Opinion
SHOHAM GEVA
EDITOR IN CHIEF
CLAIRE BRYAN
AND REGAN DETWILER
EDITORIAL PAGE EDITORS
LAURA SCHINAGLE
MANAGING EDITOR
420 Maynard St.
Ann Arbor, MI 48109
tothedaily@michigandaily.com
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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 — Friday, February 5, 2016
I press my hands against the car
window, watching the fog appear
and recede along the outlines of my
fingers.
I’m thinking — overthinking — as I
often do. My dad glances at me.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
He always says that. I smile. I
give the usual response: school,
my future.
It is important to note here my
dad is deaf, profoundly deaf. He
proceeds to give me the usual lec-
ture of how difficult it was for him
to get through school, telling me
that if he could get by in a world
that was not made for him, and still
isn’t, I would be just fine.
He grabs my hand, like he always
does. I look back out the window and
begin to wonder.
I often wonder what my life
would be like if two things had not
happened: the death of my aunt to
suicide, and growing up in a deaf
household. These two things have
shaped the lenses through which I
see the world, and my life as it is now
at the University of Michigan.
What it has also informed me of
are the things that must change on
this campus.
If I look back two years ago to my
freshman year, I find myself failing
to understand what depression, and
what mental illness as a whole, is. I
see myself entering Michigan from a
highly competitive high school, plac-
ing on myself enormous pressure to
keep my grades consistent.
If I look closer, despite bouts of
anxiety, mental health was never
something talked about in the
classroom. Even recognizing my
own mental health seemed wrong
— when there is no encourage-
ment, no sustained conversation,
no mention — naturally, these
things become foreign, almost
unwanted.
To me, my anxiety and almost
sub-human work ethic had left me
believing that these things were
necessary in order for me to make
it. My model of what success was in
this context was informed by two
people: my father, who had made
it against sharp odds to become
the first deaf dentist in Michigan,
and my aunt, a Harvard-educated,
self-made woman teaching con-
stitutional law. Thus, nothing had
changed my freshman year — in
fact, things had only gotten worse
in terms of my anxiety. But, I had
come out with the grades. Wasn’t
that all that mattered? I had then
left for a summer away from Michi-
gan that would change everything.
While my job as a camp counselor
for the summer was coming to a close,
I received the news of the death of my
aunt. A combination of rain and tears
fell as I stood in the mountains of
Pennsylvania, so too did my image of
what I thought my aunt was. Every-
thing that I had desired to be, and
the picture of what I thought success
was, shattered instantaneously. For
someone who I believed had it all to
be struggling with severe depression
was unthinkable.
As time continues to pass, the
questions still remain. And I know I
will never know the answers.
But what I did know was that men-
tal health was, up until that moment,
something I had never thought
about, and as I returned to Michigan
for a particularly hard year ahead,
mental health became the first thing
on my mind.
When I think of mental health,
two statistics surface. First, the fact
that one in three college students will
struggle with depression; second,
that one’s mental health is the prima-
ry indicator of how we do in college,
according to the American Psycho-
logical Association. These are statis-
tics that are not without mention due
to the fact that I have been on Hous-
ing Staff for two years. This opportu-
nity has afforded me the space to be
vulnerable, and to have real conver-
sations with students about mental
health in my role as an RA.
It is incorrect to say that most stu-
dents have been given the spaces I
have to facilitate these conversations;
it is also incorrect to say that the Uni-
versity, as an institution, promotes
conversations about mental health.
When one is expected to be among
the “leaders and best,” and we are
valued in a capitalist society for our
productivity, is it OK to not be on top
of it all, all of the time?
I carry this frustration with me
at Michigan, where there are some,
but not enough, efforts being taken
to create consistent and meaning-
ful conversations regarding mental
health as a whole.
If professors announced the first
day of class that our mental health
will be the number-one determi-
nant of our performance at this
University, how many of us would
be willing to take a look into our-
selves, or into the façade we have
created as a society, to question
why mental health isn’t acknowl-
edged as the crucial part of our col-
lege experience that it is? If we are
truly a campus grounded in reality,
we must ask why mental health is
not incorporated into our curricu-
lum? I argue that it should be — and
one crucial aspect is utilizing the
classroom as a space to implement
these conversations.
