Inclusion/Exclusion

Testimonios: Dr. Omayra Ortega
Dr. Omayra Ortega; Illustration created by Ana Valle.

Why Math

I have always been drawn to beauty and order, two concepts central to mathematics. I grew up in Far Rockaway, Queens, New York—a wonderful land on the south shore of Long Island (right near the beach). The ocean has always been a tranquil escape for me, and I’ve always felt a connection to my ancestry through the shared experience of the ocean. As a child in the early 1980s, I reluctantly spent many hours (on both weekends and weekdays) with my parents at church. Rather than engage with the spoken gospel, I would admire the interior of our church, St. Mary’s Star of the Sea, and take in the physical gospel that was presented before me. During these long masses, I would get lost in the lights and the architecture. I loved the symmetry and the grandeur of the altar and how that stately mirror-like design was continued throughout the entire building. I was especially hypnotized by the stained glass of the stations of the cross and the stylized geometry of the figures contained in each of the colorful panes of glass. Each image made more beautiful by the mid-morning sunlight. One of my earliest memories is waiting outside of the church after my brother’s youth bible study group, Las Jornadistas, got out. All of the young people were happily chatting and milling about before walking home. My brother and I got a rude surprise when we realized that his bicycle—our only mode of transportation at the time—had been stolen while we were in church. To this day we still marvel that someone would steal a bicycle with a baby seat attached from a church! It takes all kinds.

My homeland, New York City, is a melting pot of people and cultures, and Rockaway, Queens had a similar mixture of cultures, but on a smaller scale. Rockaway Beach is a long peninsula on the south side of Long Island with a long swath of sandy coast facing the Atlantic Ocean. Rockaway Beach is defined by Breezy Point on the western border and Far Rockaway (where I was born) on the eastern border. All types of people are drawn to this area because of the beach and relative proximity to New York City, but the neighborhoods are somewhat segregated. Breezy Point tended to be more well-to-do and working class people of European descent. Many of my friends from this area were Irish Catholics. Breezy Point, Neponsit, Belle Harbor, Rockaway Park and Rockaway Beach are home to many of the firefighters of Irish descent who responded to and unfortunately perished in the 9-11 attacks on the Twin Towers (may they rest in peace). As you move further east on the Rockaway Peninsula into Arverne, Edgemere, Bayswater, and Far Rockaway, you would find the homes of the Black and Latinx Rockaway residents. The easternmost border of Far Rockaway was (and is) defined by a large orthodox Jewish community, beyond which lay the suburbs of Nassau County, what many people call the start of “Long Island” (though all of Brooklyn, Queens, Nassau and Suffolk define Long Island).

My grandmother, in a pollera, with my mother and two uncles (everyone is wearing traditional Panamanian dress).

My Familia

If your family is anything like my family, every family function is the same. It didn’t matter if it was a baby shower, kid’s birthday party, quinceañera, wedding, graduation party, or a funeral:
(1) There would be food.
(2) There would be drinks.
(3) There would be music.
(4) There would be dancing.

Omayra as a little girl.

There would be your entire multi-generational overflowing family. The adults would dance and drink while the kids would go off with their snacks (popsicles, empanadas, and/or birthday cake) to play Hide-n-Seek, tag, or Nintendo (I am classically trained on the original NES, if you’re wondering). My family is almost exclusively Panamanian, it’s mainly my generation that has started “mixing” and marrying non-Panamanians (ay Dios mio!). Panama is a beautiful tropical isthmus with the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans on either side. We love our sancocho (soup), frituras, tamales, arroz con pollo, arroz con habichuelas, and most dear to our hearts, PLATANOS (plantains). Both of my parents emigrated from Panama when they were young—my mother when she was 14, and my dad when he was 18—both looking for a better life. They found each other after moving to New York City at—you guessed it—a Panamanian party. They married shortly after meeting, moved to Brooklyn, and started a family immediately. My two brothers Oscar and Omar were born within one year of each other, more than a decade before me.

My father assures me that the family was not quite complete until I appeared, he says “siempre queria una hembra,” [1] and 12 years later, I made my appearance on this earthly plane. My mother assures me that all of her children were accidents, something I don’t doubt considering the lack of sex education in Panama City and New York in the 1950s. By the time I was born our family had moved into a house in Far Rockaway, Queens, New York, where we often held family gatherings in our basement, in our backyard, or at the beach.

Omayra’s Grandmother.

Everyone in our large extended family hosted family gatherings. My grandmother, Nana, was the matriarch of the family and frequently hosted us all in her home in Cambria Heights (Queens). My grandmother meant the world to me and I probably spent half of my childhood in her home.

Early Education Years

I remember after starting elementary school she asked me why I let my friends in school call me Oh-My-Rah, and I remember her face twisting up to say the letter ‘R’ in her most exaggerated American accent. I didn’t know how to ask people to say my name correctly. I didn’t know how to take up space yet, and I’m not sure that I’ve fully learned that skill even now, even though it means the world to me when people try to say my name properly. The very first time a teacher said my name correctly I was in college. I honestly almost cried when my ethnomusicology professor, Katherine Hagedorn, said my name correctly without any instructions from me. It has happened again, but it is still rare. It’s especially hurtful when people don’t even try to get my name right and insist on butchering it like it’s not my own name, and they somehow know how to pronounce it better than I do. FYI—single ‘R’s in Spanish sound just like a soft American ‘R,’ so you should not roll them (like a double ‘R’ in Spanish), and your American mouths should not have a difficult time executing them—it’s in your tongue’s lexicon! You can do it! (Si se puede!)

Another important host for our family gatherings was my Tia Marta. This tia [2] made some of the most delicious food in our family. She was always ready with a FEAST. I should add that this tia was not a blood relative, but had been partially raised by my grandmother. I have a very large family, in part, because if a family friend spent enough time with us and had integrated themselves into several generations of our family, then they became family themselves. I think it is age that designates whether the person becomes an aunt/uncle or a cousin, but once they are part of the family, so are all of their descendants. Eventually they become blood. We also never differentiate between first cousins, second cousins… you’re just a cousin, and that is that. My tia had a daughter who was a constant in my early life. Our mothers were pregnant around the same time and my cousin was born 11 days ahead of me. We lived in the same town, and were the only girl-children in our generation, so we went to the same pre-school, we had frequent play dates, we would sit together at church, we even had a joint first communion celebration.

Omayra and cousin at their first communion celebration.

She was my very first friend and my BEST friend. When we started kindergarten at P.S. 183 in Rockaway Beach, Queens, I assumed that she would continue to be in my class since we’d been inseparable since day one (literally). I knew that I was going to be enrolled in the Astor Program for Gifted Children because of some tests I had taken, but my five-year old mind didn’t really understand the implications of this. I was heartbroken when we were separated and she wasn’t in my class.

Dr. Ortega’s great-grandfather, Enrique Alonso Duesbury (right), and his brothers. McDonald Duesbury (great-grand uncle, middle) sponsored
Dr. Ortega’s grandmother’s and children’s immigration to the U.S.

At the time, the New York Public School System was tracked. Upon entering, students were sorted into one of three tracks: either the Astor gifted track, Regular Education, or Special Education. I felt honored to be in a class with other “gifted” children—I loved the new things that we were learning—but even then, it felt wrong to be separated from my cousin who, up until that point, I had spent my entire life with. I missed the comfort of her company and I didn’t know any of the other pupils in my class.

There was one Astor class for each grade and the racial breakdown of the students between the three tracks was stark, even to a five-year old. Most of the students at P.S. 183 were Black or Latinx. These two subgroups defined almost 100% of the Special Education and Regular Education classes at that school. However, out of the 35 pupils in my kindergarten Astor class, only seven of us were Black or Latinx; the remainder were white. The contrast was so stark to my young eyes, and I still remember the full names of the other six. These numbers grew slightly each year, but never enough to tip the balance. The segregation that I observed on the Rockaway Peninsula seemed to have been maintained in my elementary school classrooms and would be a theme throughout my life.

