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 24, 2015

Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller, Payton Luokkala,

Aarica Marsh, Anna Polumbo-Levy, Jason Rowland,

Lauren Schandevel, Melissa Scholke, Rebecca Tarnopol, Ashley
Tjhung, Stephanie Trierweiler, Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

T
o be best friends

A

few weeks ago, my best
friend Alaina and I were
at Salvation Army picking

out a costume
for
Halloween.

Thursday night,
we were Garth
and
Kat
from

Saturday
Night

Live, but Friday
night, she got to
pick.

“I just want to

look like a girl,”
she said, throw-
ing up her hands.
“Last
night
I

looked like a potato.”

***
One of my best friends, Alaina,

hates when I use “best friend” in the
plural. “They can’t all be best. That’s
not what best means,” she says, talk-
ing with her hands.

When I say someone I haven’t

talked to in years is a “best friend,”
she goes on a rant about this and
that, loyalty and honesty and what-
ever. She gets exasperated over little
things like who gets the title of “best
friend,” things any logical person, in
my opinion, would regard as trivial.

But I maintain that I have about

10 best friends. My best friend from
sophomore year of high school, Erin,
moved to some town in Wiscon-
sin when we were 15. She checked
in later that year to tell me a local
megachurch was burning copies of
the Harry Potter series for promot-
ing witchcraft.

“I’m scared,” she said, but I fig-

ured she could fend for herself and
left her to it. We ran into each other
at Lollapalooza last summer.

See? Besties.
I wonder if someday Alaina will

be like Erin — off in some remote
corner of Wisconsin, hoarding her
Harry Potter books beneath a floor-
board in her room before the militia
comes looking for contraband.

“OK, fine, you say we’re best

friends,” Alaina says, waving her

arms wildly, “but how many people
have you said that to? Twenty?”

Who are the others? I won’t list

them for time’s sake. But there’s my
best and first friend, Jack, who I talk
to more than any person I don’t live
in the same house with, and who
will probably be the best man at
my wedding. When we talk, I have
the sensation of opening a favorite
book to a random page and finding
I remember the characters and plot
just as well.

But there are other best friends

I don’t really talk to. There’s the
best friend I got in a fistfight with.
That ended the best-buds stage of
our friendship. And he’s still my
best friend because I owe him that,
because at one point we would have
done anything for each other. I still
honor that. We may not be best bud-
dies, but he’s my best friend.

And then there’s the best friend

I fell in love with, by accident, and
whose doorstep I showed up on
halfway across the country, expect-
ing who knows what, and for whom
I found that I was too late, that we
were going to stay best friends —
nothing more, nothing less.

I think that’s really what it comes

down to: A best friend is someone
you love.

***
Appearances are another thing

I think any logical person would
regard as trivial. I prefer to look
clever, and I told her, “We need a
costume that makes you look hot
and me look funny: I got it.”

But she didn’t like my idea of

going with a “sluts and wizards”
theme. So, she decided we were
being Danny and Sandy from
Greece. “Simple,” she said. “Just
wear jeans and a white T-shirt and
slick your hair back.”

Except that I’m an asshole, and I

thought this was a pretty stupid idea,
so I showed up dressed as a wizard
anyway. Boom: wizards and sluts.
I wore a white T-shirt and jeans
underneath my costume, though, to

change when Alaina went berserk
on me. Honestly, I was just trying to
get a rise out of Alaina because I was
bored, and I wanted to look funny,
and I liked the attention from people
at the party. Alaina was upset, but
she let me keep the wizard cloak on
because, she agreed, it was sort of
funny. She looked hot, and I looked
funny. Perfect. So then we got on this
bus to go to a party downtown and I
figured everything was fine.

Fast forward to the bus back from

the party: Alaina is crying and cov-
ered in fake blood, because I found a
bottle of fake blood and told her it’d
be funny if we changed from Sandra
Dee and a wizard to dead Sandy and
a dead wizard. The bus is broken
down at a gas station 10 minutes
outside Detroit. It’s been a half an
hour. My friend Connor is lying on
his back in the parking lot, chain-
smoking cigarettes. Alaina refuses
to speak with me, and is in a corner
crying tears of blood. She is freezing
to death in a Sandy costume because
she just wanted to look hot.

