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 Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller, Payton
Luokkala, Aarica Marsh, Anna Polumbo-Levy, Jason
Rowland, Melissa Scholke, Michael Schramm,
Stephanie Trierweiler, Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
The politics of terrorism
T
he
University
of
Maryland’s
Global Terrorism Database defines
terrorism as “the threatened or
actual use of illegal force
and violence by a non-state
actor to attain a political,
economic,
religious,
or
social goal through fear,
coercion, or intimidation.”
Last
week,
several
protests and collectivist
actions
occurred,
demonstrationg solidarity
against acts of domestic
terrorism which manifest
themselves
in
police
brutality (a generous use of
the word), white supremacy and extremism.
Yet
U.S.
citizens
flippantly
associate
terrorism with international trepidations,
though domestic terrorism has historically
flourished in the United States. A Center for
Disease Control and Prevention study found
that 406,496 people have died on U.S. soil by
firearms between 2001 and 2013, compared to
the 350 U.S. citizens killed from incidents of
terrorism overseas.
A New York Times article stated, “Since
Sept. 11, 2001, nearly twice as many people
have been killed by white supremacists,
antigovernment fanatics and other non-
Muslim extremists than by radical Muslims.”
More U.S. citizens are victims of gun
violence and social stigma within our borders
than abroad, yet the media continues to
create a stereotype and distort the image
of what a terrorist is. Unfortunately, this
stereotype excludes U.S. citizens (specifically
white citizens) from its denotation. People of
color who commit acts of violence are seen
as inherently evil, as thugs and terrorists,
while white people who impose violence are
thought to have a mental illness, or their acts
can be justified as self-defense. Both state
and non-state actors in the United States have
committed and continue to commit acts of
terrorism under the guise of democracy and
white supremacy.
After
9/11,
then-
President George W. Bush
and several international
dignitaries from countries
like Norway, Japan and
Australia took proactive
steps to fight in the “Global
War on Terrorism.” This
worldwide
campaign
included
89
countries
that granted overflight
authority for U.S. military
aircrafts, 23 countries agreeing to host U.S.
forces in offensive operations, intelligence
cooperation with nations and a host of other
multinational declarations of support.
The war on terrorism was hyper-politicized
to advance geopolitical politics. According to
the Global Terrorism Database — which has
published data about terrorist attacks around
the world from 1970 to 2014 — there were
fewer terrorist attacks and attempted attacks
in the United States in 2014 than there were
in 1970s; however, recent attacks are more
deadly than those in the past.
This doesn’t negate that transnational
terrorism isn’t active and prominent threat in
today’s global society. The U.S. Department
of State reported 6,771 terrorist attacks
occurred worldwide in 2012. Pakistan,
Iraq and Afghanistan topped the list of the
countries with the most terrorist attacks.
The largest number of deaths per attack have
occurred in Syria and Nigeria. Behind these
facts and statistics are faces and lives.
Think back to April 2014, when the
terrorist group Boko Haram kidnapped 276
Nigerian girls. Or to the summer of 2014,
when an influx of Central American women
and children refugees were (and still are)
fleeing from violence looking for sanctuary
and protection in the United States. At the
beginning of this year, bombs terrorized
families during the holiday season in Ukraine.
The Islamic State, commonly known as ISIS,
was responsible for killing 38 people in
Tunisia in June of this year, along with over
250,000 Syrians.
In the United States, an incalculable amount
of deaths of Black and brown people executed by
police officers and extremists has skyrocketed
in the past three years. How proactive has the
United States been in ensuring these acts of
terror are prevented? These genocides and
grotesque acts against humanity violate the
universal human rights the United States
champions, yet neglects to hold itself and other
countries accountable for.
Hundreds of thousands of U.S. troops have
invaded Afghanistan and Iraq and have killed
and displaced a massive amount of Afghanis
and Iraqis all in the name of democracy and
protecting international security. The deaths
of Black and brown people are attributed to
the illusion of self-defense, like in the cases
of George Zimmerman and Darren Wilson,
when in actuality, they’re due to racial and
religious bias. Yet, the media didn’t advertise
or even consider these actions to fall within
the boundaries of terrorism.
