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.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Thursday, November 12, 2015

Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller, Payton
Luokkala, Aarica Marsh, Anna Polumbo-Levy,
Melissa Scholke, Michael Schramm, Stephanie

Trierweiler, Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

Me and Ali

A

few years ago, my older sister
spoke words to me that I will
never forget. In the middle of

a
conversation

about diet (which,
as two physically
active
health

enthusiasts,
we

have often), she
remarked, “Oh, I
definitely was this
close” making a
pinching motion
with her fingers,
“to having an eat-
ing disorder.”

She said this

casually,
as

mundane as if she was telling me
about the weather. I barely reacted;
the comment registered in the back
of my mind, but it was probably
more out of annoyance than any
real recognition of the problem
with the words she had just spoken.

Let me stop to clarify that my

sister never formally had an eating
disorder. For years, while I was still
an active gymnast, I was annoyed
at her dietary habits. In my naïve,
20-hours-of-practice-per-week,
racing-metabolism
mindset,
I

couldn’t begin to understand why,
for example, on her birthday she
would deny a perfectly delicious
piece of chocolate cake. If we
were on vacation in Maine for the
summer she wouldn’t eat a single
lobster roll, her favorite food,
because “she couldn’t afford it.”
Of course, it was my responsibility
as the annoying younger sister to
mock her by eating two of them and
have ice cream for dessert.

It wasn’t until my senior year

of high school, when I had to quit
gymnastics
after
repeat
ankle

injuries, that I thought critically
about food for the first time. I
became
self-conscious,
over-

analytical and overly strict on what
I ate. I still ate enough — for me,
that has never been a problem — but
I would be lying if I didn’t admit
that the struggle was always there.
I was where my sister had been,
struggling to adjust to a drastically
changed lifestyle that, food-wise,
essentially came down to “calories
in, calories out” reasoning.

However, my sister and I are lucky.

She found and then introduced
me to a gym with a community of
people I now count as some of my
closest friends. Not only did the
coaches and members of the gym
provide physical activity, but also
they provided an image of “healthy”
that I now aspire to. Never, for as
long as I have been a part of this
community, has the emphasis been
on appearance. Together, we have
performance-based goals, which
include both nutrition and activity.

Though it took some adjustment,

I can say today that my definition
of beauty has changed from the
physical shape of an individual’s
body or the number on a scale to the
capacity of that person to move and
function. People tell me, “You’re
not the ‘typical’ kind of skinny,”
and I respond with, “I don’t want
or need to be.” I also know people
who appear thinner than me, but
who lift twice as much weight, and
that, to me, is also beautiful. At the
risk of being cliché, I’ll go as far as
saying that definitions of beauty and
strength are not one-size-fits-all.

Though the comment my sister

made that day was in passing, I expect
her words are true for a lot, if not the
majority, of women today. If things had
not gone the way they had for my sister
and me, if our gym community had
not guided me toward a new direction
of health, I may have become one of
the 30 million people in the United
States currently suffering from an


eating disorder.

Inside of the gym there may be

one, communal understanding of
beauty and strength, but outside is a
different world completely. I could
drone on about the “Barbie culture”
that’s portrayed in the media; how
by praising the “thigh gap” and the
“spring-break bod” society imposes an
expectation on young women that is,
simply put, a fantasy.

I’m no expert on eating disorders,

and I’m fortunate enough to never
have been the victim of one. For this
reason, I was hesitant to write this
article. Who am I to talk about these
things when the only perspective
I have is of someone who can
understand the temptation, but has
never actually been there herself.

Out of self-doubt, I asked a few

friends to read this article, and
subsequently each of them echoed
feeling “borderline eating disorder”
in the past. The position I’m in is
not uncommon, so what’s to keep
the scales from tipping? There’s
more encouragement to succumb to
these pressures than to go against
popular images of attractiveness to
create your own vision of health.

It’s easy to become desensitized

to this topic, which is why my
original reaction to my sister’s
comment
was
so
understated.

