VIEWPOINT Not today, buddy The Michigan Daily - Tuesday, May 3, 2005 - 5 A view from the wrong side of history KARL STAMPFL (} : SiCONtV SATIONS I --- BY IAN HERBERT The weather screwed up my plan for this article. In a naive plan to gain some sort of understanding of what it must be like to be homeless, I was going to be homeless in Ann Arbor - for a mere 36 hours. I see these guys every day on my way to class, and I noncha- lantly pass by them on my way to work. Sometimes I reach into my pocket and give them a few coins. But mostly I just walk past them while muttering, "Not today buddy." I am pretty understand- ing and extremely sympathetic, but I still don't really understand what they have to go through every day. I was in Ann Arbor for about 10 days after my last paper was due, and I was sure that I could take two nights away from partying and movie-watching to get out onto the streets of Ann Arbor. Even though I didn't know exactly what I was going to get out of this expe- rience, I imagined that the first night would be tough. I can sleep just about anywhere, but I don't know if I could get a good night's sleep on the cement. I was planning on wearing many lay- ers to keep my body comfortable and warm, but I obviously wasn't going to have a pillow. I could have moved to the grass in the Diag, but, you know, grass is itchy. And I wouldn't want to be up all night scratching my neck and face. Plus, I'm afraid of bugs, and I don't like insects crawling on me. It probably would not be easy to get to sleep, but I'm sure that I'd be able to do it that first night if I got tired enough. I don't know how happy people would be with me out there. I imagine that business owners, policemen and drunken University students would be pretty upset. They might even harass me, kick me out of my "bed" or claim that I, the man sleeping on the streets, was hurting them by being out there. When I awoke in the morning, I would probably be pretty tired and awfully sore. I'm not the most pleasant person when I'm tired, but I guess I would have to be. The plan was to leave all my money at home, so I would have to pleasantly ask passersby for money just to get enough to eat. I can't even bring myself to use a coupon at Meijer - how was I going to sit there and beg for money? Of course, since I spend most of my days as a college student eating Cot- tage Inn and Jimmy John's, I have a good amount of meat on my bones. I can certainly afford to go a full day without eating, so maybe I would just do that = for a day. I'm sure the difficult part would be trying to get to sleep on the second night. Having spent the entire night before awake on the cement and the entire day sitting on the cold sidewalk, I'm sure that I would want to get to sleep more that night than any night in my life. But in order to sleep that second night, I would probably need some help. After all, I always sleep a little better after a couple drinks, and I never sleep very well on an empty stomach. I would just need to gather some money for a little booze and munchies, but I would probably still be too embar- rassed and too prideful to actually ask a random stranger for money. How else could I get money? I suppose I could dig through trashcans looking for 10-cent cans and collect the change. I could scour the porches of rich col- lege students who carelessly leave dol- lars worth of recyclables lying around; there are probably enough cans on my own porch to get something to eat. I could probably scrape together enough money from cans to get myself a piece of day-old bread from Jimmy John's and maybe a 40 of Colt 45. And I would have to hope that would be enough to get me through the night - until the next day. So that was my plan - nothing spe- cial, just someone trying desperately to get an understanding of someone else's lifestyle. But I chickened out. I honestly was going to do it, but the weather changed my plans. It went from 70 degrees and sunny - the weather I was planning on - to 30 and snowing practically overnight. I couldn't bring myself to go outside for more than a few minutes, let alone an entire 36 hours. I guess it's a good thing I have that option. Herbert is an LSA senior and the Dailys fall/winter managing sports editor. My Ger- man- born grandmother's ini- tial reaction to the white smoke signi- fying that Catho- lics would have the first German pope in five centu- ries was excitement. But as the days passed, she grew less enchanted with the idea. My father - who was not born in Germany but whose childhood was dipped in the culture of Sauer- kraut and liverwurst - agreed. "This isn't good for Germans," he said as we watched the pope's inception cer- emony. "Especially your grandmother." Neither my grandmother nor my father doubted Pope Benedict XVI would lead the church honorably. They were upset because when people talked about the man formerly known as Joseph Ratz- inger, they were foregoing additional discussion about his doctrine in favor of speaking about his ties to the Nazi party during World War II. "He was so young," my grandmother said. "How could he have known?" I suspect she was asking the question more of herself than of the pope. Like Benedict, my grandmother was in Ger- many during the war. Born in 1935, she took her first steps and said her first word with Hitler's stern voice booming through the radio as background noise. Before her 10th birthday, she never knew anything other than Nazism, especially with her father working as a military firefighter. What 10-year-old girl would not believe in the cause her father and everyone else she knew was fighting for? All her life, the distinction of being a former Nazi sympathizer has fol- lowed her. Conversation naturally fun- nels toward it, moreso lately with the pope's past in the news. "Where were you born?" someone will ask her. She'll answer, they'll gauge her age, and then you'll be able to read it in their eyes - oh, so you were one of them, the most notorious evildoers in recent history. One of the 20th century's greatest vil- lains: my grandmother. Now she's worried that what the pope was busy doing during World War It will define his papacy. "The first time he does something the media doesn't like, they'll blame it on his German heritage, and all we'll be talking about is what he did when he was 14 years old," my father said. Not much is known about the pope's role during the Nazi era. What is known points toward an unwilling relation- ship with the Nazis, including a forced involvement with the Hitler Youth. But the media still wants to know ifhe housed any Jewish people and, if not, why didn't he? No matter what really happened, the pope will remain tainted by his past, especially in England, where a host of newspapers