   High school, as seen through the lens of the American entertainment industry, is less of a place and more of a threshold. You go to school, sure, but you also go through it: you spend four years mired in a soup of shifting social dynamics and stressful homework assignments and people who you’ve learned to categorize as jocks and nerds and theater kids and stoners. Do the specifics really matter? Whatever the topography of a building might be, or however many programs a school offers, its students, like millions of other students around the country, are stuck in a vast, unchanging rite of passage. 
   Perhaps we have Adam Smith’s old, obstinate, “invisible hand” to thank for this narrative: if the day-to-day struggles of being an adolescent human being are roughly universalizable, we’ll relate to every young adult book on the shelf. When you look a little closer, though, you find that an adolescent’s problems are basically inseparable from the material realities of their surroundings. Different schools lead to different outcomes: PHS, with an average graduation rate of 96 percent, according to the U.S. News & World Report, offers its students a very different experience from the average public school in, say, New Mexico, where, according to the New Mexico Legislature, only 76 percent of high schoolers end up with a diploma. Other differences are harder to quantify, but still easy to notice: schools vary in their commitment to the arts, or the quality of their teachers, or the availability of their extracurricular opportunities. PHS, for its part, offers a wealth of enriching, often unique activities. One of the more obvious extracurriculars in this context is, of course, the school newspaper. 
   Paradoxically, the school newspaper serves both as an integral part of the stereotypical high school experience and as an agent of specificity. The Opinions section of the Tower is a clear example — articles like “Student council can be more than just another extracurricular,” “Bell schedule — hell schedule?,” and “Our shallow academic performance,” dedicate themselves to picking out small details from our school’s milieu, inspecting them for a few moments, and then setting them back down. Because it’s easier to find flaws than it is to celebrate virtues, this section often ends up being filled with complaints about PHS’s student culture, classes, and system. Pragmatically, this makes sense: if the things you love aren’t being threatened, shouldn’t you spend your precious authorial resources trying to bring attention to things that you don’t love? But sometimes, a stream of complaints — even a stream of well-intentioned, thoughtful, specific complaints — leaves students feeling tired. 
   In fact, pointing out PHS’s shortcomings without thinking through its advantages leaves the student body with an awfully vague picture of the school as a whole: once you read enough, it begins to seem as though we’re just another public school, populated by a diverse range of teenagers who all must suffer through assorted problems for four years. 
   And so although the argument that I’m going to make here is one that I hope most students would agree with, it’s also one that doesn’t seem to be articulated very often: I think that PHS is quite nice, actually. In fact, the majority of the student body would have a hard time finding a public high school where they would be better off. There are plenty of ways that I could support this argument. I could tell you, for example, that our school spends twice as much money on students as the average high school does. I could tell you that while, according to the College Board, around 22 percent of students nationwide passed at least one AP exam in 2023, the percentage at PHS is three times higher. I don’t have to tell you any of this, though, because again, I think that if you took the time to ask PHS students whether they think that they attend an above-average high school, most of them would already say yes. 
   I think our school would be a better place if students followed this train of thought — the one where we realize that PHS is a nice place after all — without being prompted. Sure, “thankfulness is important” isn’t exactly new advice, but if you think a little deeper about what that statement really means, you find some interesting insights. 
   After all, if PHS already offers so many opportunities for its most advantaged students, shouldn’t our focus shift away from bolstering those programs for the kids who are already involved with them, and towards making sure that more kids can access them in the first place? It seems to me, at least, that if the quality of your high school actually matters, and if most of us have been lucky enough to end up at a legitimately great high school, we should try to ensure that same outcome for as many other students as possible. Weirdly, it’s only when we start to really appreciate PHS that we can spend a little less time thinking about ourselves, and a little more time looking outwards. 

PHS is quite nice, actually 

“It almost looks,” wrote Sigmund Freud in “Analysis Terminable and Interminable,” his dark, sobering final paper, “as if analysis were the third of those impossible professions in which one can be sure beforehand of achieving unsatisfying results. The other two, which have been known much longer, are education and government.” It’s a strange claim for the man credited with founding psychoanalysis — a field which defines what Freud called “neuroses” as results of unchecked unconscious desires — to make: imagine a teacher ending the school year with a lecture about how their class had been predestined to disappoint. And yet the impossibility of fully satisfying the psychoanalytic patient was at the center of Freud’s theories. To understand why — and to understand whether Freud’s ideas, and the discipline that arose from them, matter at PHS — we have to talk about transference.