When I was around 12 years old I was nominated to apply to Prep for Prep 9 by my teachers at J.H.S. 180. Prep for Prep 9 was a program based in New York City that found talented youth from around the city and prepared them to attend prestigious boarding schools. This program changed the trajectory of my life. At a young age I decided to leave my parents’ home in Far Rockaway and move to a suburb of Boston for schooling. We all saw this as an opportunity that I could not pass up, and I was ready to leave my parents’ conservative home. While I loved spending time with my friends and family at church, the idea of “a woman’s place” was one that I could not fall in line with, so I was ready to start a new chapter in my life.

Omayra at Milton Academy.

Attending Milton Academy in the early 1990s was an academic blessing and a welcome escape from my conservative home in New York. I knew that this was a great opportunity for me, but it also took me away from my family and my culture. Prep for Prep 9 had prepared me for the academic rigors, but I was not ready for the extreme wealth of my classmates and the new social expectations. I thoroughly enjoyed my four years of high school—I made great friends, did well in my classes, and held several leadership roles—but issues of race and class were always in the back of mind.

Undergraduate Education and Introduction to Mathematics

I came to the field of mathematical epidemiology in a round-about way. When my dreams of becoming a medical doctor were dashed by my lack of success in my first-year general chemistry course, I focused my attention on my double major in mathematics and music. I loved my time at Pomona College. In retrospect, I can say that moving from the east coast to the west coast was one of the best decisions that I made in my young life. I can say this now because I still live in the beautiful state of California, but, during that first year, I wasn’t so sure. The social aspects of college life were most enticing to me, and, after my first semester, I was put on academic probation. Despite “trying to do better,” I was suspended for one year after my second semester at Pomona College and had to attend another school for one year and earn a B or better in all of my classes there. I wasn’t ready to go back to the east coast (read: go back to church), so I went to live with my Tia Nory and Tio Calin in Milpitas, San Jose, California and attended DeAnza Junior College in Cupertino. It was nice living with my maternal uncle’s family. I was able to live with two cousins close to my age and experience a portion of my “coming of age” years with my family. It was a challenging year where I worked full time and took more than a full load of classes at DeAnza, but this year gave me time to reflect on exactly what I wanted out of life and out of college. Gap years were not a thing when I went to school and certainly not a thing for people like me with working-class immigrant parents, but I understand how taking a gap year can give you extra time for reflection and for establishing life goals. While I enjoyed DeAnza to the fullest by joining every musical ensemble and taking most of the music courses offered on top of taking the required transfer courses for my majors at Pomona, I knew that I didn’t want to stay there any longer than I needed to. I knew that I wanted to return to Pomona College to complete my degree and I wanted to thrive there.

College graduation.

After that year, I was able to return to Pomona College and continue my degrees in pure mathematics and music performance. It wasn’t all roses, but I was successful and definitely improved over my performance during my first year. During my junior year I was encouraged to apply for a summer research experience (REU). These REUs were new at the time, but are pretty common now. I spent the summer between my junior year and my senior year attending the prestigious Mathematical and Theoretical Biology Institute (MTBI) which, at that time, was held at Cornell University. This program was formative for me in that I conducted research for the very first time, met many of the people who are my collaborators and colleagues, and chose my field of study: mathematical epidemiology. I also learned what it is to work, very hard, on a collaborative project. I was able to revive my deferred dream of working in a medical field. I learned that through mathematics, I could still be a healer by working in mathematical epidemiology and public health. In this program, I worked the hardest that I ever had. We packed SO MUCH into the short eight weeks that we had together. I acquired the basic skills in math modeling and differential equations that I continue to use to this day. Those sleepless nights also trained me for when deadlines approach faster than you expect.

One of the most important memories I have from this program was when Dr. Colette Patt came and gave a presentation on the state of mathematics PhDs. I remember hearing that less than 2% of the PhDs awarded in mathematics in the previous year were awarded to people of color and less than 1% went to women of color. Those statistics made me very angry but also motivated me to pursue a PhD in applied mathematics. Those statistics haven’t changed much, so they continue to motivate the work that I do, to this day.

The year before I started my PhD program, I participated in a summer program at Spelman College that set me up for success during my first year in grad school. I am very thankful to have participated in the Enriching Diversity in Graduate Education (EDGE) Program for Women. Through that program I got a more realistic perspective of the academic and social challenges that I would face during my first year, and EDGE gave me a network of supportive sisters and allies that would help me to succeed in the early years and throughout my career.

Graduate School

I didn’t get into grad school the first time I applied, but I did get in the second time (gracias a Dios). On the recommendation of my mentor, Carlos Castillo-Chavez, I went to the University of Iowa to study mathematical modeling of infectious diseases under Herbert Hethcote, one of the founders of the field. I had never been to the Midwest, so I experienced yet another period of culture shock and then acclimation. If you’ve never experienced a midwest winter, you are a blessed individual. The University of Iowa had recently been awarded a big Graduate Assistance in Areas of National Need (GAANN) grant from the National Science Foundation so I was very lucky to receive a fellowship to support my doctoral studies. This GAANN grant built off of the previous efforts of professors at Iowa to bring more students of color to the lush, verdant corn and soy fields of Iowa. Thanks to the efforts of professors like Gene Madison, Phil Kutzko, Yi Li, Juan Gatica, Richard Baker, and David Mandersheid, the University of Iowa Department of Mathematics won the Presidential Award for Excellence in Science, Mathematics and Engineering Mentoring in 2004. The math department at Iowa was a really warm and supportive community. Everyone helped each other if we were having trouble in classes, if we needed a ride to one of the (distant) airports, or if we needed help moving into a new apartment. I remember being so worried about my partial differential equation (PDE) comprehensive exam. I knew that I was doing fine in the class itself, but I wasn’t sure that I could complete those same types of problems in a classroom space not of my choosing and in a specified time frame. I normally worked on homework problems at all times in all spaces. I could be in my office on campus, working at a nearby coffee shop, or at home asleep, and the solution would come to me. The classroom really wasn’t where I did my best work. Several older graduate students made a point to share their study binders from previous PDE comprehensive exams and helped me to study. I am so thankful for their generosity because they helped me, not only to prepare for my exams, but allowed me to feel relaxed enough to perform at my best on the day of the exam (BTW—I passed with flying colors!).

We were also there to celebrate each other if someone in the math department had a child, passed a comprehensive exam, or successfully defended their thesis. I remember coming together frequently at Phil Kutzko’s home, always over food and drinks. I loved the constant celebrations and get-togethers within the math department, as they reminded me of the way we would celebrate family at home in New York. Most of the math department were regulars at one bar and grill on Tuesday evenings where we took over many tables with our textbooks, pint glasses, and wing baskets on ‘Tuesday Wings Night,’ and we ended the week at another bar where we would lick our wounds and recap the week during ‘Friday After Class’. I really don’t think that I could have completed a PhD anywhere else. I have lots of colleagues in mathematics now, many who did not go to Iowa (no me digas?!) and, when I hear stories about their grad school experiences, I realize how lucky I was. Nowhere else would have supported me in the way that Iowa did. I felt nurtured both academically and socially inside the department, at the coffee shops, and even at the bars.

Omayra and her mentor Dr. Carlos Castillo-Chavez.