I took off my wizard cloak and

covered her up with it. And just like
that, I was unintentionally dressed
as her Danny Zuko. I didn’t want to
be. She wouldn’t be freezing if she’d
just gone as a fur-covered Wild
Thing and I’d gone as Max, like I’d
said we should.

But she cared about all this. About

looking good for once. About who
her best friend is.

My point is this: You never real-

ly know what people care about,
whether that’s stupid, little titles or
looking good. But if you care about
them, and I do, then you start to
care about how they feel, even if you
think what they care about is stupid.

So Alaina, I’m sorry. You’re not

my best friend. But I do love you. I
hope that’s enough.

P.S. I’m sorry I ruined your night

and covered you in fake blood.

— Tom West can be reached

at tkwest@umich.edu.

TOM
WEST

The real cost of education

“Everything is going to be OK,” my dad

assured me as I sat cross-legged on my bed,
pressing my phone against my ear and sup-
pressing a fit of formidable sobs. His compo-
sure did little to quell the onset of emotions I
experienced; if anything, it intensified them.

For some context, here is a brief timeline of

unfortunate events:

About a month ago, my dad was terminat-

ed from his job of 18 years with no severance
pay, no unemployment benefits and very little
experience navigating the 21st-century job
market. Not one week later, my mom’s union
announced its decision to strike — a strenuous
effort that offered little in the way of compen-
sation for its participants — which cut her pay
in half and forced her to work overtime to make
up the difference. And precisely one hour prior
to my writing of this article, my dad called to
tell me that we are at risk of losing our house.

My family has never been what one would

deem “financially stable.” When I was growing
up, we received welfare benefits as my mom
searched for a full-time job. Most of our food
came from church pantries, our clothes from
Goodwill. Over time, though, things gradu-
ally became more tolerable. My mom found
work, and we were living relatively comfort-
ably on a salary of $60,000 for our family of
four. Extravagance was still out of the ques-
tion, but at least we were stable. One thing that
remained consistent throughout the course of
my childhood was my dad’s job, which con-
tributed more than half of our income once my
mom reentered the workforce. For it to van-
ish so abruptly was not just shocking — it was
absolutely devastating.

“I just can’t not work,” my dad told me over

the phone. “It doesn’t feel right. I need to keep
busy. I need to get out there.”

“What can I do?” I asked him over and over

again. “I want to help.”

“You just stay in school,” he replied. “Know-

ing that you’re out there bettering yourself is
enough. I don’t want you to end up like us. I
want you to be comfortable.”

This rationale does not console me in the

slightest, even though I knew he was right. My
parents never attended college and have always
emphasized the importance of a quality educa-
tion — the fact that I am studying at the Uni-
versity is not only a source of pride for them,

but also a one-way ticket to a life of financial
security, which, among other things, is what
they have always wanted for me. My dad reit-
erates how delighted he is that I am in school
in every conversation I have with him, but in
spite of his gratitude, I cannot help but feel a
sense of overwhelming guilt about my detach-
ment from the pressing issues that currently
plague my family. I have a roof over my head,
a meal plan and running water. I have access
to an array of opportunities for advancement. I
am comfortable and content; they are not, and
there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Giving up on academia is not an option, and

even if it is, it is not a particularly appealing
one. Some days I feel as though I am not only
pursuing higher education for myself, but for
my family as well. Much more is at stake for me
than just a degree — I am launching my lineage
in the direction of a new lifestyle of prosperity.
I am leading a crusade of upward mobility, but
it is not without its anxieties.

While my parents worry about paying the

bills, I worry about the fact that I am not wor-
ried about anything remotely financial. I am
thankful for the luxuries of university life, but
agonize over the fact that it may come at the
expense of my relationship with my parents.
There is a glaring disconnect that resurfaces
whenever I mention my classes or organiza-
tions, and they counter with an anecdote
about a new obstacle that has pervaded their
sense of security. I can do nothing to ease the
burden of poverty for them except prevail
over my studies, and at least for now, that is
enough for them.

“I love you, Lauren,” my dad told me. “I am

so proud of you.”

