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 17, 2015

Actively listening to activists
M

onths before setting foot 
in Ann Arbor for the first 
time, before taking any 

class about femi-
nist 
literature 

or 
social 
jus-

tice, and before 
“intersectional-
ity” ever entered 
my vocabulary, 
I 
was 
sitting 

on 
the 
floor 

at 
a 
friend’s 

house 
receiv-

ing advice that 
seemed obvious 
at the time. My 
friend’s mother 
— describing how college campuses 
were centers of immense debate 
and discussion — told a group of us 
that while we were all attending 
these large institutions, one of the 
most important things we could do 
was to stay observant and engaged.

Coming from a rural, small town 

built upon conservative, old-fashioned 
values, some form of culture shock 
was inevitable for us all, whether 
we were traveling “downstate” or 
across the country. We were told that 
on our respective campuses we’d 
encounter discussions, causes and 
demonstrations of all kinds: ones some 
of us were just beginning to champion 
ourselves, new ones that would align 
with our beliefs, ones we’d strongly 
disagree with, ones that were entirely 
unheard of at the time and ones 
that may challenge everything we’d 
known for the past 18 or so years. 
Regardless of our thoughts on the 
issue, it was important for us to listen 
to everything being said and always 
consider alternative viewpoints. As 
my college career begins to close, 
I never would’ve imagined that 
within these centers of activism and 
demonstration, voicing concerns 
about relevant issues, such as 
racism, oppression and sexism, 
would be seen as the whining of an 
over-sensitive population. 

Looking at the news, it’s undeniable 

that college campuses have been in 
uproar and shrouded in dialogues 
of reform recently. The collective 
feeling among students, particularly 
minority and marginalized students, 
is one of frustration and protest. For 
months, students have denounced 
the inaction of their universities, 
vocalizing 
long-held 
frustrations. 

Events at the University of Missouri, 
Yale University, the University of 

Michigan and others have indicated 
unaddressed, 
underlying 
racial 

tensions on college campuses and 
signaled a dire need to foster better 
dialogues about the experiences of 
minority students.

However, by doing so, students are 

doing exactly what colleges often ask 
them to do as they learn: question and 
challenge the status quo.

From first meetings in lecture halls 

to senior year, colleges ask students 
to reconsider how they think about 
and view the world. We’re heavily 
encouraged by our professors to avoid 
just being passive observers. Instead, 
we’re expected to be active, informed, 
inquisitive and vocal in our studies 
and in our interactions with others.

With such rhetoric and prompting, 

it’s no surprise that universities and 
colleges in the past have served as 
the foundations of various social 
movements and are so conducive 
to fostering activism. Historically, 
they’ve been environments of debate, 
controversy and contention. Taking 
this into consideration, it’s frustrating 
to see current measures of social 
questioning and action labeled as the 
overreactions of a “coddled,” fragile 
generation 
of 
over-liberal, 
over-

sensitive individuals.

A hunger strike shouldn’t be seen as 

a response that’s “disproportionate to 
the offense.” A football team refusing 
to participate in games while issues of 
racism remain unaddressed shouldn’t 
be seen as a group of young men 
being disrespectful and taking their 
status as student athletes for granted. 
There should be no conflicting notion 
between encouraging students to 
speak their minds about important 
issues of race and equality and then 
labeling them as “coddled” or “too 
liberal” when they do so. Rather, the 
general population should be asking 
itself why such strong measures were 
necessary in the first place.

Those quick to label these activists 

as a part of a population too sensitive, 
too obsessed with being politically 
correct and too out of touch with the 
world need to stop operating under the 
presumption these students are blank 
slates without any prior experience, 
who 
were 
entirely 
protected 

beforehand and are just suddenly 
rejecting the complexity and conflicts 
of the world. While some students are 
undoubtedly more privileged than 
others, and this privilege certainly 
needs to be addressed, students, to 
varying degrees, have encountered 

their own experiences of sexism, 
racism, homophobia or classism earlier 
in their lives. These experiences 
can’t be discounted. As Roxane Gay 
aptly states in a piece for the New 
Republic, “College students do, 
however, understand the real world 
because they aren’t just students. 
They do not abandon their class 
background or sexuality or race or 
ethnicity when they matriculate, 
and these issues do not vanish when 
they register for courses.”

