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 Edited and managed by students at 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. The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com 4A — Thursday, March 26, 2015 Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller, Payton Luokkala, Aarica Marsh, Victoria Noble, Michael Paul, Anna Polumbo-Levy, Allison Raeck, Melissa Scholke, Michael Schramm, Matthew Seligman, Linh Vu, Mary Kate Winn, Jenny Wang, Derek Wolfe 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