When members of the Black Lives Matter
movement are labeled “domestic terrorists”
by state officials, when the nation fails to
recognize the Charleston shooting as a
terrorist attack, when a 114-page report
about
Adam
Lanza’s
life
attempts
to
rationalize his actions for murdering 20
children and six adults in Sandy Hook, when
massacres like the Sikh temple shooting
and Aurora movie theater occur, and when
a Kansas abortion clinic doctor is murdered
by a pro-life advocate, there’s a lack of
consensus on who and what is terrorized,
creating huge discrepancies in terrorism’s
definition. These incidents exemplify what
U.S. citizens’ perception terrorism is, who
it affects, when it’s justified, when our
government and military decide to condone
it and which victims of terrorism deserve
the United State’s compassion, all of which
are subjected to the media’s interpretation of
events and strategic political agendas by our
nation’s leaders.
U.S. media and political leaders are always
on the offensive, asserting to the mass public
that the United States is at war: wars on
poverty, wars on crime, world wars, civil
wars, wars on terrorism. How about we
wage a war for peace? A
war for solidarity? A war
for justice?
In our microworld as
university students, we
have to be active solicitors
of peace and security.
How can students hold the
University accountable to
ensure that students will
not be terrorized by their
race,
religion,
ability,
educational
status
or
sexual orientation? How can students, staff
and faculty collectively build inclusive spaces
to support the diversity we already have? Acts
of violence are continuously thwarted toward
our most vulnerable populations (children,
the elderly, women, transgender men and
women, people with disabilities) on this
campus and in the Ann Arbor community,
in the United States and worldwide. How
are we training and challenging ourselves
to eradicate this violence? Are we really
educating ourselves to be global citizens of
this world?
Global crisis and acts of terror occur every
day. If the University seeks to produce the
“leaders and the best,” we need to know our
history. By our history, I do not only mean the
history that tells the legacy of our identities,
but also the history of our world. As global
citizens, we need to know more than China’s
Silk Road, Marco Polo’s adventures and the
Azteca empire.
We need to understand global political,
economic and social histories at their cores.
We need to understand the whys, hows, whats
and whens in contemporary history that
manifest the trends in terrorist acts today. We
need to abort the United States’ self-centered
and self-righteous mentality, and identify our
own instances of terrorism as we consider
deploying our manpower who wages wars
against injustices we have yet to cease. We
need to work toward identifying the politics
within our structures that allow terrorism to
manifest and plague our progress as a global
society and as individuals.
—Alexis Farmer can be reached
at akfarmer@umich.edu.
ALEXIS
FARMER
Housing help for the homeless
JASON ROWLAND | VIEWPOINT
The bus sped away into the night,
leaving its passengers stranded
in its dust. Huddled in the frigid
air, the six forsaken men glanced
around at the place they would
come to know as the Delonis Center.
In front of them stood the center,
full of other transplanted homeless
people; behind them was their
rights and dignity. With no other
option, they made their way inside.
Once in, they were met by scores
of others in their exact situation:
loaded into cars, taxis and buses,
and deserted at the center.
This isn’t an isolated scenario in
some distant city; this is the reality
of winter nights here in Ann Arbor.
Whether
or
not
we’d
like
to admit it, Ann Arbor has a
homelessness problem. However,
unlike most cities, Ann Arbor’s
situation isn’t a result of the
misfortune of its own residents.
In fact, the number of homeless
Washtenaw
County
residents
decreased by 24 percent between
2013 and 2015, and Washtenaw
County aims to eliminate veteran
homelessness by next year through
cataloging the county’s homeless
citizens and matching them with
housing options.
So
where
are
Ann
Arbor’s
homeless coming from?
Unfortunately, many communities
in Southeast Michigan bus their
homeless residents to Ann Arbor’s
homeless and warming centers in
a practice known as “Greyhound
therapy.” Ann Arbor’s shelters, while
adequately funded and well staffed,
just do not have the bottomless
pockets
needed
to
continue
accommodating these newcomers.
