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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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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