I spent the last two years of my PhD in an all-but-dissertation instructor position at Arizona State University. Those last two years teaching full time while trying to complete my PhD were arduous. I would not wish that experience on anyone, and I highly discourage anyone from attempting to start a new position before completing their PhD. Even though it started off rough, I am thankful to have had this opportunity because it led to a nine-year career at ASU. There were many moments when I thought I should just quit and be happy with a master’s degree in mathematics and another in public health, but I am glad that I persevered. My parents felt that I might as well finish since I had come so far, but they would support me if I decided to quit. Truthfully, they had no idea why I was still in college anyway, they hadn’t quite grasped the idea of graduate school (there’s more college after college?). I truly appreciated the professors from Iowa and Carlos Castillo-Chavez, who was at ASU at that time, who would occasionally check up on my progress at conferences, through email, and text messages. Without these ever constant, “How’s the thesis going?” questions, I might have given up. I felt the weight of what I owed to these mentors and the breadth of what they knew I could achieve. I am thankful that these mentors did not give up on me when it seemed like I was dragging my feet through the last phase of my thesis work.

Because each successive step of my schooling moved me further and further away from my family, it took a lot of effort to maintain ties with my family and my culture. In some stages of my life, I was not successful or even motivated to maintain these ties. I am glad that I am able to reflect on this phenomenon now that I am an adult. In my day-to-day life, I find myself thinking more and more about how I can “decolonize my mind” for myself, for my students, and for my family. With each step in my education, I lost my connection to the Spanish language. We spoke Spanish in the household when I was little, but as soon as I started kindergarten, my parents only spoke to me in English. Even to this day, I have to work to get my parents to speak to me in Spanish. Even if I start the conversation in Spanish they naturally revert to English, to which I reply either “que?!” or “como?!” to get them to go back to their first language. Through my two brothers, I have four nieces and nephews and none of them even have a basic knowledge of Spanish. I see that part of our heritage getting watered down with each successive generation, and it makes me sad. Though I recognize both English and Spanish as “the colonizer’s language,” I’m trying very hard to keep my Spanish language proficiency up.

Applied Mathematics and Public Health

I grew up on Rockaway Beach and spent almost every summer day at the beach. I could play all day in the dancing ebb and flow of the waves. It’s one thing to see the dynamics of an ocean wave from the shore, but it can be a transcendent experience to be carried by describe the dynamics of the ocean’s waves. The poetry of mathematics is all around us, even when we are not aware. Though my love for differential equations stems from the modeling of infectious disease, I still marvel at how differential equations are applicable to so many different natural phenomena.

Mathematical modeling allows me to describe the world with mathematics. I like to think that math is a universal language and, through modeling, we can share poetry about the world that we live in. The research that I’ve conducted in mathematical epidemiology first started that summer at MTBI. I worked with two other students modeling the evolution of drug-resistance in the yeast candida Albicans, using a coupled logistic equation model to describe competition between two strains of c. Albicans in a human host and the effect of using an antifungal agent to try to control their growth. From then I always focused my work on emerging infectious diseases, new vaccines, or tropical diseases.

My research in mathematical epidemiology is grounded in the public health problems of today. Using mathematical modeling and the theoretical core of mathematics as tools, I am able to better understand and describe emergent health problems such as HIV, HPV, rotavirus, malaria, polio, and TB. My contributions to science and society improve the health community’s understanding of infectious diseases and inform policy makers on how these diseases can best be controlled at the population level. In order to be well prepared to contribute to this field of mathematical epidemiology, I simultaneously study applied mathematics, statistics, epidemiology, and public health.

Currently, I work with a fantastic set of collaborators on mathematical models for coronavirus where we evaluate different isolation strategies and their cost-effectiveness. We also developed geo-spatial models for the spread of malaria which takes into account immigration, seasonal migration (i.e., seasonal workers), and tourism between Botswana and its neighboring countries. I first met these collaborators, who are a diverse group of women, at a workshop organized by the Association for Women in Mathematics at the Institute for Pure and Applied Mathematics, under the name, “Women in Math Biology” (WiMB). I am incredibly thankful that I could participate in this workshop because it helped restart my research program, which had been focused on undergraduate research only for about five years. I love developing research skills in undergraduates and I still maintain my Mathematical Epidemiology Research Group, comprised of all undergraduates; I also work with the Rocky Mountain Sustainability and Science Network every summer, but it is nice to focus on my own work and publications sometimes. I am also working on a project with colleagues from Sonoma State University (SSU) and other experts from other institutions trying to identify both institutional and implicit sources of bias in STEM, starting with the math department at SSU as the pilot study. This work lies at intersection of my service work and my research, so this is an exciting new venture for me—one, which I believe, could have only happened at my current institution. My experience at Sonoma State University, though still new, has been both refreshing and eye-opening after teaching at three other institutions of higher education.

The Search for Balance and Advice

It has been very nice to finally understand that I need a balance of teaching, research, and scholarship to be happy. If I focus on just one aspect alone, I feel that something is missing. Being at Sonoma State University has allowed me to continue my devotion to my students through teaching and research, to continue my scholarship and publications in the modeling of infectious disease, and to continue my service, not only within my own university and department, but also nationally through my service work with the National Association of Mathematicians, the Association for Women in Mathematics, the Society for the Advancement of Chicanos and Native Americans in Science, and the Mathematical Association of America. If there is one piece of advice that I can give to folks about to embark on a career in mathematics—one piece of advice I wish that someone had given me—is that you should thoughtfully choose the institutions where you will work, study, and devote large swaths of time, based on your interests and the type of life balance that you would like to have. Don’t be afraid of changing institutions if the institution that you start your career at is not a good fit for you. It’s better to have a delayed start than to finish at an institution that doesn’t work for you or, worse, not finish because you were at an institution that didn’t work for you. I didn’t always make the best choices initially, but that is really how life experience works. I am, and always have been, on the right path—my own path. Hold tight to your culture and your life goals. Use them as your North Star and Southern Cross to navigate the inevitable ebbs and floods that will cross your path.

[1] Translating to “I always wanted a little girl.”
[2] Aunt.

Previous Testimonios:
Brian P Katz (BK)

January 15, 2023

Uncategorized
Disrupting JMM 2023
Apparently JMM 2023 is just around the corner. I will be going. Can’t say I feel great about it, though! For many reasons from a little thing called an Ongoing Pandemic to other less precise concerns about my time, energy, and mental health. But I have plane tickets! And we can pretend, for the sake of not stressing me out, that my talk is written.

^{update your guidelines, you cowards}

It’s so funny to me that the New Year is often thought of as a chance for new beginnings, yet we mathematicians open our year with a Business As Usual Conference. A veritable celebration of job insecurity, cop apologetic s, and pretense.

In the past, I was energized to bring discussions of equity to those who consistently opt out of such concerns. I still support that! But I’ve had a hard year…s. So I come today with less fire and more desperation.

I still ask that you #DisruptJMM in a slide if you are a speaker and to encourage others to do so and to use the hashtag like we did before, but I don’t even have the energy (or inner ear stability) to write a full post. Instead I have some questions for you to think about as you plan your disruption.
1. Why is there an in-person non-hybrid JMM conference? Why are you participating?
  - Did you choose freely? What is the cost?
  - Was your ability to choose effected by (lack of) job security?
  - Do you know the long term consequences of getting COVID?
  - Do you know about the new strain taking over?
  - Who isn’t here that should be?
  - Who benefits?
2. If you are presenting, is your talk a gift, a burden, or a time for polite disassociation for your audience?
  - Was this choice freely made? If not, what factors went into it?
  - Are the most important messages you would want to share with others contained in your talk?
  - Who benefits from your choice of talk?
3. Who gets to feel comfortable?
  - How many people were effectively denied access due to disability?
  - How many Black mathematicians, Indigenous mathematicians, and other mathematicians of color will be othered at JMM, fielding the careless questions and comments of white participants?
  - How many trans mathematicians, non-binary mathematicians, and queer mathematicians will be othered at JMM, contending with (perhaps preparing for) the expectations of cis het participants?
  - How many women mathematicians and non-women mathematicians will be harassed at JMM? Or have to share space with their harasser? Or have to hear about abusers being celebrated?
  - How many junior mathematicians will be made to feel like they don’t belong?
As you prepare to join us in Boston, remember the AMS is not benevolent, academia is not moral, you don’t owe the system anything, but maybe we owe each other safety and a chance at joy.
A few more links for good measure.

