Opinion
JENNIFER CALFAS
EDITOR IN CHIEF
AARICA MARSH
and DEREK WOLFE
EDITORIAL PAGE EDITORS
LEV FACHER
MANAGING EDITOR
420 Maynard St.
Ann Arbor, MI 48109
tothedaily@michigandaily.com
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the University of Michigan since 1890.
Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s editorial board.
All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.
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4A — Thursday, March 26, 2015
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EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
J
ust before Spring Break, I had
the opportunity to see Detroit
— a city I have been familiar
with my entire life
— from a fresh per-
spective. Born and
raised on the west
side of the state,
for me, Detroit has
consisted of trips
to the Joe Louis
Arena or Tigers
games, and noth-
ing more than a
temporary
des-
tination.
How-
ever, for the past year and a half my
sister has been working for Teach
for America, teaching 10th and 11th
grades at a charter school in Mid-
town. The other weekend, I finally
had the opportunity to head west and
experience Detroit through the eyes
of young teachers immersed in the
growth of the city.
As I sat nestled under a heat lamp
in the urban oasis that is Midtown’s
3rd Street Bar, my sister and her col-
leagues — many of whom had come
from out of state — shared their
experiences as postgraduates in an
unlikely postgraduate destination.
Making conversation, I asked their
thoughts on the recent media cover-
age of James Robertson.
In mid-February, The Detroit Free
Press published an article detailing
the resiliency of Detroit native James
Robertson. The piece explained how
Robertson, now 56, has spent that
last decade getting to and from his
factory job 23 miles away in Roch-
ester Hills. Since his 1988 Honda
Accord quit on him 10 years ago, he
has been taking a bus part way there
and partway home. In total, Robert-
son walks about 5,000 miles per year,
a sum equivalent to two trips around
the Earth. Quite obviously, Robert-
son was revered for his remarkable
mental and physical toughness, as
well as his dedication to a perfect
attendance record at work.
In the weeks following the piece’s
publication,
Robertson’s
journey
to work became predominant in
the spotlight of Detroit media. A
GoFundMe page was set up to help
Robertson
financially,
eventually
reaching around $360,000, and Sub-
urban Ford in Sterling Heights donat-
ed a 2015 Ford Taurus to him after
Robertson mentioned to the press he
would like a Taurus because it’s like
him: “Simple on the outside, strong
on the inside.”
I remarked on this article to
my sister and her colleagues, say-
ing I thought Robertson provided a
delightful representation of Detroit’s
enduring spirit and how nice that a
story like his was receiving so much
media attention. To my immediate
surprise, the table became a caucus
of scoffs and exasperated laughs, my
comments provoking each to take
another lengthy sip of their drinks.
My naïveté was shattered as they
begun sharing with me their insights:
“This is the worst thing that ever hap-
pened to him;” “The coverage was far
from representative;” “Did you see
the other comments on the Go Fund
Me page?” I gave Robertson’s story a
second look.
The Detroit Free Press’s story,
“Heart and sole: Detroiter walks 21
miles in work commute,” made men-
tion of the larger underlying issues,
but I would argue it failed to drive
home (no pun intended) or fully
elaborate on the broken systems that
subjected Robertson to 10 years of an
extraordinarily arduous commute.
Similarly, what resonated with the
numerous readers from the commu-
nity who felt compelled to donate to
Robertson were his individual jour-
ney and his personal triumphs — but
Robertson is not an anomaly.
The GoFundMe site is now
closed, but while the comments
on the page were still visible there
was a clear trend: about every
other comment asked, “But what
about me?” Between the comments
commending
Robertson’s
spirit,
there were just as many recount-
ing their daily struggles, the ways
in which the systemic insufficien-
cies of Detroit have inconvenienced
them and the money from which
they could benefit. In fact, after all
of his media attention, everyone
knew about Robertson and every-
body wanted something from him.
They had similar struggles and
they wanted their cut. The neigh-
borhood started showing up on his
porch with requests, some threat-
ening, and Robertson was forced to
move to a private, undisclosed loca-
tion in the suburbs.
The subsequent articles covering
Robertson’s newfound wealth, hap-
piness and Ford Taurus are uplifting,
yet unfinished. Their coverage both
features and inherently praises the
skewed, misappropriated fix to one
man’s problems, while essentially
omitting mention of the larger sys-
tems that failed him (and continue
to fail many citizens of Detroit) and
excluding proposals for more expan-
sive aid solutions.
Robertson made this trek for 10
years and, throughout the course of
that decade, could not save enough
to buy even any skeletal form of
inexpensive transportation. Making
approximately $2 above minimum
wage at $10.55 an hour, Robertson
clears no more than $320 a week. His
previous landlord charged him $220
a week for a room, and auto insur-
ance alone can top $5,000 a year in
Detroit — some of the costliest in the
United States. Despite his dedication
to not only maintaining his factory
job, but also excelling at it, Robertson
could not even save enough for a car
over the course of 10 years.