I hung up the phone and pondered our situ-

ation for a long time. I am angry, I am pow-
erless, and I am more determined than ever
before. My family may not have the means to
afford much in the way of amenities, but we do
have each other. They offer unconditional sup-
port as I work my way through the system so
we may one day achieve a better life, together.
It is not guaranteed, but it keeps me going and
it keeps them hopeful, and at the moment, that
is all we need to get by.

Lauren Schandevel is an


editorial board member.

I


have spoken about the gym community
that I have become a part of in the past,
but have hesitated to speak the word

“CrossFit” out of fear for
what response I will get.
Usually, when I mention
that I do CrossFit, I am
met with a condescending
eye roll and a sarcastic
remark about being in a
cult. I usually laugh along
and shrug it off — at this
point, I have recognized
that trying to argue the
true purpose of CrossFit is
futile against anyone who
has never experienced it.

In this article, though, I am not being cau-

tious. I am not talking about the “gym I go
to off campus,” because shrinking the com-
munity I am a part of to this size is insulting
to the things it has given me, and the people
who make up this community. With the recent
events in Paris and other parts in the world,
there is no place I would rather be on Thanks-
giving than at home with my family and the
members of CrossFit Burlington.

I performed the “Murph” workout for the

first time on May 25, 2015. That Memorial
Day, I rolled out of bed at 7 a.m., pulled
on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went
downstairs. Less than one hour later I found
myself standing outside CrossFit Burlington
with approximately 50 individuals, about to
take off on our first of two miles. The rain had
just stopped, and because I had never done
this workout before, I optimistically looked
forward to it. However, those who had done
the workout before were incredibly nervous,
making me realize I had no idea what I was
getting into. The timer sounded, and we all
took off down the street. Exactly 62 minutes
and 51 seconds later, I found myself on my
back in a pool of my own sweat, gasping
for air, thinking about how this workout
was barely a fraction of the difficulties that
soldiers face on a daily basis.

“Murph” is a CrossFit workout dedicated

to Navy Lieutenant Michael Murphy, who
was killed in Afghanistan on June 28, 2005.
Lt. Murphy’s story is well known by many,
partially due to the book and later movie
“Lone Survivor,” and because he is one of
the many war heroes that CrossFit gyms
across the country pay tribute to in a small
way. The workout, which was Lt. Murphy’s
favorite, is a grueling one-mile run, 100 pull-
ups, 200 push-ups, 300 squats and another
one-mile run — all while wearing a 20-pound


weight-vest.

Every Memorial Day, CrossFit gyms across

the country perform the “Murph” to celebrate
this war hero. The workout is a symbol of our
appreciation for what he and others have
done for our country. Some boxes — CrossFit
gyms — even do Hero Week and perform a
different workout dedicated to a fallen soldier
for seven days in a row. Some boxes perform
“Murph” six months after Memorial Day on
Thanksgiving morning.

There is a mutual understanding, while we

sweat through workouts like “Murph,” that
what we are doing is not for us. What we are
doing is the smallest token of appreciation for
fallen heroes like Lt. Murphy, for those who are
on active or inactive duty, for the individuals
suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder
and for the families and friends of all of those
who have served our country. I am proud to
be part of the CrossFit community for reasons
like these.

This Thanksgiving morning, while I

remain at school in Michigan, I know my
brother and sister will be getting out of bed
in Vermont and making their way to CrossFit
Burlington to line up once more to complete
the “Murph” workout. It will probably be
snowing, just like it was last Thanksgiving.
Even so, Ali, Tommy and the other members
of the CrossFit Burlington community will
not care, because as soon as they hear “three,
two, one, go!” the snow will be the last thing
on their minds.

— Grace Carey can be reached

at gecarey@umich.edu.

LAUREN SCHANDEVEL | VIEWPOINT

The “Murph”

Dear Governor Snyder

D

ear Gov. Snyder,

I campaigned for you

in 2014 because I thought

that your prag-
matic, common-
sense leadership
was taking the
state in the right
direction.
You

balanced
our

budget,
grew

our
economy

and
did
your

best to elevate
the
governor’s

office above the
political fray. I
believed that you
were the kind of leader who made
rational, tough choices, politics
be damned — the kind of governor
Michigan needed.

I still think you’re that kind of

leader. But your decision to request
the president to “pause” before
admitting additional refugees into
the state and country on the heels
of the Paris terrorist attacks didn’t
reflect the sound, judicious decision-
making that I’ve come to expect
from your choices.