A student-led initiative that is
already taking on these and other
hard questions and searching for
tangible solutions is the UM Student
Forums on Campus Climate. These
student forums will be happen-
ing on two separate occasions this
week, and I challenge each student
to attend to shape what Michigan’s
campus can be.
It is not wrong, nor is it unnec-
essary, to recognize mental health
problems for what they are: a reality.
Among our countless conversations
around inclusivity, we must not for-
get to include something so vital —
yet so infrequently talked about — on
this campus. We must work to make
this campus one that recognizes the
real, lived-in experiences of all of
us. It is time for the façade of mental
health as something superfluous to
address to fall.
It is time, and it is long overdue,
that we make this campus a world of
our own.
The UM Student Forums on Cam-
pus Climate are student-led forums
that are aiming to address campus cli-
mate issues. This month’s forums will
focus on issues surrounding identity
and inclusivity in the classroom set-
ting. Attendees will be able to speak
openly with their peers about experi-
ences they have had in class that relate
to social issues and their impact on
classroom dynamics. From there, stu-
dents will be able to share their ideas
on and organize around how to make
their classes safer and more inclu-
sive spaces, specifically for those with
marginalized identities. Students are
welcome to attend one (or all) of the
forums. These events are completely
student-organized and will be facili-
tated by students as well. The events
will occur Friday, Feb. 5, 3 p.m. to 4
p.m. in Couzens Residence Hall, Room
1413; and Monday, Feb. 8, 7 p.m. to 8:30
p.m. at Pierpont Commons in the Bou-
levard Room.
—Nicole Khamis can be reached
at nlkhamis@umich.edu.
A world of one’s own
E-mail anniE at asturpin@umich.Edu
ANNIE TURPIN
Mental health isn’t
acknowledged as
the crucial part
of our college
experience that it is
Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Caitlin Heenan, Jeremy Kaplan, Ben Keller,
Minsoo Kim, Payton Luokkala, Aarica Marsh, Anna Polumbo-Levy,
Jason Rowland, Lauren Schandevel, Melissa Scholke, Rebecca Tarnopol,
Ashley Tjhung, Stephanie Trierweiler, Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe,
Hunter Zhao
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
L
aast Thursday night, I received a phone call
from my college roommate. She broke the news
that a friend of ours who had graduated from
Michigan with us had died while on a business
trip. At the ripe age of 27, Adam went to sleep
and never woke up. Upon hearing this, I was in
total shock. My entire body went numb. I was
completely speechless. How could this possi-
bly be true?
Only a month prior, I had seen Adam in
Chicago. We hadn’t spoken much in the last
few years, but shared close friends and kept in
touch through social media. For some reason,
I went out of my way to see him and catch up
on this trip. I was there during the week, so I
met him by his office for a quick coffee. Adam
was just as upbeat, kind and delightful as I
remembered him to be in college. He shared
his hopes and optimism for the future. He was
supportive of my own creative pursuits. He
had immense energy, the sunniest disposition
and the warmest heart. Now, I can’t help but
replay that conversation in my head, over and
over again. It’s as if our meeting was yesterday,
and I can’t seem to erase his words and face
from my mind.
After receiving the phone call, I reached
out to other close friends, sharing the terrible
news. All of us were stunned. How does this
happen to someone so young? How does this
happen to someone so great?
Later, three of us talked on the phone. No
one knew what to say or how to feel. Most of us
hadn’t spoken to Adam since college four and a
half years ago. One friend said Adam, or “Alo,”
as our friends called him in college, would
want us to celebrate his life; he wouldn’t want
us to be so heartbroken over his loss.
We began sharing stories and reliving funny
and ridiculous college memories Alo was a
part of. After all, we shared four years of frat
parties, football pregames and some hookups
with this or that person. Our cries mixed with
laughter as we remembered the joyful, ambi-
tious Adam we all knew and loved.
