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 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 — Monday, February 15, 2016 T he tangerine sun shone bright that evening, as beads of sweat streamed down my back. It was week two of our Global Ini- tiative trip here in India, and the only thing left for this rather torrid day was a cultural visit to a Hindu Temple — Kapaleesh- warar Temple, in Mylapore. I’ll be frank: In this group of eager, curious people, I did not share that particular sen- timent. I was not a follower; I had been to enough temples in my life. My back had a growing dull pain, and I just wanted to lie down. Alas, it wasn’t up to me, so into the temple I went. I entered through the large Dravidian-style gate — a gopuram in the Tamil tongue — and I did my trained bow of respect. As I stood there, staring into famil- iar, unblinking eyes, I felt an urge concerning something I thought I had misplaced and lost a long while back. The sun grew warmer, the noise denser and all I wanted to do was pray. Every childhood morning, I woke up to the sounds of my father praying and the scent of incense sticks that oddly always smelled slightly differently than they had the previous day. I’d end the day silently reciting chants, completely unaware of the Vedic phrases I was speaking, simply aware that I felt better saying them. My parents took me and my younger brother to many temples, often against our admittedly childish wills. This was one of those instances where I did not take kindly to parents’ blatant veto power over their chil- dren. True, most temples were the awe-inspiring, chaotic sanctuaries for the tired and the devout, but I wasn’t that kind of tired and I cer- tainly wasn’t devout. But I went because I was told, and I believed because I was told. Before long, the nightly recita- tions stopped. Schoolwork became increasingly difficult; I had to think about college and what I should and wanted to study. More impor- tant things started coming up and I didn’t have the enough hours or mental stamina to consider reli- gion. The sanctuary had gotten a little too chaotic. Losing this part of my routine wasn’t intentional or rebellious, but rather more unspec- tacular. As I got exposed to differ- ent personal hypotheses and was in my journey to find what was worth holding onto, faith seemed a tad too weighty. It was one of my extrinsic properties that didn’t make the cut. This is what makes that humid, humid evening in Chennai feel so dissonant. That urge seemed so unreal, so much so that I had no semblance of an idea of how to deal with it. Could it have been guilt? I don’t think so. I didn’t feel an intense constraint because of my religion. Yes, my parents might have forced me to participate, but never to think like them. I think they did this because it was our heritage — it was tradition. They did it because their parents did it and because they always did it and because they chose to do it. Moreover, I think that they wanted their eldest to at least be aware of this culture, that they believed it was an utter shame to have a child grow up and be unappreciative and unknowing of a tradition larger and more wondrous than any one of us could imagine. But truthfully, I think the rea- son I encountered that urge to pray was dependent on that par- ticular situation. It was a hectic few weeks, there were no familiar faces around, I was getting no sleep and my body ached all the time. In this sea of vulnerability, prayer seemed like a solace. It was safe and famil- iar, like nothing bad would ever happen to me here. I remember holding out my strained arm so that I could touch the ceremonial fire that was being passed around. I felt a warmth that I had long forgotten, a warmth of rare reassurance. A feeling that I was all right and that everything was going to be OK. So did I rediscover God? No, I don’t think I ever really believed in the first place. Fine, then did I find God? Not really. I still don’t believe religion is my personal calling. But I think, at the time, I needed help, and prayer was the answer. So now would I at least pray every night? Probably not, but I’m not going to outright deny it as a possibility. Perhaps of more overall importance, is the fact that I believe I found myself, or at least a part I had buried. I found the little, chubby boy who had once prayed before bed. It was a singu- lar moment of a vague, yet resolute sense of being connected to the person I once was. Thus, in a final consideration, does this mean something? The answer is what it was always going to be: not necessarily. I doubt I will now live a life dedicated to serving or searching for something higher and unseen. As it happens, this was not some life-altering moment of significance. I did not find some shiny, new personal truth, rather, I was simply reminded of an old one. And, sometimes, that’s just what we need. —Bharat Nair can be reached at bnair@umich.edu. Holy magnetism Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Caitlin Heenan, Jeremy Kaplan, Ben Keller, Minsoo Kim, Payton Luokkala, Kit Maher, Madeline Nowicki, Anna Polumbo-Levy, Jason Rowland, Lauren Schandevel, Melissa Scholke, Kevin Sweitzer, Rebecca Tarnopol, Ashley Tjhung, Stephanie Trierweiler, Hunter Zhao EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS P olitical tensions were high on June 28, 