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
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The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, October 6, 2015
A sobering experience
O
nce,
during
Welcome
Week of freshman year,
I slept in a bramble patch
outside the Cen-
tral
Campus
Recreational
Building. It was
2 a.m., and I was
walking
home
with my friend.
“I’ll
be
right
back,” I said, wan-
dering into the
bramble
patch.
“Don’t leave.”
He did leave
— thanks, Greg —
but to be fair, I was already asleep in
a fucking bush. It was the beginning
of the tradition of me falling asleep in
places that are neither comfortable
nor appropriate.
Sophomore year, I went on a
camping trip with some friends. One
night, after just two hard ciders, I
climbed into a canoe and pushed
myself away from shore. “So long,
assholes,” I yelled at my friends. “I’m
fucking Pocahontas.” Except that I
didn’t have a paddle, and my friend
Kenny had to swim to the middle of
the lake and tow me in.
So when I came home last week
to find some kid sleeping in a chair
on my lawn, I tried to be forgiving.
I walked right by him and into the
house. It was 7 p.m. on a Monday. I’m
not Mother Theresa, and I was too
busy for that shit.
I asked Kenny if he saw the kid in
our yard — apparently Kenny found
him on the street.
“He was gonna get MIP’ed,”
Kenny said, making coffee. “You’ve
been there.”
Kenny was always taking in strays.
He has a natural social instinct that
I don’t — not that there’s anything
wrong with chatting with strangers.
It’s just not for everyone, in the same
way that autoflagellation isn’t for
everyone. Or pulling teeth.
We went outside and checked on
him. Kenny asked where he lived.
“Close,” he slurred, over and over.
“Real close.” That didn’t do much
for us, but we each took an arm and
started walking in the direction he
pointed us. “Just over there,” he said.
“Real close.”
Ten minutes into the walk, I started
doubting his understanding of “close.”
Kenny and the kid were getting
along splendidly, though. He wouldn’t
tell us his name — pretty shy for a guy
we let sleep on our lawn — but he was a
senior at the University. He liked craft
beer and the Seattle Seahawks.
“What were you drinking tonight,
buddy?” Kenny asked.
“I wasn’t drinking,” he said.
He wouldn’t tell us what he was
on — that didn’t bother Kenny and
I, though. College kids experiment.
So what.
I don’t want to exoticize hard drug
use. (That? Here?) Nor do I want to
broadcast the suffering of one young
man — if you’re out there, I’m sorry.
But when we talked it seemed like
you had a lot to say. And I think your
story is important.
We sat him down in Burns Park
around 8 p.m. — he was basically dead
weight at this point. He could hardly
keep his eyes open, but he kept telling
us the story. It sounded rehearsed, as
if he’d been over it in his head before
he had someone to listen.
“I tried it three years ago. I was
just looking for something. I think it
really started when I started smok-
ing, though. I started smoking when
I was 14. And I was high all the time.
I think because I started so young I
don’t know how not to be high. So
then I was on pills. My doctor said it
was OK, you know? Because I have
anxiety. But I think I have anxi-
ety because of the smoking. I don’t
know. It gets harder to find that thing
you’re looking for,” he said. “It gets to
this point where you don’t even know
what it was in the first place. You
don’t know what you ever were look-
ing for. But I was doing really well,
with this — I haven’t used in three
weeks, did you know that?”
We were sitting on a bench and
some kids were playing on the play-
ground not far from us. It struck
me, as I grabbed the guy to keep him
from falling forward, that this was
the closest I’d ever been to a hard
drug addict. He looked a little like
me, actually.
It was dark. He was falling asleep
on Kenny’s shoulder. Out of options,
we took his phone and started calling
numbers. “No way,” said the voice over
the phone. “I can’t deal with his shit
today. Tell him to call someone else.”
Another friend did come — “I have
someone important in the car. Don’t
fuck this up for me, man,” he said.
We helped him into the car. As we
closed the door, he grabbed Kenny by
the shoulder.
“Don’t ever do prescription pills,”
he said. “It only leads to heroin.”
It was 9:30 p.m. Kenny and I had
a bowling game in 20 minutes. Our
housemates would be mixing drinks
— everyone drinks heavily on bowl-
ing night. For me, it’s the only way I
can deal with my utter lack of talent.
If we hurried, we could make it back
to the house in time to play catch-up
with a few shots. But we stayed on
the bench a little longer. All the kids
had gone home.
“I thought he was just drunk,”
Kenny said.
Would it have been better if he was
just plain, old-fashioned fucked up? I
don’t know if one sort of fucked up
is better than another. He was using
heroin for the same reasons a lot of
us drink, anyway: to feel comfortable
or relaxed. The difference is campus
culture allows one sort of passing out
and not the other.
We bowled sober — for that night,
at least. I’m sure we’ll be back in the
partying mood soon. But Kenny’s
been staying in a bit more. So have I.
