Trump, the Jan. 6 insurrectionists and many of his cabinet members have portrayed themselves as figures under illegitimate persecution, creating a narrative that they are being constantly politically attacked. This portrayal has crafted a narrative of martyrdom, echoing familiar biblical themes that resonate with religious Americans everywhere. During Trump’s hush money trial last March, he wrote about his case onTruth Social: “It is ironic that Christ walked through his greatest persecution the very week they are trying to steal your property from you.” This constant comparison seems to have created a notable conflation between the American separation of church and state and true religious tradition. 

Trump has also hijacked the narrative of the right and the American identity, claiming its heritage in the Christian tradition. Though frequently unsupported, Trump’s political positions highlight issues that are important to religious conservatives such as “religious liberty” and abortion, painting them as values of “real” Americans. 

In the Bible, Jesus is selfless, humble and willing to suffer in silence for the greater good. He washed the feet of the poor, healed the sick and taught anyone willing to listen to lessons of forgiveness, compassion and love. For those who didn’t grow up in the Judeo-Christian tradition, we are taught that to live a life that reflects the character of Jesus is the highest achievement of the flesh. “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me,” reads Galatians 2:20. “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as Christ God has forgiven you,” reads Ephesians 4:32. 

How could the American public, including members of my own family,  mistake Jesus-like characteristics  for someone who has sexually assaulted women, acts out of materialism and greed, committed adultery and has been found guilty by the American justice system? 

There are many reasons rural Texan communities  vote the way they do. One must consider the fact that working class Americans feel betrayed by the political system. Others have voted red their whole lives and don’t see a difference between Trump and former Republican candidates. And of course, some are just bigots, so Trump’s platform resonates with them. I’m not defending the bigots, but I don’t believe that is what is behind most Texans’ vote for Trump, and I know that isn’t the case in my own family.

When you drive down the county roads throughout Texas, especially during election season, you frequently see Trump’s name on merchandise next to Jesus paraphernalia: hats declaring “Jesus is my Savior, Trump Is My President,” shirts with Jesus placing his hands on Trump’s shoulders with text saying “They called me guilty too” and even flags that say “Jesus loves Trump.” 

These were a lot of the feelings leading up to the election, but I can see a shift in the attitude of my neighbors, family and friends as they are shocked by the nationwide repercussions the President’s executive orders are having on the country. American farmers, ranchers and rural small business owners, many of whom voted for Trump, signed up to receive funding from the Inflation Reduction Act, only to be scorched by Trump’s extensive funding freezes — with Texas having the greatest number of these investments in the country. The government is now neglecting the land of those who feed them, hitting farmers with tariffs and causing significant damage to the USDA  Local Food for Schools program, which helped provide healthy meals to schools from local farms. Measles is rising in Texas, largely due to RFK’s anti-vaccine propaganda, and the funding that paid for testing and vaccination will be cut. These are just a few of the examples that I don’t think rural Texans believed Trump would do things that are now hurting our people. 

It would be unfair of me to write that Trump’s actions are a surprise to every Texan, as racism, homophobia, sexism and bigotry of all kinds still permeate rural America and the Republican party. The truth is deeply frustrating to try and reconcile, as many people didn’t vote out of hate, but out of love for their religion and their God. What about all the good-hearted Texans, raised breathing in the Bible for sustenance? What compelled them to overlook all the wretched things Trump did to cast their vote for him? And now as they watch America bear the weight of their decision, how do they feel? Do they regret their vote? 

I don’t know the answers to these questions. And yet, my plea, in writing, is for people outside of the South to see that not all rural Americans are driven by bigotry. 

I think the messianic image Trump made for himself created a following reminiscent of a cult, where perhaps the most unthinkable thing was to doubt him, no matter what he did or said. He feeds innocent, kind-hearted Americans contradictory statements, incorrect interpretations of fact and bellicose messages about politicians who disagree with him — “guiding the spirits” of many Americans in the rural South who feel left behind. 

The Texan farmers who employ immigrants, both undocumented and legal, who turn a blind eye to their status and provide them with work, do not want to see their employees taken and their families torn apart. The nurses and doctors in underserved hospitals all across Texas do not want to see a woman die because of poor reproductive care. The teachers and professors, like Nana who taught at the university and grade school level, do not want to see the Department of Education shut down. Many Trump voters I know of are kind and compassionate people. I refuse to write off the fact that the people who raised me on values of truth, kindness and love would intentionally vote for someone they truly believed would hurt people. 