COVID-19 Wastewater Report for Boston (image from Massachusetts’ interactive dashboard)

The People’s CDC : a coalition of public health practitioners, scientists, healthcare workers, educators, advocates and people from all walks of life working to reduce the harmful impacts of COVID-19.

Towards a Mathematics Beyond Police and Prisons statement by The Just Mathematics Collective

Old post of mine on (not) belonging in academia
Piper

January 2, 2023

covid, Joint Math Meetings

#DisruptJMM
Testimonios: Dr. Cynthia Oropesa Anhalt
Dr. Cynthia Oropesa Anhalt; Illustration created by Ana Valle.

A Story of Latinx

Something I heard as a child from relatives was the story that God first “baked a batch of people,” and the oven was not hot enough, so the people came out “underbaked” with light skin, so God compensated in the second batch by turning the oven temperature too high and burned the second batch creating the dark skin. For the third batch, God got the temperature exactly right, and created the brown skin Latinx people. This story warms my heart in that my extended family took pride in brown skin, but at the same time, the story is about competition and divisiveness, which has connotations of discrimination inside and outside the Latinx community. This story did not hold meaning for me until I became more aware of our ethnicity when I attended mostly-white public schools.

Early Life and Immigration

My father, Sergio Duarte Oropesa, was born in 1935 in Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, México to parents who worked in customs for the Mexican government. By his teenage years, his family had lived in Mexico City and various Mexican-U.S. border cities, including Nogales, Sonora, Mexico, where he met my mother, Francisca Orozco. My mother was born on a ranch in Saric, Sonora, Mexico in 1933 and only completed up to third grade in school.

The family in 1975.

My parents married in 1956 and had four children while living in Nogales. In 1959, my father gained sponsorship from Selby Motors, a Mercury and Lincoln car dealership, to work as a car technician in the U.S. For nine years, he crossed the U.S.-Mexico border daily in a 1953 Chevy pickup truck, which he fondly remembers as his first vehicle. He remembers the assassination of John F. Kennedy and the national border closed for the day, forcing him to spend the night at a hotel in the U.S. while the family was across the border, which was the first time that my father was apart from the family. It was not until 1968 that my mother, my siblings and I immigrated. My sister, Luz Elena was 11 and has a memory of seeing a large portrait of President Lyndon B. Johnson as we entered the U.S., while my brother, Sergio Agustin was 10 and remembers being in a 1964 Mercury Montclair sedan as we crossed the border. My next older brother, Moses, was six, I was three, and we have little memory of entering the U.S.

Bilingualism and Biliteracy

Speaking two languages, Spanish and English, was a natural and organic part of my life. It seems that an unspoken rule was to speak Spanish at home with family and at church, while English was reserved for school and other events outside of the home. This practice became a form of diglossia, which became my parents’ mantra for the two languages we spoke; each language played a role in different social contexts for performing different functions. This ease in separating the two languages was something I never questioned because of my parents’ beliefs that they were responsible for teaching their children the heritage language. My father took English-language classes in the evening twice a week, and remembers proudly that he was the only student who was left at the end of the term. He ended up becoming close friends with his teacher, Señor Garcia, and continued taking private classes with him at no charge. At home in the evenings, my father would begin teaching English grammar to anybody that would sit by him long enough.

Conducted completely in Spanish, we attended church, and this became the space in which I learned to read academic Spanish language through the King James Bible. Through a game in Sunday School, a Bible verse was announced by its book, chapter, and verse number (eg., “Salmos (Psalms) 27:4”), and the first person to find the verse in the Bible, stand up, and publicly read it was triumphant. This motivated me to read the Bible in Spanish and design a strategy to memorize the sequence of books. I devised a code, such that the book of Genesis was assigned 1G, Exodus was 2E, and so on, in which the number was the order in which the book appeared, while the letter was the first letter in the name. I memorized this sequenced code, and while this was not a perfect system, it allowed me to play with numbers and letters and memorize the books in sequence.

My father and me.

This was an early memory of discovering how numbers play a role in developing my own schema with a purpose. While I remember this competition fondly, I never stopped to reflect on how children who did not excel felt during the game. I regret not showing my secret code to my peers, however, I am grateful that these experiences helped me to develop my literacy in the Spanish language.

Early Education

My first address in the U.S. was 197 First Street, Nogales, Arizona, 85621, and this is where I observed my siblings do homework in their elementary years, and they tell me that I used to pretend to do homework alongside them by making tiny symbols on paper pretending to write the numbers and letters. I remember clearly looking forward to watching Sesame Street on television daily, and I looked forward to it because I could watch this show while everyone was in school except for my mother and me. I believe that I learned English as I counted numbers with Count von Count and sang with Maria and Big Bird.

As an adult, I learned that Sesame Street, produced in 1969 by a non-profit organization, specifically aimed to target underprivileged pre-school age children. Sesame Street, coinciding with Head Start, were products funded under the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964 signed by President LBJ, which aspired to provide access to education and economic opportunities long denied to low-income families. When I attended a Head Start Program in our community, I realized how much I had been looking forward to school because I saw my siblings attend school. I felt like I belonged in school.

The summer after first grade, I asked my teacher, Ms. Laz, for all the discarded mathematics workbooks with unused pages, and she gladly cleaned up and gave me the leftover books. I remember selling the workbooks to the neighborhood kids for 25 cents each, which were required for my tuition-free summer class in the front yard of our house. My parents were supportive, and got me a standing chalkboard that flipped over when I filled one side. I believe this experience convinced me that I wanted to teach mathematics.

While in second grade, I have memories of sitting in the back seat of our car watching moving numbers on the gas pump as fuel was going into our car at $0.36 and nine-tenths per gallon. It bothered me that I could not understand what the nine-tenths meant after the 0.36 because after all, our money system only had up to the hundredths place value. I remember secretly playing a game of predicting how much the gallons would be after asking my dad how much money he was going to spend. I found the gas pump not easy to understand because the money amount and the gallon amount were changing at different rates.

Third grade.

While we attended school, my mother worked as a tailor making wedding dresses in Nogales. My father worked for Anamax Mining Company in Sahuarita, Arizona. One evening my father announced we were moving to Tucson, Arizona to the east side by Davis Monthan Air Force Base. This brought a big change to the family from a largely Latinx to mostly a white community.

At my new school, my third-grade teacher asked the class which fraction was greater, one-third or one-fourth, and I was the only one in the class who knew that one-third was greater. The other students thought that one-fourth was greater because 4 is greater than 3. The teacher asked me to explain to the class how I knew that one-third was greater. This was my opportunity to go to the board, grab a piece of chalk, draw pictures, write fractions, and explain my reasoning to my heart’s content. This experience was exhilarating.

In sixth grade, my teacher Mr. Garbini, celebrated my learning like no other teacher had ever done, and he made comments to me about how much mathematics I knew, which helped me gain more confidence. By eighth grade, when I was in algebra class, Ms. Stinson was the first teacher who used manipulatives to show concepts, such as two-color coins for positive and negative integers, and arbitrary lengths of small rods for variables. These visual representations of mathematical concepts made sense to me. By the end of junior high, I was the only student with a 4.0 grade point average, and I remember my friends’ parents coming up to congratulate me after the awards ceremony.

High school.