— Tom West can be reached
at tkwest@umich.edu.
Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller, Payton Luokkala,
Aarica Marsh, Adam Morton, Victoria Noble, Anna Polumbo-
Levy, Melissa Scholke, Michael Schramm, Stephanie Trierweiler,
Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe
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I
don’t identify as American. But I also
definitely don’t identify as German.
Having been raised by immigrant par-
ents, I’m pretty staunch
in my view of myself as a
German-American, and, for
better or for worse, I know
I will never belong either
here or there. However, this
gives me an irreplaceable
advantage over any Ameri-
can-American.
My parents immigrated
to the United States in 1994.
Both of my older sisters
were born in Germany, but
I was born on U.S. soil, with
both the citizenship of my parents’ country
and this new one. Unlike the rest of my fam-
ily, I could be president. We actually were only
supposed to live in the United States for three
years, so my parents named me after an actor
in popular American films at the time, Liam
Neeson, so they could show off my Ameri-
can birthplace when I lived in Germany. They
ended up staying, though, so I actually have a
name that does the opposite of what my parents
intended. Instead of standing out, I blend in.
An interesting relationship can often develop
between the children of immigrants and their
parents. Looking back, it’s actually bizarre how
much cultural authority I had over them. As a
native to the language of the United States, I
had valuable skills and knowledge that neither
my mother nor even my engineer/businessman
father had. My family turned to me for advice
on grammar, spelling, vocabulary and other
references not understood by non-Americans.
I still can remember being absolutely
ashamed when my mom would come pick me
up from kindergarten (a word I hadn’t realized
was German) and speak our native language
with me. I was so embarrassed. For play dates,
I would always prefer going over to my friends’
houses, with their easily-chewed American
foods (my dad always says our hard German
bread is “gut für die Zähne,” or good for your
teeth) and parents without accents. Instead of
pronouncing my last name the correct way, I
would introduce myself phonetically as “Liam
Weez-en-burger.” My sister recently told me
the story of how she found out she was an immi-
grant, in which, after seeing the other kinder-
garten students’ PB&J sandwiches, Cheetos
and Gushers at lunch time, she realized maybe
these other kids actually don’t all have a differ-
ent secret family language they speak at home.
As I grew older and began to appreciate my
heritage and culture, it was finally time for me
to begin asking my parents about their home
country. I, of course, went through a phase in
which I thought Germany was the best thing
since sliced Bauernbrot, and relished in bring-
ing my background into any conversation I
could, citing how much more advanced and
progressive my parents’ home country was than
America. Now, however, I believe I’ve struck
a healthy balance with which I can appreciate
both the positive and negative aspects of each
of my countries.
A phenomenon I find fascinating is that,
from what I have noticed, many first-generation
Americans gravitate toward their own kind in
college. By that, I mean many first-generation
friends of mine from high school whose social
circles consisted of a wide variety of ethnicities
and nationalities find a place in college with
other first-generation Americans with parents
from the same region. And I’m no exception! I
too have surrounded myself almost exclusively
with other first-generation students. The only
difference with me is that I happened to become
part of a community whose parents came from
a different country than mine. Despite being
German, I feel very much at home in Michigan’s
Indian-American dance community. In my
opinion, it’s not the region of origin that causes
first-generation students to be extremely driv-
en, open-minded, optimistic and motivated.
The experience of growing up with immigrant
parents often results in individuals that have
dealt with issues their native peers have not,
and so needed to develop the skills necessary to
overcome potential disadvantages. Immigrant
parents are also often very motivating. That is,
they know what they came to this country for,
and instill high expectations in their children.
My American peers probably have never had
a kid turn around and yell, “SPEAK ENGLISH”
to them on a ski lift, or never have to take over
the phone because their mom is on the verge
of tears from being treated rudely by customer
service for her accent and English skills. But
they also probably didn’t grow up bilingual,
international and with an innate understand-
ing of cultural self-awareness. Being a first-
generation American is an absolute blessing as
a university student, and my split cultural iden-
tity is something of which I am fiercely proud.
Immigrant parents may struggle with raising
their children in a country originally foreign to
them, but it’s a price that comes with an irre-
placeable reward.
— Liam Wiesenberger can be
reached at wiesliam@umich.edu.
C
olumbine,
Virginia
Tech, Newtown, Aurora,
Charleston and Umpqua
were merely a list
of names years
ago — a grouping
of cities, schools
and places with
seemingly
little
significance
to
the
outside
world. Now, as
our
generation
and
subsequent
generations con-
tinue to grow up
in a culture with
a high frequency of mass shootings
and gun violence, these names stand
as reminders of a bleak history of vio-
lence, tragedy and humanity’s ability
to inflict devastating harm upon itself.
They stand as memorials of cherished
lives taken away too soon.
