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
4A — Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Found in the eyes 

The burden of a broken record

W

ayne was 55 years old 
and had lived in Ann 
Arbor all of his life, 

he 
repeatedly 

told me and my 
two 
friends. 

His 
mother 

used to work at 
the 
Michigan 

Union. He did 
not have a job 
right this second, 
but 
he 
was 

going to do that 
tomorrow, bright 
and 
early. 
He 

promised. “I am 
a good Christian man,” he said as 
if persuading someone, though I’m 
not sure whether that someone was 
us or him. 

It was a Friday night. I had 

attended a poetry event with a 
few friends, and the words had 
electrically charged me, as words 
tend to do. After the reading, I 
asked the two of my friends who had 
stayed until the end if they wanted 
to take a walk; I needed the night air 
to calm myself down, I explained. 
We had meandered toward Main 
Street, walked the straight line 
and looped back toward campus. 
Across from the Ann Arbor District 
Library, he stopped the three of us.

My name is Wayne, he told us 

again. (I know this is repetitive, but 
I’m only telling you what happened.) 
55. Ann Arbor forever. Mom. Union. 
Good. Christian. Man.

I never understand why people 

state their religion after their 
character. I always thought a 
person’s nature to be mutually 
exclusive of their religion.

God Almighty, was he ever happy 

to see the three of us, because we 
were his angels. He had just come 
from the Union, he said, where 
another angel had bought him a 
toothbrush, toothpaste and other 
hygienic products. He took them 
out to show us, in case we were in 
disbelief, then safely zipped them 
back into his black bag.

I don’t have a job right this 

second, but I will get one. I am a good 
Christian man.

Did he think he would get a job 

because he was good? Or because 
he was Christian? I craved more 
discrepancy between the two, but 
one does not tell their cravings to a 
starving man.

Tonight I am staying there, he 

pointed at about 60 degrees, his 
finger projecting straight out into 
the sky. Please do not be pointing 
to Heaven, Wayne, I thought to 
myself. That high rise there, I sent 
out a silent prayer to whatever it is I 

believe in nowadays, all I need is 20 
dollars from you kind folks. Though 
my initial assumption may have 
been dramatic and I still did not 
know to where he was referring, 
I was grateful he wasn’t referring 
 

to death. 

“I’m sorry,” I heard one of my 

friends say. The other muttered the 
same. I looked down at my feet.

No listen! Wayne demanded, not 

harshly but fervently, I only need 20. 
It’s going to get cold soon, see. I am 
a good Christian man. (Did he mean 
to say that, being a Christian man, 
he was more or less likely to survive 
the cold?)

I wanted to tell Wayne all the 

reasons why I couldn’t help him. 
All I had on my person were my 
M-card, room key and the paper 
ticket from the free event we had 
attended earlier.

Wayne had all avenues covered: 

There is an ATM down the street. 
Wayne can wait here.

Payton does not have an ATM 

card, I wanted to say. Payton is not 
even a real adult. In typical fashion, 
I neglected to say 
anything. 
Wayne 

seemed panicked.

“Listen, 
Wayne 

…” one of my friends 
gently 
attempted 

to 
comfort 
him 

but also end the 
conversation, 
“I 

can’t give you any 
more money (she 
had found a few coins in her jacket 
pocket), but I can give you a hug.”

He absorbed the hug before she 

could take it back. There my friend 
was, hugging a stranger. It was 
a moment I had many words to 
describe — compassionate, brave, 
fragmentary, boundless — but not 
the right one. As I struggled to 
find any all-encompassing word, 
foreign arms stretched around me 
and instantly I tensed. My thoughts 
breathed heavily, trying to compose 
themselves as Wayne let go of 
me to hug my other friend. I’m 
apprehensive about hugging those I 
know; letting this man hug me felt 
like he had snuck into my heart.

After one freely given and two 

stolen embraces, Wayne took a step 
back. Just $20? His glance swept 
across each of ours; his eyes landed 
on mine and shook me. She believes 
me, doesn’t she?

I wished I could hide behind 
 

the moon.

She has the Holy Ghost in her eyes. 

I wondered if he was talking to God.

After a few brimming moments, 

a car pulled up next to where we 
stood. “Did anyone call for a ride?” 

A woman appeared from the fog or 
bush or nowhere (I really should be 
more observant) and jumped into 
the car.

Taking this as our moment to 

leave, I started to turn. “Good luck, 
Wayne,” a voice that wasn’t my 
own wished. The three of us stiffly 
staggered across the cement in 
silence. A friend cracked it, asking, 
“How is everyone?”