Liberals tell conservatives they are rotten, but when a Texan neighbor dies, the community gathers to plant a live oak in their memory. Liberals call conservatives evil, but many conservatives send prayers of abundance for each other’s farms and health for the ailing, cast like stones to whatever version of God we choose to believe in on a Sunday morning. Liberals tell conservatives they are out of touch with what’s happening in the world, but our town halls and county buildings are full at town meetings because even the most rural of Texans care about their community and want to understand the issues that face them. 

I was taught at my Christian school, when Jesus martyred himself for the good of humanity, while blood dripped down his face and his hands were being bound to the cedar crucifix, he used his last breaths to ask God, the Father, to forgive those crucifying him, for they didn’t understand the magnitude of what they were doing. The people of Texas had faith and believed — really believed — Trump would make America great again, and now our people are suffering all the same. So my plea to those who write the Texans off as bigots, ignorant and hateful, is to “forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

The post For They Know Not What They Do appeared first on Yale Daily News.

Since 1874, the AAAS has annually selected a group of scientists to honor their achievements in research, teaching, industry, government, scientific communication and academia. 

This year, the Yale faculty recognized were David Hafler, Leonard Milstone ’66 MED ’70, Ruth Montgomery, Thomas Near, Karla Neugebauer, William Nordhaus ’63, Craig Roy and Jeffery Townsend.

David Hafler, chairman of the Neurology Department at the Yale School of Medicine and the neurologist-in-chief at the Yale New Haven Hospital, is a leading expert on multiple sclerosis and played a crucial role in identifying the major mechanism underlying the cause of the disease.

“I began my studies in multiple sclerosis as a freshman in college based on the question: can we solve it in my lifetime?” Hefler told the News. “I am very proud of the work that I and a group of my colleagues have done to address this issue. It is wonderful being a physician scientist, to be both an immunologist and work with patients, as well as do research.”

Hafler has won the Dystel Prize for his work on sclerosis, received the NIH Javits Investigator Award and is a member of the American Society of Clinical Investigation and the National Academy of Medicine.

Thomas Near, is a professor of ecology and evolutionary biology and curator of ichthyology at the Peabody Museum. His lab combines fieldwork, such as collecting specimens in remote places from Antarctic waters to Appalachian streams, with ground-breaking approaches to studying the evolutionary history of fishes. 

His evolutionary interests lie particularly in the notothenioid species, a fish that survives in the icy waters of Antarctica and the darters of North America.

“I am truly honored to be included among this year’s cohort, especially since AAAS has such a rich history of advancing science across disciplines,” Near told the News. “Being named an AAAS Fellow is a meaningful recognition of our contributions to understanding how these remarkable fish lineages have adapted and diversified over millions of years.”

Near’s lab plans to continue its comparative and interdisciplinary work studying the processes that drive fish evolution. Near is especially interested in explaining how climate change could impact the adapted fishes he studies, specifically in the warming Antarctic.

Ruth Montgomery, associate dean at the Yale School of Medicine and a professor of medicine and epidemiology at the School of Public Health, has devoted her career to studying the body’s innate immune responses to viral infections, asthma, Lyme disease and aging. 

Montgomery’s work with primary human cells aims to show immune-related mechanisms to pave the pathway for the creation of therapeutic interventions.

“Discoveries in science have brought me joy since I was a girl and first learned about biology,” Montgomery told the News. “I continue to be genuinely excited about new discoveries practically every day, whether from a journal or from my lab members.”

Leonard Milstone, senior research scientist in dermatology at the Yale medical school, focuses on inherited disorders of keratinization, a process occurring in the hair, skin and nails that is essential for maintaining these tissues. Milstone has discovered the interferon gamma keratins and a protein involved in cell adhesion and migration.

Jeffery Townsend, professor of biostatistics and ecology and evolutionary biology, has worked extensively on innovative approaches to biology, on issues ranging from the evolution of antimicrobial resistance to disease transmission and mitigation of therapeutic resistance in cancer. 

