Opinion
JENNIFER CALFAS
EDITOR IN CHIEF
AARICA MARSH
and DEREK WOLFE
EDITORIAL PAGE EDITORS
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MANAGING EDITOR
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The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller, Payton Luokkala,
Aarica Marsh, Victoria Noble, Anna Polumbo-Levy, Melissa
Scholke, Michael Schramm, Stephanie Trierweiler,
Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
Making up for lost minutes
CARLY KEYES | VIEWPOINT
L
ast week, as Halloween revelries and
frights were at the forefront of many
minds, I learned about a different type
of “troll” responsible for
disturbing an entire com-
munity and causing con-
troversy. The stories and
articles I read didn’t discuss
ghoulish, hideous creatures
lurking in the darkness
behind trees. Rather, they
described a population of
Internet “trolls,” exhibiting
horrifying sexism as they
ominously lurked behind
keyboards
and
glowing
computer screens.
With immense barriers
to entry and a reputation as a historically male-
dominated domain, women struggle to enter and
be taken seriously in the technology industry.
When they do so, they often are met with back-
lash. The world we live in is one of continuous
technological advancement, where digital media
is undeniably and inextricably tied to our lives.
Yet, for women, when it comes to technology and
media, we’re expected to merely be passive con-
sumers. Even then, our participation in commu-
nities of consumption, whether online or in real
life, must be navigated carefully. We’re expected
to swallow our voices and refrain from alter-
ing, critiquing or creating anything of our own.
Women who do dare to challenge the status quo
of tech culture have often become victims of
online harassment and — in extreme circum-
stances — the recipients of violent threats.
GamerGate, the notorious population of Inter-
net users known for issuing such derogatory
commentary and threats to female critics of sex-
ism within the video game industry, has spurred
immense conversation about online harassment
in recent months. As a result, the pressing topic
of making the Internet a safer space for women
is one that researchers, designers, tech experts
and activists felt needed to be discussed at the
South by Southwest Interactive Conference this
coming March. SXSW is a digital culture festival
focused on technology, music, film and journal-
ism, and was recently in the midst of accepting
discussion panels for the upcoming event.
Two of these prospective panels were at the
center of the online harassment discussion.
One, called “Level Up: Overcoming Harass-
ment in Games,” was comprised of women who
personally experienced online harassment and
sought to combat the actions of Internet trolls
by modifying web design elements, such as post-
ing options, layouts and privacy settings. The
other panel, called “SavePoint: A Discussion on
the Gaming Community,” was believed to have
been comprised of pro-GamerGate participants
and was going to focus on a broader overview of
the current culture and gaming journalism eth-
ics. Numerous threats of rape, animal abuse and
violence were levied online against these panels.
As a result, SXSW organizers cancelled both.
Uproar, negative media attention and threats
of boycotts from major media organizations,
such as BuzzFeed and Vox Media, soon fol-
lowed this decision. In recognition of their blun-
der, organizers of the tech conference recently
announced that one full day of the summit will
be devoted to addressing and combating online
harassment.
The actions of SXSW organizers point to
larger issues of whether tech cultures and the
organizations that thrive within them truly
care about diversity and being inclusive, or
whether they’re more concerned about filling
quotas, checking off requirements and preserv-
ing a progressive public image.
Security was cited as the major rationale
behind the cancellation of the two panels, and
safety of participants must always remain a
top priority at all times. But SXSW organiz-
ers exhibited little concern when members of
the “Level Up” panel initially expressed con-
cerns about security when their panel was first
accepted into the conference program. Also,
organizers of the event neglected to inform
members of either panel about these threats
until the forums were cancelled. Considering
the sheer size and notoriety of the individuals
who regularly attend the event, such as actors
and musicians, obtaining proper security seems
within the realm of possibility.
In the announcement of cancellation of
these two forums, SXSW Director Hugh For-
rest stated, “If people cannot agree, disagree
and embrace new ways of thinking in a safe and
secure place that is free of online and offline
harassment, then this marketplace of ideas is
inevitably compromised.”
However, it’s the potential action of almost
silencing this debate that compromises the
integrity of the SXSW festival. Silencing a
debate about eradicating harassment against
women solely in response to the immense
harassment levied against it is illogical and
hypocritical. This action suggests that women
must not only accept the possibility of being
exposed to offensive, aggressive commentary,
but also that they cannot escape this harass-
ment online or in real life. Women, as suggested
by the cancellation of these earlier forums, are
even inhibited from obtaining spaces where
they can safely challenge the sexism they
repeatedly encounter and do so in an environ-
ment where they’re respected and heard.
This action begs one to question what would
have happened if giant media players hadn’t
admirably and rightly pulled themselves from the
conference. What if there was no pressure on the
organizers to buckle under? Would this discus-
sion have merely been tossed aside and ignored?
The sheer amount of threats and derogatory
comments makes it clear that this conversation
shouldn’t be ignored and these voices — ones
that have continually been threatened and
silenced for fear of retribution for speaking up
— need to be heard. Women face harassment
in a variety of ways, offline and online. Online
harassment — in whatever form it takes — will
not end easily, but if we as a society truly want
a cultural upheaval, we need to stop placing
impediments in front of those who try to speak
up and make changes.