“A little broken,” I replied.
When finally I arrived home that 

night, I went straight to my mirror. 
As vain as it sounds, I needed to 
look at my eyes. What did he see? 
If he was making it up, was it based 
on anything? If he lied, was there 
anything in my eyes he missed? I’m 
not sure how to define whether the 
Holy Ghost is in someone’s eyes. 
I don’t think it’s based upon one’s 
religion, but why do people then hold 
it against themselves like a passport? 
Like it entitles or denies the entrance 
of my compassion?

I believed Wayne when he told us 

he was a good man, neither because 
of his religion nor despite it. What 

that faith was based 
upon, I’m unsure. It 
was partly because 
I am naïve, but 
there 
must 
be 

another 
reason, 

too. Judgment, I do 
know, shouldn’t be 
passed because of 
a title or category. 
Nor do I believe 

that good character can always be 
found in the eyes.

I stepped back from the mirror. 

The next morning, I awoke heavy 
from sleep and last night’s emotions. 
I was pacing around the room to 
reacquaint my body with the day 
when my roommate came in.

“How 
are 
you?” 
she 
asked 

energetically.

“Weird,” I responded.
It was all I felt that I could 

immediately give, so I turned the 
conversation to her.

“How was work?”
“Fairly uneventful, but there was 

this homeless man.”

My roommate works at the Union 

late at night. She talked further 
about “T” whose mother had 
worked at the Union. “T” a 55-year-
old man, an Ann Arbor man all his 
life, a Christian man. “T” who had 
showed her his new toothbrush, but 
also had shown her his sufficiently 
filled wallet.

She said he had told her he saw 

the Holy Ghost in her eyes.

— Payton Luokkala can be 

reached at payluokk@umich.edu.

S

ometimes I feel like a broken record.

Here I am yet again, tapping at my 

keyboard, writing another article about 

Islamophobia, trying to decide whether I think 
the world is getting better 
or worse.

Sometimes I feel like a 

broken record, but I keep 
writing because every time 
I meet people with new 
perspectives I see things 
through a different lens.

Last month, Gov. Rick 

Snyder issued a statement 
saying 
Michigan 
would 

temporarily stop accepting 
Syrian 
refugees 
in 
the 

aftermath of the attacks 
on Paris. Reading this, I 
looked up from the screen of my computer at 
my roommate — a Syrian refugee who came to 
Michigan almost two years ago. I met her last 
year when looking for someone to room with.

It didn’t take long for us 

to become family, and now I 
can’t imagine my life without 
her. The first thing I noticed 
about her was her hospitality. 
The day we moved in together, 
she was making herself lunch 
and she offered to make some 
for me as well, without even 
giving it a second thought. Her 
parents, though they speak 
only a few words of English, welcomed me as a 
part of their family. They take me out with them 
when they visit. Her mother worries about me 
the way my mother would, and asks to make 
sure I’m eating enough fruit. Her father spoils 
me the way my father does and gets me gifts 
when he goes out of town.

My response to Snyder and the 30 other 

governors who opposed allowing Syrian 
refugees into their states? As leaders of 
communities, you are acting in fear of people 
who are active and productive members of 
our society. To pause the acceptance of Syrian 
refugees sends an abhorrent message to not 
only our community, but also to those who are 
desperate for our help. This kind of reaction 
will not lead to the safety of the community, but 
will instead lead to a rise in Islamophobia.

Sometimes I feel like a broken record, but it 

feels like the world is just one big video game. We 
cannot get to the next level if we keep doing the 

same things.

After Snyder’s statement, I was happy to 

see people from different backgrounds aware 
and engaged in the conversation about it. I 
walked into one of my classes the day after to 
find some of my classmates, who were neither 
Middle Eastern nor Muslim, expressing 
frustration over Snyder’s decision. I saw The 
Michigan Daily editorial board as well as 
several columnists and students, both Muslim 
and non-Muslim, write articles condemning 
Snyder’s remarks. 

The killing of innocent people in Paris 

by ISIS, though horrific, was one of many 
tragedies that occurred that week. The ISIS 
attacks in Lebanon were less visible in the 
media and received less public empathy, 
though they happened one day before the 
Paris attacks. I had a friend tell me about how 
she couldn’t imagine how French students 
must have felt when they saw the news and 
didn’t know whether any of the victims were 
family. I have Lebanese friends who went 

through that same horror 
when attacks occurred in 
their hometowns.

Regardless of the Middle 

East’s 
reputation 
as 
an 

unstable 
region, 
human 

beings are suffering there. 
And people have a right to a 
secure life regardless of where 
they are. It’s disappointing to 
see friends and acquaintances 

who never talk about other countries suffering 
immediately stand behind the “Pray for Paris” 
movement. ISIS is an enemy to all innocent 
people, Muslim or non-Muslim. To all those 
people who changed their Instagram and 
Facebook profile pictures to “Pray for Paris,” 
what makes Parisians’ right to a secure life 
greater than the right of people in other regions 
in the world?