His lab’s research focuses on understanding the evolutionary dynamics of cancer and infectious disease. It uses a variety of tools in computational biology, phylogenetics and population genetics to explore how human ancestry shapes health.

“To have this research honored by being named an AAAS Fellow is tremendously gratifying because it affirms not only the impact of this work, but the value of conducting fundamental science that crosses disciplinary boundaries and addresses real-world challenges,” Townsend said.

William Nordhaus is the Sterling Professor Emeritus of economics and forestry and environmental studies. Nordhaus is part of the research staff for the National Bureau of Economic Research and a senior advisor of the Brookings Panel on Economic Activity in Washington, D.C. 

He received the 2018 Nobel Prize in economic sciences alongside Paul Romer for integrating issues of a changing climate into macroeconomic analysis. His work spans the social, physical and environmental sciences, as well as law and social sciences.

“I hope this recognition will inspire other scholars to step outside of their own disciplines to tackle the pressing issues of the day,” Nordhaus told the News.

Nordhaus encourages scholars to continue to work on issues of climate change, armed conflict, weaponized trade agreements and reforms to international law that will make international agreements, like Nordhaus’ own “Climate Club,” easier to implement on a global scale.

Craig Roy, professor of microbial pathogenesis and immunobiology, uses multidisciplinary approaches to discover new mechanisms that pathogens use to evade the immune system, and also create organelles that allow bacterial replication. 

Roy is a founding member of the Department of Microbial Pathogenesis at Yale, which works to explore topics at the intersection of disease and microbes.

Karla Neugebauer is a professor of molecular biophysics and biochemistry and cell biology at Yale College and the School of Medicine. Her studies focus mainly on understanding the basic processes that happen in RNA, a molecule pivotal to the central dogma of life. 

Diseases like neurodegenerative disorders and cancer arise when these processes are interrupted, and Neugebauer and her lab work to explore why this happens, how it can be mitigated and potential avenues for cures.

“The idea that as a young person you can become fascinated with really basic questions, and that is what drives scientists is that question, that curiosity, how does this thing work?” Neugebauer told the News. “Then along the way you discover, maybe we could save someone’s life with this.” 

In June, the 2024 AAAS fellows will be inducted in Washington.

The post Eight Yale scientists elected as AAAS fellows for their research contributions appeared first on Yale Daily News.

A new study, co-led by Yale researchers and published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, or JAMA, found that high resolution micro-ultrasound, or microUS, is just as effective for guiding prostate cancer biopsies as MRI, or magnetic resonance imaging. 

The study was based on a randomized clinical trial with 678 participants. The researchers wanted to determine if high-resolution micro-ultrasonography-guided biopsy was better than MRI fusion-guided biopsy for detecting prostate cancer in a clinical setting. The study found that microUS was, in fact, a promising alternative to MRI.

“This is a game changer as MRI is a limited resource, with inadequate access globally. Even in the United States, only one-third of men have an MRI prior to biopsy, and this is decreased in the rural USA,” Dr. Adam Kinnaird, chair of prostate cancer research at the University of Alberta, told the News. “Micro-ultrasound can be used anywhere there is electricity and has the potential for reaching men at risk of prostate cancer worldwide.” 

Micro-ultrasound is an advanced ultrasound platform that utilizes 29 megahertz, or MHz, as opposed to the traditional ultrasound which performs at around seven to nine MHz. This makes the quality of the microUS more advanced, as it can assess glandular structure. 

Unlike MRI, which often requires multiple appointments and costly equipment, microUS enables clinicians to both scan and biopsy in a single session. This could streamline care and lower the barriers for patients, promoting equity in diagnosing prostate cancer in men. 

“Micro-ultrasound platform is less expensive than purchasing an MRI,” Dr. Joseph Renzulli, urologist at Yale, told the News. “The benefits of micro ultrasound are the ability to identify areas within the prostate that are concerning for potential prostate cancer and then targeting those areas with biopsy real time. This can all be done during one visit for the patient.”  

This shift from imaging-dependent referrals to point of care diagnostics led by urologists could lower costs dramatically in underserved and rural areas, shorten time to diagnosis in high-risk prostate cancer cases and reduce MRI bottlenecks in systems that are overburdened. 