Taking these experiences into 

account, students are voicing these 
concerns because they’re aware of the 
injustice that needs to be remedied. A 
common critique of these groups is that 
these demonstrations are suppressing 
speech. Yet, those concerned about 
speech must also consider that 
students are demonstrating in order 
to draw attention to the suppression of 
their own voices.

In order for tangible change to 

occur, debate is absolutely necessary. 
But nothing will be achieved if one 
or both sides are dismissing one 
another. Respect must be shared 
on both sides. Labeling the outcry 
and demands of a population of 
students seeking change as “over-
reacting” is, in itself, diminishing 
and suppressing viewpoints that 
may not necessarily want to be heard 
by those who disagree.

Perhaps current attitudes about 

student activism are merely the result 
of time. Those critiquing college 
students now were part of generations 
that once held their own protests, 
caused their own uproar, became the 
focal point of media attention and were 
critiqued by preceding generations. 
Perhaps one could just chalk it up to a 
generation gap and a cyclical nature of 
youthful idealism and optimism.

One 
of 
my 
classes 
recently 

discussed how time can be a privilege 
to those in power, and we debated 
the common misleading argument 
that society — if left only to the 
overwhelming influence of time — 
will change on its own without our 
intervention. However, time also 
functions as a mirror to illustrate 
how much or little things may have 
changed, and recent actions taken 
by students demonstrate that these 
issues have been left unhealed by 
time — or have evolved entirely — 
and need our attention.

—Melissa Scholke can be 

reached at melikaye@umich.edu.

Speaking out for choice

EMILY ZONDER | VIEWPOINT

Last Thursday night, I had the 

pleasure of attending Students for 
Choice Abortion Speak Out. I sat in 
a room full of people — teenagers, 
students and adults alike. I listened 
to a dozen brave, powerful voices 
share their stories, some for the 
very first time. The two hours 
passed like seconds — each moment 
filled with immense emotion, each 
story told with a profound sense of 
individuality and ownership unlike 
any that I had ever witnessed before.

Needless to say, when I left that 

room, my head was rushing and 
my heart was pounding. I felt so 
many things on such an utterly deep 
and real level. I felt frazzled and 
confused, experiencing a range of 
emotions at a speed that I couldn’t 
quite comprehend.

Looking back, the most prominent 

feeling floating around in my brain 
that evening was an incredible 
sense of sonder, which is a word 
and concept that may be slightly 
unfamiliar to some. Essentially, 
sonder is an understanding that 
every person you encounter has 
their 
own 
individual 
life 
and 

story, 
complete 
with 
emotions 

and experiences that are as deep 
and complex as your own. It is an 
understanding that every human 
being on this planet has a timeline, 

a head, a heart, a sex drive, a voice 
inside their head, a personalized 
moral compass — a story.

Listening 
to 
the 
voices 
on 

Thursday — the beautiful, unique 
and complex voices — I could feel this 
sense wash over me. Every story gave 
me a small glimpse of the depth that 
was tucked underneath the surface 
of each person, at the individuality 
that each of us has and the power 
that accompanies that. I was in awe. 
I was completely captivated by each 
soul that so bravely stepped up to 
the microphone and by each story 
that was shared.

But after a phone call with my 

dad, several conversations with 
my politically charged friends and 
hours in my room filled with pacing, 
journaling and frustration, this 
feeling slowly evolved. I thought 
about all that I had heard — every 
expression of gratitude regarding 
the choices that these people had, as 
well as every mention of the current, 
restrictive 
legislation 
and 
the 

politicians who are doing everything 
in their power to take this choice 
away. My comforting sense of sonder 
warped into something different 
entirely: outrage.

I left that room, as I sit here now, 

with an overwhelming sense of 
outrage. 

My outrage is not only over the 

fact that there are people — strangers 
— who are currently attempting to 
gain the power to make decisions 
about my body. It is over the fact 
that there are people — strangers — 
who want to make decisions about 
all bodies. It is over the fact that 
there are people — strangers — who 
believe that one decision, the same 
decision, can be the right decision 
for all women in every instance for 
each of their individual existences.