In my senior year, I had an amazing calculus teacher, Mr. Dorsey, and he consistently lifted my spirits by periodically reminding me that I was the only Latina student in calculus in the whole school. This made me feel special somehow to know that he kept an eye on me so that I would succeed. He encouraged our small class of 12 to study together outside of class, so we did. A group of six of us would get large butcher paper from Mr. Dorsey on Fridays so that we could study together on the weekends and use the paper as our “white board.” We were competitive but also collaborative with each other so much that we cared about each other’s grades.

Outside of academics, I played the clarinet in the school marching band following my sister’s example. I also had the privilege of competing in varsity sports, volleyball and tennis, and I especially excelled in tennis competing in the state championships for three years. My father inspired both my sister and me to play tennis, and each Christmas I got a new tennis racquet to prepare for the spring season. My father took me to a local private club for lessons every so often, and I felt privileged to be doing so with the professional instructor who was a former college and professional player. This must have cost my father a small fortune, but he wanted me to feel like I fit in. I believe that the competitive spirit with which I played tennis influenced my approach to all challenges. To this day, I enjoy playing tennis with friends of more than 20 years.

During my years in high school, and my siblings’ years in college, my father decided to get his real estate license and became a realtor and a broker. It seems as though my family spent countless hours studying except for my mother, who would take an occasional English class for adults; she was the one who made sure we always had warm meals, clean clothes, supplies for school, and homemade Halloween costumes, always selflessly giving to the family.

College

During my college years, I earned extra money by tutoring my friends in mathematics and found that I enjoyed teaching, which reinforced my childhood desire to teach mathematics. I enrolled at the University of Arizona following my siblings’ footsteps as a first-generation college student on an academic scholarship. I do not remember ever meeting with an academic advisor except in my senior year when I decided I wanted to be a teacher. I had taken core mathematics courses (calculus 1 and 2, vector calculus, linear algebra, differential equations). When reviewing my transcripts, an advisor told me that I could combine the mathematics courses and the courses I had taken in chemistry, biology, environmental science, and physics, for an interdisciplinary degree and surpass the requirements in education. Teaching mathematics consumed my thoughts, and a few years into my career, I was invited to do teacher professional development in various school districts. Following these events, I began conducting peer professional development workshops in mathematics education for teachers. After that experience, I knew that I needed to pursue graduate studies.

Graduate School

As I entered graduate school at the University of Arizona, I was a non-traditional student. I had taught public school for 10 years, had been married just as long, and had two children. In graduate school I renewed my interest in mathematics and mathematics teaching and learning. My advisor, Maria Fernandez, was my role model in that she was the only Latinx female faculty member in mathematics education, and we developed a life-long friendship beyond my graduate studies. She inspired me to become deeply engaged in the research literature in mathematics education, which consisted of research in teaching and learning of particular content areas in addition to understanding social issues within K–16 mathematics education. It is through experiential project activities, discussions, and analysis of published research that I began to understand academia in the field of mathematics education. Transition to Algebra was my first project in which I co-constructed and co-delivered professional development alongside Maria Fernandez for high school teachers. This project provided me an opportunity to study secondary teachers’ metacognitive mathematical knowledge for teaching particular algebraic topics, and my first article publication resulted from this project.

My workload during graduate school became overwhelming as I was taking courses, reading research, and conducting research in mathematics education with the College of Medicine and College of Nursing at the University of Arizona. Our research team consisted of a medical doctor, a neuropsychologist, a pediatric nurse research scientist, and me, a doctoral student in mathematics education. Our study analyzed cognitive declines in children who were undergoing treatment for acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a common childhood cancer whose survival rate went from 33% to 80% within 30 years of medical advances, and thus the surviving children were growing up and becoming adults. Autonomously, I developed curriculum for teaching mathematics in a hospital setting for 7–15 year old patients who came for medical treatments for their cancer. They spent one hour per week with me doing mathematics activities prior to their chemotherapy treatments; now I reflect back and think what a torturous research study we conducted! From this project, I co-authored a research article, “Mathematics intervention for prevention of neurocognitive deficits in childhood leukemia,” in the Pediatric Blood and Cancer journal, my first and only article in a medical journal. I was grateful for this opportunity to work in a medical setting, and I elaborate on this experience because I learned of the depth and breadth of mathematics education research, especially in interdisciplinary contexts.

Although I had unusual research projects during my graduate school, I pursued a dissertation research study focused on the development of mathematical knowledge in mathematical representation that teachers develop that is specific to the work of teaching. I was fortunate to receive support from my advisor, committee members, and my husband, who encouraged me to follow my academic dreams.

Family Life

Coming from a small town in Wisconsin, my future husband, Dennis, came to the University of Arizona for graduate school in electrical engineering, and after we met, he decided to stay in Tucson, AZ. We were married in 1988 and have two amazing children. Our oldest, Ashley, was born in 1991 and Brandon in 1992. Through the years, it was interesting to see them develop their identities. When school assignments called for cultural integration, they would ask questions about their Mexican and German backgrounds, trying to make sense of the contrast between the two cultures.

The family in 1999.

Between 1998 and 2005, we traveled annually with five families to Punta Chueca and El Desemboque on the mainland coast of the Gulf of California in Sonora, Mexico to camp on the land of the Seri Indigenous people. We developed friendships with the Seri families and traded our essential camping equipment, food, clothing, and bicycles among other things for their hand-woven baskets made of yucca plants. Influenced by these experiences, Ashley and Brandon wrote about them in school assignments. In 2013, we traveled to Yucatan, Mexico, where we immersed ourselves in the Mexican culture and had the privilege of visiting Chichén Itzá, an ancient Mayan ruin. Dennis and I wanted our children to grow up knowing their Mexican heritage and roots.

My family at Chichén Itzá.

In our current lives, Dennis works for Texas Instruments as an engineer and manager of several teams of engineers across the world including the U.S., India, Mexico, China, Thailand, Malaysia, Taiwan, and the Philippines, and I am an associate research professor of mathematics education at the University of Arizona in the Department of Mathematics. Our daughter, Ashley, attended the University of Arizona earning dual bachelor’s degrees, in mathematics and in systems engineering, and earned a master’s degree in systems and industrial engineering from the University of Pittsburgh. Our son, Brandon, earned a bachelor’s degree in physiology from the University of Arizona, and earned his medical degree from the Medical College of Wisconsin. I am proud of our accomplishments as a family, and there has been much sacrifice in the time we have spent pursuing our achievements, and in recognizing this, we appreciate the time that we spend together.

My family at home.

Final Thoughts

My path to becoming a faculty member was non-traditional. Upon graduating with my PhD, I became the director of the Center for the Mathematics Education of Latino/as (CEMELA), a National Science Foundation Center for Learning and Teaching in collaboration with three other universities. After one year of administrative service as director, I became a postdoctoral fellow since the project goals were a perfect match for my research interests in the mathematical preparation of teachers of underrepresented Latinx/Hispanic student populations in mathematics. CEMELA, under the direction of Marta Civil, served as a catalyst for my research career. Through this project, I met prominent researchers in mathematics education and mathematicians genuinely interested in mathematics education across the multiple universities.

I curiously remember discussions with my family around a quote, which to this day influences the lens in which I view the world, “El respeto al derecho ajeno es la paz,” spoken by Benito Juárez, the 26th president of Mexico and the first president of Indigenous origin. My interpretation of the quote, “respect for the rights of others is peace” meant that I should listen to others, appreciate their stories, and understand our differences. I raise this point because for most of my life, I presumed that others would treat me as I treat them, with respect. This presumption was not always the case in my academic experience. In my position as an Assistant Research Professor and director of the Secondary Mathematics Education Program (SMEP), tenured faculty members in my department raised questions about my junior faculty status toward gaining tenure. I suspected that the questions raised were regarding my scholarship mainly due to the decreased workload percentage in research, yet my research publication record proved exceptional, and I became an Associate Research Professor. I continue to serve on department and college-wide committees, for example, I served on the UArizona College of Science dean search committee.