— Melissa Scholke can be reached
at melikaye@umich.edu.
MELISSA
SCHOLKE
Leveling voices
W
ithin 10 minutes of talk-
ing to another Univer-
sity student about their
summer, I’ll very
often start feel-
ing very shitty
about
myself.
Whether
they
interned at Tesla
or spent a month
touring Europe,
I compare myself
to
this
other
student
based
solely on their
retelling of how
they spent their
time
between
semesters.
And it’s not as if I’m not in on this
game either; my summer before
this semester was also certifiably
awesome and disgustingly suited
for #TBTs on Insta. I spent a month
in India through a Center for Global
and Intercultural Study program,
worked as a summer intern at an
architecture firm in Detroit and
visited my family in Germany for
my half-brother’s wedding. Yet,
even with my own wonderful expe-
riences, I am seemingly unable to
genuinely express my happiness for
others’ summer successes. Instead,
when I hear of others doing well,
I panic and ask myself what I’m
doing wrong. This bizarrely com-
petitive nature is not the only nega-
tive mindset I’ve recently observed
in myself with regard to my peers.
If I find myself talking to someone
who spent their summer just taking
classes or chilling, I become aware
of a distinct smugness with myself
that I don’t recognize. But what has
led to these stupidly competitive
and assholian thoughts?
One theory I have is the fact that
I’ve finally started opening myself
up to the world of “professional-
ism.” The words “networking” and
“connections” still make me feel
dirty, but I’ve essentially given into
them and sold my soul. By building a
well-stocked LinkedIn profile, and
even participating in the Engineer-
ing Career Fair, I’ve opened myself
up to the competitive and compara-
tive world of Real Jobs. And now
that I’m looking at myself and try-
ing to discern my value to potential
employers, I think I’m beginning
to do the same with my peers. Am
I subconsciously basing my value of
others on their qualifications? The
idea of that absolutely disgusts me,
but what if it’s true? The transition
from student to young professional
is a crucial component of a univer-
sity education, but I didn’t expect
that my mindset about how I spend
my time would impact me in the
way it has.
In the process of this change,
one aspect I have always admired
most about myself is now seem-
ing to come at a price: I’ve always
valued novelty and uniqueness in
myself and others. In other words,
I love the feeling of surprising oth-
ers when I mention the seemingly
unrelated, yet important activities
that I’m involved with. Take, for
example, my involvement in the
Indian dance community. It won’t
necessarily help me get a comput-
er science job, but it has so much
intangible value that isn’t visible
on a resume. And this is, unfor-
tunately, starting to bother me.
Should I even continue to expand
and explore? Or should I focus on
and hone in on one activity or field,
and become the (leader and) best at
that one thing?
I seem to be constantly reevalu-
ating my priorities as a young adult
at the University. And while self-
reflection is crucial and neces-
sary, comparing myself to others is
not. I called my mom at one point
about this during the semester and
expressed my concern about how
far behind I am in comparison to
other computer science majors.
After patiently listening to my
spiel, she calmly explained to me
that there is no such thing as being
behind. Everyone follows their own
path in life, with different goals,
values and expectations. It is lit-
erally impossible to be “behind”
someone when each path is its own.
While I can intellectually grasp
that concept, I am still working on
its execution. A little motivational
competition is healthy, and it’s
hard not to compare others’ success
with your own, but as long as you’re
forging your own academic/profes-
sional/WHATEVER path and giv-
ing it your all, you have nothing to
worry about.
— Liam Wiesenberger can be
reached at wiesliam@umich.edu.
It’s impossible to be “behind”
LIAM
WIESEN-
BERGER
E-mail JoE at Jiovino@umich.Edu
JOE IOVINO
On November 2, 2010, I didn’t
wake up. I regained consciousness
… courtesy of alcohol. Whenever I
drank, I didn’t fall asleep; I blacked
out, and then I passed out. I never
really woke up in a typical fashion,
either. This used to be routine. It
was life.
But now, I get to wake up, and I
get to fall asleep. That’s what I did
this morning, and that’s what I have
planned for later, because today, I
celebrate five years of continuous,
uninterrupted sobriety.
My life is so different from five
years ago that I sometimes forget
that waking up and falling asleep is
a privilege. I forget about hundreds
of blackouts, mortifying mornings
after, losing my Division I soccer
career, needing to medically with-
draw from semesters, multiple
drunk-driving arrests and the jail
time and probation sentences, the
breathalyzer that was in my car
for years and the hospital visit that
saved my life.
I’m grateful that I don’t have
to carry a torch for my past and
play those old tapes 24/7, but at
the same time, I keep that door
ajar. While my sobriety date is
sacred, the day before I got sober
is arguably even more important.
What I endured that day was noth-
ing legally related or medically
induced. It had nothing to do with
failing school or losing a profes-
sional opportunity. This loss was
nothing external.