Perhaps it’s because there are
countless articles, just like mine,
calling for attention to the fact that
jokes about body image mask very
real turmoil within. At the time,
while I listened to my sister’s words,
I was one of those desensitized
people. It’s only after experiencing
it in a tiny way, and being exposed to
it through friends and family, that I
understand the gravity of this issue
is fundamentally overlooked.

— Grace Carey can be reached

at gecarey@umich.edu.

GRACE
CAREY

L

et’s establish something right
off the bat: Knowing things is
the worst.

I’m not refer-

ring to some sort
of “ignorance is
bliss”
ideology,

or the distress of
comprehending
the world’s prob-
lems, or even the
annoyance
of

being unable to
recall something
you
are
posi-

tive you know
when you suddenly need it. Rather,
knowledge is the worst because
of the frustration I get from try-
ing to remember what it was like
not to know something. It’s some-
thing that educators and people in
communications positions under-
stand deeply and must deal with
constantly: the challenge of com-
municating or teaching something
you understand to someone who is
uninitiated to the topic.

It’s terrible.
This problem, called the “Curse of

Knowledge,” is something I run into
primarily in two very specific situa-
tions: when writing essays about top-
ics I’m entirely familiar with, and
when I’m talking to kids and trying
to remember what I knew at their
age. Had I already learned about
the planets in this grade? Would it
be strange for me to ask this student
what they might want to study after
high school? When was it that I real-
ized that the only thing I really need
to know is that the mitochondria is
the powerhouse of the cell?

Thus, I’m taking a very special

opportunity here to lay out some of
my current knowledge and assump-
tions on a very specific topic before I
have the chance to ruin it with actual
experiences. This weekend, I’m turn-
ing 21 (insert party horn noises here),
and I will be permitted by federal
law to partake in the consumption of
ethanol. Along with this rite of pas-
sage, there will come some oppor-
tunities to try certain activities I’ve
never had the (legal) opportunity to
try out — namely, bar-hopping. Cur-
rently, I have a variety of sources and
media that I can draw on to paint a
picture of what I think bar life is like,
but I really can’t be sure just yet what
is and isn’t true.

So, to date, the mental picture I

have of bar-going is this: My night
will start with either an encounter
with a meaty bouncer outside a bar
whom I must battle for entrance,
or I will kick my way through dou-
ble doors to stand in some dusty,
sepia-colored light while the saloon
goes quiet. Considering my plans
for my birthday outing, both seem


equally possible.

Then, I will hang out for hours in

the same booth with my friends and
our rotating cast of significant oth-
ers (or did I just get that from “How
I Met Your Mother?”). At some point,
there will be a bar fight. Guaranteed.
It will also possibly be over me, but
that isn’t guaranteed. It might just be
over misplaced testosterone.

I realize that some bars are differ-

ent, so some elements of any of these
possibilities are circumstantial. For
instance, I’m aware that it’s only in
particular lounge-like bars that I will

need to drape myself over a piano and
sing seductively. Other venues might
require some seductive dancing
instead. The bottom line is that I will
at least be seducing someone (some
people?) somehow.

Later in the night, I will find

myself sitting across the bar from
a worldly and wise bartender who
will listen to my stories and give
me sage advice like “That’s rough,
buddy” and “Please stop opening
those sugar packets and dumping
them on the counter. Where did you
even find those?” Before the night is
over, we will partake in a piece of
classic banter: They try to cut me
off and I claim that I know when
I’ve had enough. They will then
nod with approval and I will know
that I have finished the last stage of
initiation into bar life. I’ve made it.

Basically, what I’m getting out of

this exercise is that, even without the
“Curse of Knowledge,” I have no idea
what I’m doing, and I’m glad I have
some older friends to take care of me.

So, there’s my baseline of my

20-year-old thinking concerning
my bar expectations: ignorant but
probably not too far off. I plan to
use this article in the future as a
resource to support a larger argu-
ment about how stupid past me
was — something that far-distant-
future me is probably also thinking
about not-so-far-distant me as well.
This is the beauty and the progres-
sion of the “Curse of Knowledge,”
to always look back on your past self
and cringe. Nature is amazing.