I continue as the director of SMEP and participating in grant-funded projects. As principal investigator (PI) of the Arizona Noyce project funded by the National Science Foundation (NSF), my focus was on preparing highly qualified mathematics teachers for diverse student populations. I was PI of the Mathematical Modeling in the Middle Grades project funded by the Arizona Board of Regents to deepen and broaden teachers’ knowledge of mathematical modeling for teaching. I led professional development in the Mathematical Modeling in Cultural and Community Contexts project funded by the NSF, and created curriculum materials in mathematical modeling for secondary teacher preparation for the project, Mathematics of Doing, Understanding, Learning and Educating for Secondary Schools, funded by the NSF. My research publications focus on mathematics teacher education with emphases on mathematical modeling and development of teaching practices for inclusion, equity, and social justice. I have been privileged to participate in national and international mathematics education conferences presenting my research.

With Rachel Levy.

While on sabbatical, I had the privilege of co-leading with Rachel Levy, from the Mathematical Association of America, the 2019 Critical Issues in Mathematics Education Workshop at the Mathematical Sciences Research Institute, which focused on mathematical modeling in K–16 education. This workshop has been a productive setting for developing partnerships among mathematics educators and mathematicians interested in improving K–16 education. One key underpinning of my career has been to build lifelong collaborations that aim to move mathematics education research forward, and I have had the honor to collaborate with colleagues, Ricardo Cortez, Maria Fernandez, Julia Aguirre, Rochelle Gutierrez, Sylvia Celedon-Pattichis, Sandra Crespo, Anthony Fernandes, Marta Civil, and others. I am grateful that I was able to follow my passion and pursue a career in mathematics education.

With Ricardo Cortez and Rochelle Gutiérrez.

Advice

My advice to students is to pursue their dreams and passion, and use their knowledge of mathematics as a foundation for a fulfilling career. The career may be in mathematics, teaching mathematics, actuarial work, data science, and graduate opportunities in mathematics. Sharing your story with a mentor can be powerful. I share my story with students, and I appreciate their reactions and their enthusiasm for sharing their stories with me, as I believe that these interactions help build community and long-term relationships. My hope is to promote access and options, especially for Latinx students when they share their hopes and dreams.

Dr. Cynthia O. Anhalt.

Previous Testimonios:
Brian P Katz (BK)

December 15, 2022

Uncategorized
A conversation with Christopher Havens, Prison Mathematics Project

The following is an email conversation with Christopher Havens, an incarcerated individual who discovered his love for mathematics while in prison, and now conducts research in number theory and also directs the Prison Mathematics Project. See here and here for articles about him, and also his paper in the journal Research in Number Theory.

Hi Christopher, it’s an honor to chat with you for Inclusion/Exclusion. Let’s just start by introducing yourself to our audience — who are you, what do you do, and why?

Hello An! Truly, the honor is mine, and thanks for having me! An intro … Well, I’m Christopher Havens, a mathematician, a prisoner and the director of the Prison Mathematics Project. My story is a bit unique because my past and my present have such dramatic contrast. Without going too deep into my story, I lived a pretty dark past, landed in prison and I ended up finding mathematics. Through my study and exploration of mathematics I began experiencing profound changes in my heart and mind. Then, for the next 10 years I have been living a life of transformation … of Justice and love. I know I’m skipping over so much, but a nice synopsis of the story can be found here.

What I do is an especially interesting topic! I research in number theory in my free time, and recently had my second paper accepted for publication at a professional journal. Another was recently submitted and more on the way. However, my contributions to mathematics are nothing special. What I mean is, that my work in Number theory is no different than the work of any other mathematician in their own field. I’ve never made any “ground breaking” discoveries, and I’m not trying to be “the best”. Indeed, I do math because it’s in my heart, and an endeavor of beauty … But my real work lies in a huge effort to understanding the role of mathematics in self identity and desistance from crime.

My work revolves around the popularization and diversification of mathematics to an incredibly unlikely demographic. In the Prison Mathematics Project Inc, we work with prisoners who are actively involved in the self-studies of mathematics by providing mentorship. The mentorship process helps our participants overcome their conceptual snags, as well as teaching them about the community and culture of mathematics.

Why? I do this because as I’ve found, mathematics, the community and its culture have an incredible impact on the human heart. Rehabilitation and Justice occur in the most impactful ways … and I suppose that I wanted to share what I experienced with all of the others out there grabbing at straws for a life that might exist, if only they knew where to look! On top of that, I aim to change the culture of prisons.. A tall order, I know. But hell, more and more prisoners are striving to become “anomalous!, which really is quite wonderful!! Imagine what prisons would look like if there were more anomalies doing amazing things than the garden variety “convict”?

Very cool! And congratulations on your second paper! I have so many follow up questions, but let’s keep going about yourself. I’m curious to learn more about how you understand the role of mathematics in self-identity and desistance from crime. Could you tell us more about your philosophy?

This is not very easy to describe but I guess I should begin at the point of my life where my own identity was challenged and where my path of desistance began.

I was in the hole, which is another word for solitary confinement. Picture living in a small concrete room where an incredibly bright fluorescent light stays on the entire time. Time has no meaning with no windows to the outside, and no remarkable features to mark the passage of time. In fact, there were no remarkable features anywhere … even the bed is made from a simple concrete slab. Adding to the atmosphere were the screams of prisoners whose minds were … less than healthy. Some spend hours entertaining themselves by taunting and trying to make others crack under the pressure. No human being is visible from inside the cells in the hole — save for the silhouette of a face on the other side of a narrow window — and so there are men who would kick the walls, sometimes for several hours at a time.

I like to define hell as being the n’th layer of rock bottom as n increases without bounds … Sometimes it felt like on the other side of that concrete wall, I would reach that infinite limit. My way of passing the days was to play Sudoku and to exercise and when noises outside from my door could be heard, I’d walk over and look at the only external stimulus. Almost always it was a guard or a nurse … but on occasion, there was a gentleman who would walk by, passing a manila envelope under the doors of a couple other prisoners.

Patterns … I love patterns. Even then, I’d try and track the patters of the external stimulus. The older gentleman was such a pattern, coming approximately twice a week. I don’t want to get too caught up in the minutiae, but my curiosity was piqued and it led me to asking him exactly what was in those envelopes. His answer was to slide one under my door as well! It’s contents?? Mathematics … gobs of it.

The content he provided was nothing remarkable, but it was all new to me. I studied his material for every hour I was awake. When I slept, I would wake up with the solutions of problems that I could previously solve. I spent weeks in this pattern, and to speak truly, I can’t remember a single voice screaming … no sounds of chaos. Not that it was gone — it wasn’t — but for the first time I had found something that swept me up into a place of beauty and truth …

Y’know, something should be said about the healing that can happen when we are faced with the exploration of truth in mathematics. I started contemplating truth in mathematics and how something just plain “good” could have such beauty. My thoughts didn’t stop there. I began looking into the truth within myself, and without even realizing it I was confronting all of the lies I had built my life from. I’m leaving out so much, because I’m trying to protect anyone reading this from my long-windedness … but there was a day when I sat in my cell and I heard the voices from some of my associates. They were going on in the same way as they always had, but I was annoyed with their same old talk, with the same old essence of the criminal element I knew so well. In that moment I noticed that my values were changing, and it was like I was standing beside myself, watching this new thing take roots inside of my heart, healing scabs that had developed after years of doing NOTHING good. In that moment I was completely in awe of mathematics because in my entire life NOTHING had ever been able to penetrate the falseness I wore in the effort to maintain my ego and fit in.

It was funny … I stood there and I looked at that plain concrete wall — meant as the security against me — and I saw it as a blank slate … I decided right there that with 25 years of my life, I could choose to embrace mathematics and completely rebuild myself. I remember thinking, “With 25 years, I could become a mathematician.”