Don’t let its academic aura fool you: the theory of transference is, quite simply, a theory of love. In his “Observations on a Transference-Love,” Freud proposed that the “layman’s” conceptualization of love as a pure, quasi-spiritual force was shortsighted. This conclusion, characteristically, comes from a deep personal failure: in the early days of his practice, Freud pushed away a string of patients (most notably the pseudonymous Dora) who had become inexplicably attracted to him. His attempt to understand the roots of the pattern, despite being tainted by sexist misconceptions and unscientific assumptions, ended up producing t h e seminally important idea of transference: Freud posited that we bring the emotional expectations and desires of our childhood with us wherever we go — including, of course, to the analyst’s couch.

Today, analysts agree almost unanimously (a rare thing, in the fraught world of psychoanalytic institutes) that doctors can allow nothing to arise from a patient’s love. But this is not because the patient’s love isn’t real — it has the same transferential roots as any other of their romantic attractions. The rule exists simply because an analyst’s office is an inappropriate and manipulative context for genuine romantic intimacy.

Perhaps I’ve failed to explain how lonely and terrifying Freud’s theory is. Janet Malcolm, in “The Impossible Profession,” does it more justice: “even… romantic love is fundamentally solitary, and has at its core a profound impersonality. The concept of transference… destroys faith in personal relations.” Or, more succinctly: “we cannot know each other.” And yet the idea is vital to the psychoanalytic encounter, in which the analyst is often tasked with “knowing” their patient. As it turns out, only by recognizing and “harnessing” countertransference — feelings from the doctor towards the patient which arise from what Malcolm calls “early blueprints” — can an analyst ensure that their patient’s unconscious urges (and the analyst’s own) don’t destroy the possibility for a productive and genuinely helpful process. Some psychoanalysts would object to my language here. Thankfully, I’m not a psychoanalyst, and I have no institutional reputation to uphold. What I am is a high schooler — one who thinks that the classroom, too, should be productive and genuinely helpful, and that student teacher relationships form (of course) an inappropriate context for romance.

Don’t get me wrong: focusing on the erotics of a high school classroom is unhelpful and weird. And Freud — sexist, self-centered, pseudoscientific Freud — hardly seems like a figure you’d want helping teachers at PHS to relate with their students. But a general understanding of transference, as I see it, should help rectify (or at least explain) some of the expectations we form (consciously or otherwise) of the classroom.

As the analyst Leo Stone explained in 1967, rather than casting teachers as lovers, we recognize in them the “caretaking functions of the original parents.” Deadlines at school and curfews at home are subject to the same set of tangled emotional push-backs. But the same time, students crave the teacher’s parental love: we want to be cared for. Of course, openly addressing transference in the classroom would be, as Merve Emre puts it in “Are you my Mother?,” “its own variety of pedagogical failure.” Classes have neither the time nor the moral obligation to become therapy sessions. Still, students would do well to remember that a teacher is not obligated to love them — or even care about them on an individual level — in the same way a parent might. Often, instead of wanting to be taught, we yearn for the teacher to seek out our own knowledge: in a class with 30 other students, though, an educator failing to do so is a practical choice rather than a personal slight.

I’ve also come to believe (with significantly less authority, never having been a teacher myself) that PHS teachers can learn from the way an analyst deals with the urge to reciprocate their patient’s “transference love.” Caring for students is, of course, important, but replacing constructive rigor and challenge with either a doting, carefree environment or one where the teacher feels as though they must make the class wildly, unhelpfully difficult in order to reaffirm their own authority, is harmful for everybody involved. It’s hard, as someone who finds a perhaps embarrassing amount of joy in the classes I take here at PHS, to agree with Freud that education is an impossible profession. But it seems that students who want to please or defy their educators at all costs and teachers who seek to become surrogate parents or all-knowing kings each fall prey to the same misguided assumption: that the high school classroom could ever be truly satisfying.

Teachers and transference: does Freud matter in high schools?