have criticized his involve- ment with the Nazis and questioned his character because of it. The whole issue forms a dilemma. It wouldbe unwise to forget the Nazis' evils, but it would be unfair to allow a connec- tion to Nazism from his formative years define a German's life 50 years later. For too many, their only fault was being in the wrong place at the wrongest of times. Up to now, it has been fair to investi- gate and talk about Ratzinger's past. The public needs to know about his character, and when you become pope - a pub- lic figure - you're fair game. Now that everything has presumably been uncov- ered, it's time to judge him on his papacy. Every unnecessary concern raised about his past not only burdens him, it burdens people like my grandmother. As you read this, she's probably sitting at her kitchen table, a gentle woman with a bad hip. Someone will call, and she'll talk with a slight German accent that still hasn't completely worn off. Mostly, though, it's gone. After 50 years here, she's not really a German anymore; she's an American. If you won't reconsider your preju- dices toward certain World War II-era Germans for her at 74 years old, do it for her at 19 as she was crossing the Atlantic alone to come to America. If that still doesn't work, picture her at 10, a young girl overwhelmed by her war-torn world, struggling to simply stay alive - a bomb once landed inside her house but didn't explode - let alone be on the right side of history. Stampfl is a Daily fall/winter administra- tion beat reporter. He can be reached at kstampfl@umich.edu. Keep ur spiritual beliefs off my bod ALEXANDRA JONES CEyl is-r Ss UNE. .P3pDREAM LETTERS POLICY The Michigan Daily welcomes letters from all of its readers. Letters from University students, faculty, staff and administrators will be given priority over others. Letters should include the writer's name, col- lege and school year or other University affiliation. The Daily will not print any letter containing statements that cannot be verified. Letters should be kept to approximately 300 words. The Michi- gan Daily reserves the right to edit for length, clarity and accuracy. Longer "viewpoints" may be arranged with an editor. Letters will be run accord- ing to order received and the amount of space available. Letters should be sent over e-mail to tothedaily@michigandaily.com or mailed to the Daily at 420 Maynard St. Editors can be reached via e-mail at editpage.editors @umich.edu. Letters e-mailed to the Daily will be given priority oer hosen dronned off in nerson or sent via the U.S.R Postal Service. 'o walking - OK, running up the steps of the UniversitvHealth Services Building What I'm about to do has been playing through my mind in bits and pieces ever since late last night, or, depending on how you think about it, very early this morning. Idon't know what to expect, or how exactly I'm supposed to ask for what I need. All I really know is that Ihave to do it. It has to get done. I check in at the walk-in appointment desk, grab a clipboard and sit down in the waiting area to fill out the form. This much I'm used to. Icheck the right box and wait until I'm called. When itsfinally my turn - by now I'm feeling physically ill with anxiety - I step up to the UHS rep- resentative's cubicle and briefly, absently explain my situation. After a pause, the second person I've told about my problem pulls a green paper square the size of a Post-It out of a desk drawer and affixes it to myfile. The square reads a bold, black "EC." The speedy and casual procure- ment ofthis bit ofpaper brings on theflrst reassuranceI'vefelt all day. A few hours later, after a slightly com- forting, sort of sary discussion with a nurse practitioner and a trip to the UHS pharmacist, I got home and popped the first of two Plan B pillsI'd have to take that day. It was done. I couldn't do any more. If we're to let idiots in high places like Pharmacists for Life president Karen Brauer decide what's morally and medi- cally right, conscientious, consenting adults like me (andmost ofyou) wouldbe, as it were, screwed. In a Washington Post op-ed printed March 28, Brauer compared a pharmacist filling a prescription for emergency contracceptionto a doctor vio- lating the Hippocratic Oath. Pharmacists like Brauer - in Tennessee and Wiscon- sin and my home state of North Carolina - confuse or willfully disregard the dis- tinction between an abortion and the way emergency contraception works. Let me setthe record straight: Like con- doms, spermicides and birth-control pills, emergency contraception prevents the implantation of a fertilized egg. It won't have any effect on an already-implanted fertilized egg (a pregnancy); emergency contraception prevents pregnancy at a stage where there's simply nothing to abort. My medical education pretty much ended with high-school health class, but I can make the distinction between the two - let alone between proper patient care andreligious vigilantism. According to these maverick phar- macists, who cite spiritual beliefs when they refuse to fill prescriptions or return physicians' orders to patients, neither I nor my doctor have the right to determine whether I receive emergency contracep- tion. It doesn't matter that I'm in school and have a 3.6 GPA, that I want to build a career after college or that I'm basically a decent person. It doesn't matter that get- ting pregnant anytime in the next 10 years is my worst nightmare, that I take double precautions when having sex, that at best they're just making my life hell for the few moments I'd have to deal with them, and at worst they're threatening to take away my peace of mind, my self-esteem, ay clear conscience, my sanity. I should burn for what I did, and they're sure as hell not going with me. What surprised me most about the only time I've ever gotten emergency contraception was the shame I felt until it was over. Not from the conviction that I shouldn't have had sexhbefore marriage, or that I should have been more careful - there was no way I could have been more careful-butbecause I feltstupid. Stupid, clumsy, unlucky, tragic. Whether a woman ismarried, in arela- tionship or single, whether she has five kids or none, whether she has been prescribed a time-sensitive drug after carelessness or sexual assault, she should be treated with respect and fast, quality service. For about 12hours, I was in danger of losing my life- style, my academic career and probably, as a result ofmy own disgust with the situ- ation, my relationship with the person I'm closest to. I don't deserve that - nobody does - and I thank those physicians and pharmacists who agree with me. Jones is a Dailyfall/winter associate arts editor. She can be reached at almajo@umich.edu.