This is going to sound cheesy, but right then and there, I dedicated the rest of my life to math. I may not be a great mathematician with “huge” discoveries, but I have something truly wonderful, and that is an opportunity to show other people the same meaning and beauty that comes from living a lifestyle that exists around your passions.

So the role of math in self-identity … it can be a tool of transformation by exposure to beauty and truth. A catalyst for change, especially when focused in the right circumstances. Desistance is simply the byproduct of spending your time doing things that are just. plain. “good”!

Wow! Thanks for sharing all of that. I’m so struck by your story, how desistance is just the byproduct of the deeper thing, which is discovering your passion for mathematics. Did Mr G., as you referred to your first source of math problems, voluntarily hand out these worksheets and grade your answers to them?

Yes, I come to find out that they were part of an algebra course. Of course this hadn’t occurred to me the whole time! But Mr G. would send critique and his own passion for math was present. I bombarded that man with requests … asking for double and triple the content. Even after the course was finished, he’d answer my questions until the day where he let me know that I’ve reached the limit of his own math savvy. His words “Mr. Havens, I wish you luck on your journey” was like a spark igniting a fire within me. :] Because it honestly felt like the monumental “goodbye” at the beginning of some grand journey.

That’s so inspiring. Let’s fast forward a little to your research. What was it like, connecting and working with math professors from Italy? Could you describe how the collaboration went?

Sure! The collaboration with my Italian colleagues was amazing. I’ve worked with my colleagues in Turin on several projects, and was even a member of their research group for a few years. I now work with a mathematician in Hanover. But to answer your question, working with the team in Italy was one of the greatest experiences of my life … It was surreal for a while and I learned so much about the process of submitting work, and even the referee process. There are things which, because of my researching outside from academia, I would have never learned … For example, for somebody self-taught, I had no idea what LaTeX was, and how to determine which journal to submit to.. how to identify the quality of such journals and even how to navigate the referee process. This was completely foreign to me. But also the dynamic of working with other human beings on the stuff of our imagination in such a way that results in tiny additions to the wealth of human knowledge … that was priceless, and probably the most beautiful thing I had ever experienced up to that point.

I do research because it’s an endeavor of the heart, and the things I learn about other human beings as a result of collaborative researches has the deepest meaning to me. I think Erdos practiced this same type of “social productivity” where these meaningful endeavors of the heart contribute to the wealth of human knowledge. I don’t think he was after publishing “the next paper” for any paper count … What I think is that he was after the human connection with colorful new people, sampling as much of this beautiful life as he could. I look up to him for that.

My current research partner is in Hanover, a dear friend, Carsten Elsner. I can’t express how beautiful both of my experiences have been, but man … totally different experiences. Carsten and I are a damned good team. He and I both work a lot in the same area, so when I reached out to him, we had become fast friends … More than that, ideas just started falling from our minds and I began a period of research productivity that I’ve never experienced before. One accepted, one submitted, and two more in the works.

The difference in researching with Carsten is that I have more of a working presence with him. He’s a damned analytical engine and I’m slower and very creative, but they seem to complement each other. I love experiencing his imagination, and it’s always nice to blend it into my own! In this work, we handle the referee’s together, we decide on where to submit together and I even write all of my own LaTeX — even though I have no computer to compile it!! But I can see it — in my little brain — as I write and so I’ll send him large emails containing source code , which helps us work more efficiently. The biggest challenge, and this drives him crazy, is that since I can’t tell if my work runs off the page, it often does.

Wow, that’s fantastic! And congratulations on your papers! I’d like to delve into the logistics a little more: How did you learn LaTeX? Do you get to see the output with your own eyes? And what about the correspondence with your co-authors? Could you walk us through the painstaking process of (a) writing and sending physical letters and (b) sending emails?

From researching with my colleagues in Italy, I learned the importance of LaTeX. In fact, I hired a guy to write my LaTeX for me and as I sent him the material, I would read about LaTeX on the side. I built some basic skills of the syntax, but I couldn’t compile it yet, and I didn’t even know how to set up a document.

About a year and a half ago I took a web development course and had the use of an offline laptop for several months, and well, three months before returning the computer I sweet talked the teacher into giving me a LaTeX compiler. Here’s where I learned how to really write and visualize it in my mind, but just as I started getting the hang of it, I had to turn the computer in. So now I will spend the remaining time in my sentence with no computer. That was a blow.. I decided right there to do all my math in LaTeX so that I can improve even without a computer. This is a vital tool for mathematicians, so I bought Grätzer’s “More Math Into LaTeX”, and I study it as I work. When all of the math I do gets done this way, I tend to find ways to improve all the time.

So while I can’t see the PDF version of what I type, I know what it’s supposed to look like, and as I send it to my colleague in Hannover, he sends me critique and a compiled PDF. I’ve gotten to where I can create illustrations with TikZ and still write whole documents virtually error free.
This also relates to your question of the logistical aspects of my researching. All of my math is sent in LaTeX source code so that all one would have to do is compile it and adjust a few possible errors. Also, I don’t have certain symbols, like ampersand. As we know, this is a delimiter, and so I comment out the message to globally replace the “#” symbol with ampersand. Why don’t I have that symbol? Because I do not have actual email capabilities as you might think.

Research with me began by handwritten mail, and it was gruesome because I’d write 30+ pages as neat as possible, and also writing extra copies for myself. I have no access to a copier, so with so much writing, sometimes my handwriting became hard to read. Sometimes I’d send out a copy and have somebody scan it and send me copies, then distribute the copies to my Italian friends. Doing mathematics in prison requires much redundancy.

After a while, I started corresponding using a secure prison version of email called Jpay. I have an offline mp4 player which can send messages similar to text messages. I still use this today … in fact, this is “officially” all I have access to. But it costs both sender and receiver to send messages, and so imagine trying to reach out to another researcher, but first having to ask “Good sir.. I have some questions about your work and would like to know if we can discuss X, Y and Z. But first, can you go to Jpay.com and create an account, which costs you mo ney so that we can continue our talk?”. That’s a huge blockade, but really we have all the technology we need to circumnavigate that obstacle. My solution was to hire an assistant who would manage my outside email accounts. They copy/paste all of my
messages from Jpay to actual email and thus I have built the illusion that I have the same email capabilities that you do. This is how I communicate with the world. So, I do not send snail mail. I just send source code for my math work and regular emails otherwise. The only snag is that I can’t directly receive attachments, but my assistant sends me these attachments via snail mail or by taking pictures of each page and sending them to me as a Jpay image.

That’s extremely impressive. I’m sure your LaTeX skills are easily better than most mathematicians! I still to this day can never use TikZ for any small thing without going through a lot of trial and error. And making copies of your handwritten work, what a task! So from what I gather, even though I seem right now to be communicating with you via email, your actual process is: access a JPay kiosk at your correctional facility, send/receive a message to an outside assistant, who then relays your message to the receiver’s email address. Is that right? And when are you allowed to access JPay? I’m also very curious about your offline mp4 player…

That is almost correct. My outgoing emails are sent to my assistant via Jpay through my tablet. This person manages three email addresses of mine (which I use for various purposes). When they receive a message, they copy it and paste it as a draft in one of my “real” email accounts, and it then has the appearance of being sent out “from me”. When emails come in to my “real” email addresses, my assistant will copy them and paste it into a draft from their Jpay messaging account, and send it to me as a Jpay message. We’ve developed a system for cc’ing, sending subject lines, responding to threads, accepting Zoom invites, … I don’t have Zoom capability either, but I’ve figured that out as well. But to answer the question, I can use a kiosk, but the mp4 tablet I have has an offline Jpay message app, which I can sync every 5 minutes via WiFi. This is what allows me to email with something of a normal frequency.