I remember, as a middle school
student, watching the unceasing
news coverage of the Virginia Tech
shooting. My parents undertook the
difficult task of explaining what was
going on. A little more than one year
later, during the summer of 2008, my
hometown’s name tragically gained
significance as another site where
innocent young lives were taken by
a shooter. I was too young to know
the individuals personally. Rather,
I knew them solely through con-
nections made only in small towns
where everybody somehow knows
everyone. Even with the greatest
amount of empathy and compassion,
I’ll never be able to fully understand
the terror, the grief or the magnitude
of loss felt by the parents, friends and
classmates of the teenagers lost that
summer day. I can only attest to the
shock, fear and collective mourning
felt by a community left wondering:
How, of all places, could this happen
in a small town in the middle of the
woods? How could this happen here?
Tragedy, as citizens of Umpqua,
Ore. — preceded by countless com-
munities before them — will learn,
leaves an indelible mark that remains
after the last headlines have gone
to print, after the final condolence
has been given, after the cameras
disappear and the resulting policy
debates stagnate. Shock and devasta-
tion mend and transition over time
to somber mourning and finally to
memorialization
and
acceptance.
While the memory of these tragedies
may dampen with each passing year
as the world moves onward, it never
truly fades in the minds of the families,
friends and communities affected.
Yet, as the public could see from
the frustration and aggravation
President Barack Obama showed in
his address this past Thursday, soci-
ety isn’t moving onward after these
tragedies. Instead, after each succes-
sive traumatic instance, we enter the
same cyclical path of tragedy, media
coverage, unproductive debate and
impasse, repeating it every few
weeks or months.
Whether these tragedies happen
on a wide scale, whether they capture
national media attention or even just
the attention of a region or whether
these incidents are more isolated, the
frequency of gun-related violence in
the United States is alarming. Thurs-
day marked Obama’s 15th address
regarding mass shootings during his
time in office. According to the BBC,
the number of mass shootings this
year in the United States, including
the events that took place in Oregon,
increased to 294. The rate of deaths
resulting from gunshots each year
currently stands at 30,000.
Our country, without a doubt,
needs reform in order to reduce the
epidemic of gun violence. To do so,
we, as a society, need to change the
way we approach these incidents. Far
too often in the aftermath, all that
results is simplistically labeling it an
issue of gun control, which usually
leads to an unproductive, escalated
brawl of partisanship. Our govern-
ment does need to reevaluate our
laws and consider stronger regula-
tion. It’s also important to acknowl-
edge that regulation and confiscation
are in no way synonymous. In fact,
conducting background checks for
all individuals who purchase a gun
is an initiative supported by roughly
90 percent of Americans. Likewise,
there’s evidence that enacting back-
ground checks and permit-to-pur-
chase laws in some states has aided
in reducing gun-related violence.
But gun control — even though
media outlets and politicians cer-
tainly center upon the issue — will
not offer the ultimate resolution to
this serious problem. Rather, the
media itself presents another issue
entirely. Coverage tends to focus
heavily upon the motivations of the
shooter to an extent to which the
name of the shooter is often more
recognizable than the names of the
victims. Some argue the sensational-
ist style and continuous coverage is
capable of a contagion effect, which
may appeal to those seeking infamy
and contribute to continuing the
trend of increased gun violence.
We watch news of these events
unfold, seeking to know the motiva-
tions behind a perpetrator’s actions
and usually attributing them to
issues of mental health, a violent
culture, hatred, sexism, racism or
other societal problems. In order to
reduce the frequency of these events,
though, more time also needs to be
devoted to analyzing and remedy-
ing underlying issues. Society can’t
expect gun violence and mass shoot-
ings to be eliminated by a few laws
in a culture where issues of mental
health, prejudice and inequality are
still frequently overlooked.
We can’t begin to solve a problem
we still don’t fully understand. With
numerous potential factors to con-
sider, our lack of conclusive answers
and information about gun violence
is highly problematic and illustrates
a dire need for research. Barriers,
such as bans, against gun-violence
research have been imposed and
lifted in recent years. Yet, limits on
funding and concerns over reignit-
ing polarizing debates still continue
to inhibit organizations like the CDC
from researching gun violence and its
contributing factors further.
Simplistic answers and stagnant
debates aren’t the solution to this
multi-faceted problem of violence.
In his address last Thursday, Obama
stressed that after these horrific
acts, supplying “our thoughts and
our prayers” is not enough to dis-
rupt this pattern. Our words, no
matter how heartfelt and genuine,
must begin to coincide with our
actions, and we, as a society, need to
both thoughtfully consider and look
beyond the divisive, complicated
debate over gun control. Until we
look deeper and analyze all of the
potential contributing factors, our
response still won’t be “enough.”
— Melissa Scholke can be
reached at melikaye@umich.edu.
The reward of immigrant parents
When it’s “not enough”
LIAM
WIESEN-
BERGER
MELISSA
SCHOLKE
E-mail JoE at Jiovino@umich.Edu
JOE IOVINO