What’s more is that the broken
metropolitan bus system not only
fails middle-aged workers like Rob-
ertson, but they are also a disser-
vice to Detroit’s youth. Many high
schools do not even have bus sys-
tems for their students, so if their
parents are unable to take them
to school, they have to rely on the
same broken bus system that could
only complete a fraction of Robert-
son’s commute.
An article for The Detroit Free
Press mentions that, “For low-income
commuters like Robertson, getting
creative about bus service could help.
Detroit’s bus system recently signed
on to the federally funded Job Access
and Reverse Commute, which pro-
vides door-to-door transportation for
low-income workers to their jobs.”
Why would we choose to “get
creative” about the bus system
instead of creating solutions? In
the wake of Robertson’s good for-
tune, let’s not forget to address the
underlying factors.
The entire Detroit community
came together to aid one man and
to rewrite his narrative — and they
did so because, in the word’s of one
young teacher, they are “taken with
Detroit.” They know they live in a
vibrant, rejuvenating city in which
loyalty runs deep, and sheer grit
runs deeper. So what if instead, that
same generous community could
broaden their impact and bind
together to begin reworking the
larger narrative of Detroit itself?
— Lauren McCarthy can be
reached at laurmc@umich.edu.
The narrative of Detroit
LAUREN
MCCARTHY
How to never leave college
A
s a freshman, I looked at the four years
ahead of me. At the time, they seemed
like an eternity, and I wondered what
that time might bring. Then
my years left at Michigan
turned into months with
cunning speed, and now
in just five short weeks I’ll
be graduating.
After last-ditch efforts to
“forget” to sign up for classes I
need to graduate failed, I face
an almost certain catapult
into the real world incred-
ibly soon. But I decided that’s
tolerable, because I devised
foolproof ways to never really
give up college:
I’ll never stop learning. As the resident geek
who counted down the days to the first day of
school each September, I know I’ll continue my
education after college, even if I don’t return
to a formal college setting. Trading in my tal-
ented professors for Rosetta Stone may be a bit
of a letdown at first, but deciding to learn to
code without having to factor in the impending
doom of a failing grade bringing down my GPA
will allow me to explore more than just what’s
comfortable and known.
I’ll never stop cheering on the Wolverines.
After a controversial Big Ten expansion last
year, I silently hid my excitement while others
around me grumbled. Yeah, Maryland may be
another imposter “U-M” we now have to deal
with, but fortunately, College Park is located
just a few metro stops away from the District
of Columbia. You’ll find me singing The Victors
in Byrd Stadium this October as Harbaugh gets
yet another ‘W’ under his belt.
I’ll never stop making a few poor decisions
each week. Laundry can still wait until the dirty
clothes pile becomes a mountain with a mind of
its own. Going to happy hour instead of the gym
will seamlessly replace the “Skeeps over study-
ing” lifestyle pattern. Scrolling through my
Twitter and Facebook feeds will forever remain
my preferred procrastination technique.
I’ll never stop feeling awkward as I attempt
to dodge people passing out flyers. A recent esti-
mate calculated 80 percent of a student’s time
at Michigan is spent avoiding those passing
out flyers in the Diag (joking). It’s now second
nature for me to slip by the people at the gro-
cery store handing out coupons, and if I substi-
tute Central Campus for a busy intersection in
Washington D.C., I’ll realize just how transfer-
able this skill is when I get approached to sign a
petition while heading to work.
I’ll never stop walking everywhere. The one-
mile commute I became accustomed to while
living four blocks down Washtenaw was rough
at first, but it ended up being a great way to get
outside and enjoy fresh air before being cooped
up in a classroom for hours. After working 9 to
5 each day, I’m sure I’ll look forward to walking
home rather than riding in a packed metro car.
I’ll never stop being overcommitted. While I
might not have Festifall as an option to discover
new organizations and causes, finding an out-
let to give back will remain important to me.
When my coworkers ask me to join their dodge-
ball team, my name will be on the sign-up sheet
even though I’m fairly awful at sports involving
a baseball diamond.
I’ll never stop watching a surprising amount
of television shows. Some people love music.
Some people love sports. I love Netflix.
I’ll never stop taking pictures of the frothy
designs on the top of my lattes when I go to cof-
fee shops, then immediately feel the barista’s
judgmental glare and pretend like I’m just using
the calculator on my phone. If they didn’t want
it photographed, they shouldn’t have made such
a perfect little fern out of milk.