The clinical trial took place across 20 centers in eight different countries, from December 2021 to September 2024, where each center did a noninferiority trial of biopsy-naive men. A noninferiority trial focuses on demonstrating that a new diagnostic tool, in this case microUS, is not worse than the current standard for detection, which in this case is MRI. This trial specifically worked with male patients who had never undergone a prostate biopsy but were being considered for one. The men were chosen based on elevated levels of prostate-specific antigen — a protein produced by the prostate — or abnormal rectal examination findings. 

The wider applicability of this technology is being investigated by other specialties. The learning curve for clinicians using microUS technology involves a combination of structured training and hands-on-experience. Clinicians must complete online training modules, become familiar with the PRIMUS scoring system for identification of ultrasound-visible lesions and work closely with company representatives to build proficiency. 

While early use is manageable with support, experts acknowledge that reaching a high level of diagnostic accuracy takes time. As a result, widespread implementation of this technology may be slowed by the need for comprehensive training, particularly in institutions without immediate access to training resources or experienced users. 

Implementing new technologies for tests that already have existing, effective procedures is challenging due to high costs, concerns with data privacy, cost of training staff and integrating with existing workflows to ensure the return on investment for the centers searching to change their technology. 

“I think in general for any new technology, there will be some resistance from providers who have an established workflow and are comfortable with their current approach. I do think that microUS technology does have the potential advantage of avoiding the need for MRI, which may save a significant amount of healthcare dollars and avoid a long and expensive exam for some patients,” Dr. Joseph Brito, urologist at Yale, told the News when asked about the challenges in implementing this technology. 

The American Urologic Association publishes practice guidelines that many urologists across the country use on a daily basis to inform their practice. The current guidelines discuss MRI as an option prior to prostate biopsy and recommend this targeted biopsy for anyone with a lesion identified on the MRI. There is no mention of microUS in the American Urologic Association, but it is a fairly new technology. 

JAMA is a peer-reviewed medical journal published 48 times a year by the American Medical Association. 

The post Micro-ultrasound challenges MRI in prostate cancer detection appeared first on Yale Daily News.

The clubgoers wear workwear and denim that we usually see muddied and frayed from ranch work. But under the fractured light of the disco ball, the clothes are embellished with rhinestones, patches, jewels – all glamorous customizations that real cowboys would never wear. The male patrons wear El Presidente Stetson hats and Canadian tuxedos — denim on denim — from Ralph Lauren. The women, dressed in similar luxury, wear pink calfskin boots, which glimmer with gemstones. Turquoise and silver decorate their ears, necks and wrists. Vintage Japanese selvage from Madison Avenue boutiques, the finest leather goods made from animals that don’t even live in Texas and the intoxicating smell of Tom Ford and DS and Durga cologne converge.

The men, heads lifted high, and thumbs tucked into belt loops, gaze at the women, searching for flaws and pleasurable features. Women match the color of their lips to their boots, and voluptuous curls frame their faces. Denim corsets paired with cinched belts accentuate their figures. Femininity and masculinity mingle, adorned in a consumerist abstraction of the cowboy. 

Our Sunday sermons and dirt road parties in my rural Texas town never see this kind of moneyed scheme; where I am from, things are much more modest. The older generations, like my grandparents, wonder why Acne Studios denim jeans — intentionally frayed and muddied — are $800. In my town, frayed denim belongs to the deepest parts of the farm and represents the dignified profession of those who cultivate the land. This distinction doesn’t exist in the Electric Cowboy. 

The public’s view of rural life has evolved a lot since society initially moved away from rural lifestyles into the urban. A different version of rural life recently resurged into popular culture, allowing for this rural chic to become a status symbol worn by celebrities like Kanye, Miley Cyrus and Lil Nas X. Maybe it is nostalgia for a bygone time or maybe it is a fleeting trend that will fade with the next surge of culture. The practitioners of this aesthetic idealize things like Marlboro cigarettes, beer and dark liquors, turquoise and feather jewelry, fringes, cowhide, “vintage” jeans and pop country crossover artists like Morgan Wallen and Beyonce, with their albums “One Thing at a Time” and “Cowboy Carter.”

