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