By the time his fingers grazed the leathery surface of the tea plant, the war had been won. He might’ve looked at that tall, unassuming bush — the complex of ridges and the white flowers peeking through clusters of fat lanceolate leaves — with a sort of pity. He might’ve remembered the nations marred and uprooted in its name, the warships crumpled like the furled flag of its apical bud. He might’ve thought a lot of things, really, but in 1848, Robert Fortune did exactly what the British East India company had paid him to do: With precision and with delicacy, he reached down towards the stem of the tea plant and tore it from the earth.
A mere decade earlier, Fortune’s operation would’ve been unthinkable. China had been cultivating tea for millennia, and by the 1800s, the leaves were steeped not just in hot water but in a rich milieu of spiritual and philosophical traditions, carefully guarded agricultural secrets, and powerful economic incentives. Thanks to their virtual monopoly of the tea plant (a few seeds had escaped to Japan in the ninth century, but their fruits were barely commercialized), China’s tea became a vital, lucrative commodity once Dutch and Portuguese traders appeared on the country’s shores. This economic dependence was deepened in 1661, when Portugal’s tea-loving Queen Catherine of Braganza married Britain’s soon-to-be-tea-loving King Charles II, and China’s foremost export became the quintessential drink of the European aristocracy. Before long, it was hard to come by tea that was selling for less than ten times the price of coffee.
In the face of China’s control over the tea, porcelain, and silk markets, Europe found itself without a sought-after good of its own to rectify the growing trade imbalance. For decades, mercantilist leaders fumed as silver poured into the Chinese port cities of Guangzhou and Tianjin, and only teabags floated back in return. In the early 18th century, though, Europe stumbled across an export that Chinese citizens were willing — and eventually, due to the drug’s addictiveness, desperate — to pay for: opium. 
The Qing dynasty was dismayed. Imagining, rightfully, that importing massive amounts of a narcotic drug would harm Chinese society, they began to resist Europe’s opium smugglers. They began to openly question Europe’s power-hungry trade tactics. And so, in 1839, British warships began to dot their harbors.
To call the three ensuing “Opium Wars” a series of sudden, unexpected conflicts is to say that Robert Fortune’s heist — where he (in perhaps the grandest display of cultural appropriation in history) learned to speak Mandarin; pretended to come from western China; bamboozled the owners of tea plantations across the province of Fujian into letting him observe their cultivation processes; and sent 10,000 stolen seeds and 13,000 young tea plants alongside ovens, woks, rolling tables, and eight hired Chinese experts back to the British East India company in Calcutta — was nothing more than a crime of passion, conceived and performed in the heat of the moment. It is to pretend that in 1839, Britain hadn’t already stretched itself across India like a moth-torn canvas, that France hadn’t imperialized what is now Southeast Vietnam. Colonialism is no haphazard romp. No, it is precise, and delicate. It is pernicious — an opium, washing across the body like a somnambulatory tide. It is the story of today's tensions, and, yes, of today’s tea — once a delicacy, then combined with sugar harvested by the enslaved laborers of Britain's Caribbean colonies and made available the European citizenry at large, now more popular than any beverage besides water itself. Spread across the earth, but torn from it too.