I’ll never stop consulting my friends when
making every life decision, from what to wear
to dinner to how to reply to an e-mail. My best
friends will be the ones I talk to when one of
us is having another quarter-life crisis. They’ll
be the ones I send pictures to when I see some-
thing that makes me think of Michigan. They’ll
be the ones who remind me that even though
our time here is over, the things that made the
last four years so great don’t really end when we
leave Ann Arbor. Whenever I’m reunited with
them I’ll be back at school, because it’s not the
physical place that is making Michigan so dif-
ficult to leave (although I will miss you dearly,
Zingerman’s). It’s the people.
I’ll never have to say goodbye to my college
friends, because I don’t have college friends
anymore. I have confidants and mentors,
secret-keepers and partners in crime. We share
inside jokes and memories that will remain long
after we leave this city.
So it’s not “goodbye” I’ll be saying as we walk
out of the Big House on May 2. It’s “see you
soon.” And I’ll keep convincing myself of this
in order to make it through the next five weeks.
— Katie Koziara can be reached
at kkoziara@umich.edu.
KATIE
KOZIARA
If you had asked anyone who knew me in
high school what I would major in, they would
have told you political science. That, or wom-
en’s studies. I was (and still am) aggressively
liberal, outspokenly feminist and always ready
to debate with my classmates and teachers. I
was confident, loud and transparent.
But when I got to college, something shifted.
I was still energetic with my friend group, and
I still posted all my political beliefs on social
media, but I found myself withdrawing in the
classroom. I participated, but by second semes-
ter, I rarely said anything particularly opinion-
ated, and I usually diluted my beliefs in order
to seem normal. All my public speaking skills
seemed to vanish, and during group projects,
I let others take leadership roles that I once
would have thrived in. Keep in mind, this all
happened in LSA.
The decision to major in business came in
waves. The first wave came by accident when
I ran into Ross for shelter from the rain on the
way home. It was late, but the Winter Garden
was still bustling with well-dressed people
who all looked busy, confident and important.
Comparatively, I was a drenched and exhaust-
ed mess. It was all I could do not to stare in awe
at the elegant architecture and sleek interior.
The second wave came when I met one of
my really good friends, who helped shatter my
image of the Ross student. The Ross Student
is, according to many, arrogant, conceited and
confident in his ability to make other people feel
like idiots. But with every word of encourage-
ment and helpful guidance, my friend punched
a hole through the picture of the Ross student.
The third wave, though, was a sort of revela-
tion. All my life, I was sure I would end up in
government. It was just sort of assumed. But
at some point early second semester, I realized
that I had none of the in-between filled in. I had
no idea how I was going to get from college to
my end career. This might seem like the usual
college crisis, but for someone who was so
sure she knew who she was, it was terrifying.
So I forced myself to imagine what the blank
decades should look like. And for the first time,
I allowed myself to think about what I would
want to do besides working in the government.
Obviously, the answer I came to was busi-
ness. So I applied to Ross, and was accepted.
The day that application results came back will
always be one of the happiest days of my life.
Armed with my bursting excitement and terri-
fied nerves, I walked into the first day of ori-
entation. I was ready both for new experiences
and to tease out the confidence that I felt I had
lost during freshman year.
I had a very different experience than the
students interviewed in Zach Shaw’s article,
“Rethinking Ross.” Yes, there were many
opinionated students in my section who all
wanted a piece of the action during our brain-
storming sessions. But this wasn’t alienat-
ing — it was inspiring. We quickly appointed
a moderator who called on people so that
we didn’t speak over one another, and soon
found ourselves developing a series of great
ideas. We didn’t win the video contest (in
fact, we didn’t do nearly as well as we thought
we would), but I think we all had a good time
doing it. It was a bonding moment, not one for
needless competition.
Speaking of competition, Shaw’s article
made it a point to mention the Ross curve. The
Ross curve has been a huge source of anxiety
for me, and I’m sure that many others would
agree. But the thing is, it’s the industry stan-
dard. More importantly, I completely disagree
with the idea that it pits students against each
other. I have never been turned away when
I have asked for help and I have always been
happy to give help even when it could, in the-
ory, negatively impact my grade. We’re a com-
munity, one of interesting and diverse people.
Being competitive is part of the game, but it
doesn’t necessarily get in the way of that sense
of community.
The majority of my professors are intelligent
and charismatic women who I see as role mod-
els, and at every turn I find new viewpoints and
inspiration. The Business School isn’t flawless
— as Shaw points out, our African American
enrollment is low, we have more anxiety than
we should and some of the students are, in fact,
so arrogant that they make me want to pull
out my hair. But, in the short time I’ve been a
Business student, my confidence has skyrock-
eted, and I have developed real skills that I find
myself using in everyday life.