Once homeless people arrive in
Tree Town, a daunting environment
greets them, due mainly to the
fact that Ann Arbor is one of the
most expensive cities in the state.
Necessities — food, water and
clothing — are undoubtedly more
costly than where they came from.
In a similar vein, housing in
the city is famously known to be
costly. According to Zillow.com
— an online service that provides
users with information on housing
information such as market price
and past sales — the average home
in Ann Arbor costs more than
$300,000. Rent is similarly pricey,
making it nearly impossible for
a displaced homeless person to
establish a foothold in the city.
So what can be done to tackle
this issue?
It turns out that the state of
Michigan makes it very hard for
local governments to easily offer
affordable housing. For example,
the Leasing of Private Residential
Property Act of 1988, which is still
an active Michigan law, states that
local municipalities do not have the
right to “enact, maintain, or enforce
an ordinance or resolution that
would have the effect of controlling
the amount of rent charged.”
In effect, Michigan cities cannot
force developers to follow rent-
controlled policies. This prohibits
the city from keeping rents at the
level it deems appropriate and
instead allows people’s lives to be
dictated by the hand of the market.
This total ban of rent control
is relatively common and isn’t
inherently
bad.
Rent-controlled
units offer little incentive for
landlords to do renovations, and
decrease property tax-revenues.
Therefore,
housing
shortages
can arise as the demand for low-
priced housing outpaces the supply.
However, when a complete ban on
rent control is coupled with the fact
that the state also bans mandatory
inclusionary zoning, we arrive at
Ann Arbor’s current affordable
housing crisis.
Mandatory inclusionary zoning
means that city governments can
mandate that housing developers
designate a percentage of their
units for low-income residents.
While not the foolproof solution
to the city’s housing crisis, this
effort is a practical way to begin the
process. Yet when bills in support
of mandatory inclusionary zoning
reach the floor, they don’t make
it out of committee — perhaps
because they’re seen as creating an
unfavorable climate for business
as developers have no choice but
to accept the lost revenue from
not being able to rent their unit at
market price.
A more popular alternative to
mandating inclusionary zones is
building government housing for
low-income residents, commonly
known
as
Section
8
housing.
However, it’s been shown that
when applying to jobs, residents of
such low-income neighborhoods
are discriminated against due to
what’s commonly referred to as
postcode discrimination.
Unlike
government
housing,
inclusionary zones force developers
to integrate units for low-income
residents into the properties that
house people who aren’t homeless,
allowing people to free themselves of
the discrimination that comes with
living in neighborhoods exclusively
designated to homeless populations.
Additionally,
the
prohibition
of
inclusionary zoning often leads to
economic segregation, a small tax
base, underfunded schools and,
consequently, few opportunities to
improve and break this cycle.
Furthermore,
many
of
the
United
States’
lowest
income earners are minorities.
Inclusionary zoning allows for not
only more economically diverse
neighborhoods, but also for ones
that are more ethnically diverse.
With
the
existing
property
laws in place, Ann Arbor — like all
municipalities in Michigan — is left
with the option to implement what’s
known as voluntary inclusionary
zoning, a policy that allows the city
to offer incentives to developers
who
build
low-income
units.
While this is better than nothing,
it isn’t enough. Legislative action
must be taken to allow for cities to
implement mandatory inclusionary
zoning and rent control, but this
requires a concerted effort to show
Lansing that people are in support
of the change.
It’s our job as residents of Ann
Arbor to protect the city’s less
fortunate, to end the bussing of
homeless people and to stand up
for affordable housing. This can be
achieved by a myriad of methods
— from voting for candidates who
champion
affordable
housing
measures
to
contacting
our
representatives to taking to the
streets yourself.
We must push for change because
we are the voice for the voiceless.
Jason Rowland is an LSA freshman.
Pushing Back on Privilege
TONI WANG | MICHIGAN IN COLOR
A couple of weeks ago, I was
walking through the Diag with a
friend when I saw someone I did
not recognize running toward me.