War and Teace

Favorite songs to listen to in the hallway 

PHS Takes: Favorite songs to listen to in the hallway 

It’s 12:30 a.m., and you have a lab report and an essay due tomorrow morning. Or is it this morning? Your brain is too tired and caffeine-charged to know—the only thing you are sure about is that your teachers are out to get you. It can sometimes feel like PHS is a big diabolical machine, the days populated by robotic teachers handing out assignment after assignment, the nights overrun by the task of completing the arduous paperwork that was handed out in the classroom. This, of course, is not the case. The vast majority of their teachers are kind, dedicated human beings, and above all, they want you to succeed. Yes, some of them could do better, but believe it or not, they are not completely to blame for all of your headaches. 
   For one, students should be aware of the time and effort that is required from advanced or AP classes before enrolling in five of them. They should ask themselves questions like: can I take AP English if I have soccer practice three days a week? If a student has to stay up until the twilight hours of the morning working on assignments, it is almost always that they have either overloaded themselves, or have waited until the last minute to complete them. 
   Unfortunately, many of the avenues that teachers try to construct to help students find success in their classes are highly underutilized. Office hours, for example, are one of the best ways that students can make sure they fully understand the skills and concepts that were covered in class, since they can ask any questions they might have directly to the teacher. With a resource that powerful, it seems like every single student would want to go to as many of these office hour sessions as possible, but instead, only a select few regularly attend. Because the office hours are so helpful, and demonstrate commitment to the class at hand, these students are almost unanimously the ones who get the highest grades on assessments. This creates almost a paradox—only the students who are already doing well continue to go to office hours, whereas the students who could benefit the most from them don’t. Students should try to attend teachers’ office hours regularly, even if they don’t have any burning questions—though they should make sure that they know what they wish to discuss beforehand. Speaking from personal experience, Dr. Corell, who teaches AP Chemistry, regularly encourages students to come to his room during lunch to work through homework and practice problems. After all, the single best place to do your chemistry homework is right beside your chemistry teacher.
   There are also plenty of other avenues for getting in touch with a teacher about the subject matter other than office hours, like emailing them with questions or asking about anything that seems confusing during class time. PHS teachers don't want to make their content unnecessarily hard, and even though it can feel like some concepts are intentionally confusing, these are the very problems students should ask about. If a teacher realizes that the entire class is stuck on one problem, they’re likely to go over it again for everyone. No teacher wants their students to feel lost.
   Teachers don’t want their students to miss a homework assignment either! Although it’s pretty common for students to say that they “didn’t know there was homework” if they miss an English reading or a math worksheet, many teachers already have systems to solve this problem. Pretty much every teacher at PHS has a schedule where students can find the homework assignments that are due every week embedded on their Canvas page. Whether it comes in a slide show, a Google Doc, or even an expansive spreadsheet that covers homework assignments for the entire year, these schedules can help make sure that students never have to turn in homework late just because they forgot it existed. It’s just like the textbooks that teachers send home at the beginning of the year, or the tutoring sessions that take place at the Ideas Center — the tools students need to succeed have already been handed to them, and the only thing stopping many students from scoring well on tests is that they haven’t started to use them yet.
   There are many more specific problems that students might have in their classes, like feeling as though the readings are too dense, or wanting to redo a problem on the test because you never learned one of the earlier math concepts that it included, that these methods might not directly address. Still, if students go into their classrooms remembering who teachers really are (humans who are passionate about helping their students succeed and sharing knowledge) instead of thinking of them as machines they have to “bypass” in order to get an A, it’s hard to imagine a world in which they wouldn’t see an increase in their grades as well, and, perhaps even more importantly, an increase in the amount that they’re enjoying their classes.


How not to fail

PHS Takes: How do we like to use our free periods?

 Most people tend to stick to friend groups where all the participants share similar political beliefs. It’s much easier to be friends with someone if you’re able to bring up politics without immediately wanting to yell at each other, but unfortunately, what’s easy isn’t always what’s best for our high school community. Fostering discourse with people who have different political opinions than you is vital because politics becomes highly sectionalized and extremist when open lines of communication don’t exist where Democrats, Republicans, and third-party supporters can all share their views. The Asper Institute supports this idea, explaining in 2018 that when you talk to people outside of your usual political spectrum, you both begin to care about each other more despite your political differences, a key first step in rebuilding our seemingly derelict American democracy.
   Of course, you’re probably heard this spiel before, but if you’re like most Americans, you’re still a little unsure of how to actually discuss political issues with people that you’re sure you could never agree with. Thankfully, the process is pretty simple. All you have to do is find someone with different political beliefs than you, which shouldn’t be too hard, as it’s extremely unlikely that someone agrees with you about everything. Even at PHS, where it can seem like most of the school leans liberal, you can find students who don’t share your policy priorities by joining a new club, or sitting with a new group of kids at lunch. Then, once you’ve found a new friend (or an old one who you want to start discussing politics with), talk to them! Your conversation doesn't have to be about politics at first (and probably shouldn’t be, because you don’t want to appear confrontational), but if you take the brave first steps towards shifting the conversation to that domain, there are a few things to keep in mind.
   First of all, frame the talk you two are going to have as a discussion, rather than as an argument,, and don’t go into that discussion hoping to “win”. Every time two people have a conversation, they create a discursive space. Imagine that your space (which you can leave at any time) is valuable, and worth maintaining and protecting, and it’s both of your jobs to make sure that sharing information and listening to each other's opinions is valued over just trampling over each other’s viewpoints. You shouldn’t prepare clever comebacks, or damning one-liners — as long as that discursive space is one where you can listen to your friend, and where both of you can take each others insights and use them for the better, it’s a space worth being in.
   It’s also important to remember that your friend isn’t wholly responsible for the political issue you two are discussing. It’s important not to immediately jump to anger, even though almost every issue you two will discuss probably has real world implications that could end up hurting people both of you care about. You two are not the arbiters of which policies are actually passed, but by communicating calmly about the policies that are up for discussion, you can have a productive conversation that makes it more likely a solution you can both agree upon can come into being. 
   There are times where it’s better for you to unceremoniously exit a conversation, rather than trying to keep it going against your better judgment. If your friend says something blatantly racist, sexist, homophobic, or simmilarly problematic, it’s okay to step out of the discussion. You shouldn’t feel like you have to bear deeply hurtful comments just to have a conversation with a classmate, and it might be smart to get a teacher or administrator involved. Additionally, if either of you get heated enough over a political issue to just start throwing personal attacks at each other, you can and should just leave the conversation.
   You should treat the conversation you two will have as an almost academic one. Recognize that your friend, no matter how outlandish their opinion may seem to be, probably has plenty of valid and important pieces of information to share with you. Actively listen to what they say, instead of nodding along while secretly preparing for a witty retort. If you are not familiar with a topic, then say so! If you have nothing to really share about something, it’s probably not a topic worth spending time on. Move on, find where your opinions clash, and discuss that issue together.
   It’s likely that neither of you will have changed each other's opinions by the end of your conversation. That’s okay. What you will have done is created a space where you can understand and communicate with each other better, both during the conversation and in the future. That is the single most important first step towards rebuilding connections within our fractured political sector, and it is something that we should all strive towards, if American democracy is really something we value.