You see, Adam wasn’t your average guy.
With some 6,000 people in the class of 2011 at
the University of Michigan, Adam managed
to stand out. He was involved in more extra-
curricular activities than most of us. He was
an LSA representative, a campus tour guide
and even a Move-In Maker. He was presi-
dent of AEPi and started a tutoring program
called Letters to Success, in which Greek life
members tutored kids in Detroit. While all of
our futures were unclear, one thing was cer-
tain: Adam was bound for a bright, successful
adult life.
After college as an outsider looking in, it felt
like he was the king of Chicago. I, like many of
our peers, followed his post-grad life through
his well-crafted Instagrams of cappuccinos at
hip coffee shops and his well-written, thought-
provoking and insightful posts on his blog, A
Brewing Thought, as well as ones he shared on
Medium and The Huffington Post.
When I awoke the next morning, the harsh
reality that this special person was really gone
set in. I told myself it must be a joke and then
remembered that he’s really no longer here.
My eyes swelled up, my lips went numb and I
forced myself to hold back tears. Since hear-
ing the news, time feels like it’s moving slower
than a snail’s pace. Everything feels irrelevant.
Work, dating, side projects. None of it really
matters. Nothing seems to relieve this numb-
ness I feel.
Though I didn’t fly to Chicago for Adam’s
funeral, it doesn’t mean I won’t miss him. It
doesn’t mean the pain of his passing doesn’t
hurt like hell.
How do you grieve for someone who wasn’t
a huge part of your life? How do you make
sense of the loss?
Since hearing the news, our friends have
been sharing pictures with Adam from over
the years: pictures of him as an underclassman,
wearing maize and blue; later ones of him and
his friends traveling the world; recent images
of him as a young professional in his adult
life. Just a few weeks ago, he was snapped as
a groomsman in one college friend’s wedding.
In all of these photos, Adam has a huge grin on
his face. He was truly a bright light.
People I haven’t heard from since college
have reached out to ask what’s happened, to
express their condolences and sadness over
this terrible loss. In a way, Adam’s death has
brought many of us who live halfway across
the world from each other together again.
He’s forced some of us who haven’t talked in
years to take the time to get in touch. Oddly
enough, I haven’t felt so connected to the
Michigan community since I threw up my
cap at the Big House and bid Ann Arbor fare-
well four years ago.
We’ve also been sharing his blog posts,
like this one about the Boston Marathon
Bombing. In it, he said, “I suppose that the
nature of tragedy is such that you hope that
you’ll never truly become accustomed to
shock, desensitized to the emotion of pro-
found loss.” We are truly, deeply shocked
to have lost such a profound person. In the
coming months, I hope to help organize a
memorial for Adam, an opportunity for us
all to get together and relish in the fond
memories of this wonderful person.
Life is incredibly precious and short. In the
wake of Adam’s death, let us be reminded of a
few important things: We must be grateful for
those, like Adam, who have shaped our lives in
big ways, no matter the size of the friendship.
We should strive to be as kind, selfless and
hardworking as Alo. We should cherish the
Michigan community, despite different time
zones, zip codes and geographical distances.
And as his best friend, Sam, shared on Face-
book, we must remember “…to always hold the
ones you love a little closer than you think you
need to.”
Thank you for touching our lives in so many
ways, Adam. While you may no longer be here,
we will never, ever forget you.
As he once wrote, “We need to carry on,
through the darkness, without turning.”
Alo, thank you for reminding us to forever
go blue.
—Sara Radin is a 2011 University alum
Grieving and gratitude
R
ecently, in Cultural Anthro-
pology/Linguistics
272:
Language and Society, we
were assigned
a
chapter
of
Laura Ahearn’s
book,
“Living
Language:
An
Introduction
to
Linguistic
Anthropol-
ogy,”
which
discussed insti-
tutionalized
conformity
through
lan-
guage. It stuck
like gum on the bones of my rib-
cage. It won’t come off.