On November 2, 2010, I learned
the true meaning of disappointment.
I had slept most of the day. It was
rare that I ever got more than a day
off from my job as a server at an
Italian restaurant, but that week,
I’d managed to trade some shifts.
Most people would use back-to-
back days off for running errands,
fixing things around the house or
relaxing and finishing a good book.
For me, it meant 48 undisturbed
hours of drinking without having to
go anywhere, see anyone … or have
anyone see me.
At about 5:30 p.m., I got a call
from my mom to remind me about
our dinner with my Nanna (who is
my world). I scrambled to throw
on something a quarter-way decent
from my wardrobe that had perma-
nently shifted from closet to floor.
I put on the one pair of black pants
that I wore over and over again to
work and an oversized sweater. I
took a minute to brush my teeth,
but only to hide more evidence of
how I was really doing.
I sped to the restaurant feel-
ing like I’d been hit by a train, run
over by a car and dragged behind a
dogsled over concrete ice. I parked
haphazardly and pulled open the
brilliant mahogany doors to a fancy
seafood place feeling a lot more like
a creature from a dish on the menu
than a person deserving of a freshly
starched napkin. My hair in a squir-
rel’s nest and my skin like smudges
on a chalkboard, I then started to
sweat, so you can add that lovely
ingredient to the bubbling pot of
scalding mess.
My Nanna looked stunning. She
always looked stunning. I’m sure
she’d spent hours that day getting
ready for our outing: doing her hair,
selecting her outfit, spraying her-
self with perfume, just so. She was
90 years old at the time, and every-
thing about her was pure class, pure
bliss, pure love.
And then, across the table, there
was me. I almost didn’t want to
hug her because I could sense that
both she and my mom knew that I
wasn’t OK, but one of my favorite
things about my Nanna were her
hugs. They were so deep and pur-
poseful. Sometimes, people hug
each other out of formality, but I
hugged my Nanna out of necessity
— every time.
This is the woman who sent me
a card every week that I was in
rehab. This is the woman that said
to me, “Carly, above all else, hold
on to love.” There was no judgment
here. There was no anger. There
wasn’t
even
disappointment.
There was only pain and fear. She
reached out her arms, and I took
them. Willingly.
The true disappointment that
I mentioned? That was all me. In
myself.
At the end, it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t
glamorous. It wasn’t even enjoy-
able. Drinking was … required. If
I was awake, I was drinking. Not
because I wanted to, but because I
have a disease called addiction, and
that’s the unfortunate symptom
when I try to ignore the truth about
my illness.
I hadn’t been at the table for
more than a few minutes when
I needed to throw up. I excused
myself politely, walked as slowly
as I could manage until I was out
of sight, and then I barged through
yet another set of brilliant mahoga-
ny doors, sprinted over marble floor
tiles and past granite countertops
and ornate lighting fixtures where I
arrived at my destination: looming
above a five-star toilet.
This happened four more times
over the course of the appetizer,
salad, dinner and dessert. Every
time a new batch of food came,
I excused myself because I was
“drinking so much water.” It was,
of course, because the fifths of
Absolut still oozing from my pores
ensured that my mouth would feel
like the driest day in the heart of
Arizona. And the shrimp gumbo
infesting my nostrils wasn’t help-
ing my lack of homeostasis, but that
wasn’t really why I kept needing to
leave the table.
I just couldn’t look my Nanna in
the eye. She passed away on May 9,
2014, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t
give for one more hug. There’s noth-
ing I wouldn’t do to get back those
minutes that I spent that evening
hunched over in the stall and spend
them with her now.
After dinner, I went home and
I drank another fifth of Absolut
Peach and a two-liter of Sunkist,
and it was the last time I’ve put
alcohol or any other mind-altering
substance into my body.
Consequences helped me get
sober, but they aren’t what keep me
sober on a daily basis. Devastation
forced me to my knees, but it’s the
freedom it brings that keeps me
there — and also, a life beyond my
wildest dreams that I never could
have imagined for myself.
The moment I made the decision
to quit drinking, a whole new world
opened up for me. In this world, I
don’t get arrested or have to go to
the hospital and leave school and
give up my passions. It is a world
where I don’t worry the people I
love most or harbor disappointment
for my behavior. This is the world
of recovery, which for me is fueled
by personal work within a 12-step
program, participation in the Col-
legiate Recovery Program and Stu-
dents for Recovery at the University
and advocacy efforts in the name of
all those who suffer from the same
disease that I have.
During the last years of my Nan-
na’s life, she became more and more
immobile, and I visited her as often
as I could. We’d play cards and
Scrabble. We always had a proper
lunch. I’d play her piano and sing
to her, and she would peacefully
fall asleep. But, regardless of what
we did during those special after-
noons, if I said I would be there, I
was there, and I was there sober.
She never, ever had to doubt it for
a second.
We can’t change the past, but we
can make up for lost minutes. As
long as we’re alive and breathing,
we have a chance.
Carly Keyes is an LSA senior.