2012. All eyes were fixed on the Supreme Court, where the constitu- tionality of Obamacare and its individual man- date would be decided by the nine most influen- tial judicial minds in the country. The cornerstone of the president’s legacy, the historical legacy of the Court and the health care of millions of Americans were on the line. It was at this moment that Justice Scalia saw an opportunity to work the audience, ask- ing one of the attorneys, “What happened to the Eighth Amendment? You really want us to go through these 2,700 pages?” implying that to read the entire law would be cruel and unusual punishment. This humor and levity will be sorely missed with the passing of the Supreme Court’s conservative anchor. The vacancy left by the 79-year-old jurist Saturday morning has thrown the political world into chaos; President Obama has prom- ised to nominate a replacement, while Mitch McConnell and the GOP-controlled Senate plan to block any confirmation before the next administration. Meanwhile, three cur- rent presidential candidates sit in the Senate and will cast a vote on a nominee who would otherwise be theirs. Political pundits and journalists are calling Scalia’s death a monu- mental loss for conservatives, and liberals will inevitably see this as an opportunity to push the Supreme Court left- ward. As a liberal, how- ever, I would like to take this opportunity to mourn the loss of a brilliant legal mind and his unique brand of conservatism. It may be difficult for liberals, who have long painted Scalia as the judi- cial equivalent of Archie Bunker, to reconcile their beliefs with his textualism. But this is a lazy oversimplifi- cation of one of the most brilliant lawyers of the 21st century. Though rare, Scalia had his liberal moments over the course of three decades on the bench. In Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, he railed against the Bush administration’s suspension of habeas corpus and its treat- ment of prisoners in Guantanamo Bay. He consistently sided with the liberal justices in cases involving law enforcement and the pro- tections of the Fourth Amendment. Perhaps most importantly, he cast the deciding vote in Texas v. Johnson, invalidating a law against flag burning and upholding a patently liberal interpretation of the right to free speech. Though a hero to the political right, Sca- lia exemplified professionalism and a refined political discourse, separating a person from their beliefs. By liberal and conservative col- leagues alike, he was affectionately referred to as “Nino,” and known as much for his love of opera as for his infectious laugh. Perhaps most famous was his long friendship with ideological opposite Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who once said of Scalia, “I disagreed with most of what he said, but I loved the way he said it.” His response: “What’s not to like — except her views on the law.” Beyond the camaraderie and respect he showed for his intellectual adversaries, Scalia presented a compelling view of what a judge should be. “We don’t sit here to make the law, to decide who ought to win. We decide who wins under the law that the people have adopted. And very often, if you’re a good judge, you don’t really like the result you’re reaching.” In his opinions, he quoted Sesame Street and Shakespeare. He called an argu- ment “pure applesauce” and responded to a reporter with a Sicilian gesture synonymous with profanity. There may never be a justice as colorful as Antonin Scalia. Even if one cannot appreciate the person- ality and flair he added to the high court, liberals should commemorate the ways in which Scalia’s conservatism helped refine their beliefs. Where would the concept of a “living” Constitution be if it had not been crafted in response to the emergence of originalist jurisprudence? And that’s what needs to be appreciated about Justice Scalia. In stark contrast with the fear-mongering brand of conservatism that runs rampant today, full of platitudes about American values and radicalism, Sca- lia based his philosophy on the Constitution. He based it in irrefutable text and extensive research into what the Founding Fathers were thinking when they put pen to paper. Disagreeing with “conservatives” like Donald Trump and Ted Cruz is easy. Drum- ming up an argument against a wall on the Mexican border, anti-Muslim rhetoric, ostentatious foreign policy or disparag- ing women is easy. What is infinitely harder is to read Scalia’s defense of Second Amendment rights in District of Columbia v. Heller and figure out why you dis- agree with it. To piece apart his dissents on Obamacare and same-sex marriage is to investigate what it means to be a lib- eral and how the Consti- tution not only factors in, but also dictates the rhetoric of the American left. I believe in a “living” Constitution. I look at the vast majority of Scalia’s career and my brow furrows in disagreement as his bril- liant prose takes aim at my core beliefs — from affirmative action to a woman’s right to choose and everything in between. Nine times out of 10, I will disagree. But 10 times out of 10, I will be challenged and will walk away a better liberal for the experience. In this hyper-politicized climate, Antonin Scalia’s passing will be framed in terms of winners and losers. Will Obama be the first president since Reagan to succeed in