Having grown up living and working on a farm, upon leaving and going to places like urban mega-churches, the NorthPark Mall in Dallas and the Electric Cowboy, I began to realize the fetishizers don’t understand the reality of what they are replicating. Yes, the rural Texans wear boots and jeans, and they let Marlboro cigarette smoke curl up from lips soaked with canned Busch light. But there is also cow shit caked onto their boots and solemn stories told of our neighbors losing their lives in a hay baler or to a rowdy cow. Disease riddles the bodies of farmers, with maladies entering from every angle. Long days in the sun cause cancerous carcinoma on the skin, and health issues rage on in lungs and livers as farmers partake in destructive vices to escape the realities of the economic frustration that comes with farming.

On the other side of this economic spectrum, stores like Tecovas, known for selling “Western-style” apparel, sell pairs of thousand-dollar leather boots that will never see a herd of cattle off to the slaughter. Corporations, like Ticketmaster, spike the prices of tickets to over fourteen hundred dollars to see “country” singers, like Dan and Shay, who sing of lives that ticket purchasers will never experience. They are commodifying rural life, making a glamorized mockery of farmers and cowboys, whether they do it intentionally or not.

The rich folks in their stylized rural garb come in many different forms: Dallasites dressed in their expensive cowboy clothes attending mega-churches to bolster their patriotism with a Sunday morning service; Californian movie stars and socialites coming in with their high salaries and $3,600 Van Cleef and Arpels turquoise jewelry, buying reclaimed swaths of land that used to be the source of a family’s livelihood; or couples donating thousands of dollars to the Republican Party while sporting MAGA hats in a brand new $100,000 pickup truck with wives clutching calfskin purses. All of these are manifestations of the aesthetic that depart from the modest lives of the true cowboy. While off base, this aesthetic is an attempt at replicating the attributes of a cowboy to replicate something of a greater cultural significance. 

The widest reaching and most memorable fashion senses usually aim to embody an ideal. The ’90s grunge fashion, with its loose flannels and Doc Martin boots, idealized the tolerance of difference and cynicism towards big corporations; the 70s punk fashion, with its leather jackets and spiked hair, idealized the movement of anti-establishment against political systems; and the 60s hippie fashion, with their psychedelic colors and long hair, idealized freedom, love, and nonviolence. This romanticizing of the modern rural Texan strives to embody something similarly meaningful. The early farmer in America was a genuine manifestation of the American dream. The fashion sense idealizes the patriotism, conquest and the rurality that dominated this early American life. 

But, it’s also true that patriotism can be ugly. Idealization of a “patriotic” ideal is frequently permeated with meanings that subsequently make a mockery of what the founding fathers’ mythologized patriotism to be. This fashionable sense seemingly attempts to capture the “patriotism” of the cowboys of rural Texas, who are known for being neighborly, kind and loyal. However, it is often worn by a certain population, who possess hateful ideologies, which can diminish the image of our noble cowboys into hateful bigots. Maybe in dressing like this, those who embrace the aesthetic are chasing feelings of nostalgia for a bygone time, looking for a connection to their Americanness.

If there is something that is purely American, it is rural American life. I understand why the people in these clubs, churches and concerts want to replicate and glamorize it. If I am being honest, I am drawn to it as well — to the mythologized version of it. This sign of pride in the place you come from is one of the grandest hallmarks of Americanness. Perhaps, beneath the fancy leather boots and cowhide vests, maybe all the practitioners of the aesthetic are looking for, is a connection to this fundamental principle of being American. ​​The mythologized version of rural life possesses something noble that fortifies core ideas of Americanness — self-determination, pride and hard work.

So now, when my friends call me and ask me if I want to go to the Electric Cowboy, despite some of the ignorance behind the aesthetic, the answer is always yes. I button up my vintage Ralph Lauren denim shirt and place my fanciest cowboy hat on my head to drive into Dallas. I walk into the club to be met with dozens of bodies similarly dressed, wearing every variation of the core garb of the modern cowboys. I get lost in the pop song disguised as a country anthem, and I realize that I do not possess the vitriolic patriotism that permeates some of our culture, but nonetheless I am proud of where I come from. I give into the feeling, joining my friends in the line dances that rose to fame on TikTok. Maybe in sharing the dance floor with the other clubgoers, some of the dirt from my boots will make its way to theirs.

The post A Trip to the Electric Cowboy appeared first on Yale Daily News.