Ahearn discusses an article by
linguistic
anthropologist
Carol
Cohn, “Sex and Death in the Ratio-
nal World of Defense Intellectu-
als,” and describes how Cohn spent
a year living among nuclear strate-
gists. Ahearn notes that in this com-
munity, “(Cohn) was required to
learn a new way of speaking — lots
of acronyms for types of missiles,
for example, and many euphemisms
and abstractions for describing
nuclear war.” Like babies, Cohn
picked up on how, through speech,
she had become a competent mem-
ber of the group. She found this new
way of speaking seemed to rewire
her brain. For example, instead of
people, weapons were most com-
monly the subjects of her sentences.
Different languages and lan-
guage styles work in different
ways. The problem is not learning
something new, but what you leave
behind.
I read on: “Cohn reports that in
order to be taken seriously in this
social and intellectual environ-
ment, she had to learn how to speak
this ‘technostrategic’ discourse —
but as soon as she did, she found
herself at first unable to articulate
her anti-nuclear sentiments, and
then, frighteningly, unable even to
think about her anti-nuclear opin-
ions.”
Here at the University of Michi-
gan, while many of us are not going
to be in direct contact with nuclear
technology and therefore will not
learn that specific language, we all
change how we speak in order to
better fit the environment. When
one speaks to fit a specific environ-
ment, it is called “code-switching.”
However, when people change
their thoughts to fit into a different
language or style of speech, their
thoughts are limited as Cohn’s was
among the nuclear scientists. When
one feels forced to express oneself
in a way that may not even allow
their true thoughts, something
about that situation seems poten-
tially dangerous.
In high school, we learned there
was one specific way to write an
essay, an exact formula to get an
idea across effectively. There was
a recipe to any persuasive essay:
introduction, evidence, evidence,
evidence, counter-argument and
conclusion (make sure you restate
your thesis). College application
essays should be done a proper way:
Make sure you show who you are,
but not too much of who you are.
Make sure to use proper language,
language that makes you seem like
a fit candidate for academic life.
The University is no excep-
tion to the afflictions of society
— the homogenizing of language
undoubtedly limits the sharing of
ideas on our own campus. We all
begin thinking quite uniquely and
change to fit whatever society we
belong to — in our case, the Uni-
versity of Michigan — and so we
cannot tell where our current ideas
lack.
Together, the ideas of social sci-
entists Franz Boas, Edward Sapir
and Benjamin Lee Whorf have been
combined into a commonly known,
though not formally recognized,
hypothesis that states: Language,
thought and culture are a triad
of concepts. Language influences
culture and culture influences lan-
guage. Both culture and language
influence and are influenced by
thought.
Here at the University, in par-
ticular, smaller discussions or
seminar-oriented classes, I feel
as if I cannot speak how I speak,
but instead, I think over each of
my ideas, changing them to effec-
tively fit into an “academic-wor-
thy” style. I think in long, varied
strings, like two infinite roads
that fork in opposite directions.
Because of this, it takes me a while
to form a concrete thought, an idea
that will easily make sense to my
peers. It doesn’t translate, and so
I always miss my chance of being
relevant, and am left wondering
how what I had to say may have
changed the conversation. How do
we fix this learning environment
where only one type of conversa-
tion — one that is fixed, fast-mov-
ing and loud — can thrive?
I can see where some may think
this must be solved first by our
country’s entire education system
— that our educators need to teach
us how to fix this. While I agree
that this problem is bigger than
us, it is also bigger than education.
It is the cultural construct; our
culture and society expect us to
behave and learn and express our-
selves in a very specific way. And
so we do.
I am tired of being afraid that
my voice — slow, clumsy and with-
out an accent of academia — will
not be taken seriously (not to men-
tion that my participation grades
are paying a cost). The only sug-
gestion I can offer: Let’s just start
talking like ourselves. In time, my
English professor will understand.
Payton Luokkala can be reached
at payluokk@umich.edu
Classroom language limits
PAYTON
LUOKKALA
NICOLE KHAMIS | OP-ED
SARA RADIN | OP-ED