To clarify, I condemn the killing of innocent 

people in any region in any country in any part 
of the world. Oppression is not a competition. I 
pray for Paris and Lebanon and Syria and Iraq.

Blood is red no matter the color of a 

person’s skin, and the spilling of it should 
hold equal weight.

Sometimes I feel like a broken record, but I am 

trying my hardest to break the cycle.

— Rabab Jafri can be reached 

at rfjafri@umich.edu.

PAYTON

LUOKKALA

RABAB 

JAFRI

The hazards of walking
E

very night, I walk through Ann 
Arbor and am struck by its beauty 
as a quintessential American college 

town. I hear the bell 
tower strike the hour as 
a runner sprints by; life 
seems to almost escape 
time and care. I watch 
friends exchange laughs 
at Espresso Royale over 
coffee and laptops. I notice 
the vitality surrounding 
me as I walk on with my 
headphones on, both a part 
of the movement around 
and apart from it.

Whenever I leave the 

Diag, my gait slows down around the Museum 
of Art. The red sculpture of an undefinable 
shape towers over me, a foreboding giant 
guarding the street. Lights of advancing 
vehicles blind me, thundering past oblivious 
students texting on their iPhones. The white 
stripes of the marked crosswalk before the 
Michigan Union glare at me, vulnerable to 
oncoming traffic. Students 
rush out, weaving between 
cars that brake just in time.

Every time, I take out my 

headphones before I check 
traffic and hasten across the 
street, watching aggressive 
cars at every step. It always 
crosses my mind that it’s 
incredibly dangerous that this 
crosswalk doesn’t have a panel 
to alert pedestrians of when it is safe to cross. I 
often am momentarily hit by the fear that a car 
playing reverberating music will strike me as I 
walk, severing me from the energy all around.

Though some might say this is an irrational 

fear, it is not ungrounded from reality. When 
I was a freshman, a driver in a Camry came 
within a foot of hitting me as I crossed this 
intersection at dusk. I felt a gust of wind push 
me as she hurled onwards. This experience 

isn’t exclusive to me. I have seen multiple 
students have close encounters with cars at 
this intersection, including someone who was 
on crutches.

Furthermore, masses of students cross 

this intersection on State Street every day, 
maneuvering between the buildings on Central 
Campus and elsewhere. State Street is one of 
the busiest roads in Ann Arbor, but this area 
is only protected by the white lines labeling 
a crosswalk. Though pedestrian safety isn’t a 
frequently discussed or sexy topic, it certainly 
is one that plays a significant role in our daily 
lives in a city as walkable as Ann Arbor.

It has become clear in recent months that 

Ann Arbor does have a particular problem 
with pedestrian safety. An August 2015 study 
conducted by the city’s Pedestrian Safety and 
Access Task Force found that pedestrians are 
at risk for injury in Ann Arbor. Since 2011, 
there have been 58 crashes per year involving 
pedestrians and vehicles. Eight individuals 
have died after being hit by cars between 2005 
to 2014 in Ann Arbor.

In October, the city of Ann Arbor adopted 

many 
of 
the 
resolutions 

suggested by the Pedestrian 
Safety and Access Task Force 
in their August 2015 study. 
One of the resolutions involves 
improving pedestrian access 
design, and I hope that the 
Ann 
Arbor 
City 
Council 

strongly 
considers 
adding 

a signalized panel at this 
popular crosswalk on State 

Street. I also hope that sufficient pedestrian 
safety measures can be extended to the 
popular crosswalk across from the College of 
Engineering on North Campus.

Walking in Ann Arbor is a privilege we 

all share, but it’s time that crosswalk safety 
improves in visible ways across the city.

— Ashley Austin can be reached 

at agracea@umich.edu.

It’s time crosswalk 
safety improves in 

visible ways 

across the city.

Blood is red no 

matter the color of a 
person’s skin, and the 

spilling of it should 
hold equal weight. 

I wished I could 

hide behind 
the moon. 

ASHLEY

AUSTIN
E-mail GabriElla at GabsmEy@umich.Edu
GABRIELLA MEYER

 

— Brian Walsh, a Republican operative in Washington, D.C., said in a New York Times article regarding the 

ramifications of Donald Trump capturing the Republican nomination for President.
“

NOTABLE QUOTABLE

If we nominate a bad presidential 
candidate like Trump, senators like 

Portman or Kelly Ayotte aren’t going to be 

able to outrun Hillary by that much. 

And there goes the Senate.”

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