How to talk to friends with different political beliefs 

Scheduling season at PHS is always hectic. Students scramble to sign up for the most rigorous classes the school has to offer. Many students hope to construct transcripts that only serve to impress colleges, sometimes by taking six or more Advanced Placement classes in a single year. At PHS, it’s no secret that grade anxiety, unbearable workloads, and chronic stress are commonplace. In a school where the students’ merit is often linked to the number of AP courses in their schedule, passions and hobbies can take a back seat. Still, many students who have incorporated the arts into their schedules have found the decision to be a good one. Whether it be the shedding of stress, the opportunity to make new friends, or the discovery of new passions, signing up for a visual & performing arts course can be one of the most worthwhile things one will do in high school.

Arts classes can provide a refuge from the stress and monotony of an average school day. During weeks filled with tests or other nerve-wracking assignments, arts classes are a time to relax and do something stress-free and enjoyable.. Instead of sitting behind a desk all day listening to a seemingly unending string of mind-numbing lectures, you could be helping create an orchestral symphony or painting beautiful landscapes. Through arts classes, you have an hour every day to sit back and forget about academics.

The workload that many PHS students wrestle with can also hinder their social lives. Arts courses can help alleviate this issue — they are a great space for meeting new people. Visual and performing arts classes provide an opportunity to meet other students who share your interests and passions and to craft meaningful, lasting friendships. Joe Bongiovi, an instrumental music teacher at PHS, often says that “band is like a family.” In band, students spend hours rehearsing together in and out of school. Whether that be in the band room at Tiger Time or at someone’s house on the weekends, students always find a way to rehearse, jam, and bond. Many students stay in arts classes such as visual arts, Drama, band, and orchestra for multiple years in high school, allowing for deeper bonds to form between students and teachers. In visual arts classes, students are often left to their own devices, and small talk serves as the perfect backdrop for the making of an art piece. In the performing arts, friendships are further solidified by the performances that the programs hold, which can form long-lasting memories. Twenty years from now, it’ll be the memories of the band trip or your solo in the school musical that you’ll cherish the most, not the final exam that you took for your AP Calculus class.

Arts classes are less stressful than almost every other course at PHS. Generally, it is not hard to earn a good grade in an arts class, but that’s not to say that these classes don’t require students to work hard. Learning an instrument, for example, takes months of consistent practice. So does learning to paint, to sing, or to act on stage. Still, this is a virtue — unlike regular classes, where it is common for students to cram for tests the day before and forget the content quickly, arts courses show students how to work towards long-term goals. By way of slow, gradual improvement, lifelong passions are born. Students learn how to find motivation and continue working even without the constant threat of an upcoming test or a bad grade. Maybe you have a natural talent for dance which has been unknown to you, or a love for music which you’ve never been able to fully explore. There are classes at PHS that can help you gain the skills needed to explore those passions. Genuine enjoyment, instead of good grades, is what should drive you in these classes.