This frequency is also what inspired the idea of the PMP Console where I can now also program using JavaScript or Python using a simulated console. This is absolutely not possible without a computer … UNLESS, one were to go through the huge effort of having somebody develop some software that could detect whether a Jpay message contained programming or not, and then copy said programming from a Jpay message, make any global changes as necessary, and then paste the programming into the appropriate compiler. After the program is executed, it’s copied out from the computer’s console and pasted back into a Jpay message headed right back at me. So the whole process is automated. This is, in fact, how I learned Python. In doing this, we’ve essentially made programming available to every prisoner with a secured emailing capability, like a Jpay user or a Corrlinks user, etcetera.

I have an annoying habit, when I encounter things that aren’t possible, to figure out how, conceivably, it could work? The fact is that I could do pretty much anything from behind these concrete walls provided that I’m willing to expend sufficient amounts of energy to do it. The more “impossible” a thing should be, the more energy it usually takes … kind of like approaching the speed of light.

Thanks for all the details! So maybe we can transition a little here to your work with PMP. Tell us a little about it, how it got started and how it’s grown.

Sure! Well, PMP started as a small inmate run program in a single Washington State prison. It began as a way to hold meetings with other math lovers inside of the prison. Another benefit was that we were able to make a library of math books which any participant could use. What I didn’t expect was that it quickly grew into a community … Prisoners who once would have never spared a single moment for one another would stop and talk about their current studies, and then they’d make plans to meet at a later time! In our meetings, the only rule was that we left “prison” outside from our special time together.

We became a group of prisoners dedicated to change via our journey into mathematics, and it wasn’t long before we began hosting Pi Day and Tau Day events for the entire prison, where mathematicians from across the globe would visit in person, giving lectures that were accessible. In these events, mathematicians became rock stars in the eyes of the prison population, where after the event, lines of prisoners seeking autographs would form to each of the mathematicians. Sounds far fetched?? Ahh … but it was magical.

Unfortunately, due to administrative politics, the PMP ended up being disbanded when a correctional officer didn’t want to put in the hours to monitor our program. Then when Covid hit, all programming completely ceased in every prison across the United States. This was around the time when my first research was published and the media grabbed a hold of it something fierce. I had made a comment that one of my goals upon release was to start a nonprofit version of the Prison Mathematics Project, and not long afterwards I was contacted by Walker Blackwell. At the time, Walker was a 15 years old high school student who wanted to be my hands in the community so that we could launch a nonprofit … It was comical, because I thought, “Hell … this kid seems so full of fire, but he’s too young!” And then I realized that he’s experiencing something that I experience all the time, where people don’t take me serious because of my incarceration.

I ended up contacting Walker’s parents, and they were standing at his side in full support so that he could learn some real life skills in doing something truly meaningful … So there it was! Walker, myself and Jack Smith (our business mind) built a program around the limitations of the pandemic that would recreate the conditions I experienced which led to my own success. My personal transformation was so profound and life-altering that I had to share it with all of the other mathematical prisoners in the United States and Canada. The concept is simple … We are a haven for mathematical prisoners who are active in self-studies, and we provide them with mentorship — like I had — who not only lead them towards their mathematical goals, but they teach their mentee about the community and culture of mathematics. I’ve gotta say, that the community is the biggest contributing factor of cultivating desistance from crime. Show them a lifestyle that exists around the one thing for which they’re most passionate about. That’s it!

What a journey! And fast forward to today, how has PMP grown? Where does it stand today, and what are you hopes for the future?

The PMP has grown by leaps and bounds … I mean, just a few months ago the first research supported by PMP was accepted for publication. Now, we are assisting other participants in having their independent researches published in professional journals. We’re also offering guided researches led by … well you, An! This is exciting to see as it begins to unfold.

Another beautiful recent accomplishment is our PMP Console. Many people do not know that prisoners may never use a computer during their incarceration. Some classes for programming exist, but these are very temporary and the computer does not stay with the prisoner. As well, and often, these classes are only available to prisoners with a short sentence. Consequently, prisoners who are spending lengthy sentences may never have the opportunity to learn programming. We just fixed that.

Now, any prisoner with a common prison messaging service like Jpay or Corrlinks can learn Python, R and even JavaScript through a type of email. Our software simulates a console so that when a prisoner sends our organization their code, it is then recognized and compiled. The result is sent back and they receive it as a type of email. Clearly this is not as fast as having a computer in your lap, but I learned Python on this system completely, and it’s a game changer. So where we stand today is here … We are an underfunded organization, yet we change lives on a shoestring budget. It’s hard, but it’s what we have to work with, and so we move forward boldly into our future.

My hopes for this future of PMP is to launch a Juvenile PMP which can help lead our incarcerated youth towards a better life. I remember reflecting on what would it have taken for me not to have made the mistake I’ve made. I never stopped long enough to appreciate the beauty of mathematics. I had the capacity my whole life, but I was always trying to impress whomever was next to me, and so I never found the beauty I see all around me today. These kids … You can almost see it as an opportunity. They’re sitting still inside of a prison. Now it’s our job to show them that a lifestyle can exist around something that they can be passionate about … while they are currently sitting still.

It’s really exciting to see how far PMP has come under your leadership and vision. To close out our conversation, how can people contribute? Where can people follow PMP’s work and maybe even get involved?

People can contribute in a number of ways! One of the easiest ways is to donate by visiting our website at www.prisonmathproject.org and clicking on the Donations tab. There is another way to donate to PMP through DonateStock (www.donatestock.com) where you can donate stock and they will match up to 1000 USD in value. Since we’re a registered 501c3 nonprofit, all of your contributions are tax deductible and will go towards helping towards making our world a better place through the spread of the maths!

Really, there are so many ways to help, especially in running PMP. Currently we are looking for folks with organizational experience for several roles, like in management, fundraising, social media marketing and even mentorship. We are also currently building a large collection of modules for teaching self learners in restrictive environments … We need educators who can contribute to this project. If anyone wants to learn more, please visit our site at www.prisonmathproject.org or email me at christopher@pmathp.org. I’d love get more people involved with something as meaningful as Justice in this pursuit of beauty via the maths!

Wong Tian An

November 28, 2022

Interview

Christopher Havens, Prison Mathematics Projects
Use the mic.

Use the mic at the conference. [1] And if you’re the emcee or organizer, it’s your job to make sure that the mic works and that folks use it.

I think that’s all you need to know, but here are some details if you’re interested.

Don’t just assert that everyone can hear. This is false. I say this as a person with a degree in hearing people and making people hear my voice in big rooms, and it barely works in ideal situations. At most conference spaces, there is noise in the hallways and from other rooms, noise from the air conditioning system, and noise from the participants. And the mic generates more even sound across many rooms than a speaker shouting from one corner.

Don’t just assume that people can hear. It essentially demands that people who need the mic have to make their accessibility needs explicit in front of other participants, and it usually involves them shouting about something barely heard in a situation when folks are expected to be quiet. The speaker and the organizer sitting right near them are specifically the least well positioned folks to notice issues with the audio, so they shouldn’t try to generalize from their experiences. And louder people using mics normalizes it for everyone, keeping mic usage from becoming a big deal, somewhat analogously to cis folks explicitly sharing their pronouns.

And even when everyone can “hear” the speaker without a mic, this will often involve more cognitive demand put into audio perception to filter out the background noise, which makes it harder to think about the ideas in the session!

Audio systems are never perfect, but using them appropriately is a bare minimum level of accessibility support that people should be able to trust when they show up to large events. There’s enough emotional labor involved in fighting white supremacist ideas at math conferences; we shouldn’t also have to fight to hear what folks are saying.

[1] Use the fucking mic.

Thanks to Grant Lakeland for his feedback and contributions on a draft.

Brian P Katz (BK)

November 16, 2022

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