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Misguided empathy for Paris
O
n Nov. 13, Paris was hit by a
series of terrorists attacks.
By the night’s end, a barrage
of shooting and
suicide bombings
left
about
130
people dead and
hundreds
more
injured. This was
the most deadly
attack France has
faced since World
War II.
The
reaction
from the tragedy
naturally sparked
widespread fear
across the globe,
particularly in Western countries.
Collectively, the public’s heightened
fear has initiated a call for imme-
diate security from our national
governments. Although this is a nat-
ural human reaction, the response is
socially and politically misguided.
Emotionally speaking, our fear of
terrorism is warranted. After wit-
nessing terrorist activity in Paris (in
addition to that in Beirut and Mali),
people became increasingly intimi-
dated. They should be.
Since technological advancements
have spread to more people with no
official (or elected) power, the capac-
ity of an individual or small group of
people to cause extensive destruc-
tion has become a growing concern.
As Moises Naim argues in “The End
of Power,” technological develop-
ments over the past few decades have
allowed for the widespread disper-
sion of information and more com-
plex social groupings. The result has
led to more power concentrated in
the hands of fewer, thereby dimin-
ishing the influence of our elected
officials and institutions. Typically,
this power is positively utilized,
improving education levels and indi-
vidual autonomy. However, in the
wrong hands, increased power can
be devastating.
The increased capacity for wide-
spread destruction by a small num-
ber of organized deviants increases
the threat of terrorism. Consequent-
ly, watching this destruction unfold
makes our lives appear more precari-
ous and therefore more precious. As
we are exposed to traumatic series of
human suffering through innumer-
able media channels, we, in turn, feel
pressing sadness, despair and fear in
our hearts and minds, as if the attack
had occurred to us.
Initially, people’s fear from these
lethal attacks expose humanity’s
most beautiful trait: empathy. When
we connect emotionally with others
in harm’s way, we often offer chari-
table and emotional support. Expres-
sion of empathy allows us to care for
people we’d otherwise be unconnect-
ed with, living halfway around the
world. Unfortunately, empathy, in
the background of intense terrorism,
leads to fear, as we personally imag-
ine confrontation with terrorism.
And while fear alone is manageable,
when it drives our political and social
decisions, it’s problematic. In Ameri-
ca’s recent history, we’ve entertained
a path driven by fear. The results
have been tragic.
After the planes hit the World
Trade Center in 2001, the natural
human reactions of empathy, sad-
ness, despair and fear brewed in
America. Ultimately, these feel-
ings galvanized a sense of need for
national security, leading to two
wars, and the creation of Guanta-
namo Bay (along with torture-ridden
black sites). In the former, we were
left with mounting human fatality
and trillions of dollars wasted. In the
latter, according to scholar Joseph
Margulies, many innocent people
were abused without due process
under the law. What’s more, our fears
of terrorism have likely endured 14
years after 9/11, as President Barack
Obama has been unable to remove all
American troops from Afghanistan
and is continuously rebuffed when
he attempts to close Gitmo.
As noted, our fear-driven behavior
and decisions in light of harrowing
terrorist attacks are not completely
uncalled for; they are a natural reac-
tion to human suffering. In turn, we
search for security. Our fear-driven
response galvanizes us to ensure
America’s safety, liberty and democ-
racy. On the surface, this appears
good. We want to shield Americans
from unjust harm. However, our
push for safety becomes problematic
when we infringe on the liberty and
security of foreigners, in addition to
American citizens.
Our priority for safety is made
in light of terrorism’s challenge —
offering us a choice between safety
and liberty. The more personal lib-
erty we maintain, the more at risk
we are of terrorist acts. This initiates
a controversial debate — should we
abrogate our values and personal lib-
erty for the sake of security? Should
we do everything in our power to
keep American citizens safe, even if
that means invasive National Secu-
rity Agency techniques and locking
people away without due process?
In response to terrorism, our initial
instincts have led us to choose the
former; we have done everything
possible to keep American citizens
safe even while disregarding the
rights of individuals. However, in
times of fear and uncertainty, maybe
it would be more helpful to reconsid-
er how we view terrorism.
Maybe, as David Foster Wallace
suggests, we should consider those
who die at the hands of terrorists to
be martyrs, who’ve sacrificed their
lives for freedom, liberty and democ-
racy. In reality, the alternative seems
much worse. The late author ven-
tured down this path when he asked
if Guantanamo Bay, Abu Ghraib, the
PATRIOT Acts, warrantless sur-
veillance, etc. are worth protecting
Americans’ safety? And let’s be hon-
est, when these institutions claim to
protect “Americans’ ” safety, they’re
really excluding Muslim Americans
or any person one could associate
with the Middle East.