Ross isn’t perfect, but I’m proud to call it
my school.
Rachel Tucker is a Business sophomore.
RACHEL TUCKER | VIEWPOINT
In defense of Ross
A
ngelina Jolie Pitt, since
publicizing her decision to
undergo a prophylactic dou-
ble
mastectomy
around two years
ago, has become a
fascinating cypher
between the medi-
cal field and the
lay world. Found
through
genetic
testing to carry
a mutant of the
tumor
suppres-
sor gene BRCA1,
Jolie’s
estimated
risks of breast cancer and ovar-
ian cancer were 87 percent and 50
percent, respectively. In the face of
such overwhelming risk, and hav-
ing witnessed her mother ultimately
succumb to these devastating condi-
tions, Jolie refused to sit idly by while
the demons of her past and potential
future festered within her.
In Tuesday’s New York Times,
she wrote another tender, intimate
and inspiring piece titled “Diary of
a Surgery.” In it, she discusses her
second bout of preventative inter-
vention — this time, a laparoscopic
bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy. In
other words: the complete removal
of her ovaries and fallopian tubes.
Her assumption of this role, of
matriarchal medical translator to
the masses, is far more profound
than simply following in the cancer-
fighting footsteps of health activ-
ist Mary Lasker. Long perceived
as the very social symbol of femi-
nism, estrogen is the fundamental
“female” hormone that is produced
in the ovaries. Jolie, in this recent
procedure, has had the primary
endocrine essence of her woman-
hood removed: estrogen.
So, in the wake of her procedure,
Jolie asks us: What does it really
mean to be female?
This is a tremendously dif-
ficult question; one that doctors
and patients have struggled with
enormously. William Halsted, as
a stalwart advocate of the radical
mastectomy, at the break of the 20th
century, represented one side of
the continuum. The surgery, which
called for the complete eradication
of cancerous tissue in the breast,
often resulted in horrifying disfig-
urement of the female body (given
the uncertain anatomical prolif-
eration of the cancer). Halsted thus
submitted that womanhood was a
virtue that was to be declared under
the microscope.
The alternative end of the spec-
trum surfaced with the May 1960
FDA approval of the first oral contra-
ceptive drug, Enovid. The drug had
been previously approved by the FDA
for menstrual disorders. “The Pill,”
biochemically, is a humble combina-
tion of the two essential female hor-
mones, estrogen and progesterone. It
acts by manipulating the menstrual
cycle to prevent ovulation. In other
words, women could now elect to
alter their chemistry to control their
biology, causing a revolution in sexu-
ality. In contrast to Halsted’s thesis,
women were much more than how
they looked under the microscope.
Now, back to Jolie’s question:
What does it mean to be female?
Her answer is subtle. I read it as
the following: so long as you feel
female and are comfortably so, you
are female. In any case, the interpre-
tation is subjective — a sea change
in the history of social medicine.
This is quite a message from the sex
icon of a generation. One imagines
that this resonates with the cohort
of those who have felt the need to
change their gender.
I would, however, be remiss if I
did not extrapolate the themes of
this piece out a little further, such
that they may also apply to my own
life, and to that of my fellow males.
(Actually, I feel there is an entire
library of books to be written on the
themes here, but I’ll do my best.) I
read Jolie’s broader question to soci-
ety is as follows: If you knew a piece
of information that could change your
future, would you do something about
it? What cost would you bear?
This too is an extraordinarily
important question. As advance-
ments in genetic medicine give us
the potential to know more about
ourselves than we ever thought
possible, we must ask such difficult
questions. If you were at risk for dia-
betes, would you change your diet?
If you were at risk for lung cancer,
as I am, would you stop smoking? If
you were at risk for prostate cancer,
would you do the extra colonoscopy?
And yet, among these immensely
hard questions, perhaps the most
profound of all of them are the three
Jolie alludes to at the end of her arti-
cle: Who do I want to be in the future?
Who do my genes say I am going to
be? What can I do about it?
If nothing else, Jolie illustrates
that there is something to be done to
be who you want to be.
The landscape of medicine is
changing
dramatically;
we,
as
patients, will be more informed
and more capable to make our own
decisions than ever before. “Fate”
is more malleable than it has ever
been. Medical options have never
been greater. Genes have never been
more visible. They have also, in
some sense, never been less power-
ful. What a wonderful thing.
It’s our prerogative to learn about
our medical options in order to
carve out the futures we desire for
ourselves. As Jolie says, “knowl-
edge is power.” How very sweet
this irony is, given that the power
to know and shape the future is
the very fulcrum of the first “Tomb
Raider” movie. Truly, the good guys
can win after all.
— Eli Cahan can be reached
at emcahan@umich.edu.
Tomb Raider, doom evader
ELI
CAHAN