You defended your decision as

apolitical, sensible and in the best
interest of Michigan’s security. But,
given the widely publicized xeno-
phobic fearmongering by some
high-profile Republican presidential
candidates this fall, I find it hard to
believe that your decision was based
solely on a desire to protect Michi-
ganders.

There isn’t any substantial evi-

dence — let alone definitive proof
— that any of the attackers entered
Europe through a refugee pro-
gram. Most of the terrorists were
born in Europe. Two possibly
entered Europe by way of Greece,
but it’s believed that they snuck
in through Greece’s borders — not
through a refugee program com-
plete with the strict background
checks that characterize the Unit-
ed States’ asylum process.

Even if the Paris attackers had

been granted formal entry to Europe
through a refugee program, it still
wouldn’t have justified a reduction

in the United States’ refugee admit-
tance. There are simply too many
substantive differences in both the
number of refugees entering and
the differences in ability to impose
stricter background check require-
ments between Europe and the
United States.

Between January and August

of this year, an estimated 350,000
refugees immigrated to Europe,
often through southern European
nations already suffering from
economic and political instabil-
ity. The huge numbers of refugees
at European borders on any given
day have overwhelmed the Euro-
pean Union’s efforts to screen
each individual. Once inside the
EU, they can travel between coun-
tries without facing border checks
or additional screening.

Geographically removed from the

crisis in the Middle East, the United
States doesn’t face these same pres-
sures, and consequently, the United
States admits far fewer refugees.
The United States plans to accom-
modate 10,000 Syrian refugees next
year. Just 200 Syrian refugees have
resettled in Michigan this year.
That’s a far cry from the 800,000
refugees Germany alone expects
to cross its borders this year. And
unlike in Europe, where mass cross-
border flows of people make exten-
sive background checks difficult,
the United States subjects each refu-
gee to a rigorous review process and
background check that lasts 12 to 18
months on average.

You were right to call on the

Obama administration to take mea-
sures to prevent ISIS from attack-
ing the United States. Given ISIS’
repeated threats against the West,
an attempted attack on United
States soil doesn’t seem to be a ques-
tion of if, but rather, when.

But focusing on refugees ignores

the real vulnerabilities in United
States border security, and reflects
a basic misunderstanding of where
ISIS’ true strength lies. ISIS has
proven itself adept in using uncon-
ventional communication channels
to connect with people overseas.

This is crucial to their overall

strategy, allowing them to turn nat-
uralized Europeans and Americans
into ISIS fighters. Most of the Paris
attackers were Europeans. Moham-
med Emwazi, a British ISIS opera-
tive, killed at least seven Western
hostages in Syria. Of the 68 people
arrested in the United States for
supporting ISIS activity thus far, 55
are American citizens and 43 were
born in the United States. None
were Syrian.

However, the fact that European

and American ISIS operatives pose
a statistically larger threat to the
United States doesn’t preclude a
threat from any other group, includ-
ing refugees. The United States
should maintain its high standards
for background checks into refu-
gees’ personal and family history.
But with some of the strictest stan-
dards in the world, it’s hard to envi-
sion a scenario where this purely
hypothetical threat justifies barring
some of the world’s most vulnerable
people from seeking refuge in the
United States.

You were the first governor to

attempt to bar refugee resettle-
ment. In doing so, you ignited a
political firestorm. Half of United
States governors have now refused
to allow Syrian refugees to resettle
in their states.

You told National Public Radio

that you thought your position
on refugee resettlement was “a
thoughtful, common-sense one.”
But if common sense tells us any-
thing, it’s that we should update our
positions when it becomes clear they
are misguided.

You have the opportunity to show

the country that you are still the
same considerate, principled and
objective leader you demonstrated
yourself to be in the past. Leverag-
ing the new details that evidence
refugees did not carry out the Paris
attacks, you should rise above the
fear that has clouded our country’s
judgment. Reverse your decision to
try to bar Middle Eastern refugees
from resettling in Michigan.

— Victoria Noble can be

reached at vjnoble@umich.edu.

VICTORIA
NOBLE

GRACE
CAREY

#CHADTOUGH