— Sarah Leeson can be reached

at sleeson@umich.edu.

The curse of knowledge and

barhopping

SARAH
LEESON

No help for the highways

The state legislature should be more specific in its road plans

FROM THE DAILY

Y

ear after year, Michigan’s roads deteriorate at a rate that
ongoing repairs cannot keep up with. In an attempt to
finally address this issue, the state legislature recently

passed a comprehensive bill that promises to provide an additional
$1.2 billion to the Michigan Department of Transportation and
local governments over the next six years. Despite the near-
unanimous agreement that our roads are in need of repair, the
spending package — backed largely by Republicans — has proven
to be quite controversial. While apparent improvements to roads
are needed now, the proposed solution delays action for years and
isn’t transparent about its spending re-prioritization. Though highly
unlikely, Gov. Rick Snyder should consider vetoing the proposed bill
in the hope of passing a more specific road infrastructure plan.

Currently, the Michigan public road system

is the ninth-largest in the nation. Though
the road system is extensive, just 19 percent
of Michigan’s local government leaders rate
their county’s roadways as being in good
condition. Similarly, the average Detroit-area
motorist pays $536 on car repairs due to poor
road conditions, and the annual statewide
cost of crashes resulting from road conditions
totals $2.3 billion.

The bill currently on its way to Snyder’s

desk is hardly the state’s first attempt to
improve our roadways. In early May, voters
were presented with Proposal 1, a referendum
that aimed at increasing funding for highways
through a 1-percent sales-tax increase,
alongside other measures. The proposal was
voted down during the state’s spring election
with a record-shattering vote of roughly 1.4
million to 351,000. Many of those who voted
against the proposal felt it placed an unfair
burden on households, which is a similar
sentiment to the opposition the current bill
faces. However, the public will not have a say
on the recent roads package since it isn’t a
ballot initiative.

The proposed legislation stipulates that a

portion of its funding will come from cuts to
the state’s general fund. The fund — which
is responsible for financing state initiatives,
such as education, healthcare and other public
services — totaled approximately $10 billion
at the close of the last fiscal year. Over the
past few years, the Snyder administration
has slashed the general fund, including a $103
million cut that shifted money away from the
State Police, the Department of Education
and Department of Environmental Quality to
decrease the budget deficit. It’s difficult to find
an area in the general fund that hasn’t been

diminished by deficit-reduction measures
and even harder to find an area that is able to
endure further decreases in funding.

The Michigan Legislature should have

specified within the bill currently before
Snyder exactly what funds will be cut from
the general fund. This would make Michigan
residents more aware of potential harmful
effects of the bill. Currently, the bill offers
no such specificity, so few assumptions can
be made other than the fact that critical state
services could suffer from lower funding.

With a $600 million cut to the general

fund accounting for half of the bill’s costs,
the remaining half must come from other
sources. If Snyder signs the bill into law,
Michigan citizens would pay more out of
pocket for vehicle-related costs through a
20-percent increase in vehicle registration
fees and an additional fuel tax of 7.3 cents


per gallon.

Though this new tax is presented as an

equitable solution, the bill’s sponsors do not
recognize its potential negative impacts on
certain segments of the population. The new
policy is effectively a regressive tax — one
that disproportionately affects citizens of
lower socioeconomic status.

For a better infrastructure, the state

legislature must work toward a bipartisan
solution that spreads the costs in a fairer
distribution. Additionally, our lawmakers
must recognize that further cuts to the
state’s general fund will have significant
consequences
for
citizens
throughout

Michigan. The state legislature cannot
continue
diminishing
crucial
programs

like public education and health care; our
government must consider alternative ways
to raise revenue to improve the road system.

The things we don’t

like hearing

TO THE DAILY:

I’m a proud liberal. I was raised

in an intellectual household by two
politically active parents who taught
me to stand up for those less fortu-
nate than me, those who are bullied
and oppressed, and to fight for the
rights of all humans.

