Learning from Penelope

 

In Homer’s Odyssey, Penelope survives not by force, but by craft.

She weaves by day and unweaves by night. The weaving keeps the suitors at bay; the unweaving buys her time. It is not indecision. It is strategy. It is control over her own narrative.

I have decided to learn from Penelope.

Over the next months (or years), I will be rewriting my old papers.

Not because the mathematics is wrong.
Not because the results no longer matter.
But because I was — and perhaps still am — a lousy communicator.

Many of my early papers were written quickly, defensively, or under constraints that now feel foreign: editorial fashions,  page limits, the pressure to “fit” a venue. Many were published behind paywalls that I cannot even access anymore, given the lack of institutional support. The irony is not lost on me: I cannot easily read my own work. And cannot point others to it.

Commercial publishing has made something strange happen in mathematics. We produce knowledge collectively, mostly publicly funded, then hand it over to companies who sell it back to us. The system has normalized the idea that authors do not own access to their own intellectual labor. That should trouble us more than it does.

But this project is not primarily about protest.

It is about clarity.

If I am serious about Network Mathematics, and about mathematics as a way of life — about extracting structure from the literature while also living responsibly within it — then my own work should not be an obstacle. It should not require insider knowledge to decode. It should not assume a reader who already knows what I mean to say. So I am weaving again.

I will rewrite old papers as arXiv preprints: With clearer motivations. With expanded explanations. With better examples. With connections made explicit. With historical context where I once assumed it was obvious. With diagrams where prose struggles. With prose where diagrams obscure.

Some papers may be gently revised. Some may be substantially reorganized.
Some may need to be undone and rewoven almost entirely.

This is not repudiation. It is evolution.

Mathematics deserves expository care. Ideas deserve to be legible beyond the circle that first conceived them. And younger researchers — including my younger self — deserve texts that do not require deciphering as a rite of passage.

Penelope’s weaving was an act of resistance. Mine is an act of responsibility.

If you have ever read one of my older papers and thought, “I suspect there’s something important here, but I wish it were clearer,” this project is for you. If you have ever struggled to access your own published work, this project is for you. If you believe that clarity is not a concession but a form of rigour, then perhaps this project is for all of us.

I am unweaving.

So that I can weave again.

Manels and their effects (on my health)

 

Maybe you haven't heard about `Manels'? As Gemini explains: A "manel" is a panel of professionals, often at conferences or in media, composed entirely of men. It is often seen as a failure of diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI), implying that women are either not qualified to contribute or that their perspectives are unnecessary.

 

One of the most widely cited and "outrageous" examples of a manel in the context of reproductive health occurred in 2017. A group of approximately 25 Republican men was photographed in the White House discussing a healthcare bill that included significant changes to pregnancy and maternity care, as well as the defunding of Planned Parenthood. The image became a viral symbol of the exclusion of women from the very policies that govern their bodies and lives, according to the BBC.

Yes, I know that one is not supposed to talk about DEI in the USA in 2026. Even the word "women" can get your research project proposal disqualified! Still, it took me a while to construct the email message below about manels in my kind of research and I want to be able to point people to it.

 

On all male programs and PCs (again)

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Dear colleagues,

I’m writing to raise—yet again—an issue that many of us encounter with dispiriting regularity: conferences, workshops, and events in logic whose visible leadership is overwhelmingly male—whether in the form of all-male (or nearly all-male) invited speaker lineups, all-male program committees, or both.

I want to be explicit about scope. I am not interested in debating whether particular cases are “small,” “technical,” or “too specialized.” That line of argument is a familiar slippery slope, and in practice it serves to normalize exclusion rather than to explain it. In logic, there is no shortage of qualified women across areas. When both the speaker list and the PC skew heavily male, that reflects choices made during organization.

All-male programs and PCs are not neutral. Together, they send a clear signal about who is seen as authoritative, who is entrusted with gatekeeping roles, and who is assumed to represent the field. These signals accumulate: they shape visibility, invitations, evaluation practices, and ultimately who feels that they belong.

Organizers sometimes respond that exclusions are unintentional. That may be true—but unintentional bias is still bias, and its effects are not softened by good intentions. Organizing an event involves two clear points of intervention where effort can make a real difference:

1. Who is invited to speak, and

2. Who is asked to serve on the program committee or equivalent decision-making body.

Both are acts of curation and judgment, and both come with responsibility.

I also want to stress that this conversation is specifically about our mailing list, women-in-logic. This list is not moderated, many of us do not have the time or energy to act as moderators. But that does not mean we have to accept, circulate, or normalize calls for papers or announcements that reproduce the same exclusionary patterns we see on generic mailing lists. Setting expectations about what is acceptable here matters.

I would like to encourage two simple norms:

1. That we call attention—politely but explicitly—when all-male or overwhelmingly male speaker lineups or PCs are announced or promoted in our community spaces.

2. That diversity among both speakers and PCs be treated as a basic quality check, not an optional extra or a last-minute fix.

Speaking up can feel awkward, especially when omissions are framed as oversights. But silence signals acceptance, and acceptance ensures repetition.

If others on this list are willing to share strategies that have worked—especially around PC formation as well as speaker selection—I think that would be extremely valuable.

Best regards,
Valeria

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