Today, the attacks in Paris — strik-
ing fear into the general public — have
occurred in the midst of a critical for-
eign policy issue: the Syrian refugee
crises. Many American governors
have made a choice: increase security
and refuse to accept Syrian refugees,
presumably because they believe
Muslims to be the root cause of ter-
rorism. Again, misguided fear has
become an immediate social problem
in today’s political climate. Again,
America is on a track that actively and
passively abuses the rights of others.
Unfortunately, terrorism — the cause
of our fear and vulnerability — justi-
fies these actions to the public, allow-
ing our representatives to make very
poor, prejudicial decisions. Ultimate-
ly, representatives overlook the cause
of terrorism: the lack of autonomy,
agency and political rights terror-
ists feel, leading them to cause great
harm to others. Our reaction does
more than propagate Islamophobia.
Our reaction destroys the possibility
for resolve, the end to terrorism and
relief for its victims.
Our prejudice won’t help us under-
stand why these people do what they
do — what is influencing people to
want to cause mass destruction.
After all, terrorists are humans even
if they act inhumanely. Therefore,
they are driven by the same human
instincts as the rest of us. If we begin
assessing them as such, we can fairly
and objectively question what they
do and why they do it. Instead, we
consider persons who allegedly con-
duct acts of terrorism to be inhu-
man, and dismiss them of their full
rights under the law. Unfortunately,
infringing on terrorists’ civil liber-
ties will not get America any closer to
eradicating terrorism.
Of course, having read this far
(and probably declaring me a tree-
hugging liberal hippie), you may be
asking, what about your life? Are you
not afraid of putting your life in jeop-
ardy of a massacre? And, further-
more, what about the families that
are randomly taken, the lives lost?
Should we not do everything possible
to bring these victims restitution?
From my view, infringing on the
rights of others is not the proper way
for victims and their families to heal
from terrorism. Sacrificing my per-
sonal values — liberty, justice, due
process under the law for all global
citizens — is worth my life. The alter-
native — persecuting others due to
excessive fear and prejudice — is
much worse.
Today, our political, domestic and
international systems ensure that
we don’t arbitrarily destroy a human
life or strip it of all its value, even
if that human life has committed
deplorable crimes. In other words,
our nations have made themselves
responsible for protecting individu-
als by laws and processes that place
value on human lives. Personally, I
don’t want to live in a place where
my government stops deeming all
people as humans, unworthy of min-
imum respect and dignity. Warring
(relatively) arbitrarily with nations
and indiscriminately sorting people
in institutions like “black sites” and
Guantanamo Bay epitomizes this
place. There’s much more terror I feel
from that prospect than anything
an extremist with a weapon can do
to me.
— Sam Corey can be reached
at samcorey@umich.edu.
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SAM
COREY
My heart hurts too
My heart aches. For Lebanon. France.
Nigeria. Syria. For both the reported
and unreported deaths and injuries. For
every wound made in this world from the
incessant violence.
My heart aches. For the brown people who
may have been safe from those attacks, but
aren’t safe from the public’s.
I can’t hide that I’m Muslim, so whenever
an act of terror happens, I can’t mourn in
peace. I’m stuck in a glass room in which
all eyes are on me. Even when I’m angry,
sad and frustrated — having the same feel-
ings you have — I have no space for it in my
glass box.
And when I’m finally able to grasp my
arms around my emotions and reactions,
you start to ask.
When you ask me to be “brave” when
everyone else is encouraged to fear me, you
are asking for a piece of me. When you ask
me to apologize for what happened, you are
asking for a piece of me. When you ask me to
condemn what happens, you are asking for
a piece of me. And even as you simply ask, I
find myself unraveling as you move to collect
the pieces.
Islamophobia is not my paranoia.
Islamophobia is hijabi women being
denied entry into a store, brown fami-
lies asked to step off of flights for making
the staff uncomfortable, governors of 31
states announcing their unwillingness to
accept Syrian refugees, arson attacks on
masjids, Muslim and non-Muslim brown
persons fearing for their lives while
walking on the street, death threats and
not being allowed to call your country
your home.
Islamophobia is not me being over-emo-
tional, or self-victimizing or me exaggerating.
Islamophobia is me — having a man I’ve
never met grab me on the street so that I’m
forced to listen to him. Islamophobia is me
— being verbally harassed on the street for
wearing hijab. Islamophobia is me — ner-
vous for my brown dad traveling on an inter-
national flight in two days. Islamophobia is
me — always thinking about how much eas-
ier it would be if I took off my hijab. Islamo-
phobia is me — realizing that even if I did, I
would still be unsafe.