Putting an arts class into your schedule is an easy way to provide respite from the day-to-day pressures of school. Students in arts classes often look forward to them all day and don’t want them to end — a sharp contrast to many AP courses, which can be a source of dread. Your schedule should not be curated solely to please a third party, like a college or parent. It should be built not only to fulfill your academic ambitions, but also to make you happy and set you up to enjoy your high school experience. Signing up for a visual & performing arts class takes a big step towards this goal, and is something everyone at PHS should consider.

The arts: our escape



It’s been over a year since that first “two-week” break in March of 2020, and almost everything has changed. Our everyday lives have been flipped upside down; we now rarely have snow days! There’s a flickering sign of hope as our nation stockpiles vaccines, but Dr. Anthony Fauci, President Biden’s Chief Medical Advisor, estimates things won’t be back to “normal” until 2022, according to an ABC news article from earlier this year.


Graphic by [credit name="Caroline Xie"]
COVID-19 has made seeing friends in person difficult and, at times, irresponsible. Sure, there’s texting and speaking through FaceTime, but most people only feel comfortable talking to a tiny group of people online. What's worse, talking over the internet can be confusing and boring. This discomfort is especially true in school Zooms — although teachers are trying their best, instructions can often be unclear. This means that work piles up and that students have to exert unnecessary effort on small assignments just to avoid bad grades. After talking to many of my peers, one commonality was clear: many students are feeling overwhelmed, anxious, and socially isolated. Yet too many kids seem to be ignoring one simple solution: going to school in person.

If you or a family member is particularly at risk, the best option for you is to stay home. But for many students at PHS, going to school isn’t that dangerous. The American Academy of Pediatrics wrote in early 2021 that as long as social distancing, outdoor spaces, masks, and hand sanitizer are implemented, it is safe to return to school for most groups of people. PHS uses all four.

Coming to school in person can aid learning in multiple ways. The National Education Association reported in early 2020 that students retain information better when learning in person. Asking questions and chatting in person helps strengthen relationships with teachers and improves retention of the material. In order to even understand the material, a student has to be paying attention in the first place. At home, it’s much easier to get sidetracked: Texts, a loud sibling, or social media can all distract a student from the task at hand. Even after refocusing, the teacher has often moved so far into the lesson that it’s virtually unintelligible.

Perhaps the biggest argument against going to school is that in most in-person classes, students sit on Zoom instead of doing a separate activity or engaging with a lesson unmediated by a screen. On the first day I came back, I was stunned when our teacher cheerfully told us to log onto Zoom. But getting to actually bond with teachers on the walk in or out of the classroom and asking questions during or after class is far better than sitting on the couch, even if it does mean staying on the screen.

A couple weeks ago, I was walking down the hallway on my way to Spanish when I heard someone say hi from behind me. I wheeled around, confused, and recognized one of my castmates from the musical, with whom I had been rehearsing almost every day but never actually had a conversation. We talked for a second, and then two or three more kids from the musical walked up. They told me that they had been meeting up in the yard outside the school during breaks. I couldn’t believe it: It was like meeting new kids backstage, which I hadn’t been able to do for over a year.

They dispersed, and I resumed the walk to Spanish when I spotted the debate coach walking down the same hallway, carrying a box of trophies. She stopped and waved, and then I followed her down the hallway to the table outside of the tower, discussing how the year had gone. Suddenly, worried that I would be late for Spanish, I turned to head back down the hallway, only to run into one of my close friends and subsequently one of my teammates from Euro Challenge. Of course, I stopped to talk to them, even though it meant I was a minute late for class.

Interactions like these are what make in-person school special. Having the opportunity to build a community at high school is important, especially for people like me: freshmen who haven’t had the chance to connect with many people. After months at home, the concept of in-person school can feel frightening and stressful at first, but in reality, it’s much better than the alternative. If you cannot go because of circumstances like serious health issues, such as someone in your family having a pre-existing condition, then don’t go. But if you aren’t going because you feel like school will be “easier” at home, you’re only making this year harder for yourself.

Alexander Margulis's Work