How can anyone justify that? 

How can anyone claim that they 
have the right to tell all women how 
to govern their bodies? And how 
can anyone argue that all bodies 
can and should be governed in the 
same way?

By taking away choice, you are 

viewing the right to abortion as 
merely a political issue, when in 
reality it is much more than that: It is 
a deeply personal one. When you take 
away choice, when you categorize all 
women under one umbrella and claim 
that you know what will be best for 
each of their unique bodies and lives, 
you are denying the existence of the 
individual experiences that every 
woman has, as well as the personal 
attention that every woman deserves.

Emily Zonder is an LSA freshman.

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

I

n the corner of a small bulletin board, the 
copy desk at The Michigan Daily has a 
“guide to dashes.” You may be thinking, 

“What could there possibly be to know about 
dashes?” or “Why would anyone need a guide 
for that?” My guess is that you’ve probably been 
using them incorrectly since you learned about 
them in the grammar unit of fourth-grade 
language arts.

The guide to dashes explains the three 

differing lengths of dashes and their uses. 
The shortest (and most common) dash is the 
hyphen. Hyphens are used for a variety of 
reasons, such as to combine two words into 
one idea as we do for compound adjectives. For 
example: “My post-graduation plans are still 
up in the air, unlike my tech-savvy friends who 
have already landed full-time jobs.” See? Two 
words, but one thought.

The second, slightly longer dash is the 

en-dash. Because the Daily really only uses 
these for political party affiliation, like Sen. 
Gary Peters (D–Mich.), I won’t elaborate. What 
I really want to talk about is the em dash — my 
favorite of all the dashes.

The Daily has a 65-page guidebook that 

dictates how we style the newspaper, and 
the entry on em dashes states that they’re 
often overused. But because em dashes can 
denote an abrupt change in a sentence — 
or a parenthetical aside — I feel that every 
time I add them — appropriately, of course 
— I internally debate whether or not the 
use is justified. Did that string of words feel 
parenthetical enough? What if that assertion 
wasn’t meant to read so abruptly? I weigh these 
considerations carefully. I have to — it’s my job. 
In my own writing I am partial to the em dash, 
because when I plunk it out on my keyboard, I 
acknowledge the inevitable abrupt change that 
is coming to my life after graduation.

It’s my senior year at the University. 

Someone once told me I had hit all the bases in 
terms of where I lived — freshman year, North 
Campus; sophomore year, a sorority house; 
junior year, the East Packard neighborhood 
on a lovely street called Greenwood; senior 
year, the Old Fourth Ward. I reflect upon how 
much I loved my dorm room — the sun filtered 
through the trees and onto my bed in the best 
way — and how much I struggled living in a 
sorority house. I lived on a street that always 

seemed to shimmer from broken glass bottles. 
I now live so near to the police and fire stations 
— and, frankly, the street that is the most direct 
route to the hospital — that emergency sirens 
punctuate my dreams. Each year existed in 
between two dashes — separated from the 
previous year — like a fresh start in a new home.

The 
transient 
nature 
of 
college 
is 

unparalleled. I may never again live on a glass-
littered street, or have to race someone to the 
landlord’s office in order to secure a lease. 
Each fall, I cart all of my belongings up flights 
of stairs and try to make the arrangement feel 
like home for a brief period of time. Then there 
will be move-out day, and it always seems — 
think two weeks of homelessness between 
leases — abrupt.

College — like the em dash — symbolizes four 

years of abrupt change and parenthetical asides. 
My classes begin and end so quickly that I never 
seem to learn everyone’s names. The clubs and 
extracurriculars I joined as a freshman either 
no longer exist, or I’ve quit being a part of 
them. The friends from past years fade away. 
The person I was as a freshman in Bursley is 
certainly not the same woman writing this 
column. If that wasn’t the case, I’d be worried.

Graduation day looms as the ultimate 

change — a formal ceremony to celebrate 
finishing a degree and getting the boot into 
the working world. I imagine by then I’ll feel 
stable and at peace with myself and the person 
I’ve become, but what if I never truly get there? 
I recognize that this four-year period of my 
life — one in which I’ve finally come to feel as 
if I’ve gotten the hang of it — is on the verge of 
ending. I have no qualms about changing U.S. 
to United States when it’s used as a noun, or 
placing a four-word title after a name, but I do 
worry about who I’ll be when all of the things 
that define me as a person at this University 
fall away.