It’s strange to have your beliefs plastered in
flashy headlines, 140 characters and disturb-
ing images. Religion has always been some-
thing very personal to me, and I never would
have thought that I would have to defend and
answer for it so often. Islam was taught to me
by my parents and community to prioritize
good character, honesty and humility. And
when I’m asked to explain myself and my reli-
gion for its “violent,” “barbaric,” “oppressive”
beliefs, I can’t answer you. Because you aren’t
talking about my religion.
You’re talking about a group of individu-
als who make up a miniscule percentage
of those who identify as Muslim. If you are
going to paint a whole race, region or religion
with your label of “terrorist,” then you better
have done your research. And if you did do
your research, you would realize that you’ve
made a minority your majority, and that you
are mistaken. In fact, by far, more Muslims
have died at the hands of ISIS than any other
group. ISIS, and other terrorist organiza-
tions, are exactly that — organizations that
are focused on building political power. They
are corrupt people who use the pretense of
religion to achieve their goals.
And that means I will mourn — for the
hundreds of black and brown people who
don’t have the benefit of your doubt, whose
lives do not matter when white lives are lost,
who are forced out of their homes, who are
painted in broad strokes and who escape one
terror only to be attacked with another.
So this is me asking you to stop with the
Islamophobia and xenophobia. Stop using me
as your target practice for your frustration.
Because my heart hurts, too.
Sarah Khan is a Michigan in Color editor.
E-mail in Chan at tokg@umiCh.Edu
IN CHAN LEE
FROM THE DAILY
Indigenous Peoples Day
The University should recognize newly created holiday
T
he Ann Arbor City Council voted unanimously on Nov. 16
to designate the second Monday of October as Indigenous
Peoples Day. A couple of days later, the Washtenaw County
Board of Commissioners followed suit at the request of commissioner
Yousef Rabhi. The new holiday, meant to replace Columbus Day, was
the result of collaboration between Councilmember Chuck Warpehoski
(D–Ward 5) and various local indigenous groups and their allies. The
decree is obviously a welcome change, as Columbus Day has been a
topic of controversy, and shows much-warranted consideration of
native communities here in the Ann Arbor area. However, the county’s
recognition of the holiday is somewhat diminished by the University’s
questionable history with its Native American constituents. Now that
progress is the law of the land, the University should follow suit by
recognizing Indigenous Peoples Day and set the tone for a new era of
alliance with those community members who deserve our respect.
The University was founded (both in its
original location in Detroit and its current
location in Ann Arbor) on what was once
Native American land with the permission of
the 1817 Treaty of Fort Meigs. But in the years
following its conception, the school has done
little to honor this grant.
Additionally,
students
showed
their
prejudiced attitudes toward Native Americans
in tasteless club traditions like those of the
Order of Angell — a University organization
(which changed its name from the pseudo-
tribal “Michigamua” in 2006) with a long,
murky past rooted in blatant insensitivity.
In its heyday, the formerly secret society
initiated its members with public rituals
involving sacred Native American regalia and
religious items, such as peace pipes, drums
and totems. Acts such as these were called out
as unacceptable by not only the indigenous
community in Ann Arbor, but also various
organizations on campus. Having undergone
so much intense scrutiny, the Order fully
ceased these despicable activities by 1989.
Further,
University
possession
of
Native American artifacts has also been a
point of contention in the past. In March
2008, members of the Saginaw Chippewa
tribe requested rights to what Museum
of Anthropological Archaeology officials
deemed
“unidentifiable”
artifacts,
but
because ownership of ambiguously cultured
objects was not ruled illegal by the Native
American Graves Protection and Repatriation
Act of 1990, their efforts were futile. It was
not until two years later in 2010 that the
federal court became involved and demanded
the University return the remains to their
rightful place.
With
these
instances
in
mind,
the
University should take full advantage of
this opportunity to make amends with its
neighbors. A good start would be to eradicate
the recognition of Columbus Day from
University calendars and planners; an even
better effort would be to recognize local
tribes like those of the Three Fires — Ojibwe,
Odawa and Potawatami — by hosting a day or
more of events in collaboration with them.
The University of California, Berkeley,
for example, holds a day-long festival that
features an exhibition and gourd dancing, as
well as an “Indian market” with handmade
products from local tribes. Simply bringing
in native speakers to share their experiences
with the student body would also be a step in
the right direction.
The Native American community in Ann
Arbor is essential to the history of both the
city and the University. Recognition of their
influence is commendable, but deliberate
effort by the University to acknowledge and
appreciate them is warranted if we are to
celebrate this new holiday with integrity.
Given our disreputable history, it is the least
we can do.
SARAH KHAN | VIEWPOINT