Like many folks, when I see a person
headed in my direction, at whatever
pace, my initial thought is not that
they are intending on body-slamming
me into the ground. So imagine my
utter confusion when, less than a few
seconds later, I was on the pavement,
my legs tangled underneath a student
who I have never met — the same
student who had literally just shoved
me over. Before I could even think
about having any kind of reaction,
he shot up off the ground and started
shouting, “That’s a point! That’s a
point!” while waving his pointer
finger at me, and laughing with two
of his friends who were standing
by. He did not ask me if I was OK (I
was not). He did not offer to help me
up. He did not even take a second to
acknowledge my existence. Instead,
he ran away, grinning about the fact
that he physically assaulted someone
as she was walking to class. I found
out later that this was something
some fraternities were awarding
pledge points for.
Last week, I met with one of
my mentors and told her about
what happened. It wasn’t until I
finished speaking, and saw the look
of disgust and horror on her face,
that I realized I had been laughing
throughout the entire story. What
was initially something that left
me shaking with anger and sadness
turned into just another day in the
life. I had normalized a completely
dehumanizing experience, because,
unfortunately, being made to feel
lesser than, like an object, like an
“other,” is not new for me.
As a queer-questioning woman of
color, I have continuously struggled
to find my voice and visibility on
this campus and in this world.
From
having
“chink”
screamed
at me from a car as a seven-year-
old first learning to ride a bike, to
being called an “oriental princess”
by a drunk upperclassman within
days of coming to the University,
discrimination has always been a
part of my life and college story. Sadly,
my experience is not a unique one.
Students with disabilities, students
of color, LGBTQ students and
other students with marginalized
identities are consistently silenced
and made to feel invisible at this
school. Not only are the people who
hold these identities far and few here,
but our issues are ignored and never
taken seriously.
Obviously (or at least I hope it’s
obvious), I’m not saying that all of
these issues have occurred at the
hands of members of Greek life, or,
in this case, the Inter-Fraternity
Council. Individuals in IFC are not
the problem. Individuals in IFC who
ignore, deny, and/or perpetuate the
systems of power and privilege that
birth these issues are a problem,
as are individuals not in IFC who
do the same. If you have always felt
supported at this university and
your identities not attacked (if you
“identify” as a Michigan football
fan and are relating this to what
you felt after the loss to MSU, please
sit down), then think about how
these systems have played into that.
Think about how we are socialized
to believe the identities you hold are
“normal,” and how people who don’t
hold your identities have learned to
expect disrespect and maltreatment.
I wish I didn’t need to include
this paragraph, but it seems that
no matter how many times I try to
express this sentiment, some people
will continue to miss the point and
highlight my mention of Greek life
as the most important factor of the
story. It’s not. So here it is, right at
the end so you will remember it:
This is not an attack on Greek life.
Again, in the exact same words:
This. Is. Not. An. Attack. On. Greek.
Life. You do not need to prove to
me #NotAllGreekLife. If you are
reading this and you are a cisgender,
heterosexual, able-bodied, upper-
middle class white man (which,
guessing by the demographics of this
institution and not the demographics
of
people
who
actually
read
Michigan in Color, a vast majority
of you are), this is also not an attack
on you. This is me, expressing my
anger, sharing my trauma, and
spreading awareness of the flawed
and oppressive system under which
we all live, but from which only a
select few of us benefit. This is me,
trying to get you to understand that
if you are a beneficiary of this system,
you are supporting institutional
oppression, whether you want to or
not. And this is me, pleading with the
last bit of patience I have left, that
you play your part in dismantling or,
at the very least, simply recognizing
this system, so that the bigotry,
exclusion and violence that exist on
this campus will not be the defining
characteristics of mine and so many
others’ college experience.
If, after this, you still believe that
purposely pushing someone over
and potentially injuring them is OK,
funny, your right or a goddamn game,
you are living in the privileged reality
that I am literally dedicating my
entire life and career to deconstruct
and destroy piece by fragile piece.
I am a human being, not your point
to earn through harassment and
assault, and when the system that
affords you your privilege is gone,
you can bet that your pledge points
won’t matter.
Toni Wang is a Michigan
in Color contributor.
How about we wage
a war for peace? A
war for solidarity? A
war for justice?
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