Maybe the dash won’t be as meaningful 

when I’m not a student anymore and I’ve settled 
into a job. Maybe the abrupt changes I’ve come 
to expect will be few and far between. Maybe 
then, change won’t feel as sudden as it does 
each year as a college student. Maybe by then, 
I’ll start using more commas.

—Hannah Bates is the Daily’s co-copy chief. 

She can be reached at bateshan@umich.edu.

Copy That: The em dash

L

et me just enjoy the IASA show first and 
then I’ll worry about it.”

These are the actual words that 

left my mouth during the 
Indian American Student 
Association’s annual dance 
performance, Azaya, last 
Friday, in response to a friend 
telling me about the several 
tragedies that occurred that 
night. It very succinctly, 
yet 
colorfully, 
illustrates 

my relationship with world 
news while on campus here 
at the University.

Two years ago, when I 

was a senior in high school, 
I thought college would 
be “Campus” by Vampire Weekend. I pictured 
everyone as those cliché opinionated college 
students, crossing the Diag in autumn while 
wearing horn-rimmed glasses and heatedly 
discussing 
the 
Arab-Israeli 
conflict 
with 

classmates.

Instead, it’s been “Sweatpants” by Childish 

Gambino. Not only do I wear the same H&M 
joggers every day (not gonna lie, they’re 
dope and versatile), but I have also almost 
completely replaced any attention I could 
possibly pay to world events with other things. 
I used to call myself a global citizen not only 
due to my international experiences, but also 
due to my interest in and empathy for world 
issues. Now, instead of catching up on news 
first thing in the morning or before I go to bed, 
I rewatch Royal Family hip-hop dance videos. 
Every. Single. Day.

It’s not that I don’t love the student 

organizations I’m involved in. I’m just 
concerned about the fact that it becomes so 
easy to get distracted and isolated from the rest 
of the world here. The cliché metaphor made 
about the University, and college campuses in 
general, is that the students live in a bubble. 
While this comparison has value, I think it’s 
not so much that we’re all isolated from the 
world, but rather that it’s insanely easy to just 

not pay any attention to life outside of our 
campus. Obviously, so many college students 
are very politically involved and aware of 
world events, but it’s just SO EASY to live for 
months at a time with blinders on, blocking 
everything except classes and student orgs. 
I’m so privileged that I have the option of 
living like this.

The scariest part, at least for me, is that 

I have to ask myself how willful it is. Like 
with the IASA show, was my gut reaction a 
problematic one? Am I a horrible person for 
wanting to not yet know about the tragedies 
occurring so that I could wholeheartedly 
cheer on my friends on stage? Sure, I did my 
research and educated myself on the events 
afterwards, but that initial rejection to even 
face the outside world while enjoying myself 
in (bubble-shaped) Hill Auditorium has to 
warrant some self-reflection.

I spent my free time during the summer 

between high school and college reading 
memoirs and listening to National Public Radio. 
This completely stopped when I started at the 
University, without me even realizing it. After my 
freshman year, I returned to this leisure routine 
again in the summer, promising myself that in my 
second year I wouldn’t make the same mistake 
again. But I did.

As much as I love reading memoirs and 

listening to NPR, for some reason I just can’t 
bring myself to do it here, and I think that’s 
somewhat a reflection of just how much of 
a bubble the University can be. Granted, it 
was much easier to listen to NPR when I 
was commuting to and from Detroit for my 
summer internship, but there are other ways 
to still conveniently engage with the news 
while on campus.

I just hope that I manage to find those ways 

of reconnecting with the world again soon. 
But first, I have to work on this EECS project. 
Oh, and I have to choreograph for Izzat, too. 
Oh man.

—Liam Wiesenberger can be 

reached at wiesliam@umich.edu.

LIAM 

WIESEN-

BERGER

Living in a bubble

MELISSA 
SCHOLKE

E-mail in chan at tokg@umich.Edu
IN CHAN LEE