nam- ing three Supreme Court justices? Which candidates will get a bump in the polls as a result of their support or opposition dur- ing the nominating process? Can the Sen- ate GOP hold out for 11 months? Ultimately, though, there are no winners. Conserva- tives lost their champion, and liberals lost the man who represented reasonable oppo- sition and, maybe more than anyone else, helped define the constitutional debates of the past 30 years. —Brett Graham can be reached at btgraham@umich.edu. Liberals, mourn Scalia O bjectivity is in many ways a myth — but this isn’t a novel thought. I think we all accept that no one can be truly objective in how they view a situa- tion. But our lack of objec- tivity goes even deeper since worldview is continually influenced by environment. Peer pres- sure is one of the most powerful of environmental pressures — so powerful, in fact, that it can liter- ally change what we see. Solomon Asch famously put subjects in a room with a number of confeder- ates who, as a group, were asked to compare the length of two differ- ent-sized lines. The confederates claimed that the two lines were of equal length despite being obvi- ously different. In many cases, the subjects gave in and agreed that the two lines were of the same length. Peer pressure is not the only environmental factor which prevents objectivity but it is a potent example. Historically, our belief in objec- tivity has been used to manipulate the public. Because the sciences drape themselves in objectivity, we place a lot of trust in scien- tists. These researchers can have a profit incentive that leads them to abuse this trust. One classic example of this is the implementa- tion of the electric chair. The state of New York was trying to find the best way to execute criminals via the electric chair, and Thomas Edison famously advocated for inmates to be electrocuted by way of the alternating current. Why? Edison was trying to expand the reach of direct current technol- ogy and thought that an electric chair powered by the alternating current would scare the public away from his competitor (despite its not being any more dangerous than direct current electricity). Here, we see that our belief in objectivity can be turned against us and prevent us from realizing an objective truth. This lack of objectivity goes fur- ther; it permeates deep into our very language. Scientific terms are often viewed as monolithic and all-encompassing. This is not the case. Consider the commonly given definition of the word “species”: an organism that can breed and whose offspring can have kids. But there are significant exceptions to this definition. That isn’t to throw this definition out the window, but to complicate it and recognize how even with science, a unified truth doesn’t exist. This definitional diversity extends beyond the hard science to every aspect of our lives. If you were to ask 30 people about the definition of capitalism, you would get 30 different responses. Each one will emphasize different aspects of capitalism: its capacity to create growth or inequality; its focus on markets and deregula- tion, etc. While everyone has the same approximate definition, the specifics will always be muddled. To borrow from Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart: I shall not attempt define capitalism, but “I know it when I see it.” Each individual’s definition comes from their own political location. Even if we were to turn to a dictionary, capitalism’s meaning would still be elusive. Merriam- Webster has a distinct geopolitical location: it’s made in the United States, a liberal, western, demo- cratic, capitalist country. If we were to compare that definition to one which originated from the U.S.S.R., Iran or Norway, there would be a bevy of differences. This isn’t to elevate one over the other, but to recognize the validity and multiplicity of perspectives; a singular objective truth is nearly impossible to find. The lesson here is one of skep- ticism. We should recognize that nearly everything is bent by our human perceptions, society or out- side interests, and thus not truly objective. Whenever we encounter a new idea, we should approach it with a modicum of disbelief: Who is making the claim and how did they come to their conclusion? By synthesizing this skepticism with the claims we face every day and our own beliefs, we can come closer to creating a comprehensive perspective. —Roland Davidson can be reached at mhenryda@umich.edu. Subjective objectivity ROLAND DAVIDSON BRETT GRAHAM BHARAT NAIR “Liberals should commemorate the ways in which Scalia’s conservatism helped refine their beliefs.” “We should recognize that nearly everything is bent by our human perceptions.” “I believe I had found myself, or at least a part that I had buried.” —Justice Antonin Scalia, who died Saturday, to CBS News in 2008. “ NOTABLE QUOTABLE I love to argue. I’ve always loved to argue. And I love to point out the weaknesses of the opposing arguments. It may well be that I’m something of a shin-kicker. It may well be that I’m something of a contrarian.” CONTRIBUTE TO THE CONVERSATION Readers are encouraged to submit letters to the editor and op-eds. Letters should be fewer than 300 words while op-eds should be 550 to 850 words. Send the writer’s full name and University affiliation to tothedaily@michigandaily.com.