What happened at Yale Univer-

sity and the University of Missouri
this week frightens me. I watched
the videos. I saw an assistant pro-
fessor, a woman whose job it is to
teach and stand up for the rights of
all students, harass and threaten a
student photographer for taking pic-
tures on public property because he
was encroaching on a “safe space.” I
saw students lose their minds that

a professor would encourage the
exchange of varying ideas because
they feel “threatened.” I saw people
standing up for what they mistaken-
ly believe is their right to stamp out
voices they don’t agree with.

But the most disheartening thing I

saw was a young Yale student scream-
ing the words, “(College) is not about
creating an intellectual space … It’s
about creating a home here.”

I don’t know about anyone else,

but I chose to spend tens of thou-
sands of dollars to go to school
so that I could surround myself
with ideas and philosophies and
to learn. If I wanted a “home” or a
“safe space” that shelters me from
things that might offend me, I could
have just stayed home with my par-
ents. We must ask ourselves: is this
the mentality that will inherit the
world? It’s one I want no part of, and

it’s one that scares me.

What about an idea makes a per-

son feel “unsafe,” anyway? There’s
no threat of physical violence from an
idea, certainly. The way I see it, what
it comes down to is basically students
saying, “I don’t like that people are
allowed to disagree with me. Change
it or I will leave the college.” If that’s
the case for you, maybe you should
leave. Education is too important to
bend to your every need.

I hope you don’t leave. I hope you

find the strength to hear other peo-
ple say things that you may not like.
I hope you learn that disagreeing is
not the same thing as not listening. I
hope you learn to learn.

I’m a proud liberal. This is not the

liberalism I know



Michael Shapiro
LSA sophomore

Asking the hard questions

TO THE DAILY:

The
Diversity
Summit
is
underway.

Between Nov. 3 and Nov. 14, we have been, and
will be, coming together for talks, panels, cafe
discussions, a community assembly with Uni-
versity President Mark Schlissel and more, all
to mark a collective re-commitment to diver-
sity, equity and inclusion on campus. Many of
us are hard at work, developing a strategic plan
that will map the future.

Our summit coincides with a week during

which, on campuses across the country, stu-
dents walked out, rose up, went on strike and
banded together in response to racist acts and
a climate that harbors them. In Berkeley, Calif.,
high school students protested the discovery
of a computer message that included a racial
epithet, references to the Ku Klux Klan and
lynching. In New Haven, Conn., Yale Univer-
sity students gathered to demand a response
to the exclusion of Black female students from
a fraternity party. In Columbia, Mo., a student
hunger striker has been joined by members of
the football team in a protest against the use of
racial slurs and the posting of swastikas.

We are not strangers to racist acts and

exclusion at the University. The #BBUM cam-
paign grew out of this atmosphere. Students
responded to a theme party, “World Star

Hip Hop Presents: Hood Ratchet Thursday,”
which drew upon negative stereotypes of Afri-
can American culture. #BBUM, the “1,000
Speak Out for Racial Justice” and the discus-
sions that followed reveal how our campus is
not yet the equitable and inclusive community
to which we aspire.

The Diversity Summit is an opportunity to

talk about hard questions. What can we learn
from the examples in Berkeley, New Haven,
Missouri and elsewhere? How does our Uni-
versity address incidents on campus? Can we
prevent them in the future? Will the diversity
initiative tackle issues like policing and racial
profiling? How might the University’s strate-
gic plan foster a safe, inclusive and equitable
climate? How will the University address
racial tensions in classrooms, residence halls,
elsewhere on campus and in the Ann Arbor
community?

Be there, be heard.

Amanda Alexander
Assistant Professor and Post-doctoral scholar
in Afroamerican studies
Matthew Countryman
Professor, Dept. History and American Culture
Martha S. Jones
Professor, Dept. History and Dept. Afroameri-
can and African studies
Austin McCoy
Rackham student

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