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
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.

