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
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4A — Monday, March 21, 2016
I
was 12 years old the first time I broke
my arm. The next school day, I walked
into class and all of my friends ran over
to sign my bright orange cast, ask how I was
doing and reassure me that they were there
should I need anything.
I was 13 years old when I was officially
diagnosed with an extreme case of anxiety
disorder. Nobody ran over to ask how
was I doing or to reassure me they were
there should I need anything. It was not
something people openly talked about.
I was 18 years old and in the middle of my
freshman year of college the second time I
broke my arm. I walked into my sociology
discussion the next day and several students
ran over to ask how I was doing and reassure
me they were there should I need anything.
Around that same time, my anxiety was
growing day by day and I couldn’t have been
more unhappy. I felt isolated, alone and sad.
Nobody was asking me how I was doing
or reassuring me they were there should I
need anything. It was not something people
openly talked about.
I was comfortable talking about any
visible pain I was feeling on the outside.
I was not comfortable talking about the
invisible pain I was feeling on the inside. I
felt ashamed, embarrassed and disgraced.
This stigma, the stigma toward mental
health, plays a negative role in my life and
in the lives of far too many college students
and others — even from a young age. Only
recently has the discussion of mental health
and wellness become something we talk
about openly.
As I have continued through college and
my work with mental health advocacy, as
an incoming Wolverine Support Network
director and Central Student Government
representative, has progressed and become
a passion, I am becoming more comfortable
telling my story, asking others theirs,
facilitating small group discussions, and
talking about internal pain. But sadly, I
am in the minority. Far too many students
experience isolation as part of and as a
result of their internal pain, having nobody
who will run over to offer a helping hand.
If we can create a campus community that
fosters acceptance and understanding of all
forms of illness and encourages students to
discuss issues that cover all aspects of the
mental health spectrum, then maybe — just
maybe — one fewer college student will
become a statistic. I believe that we need
to have open discussion and dialogue about
mental health through this aforementioned
mutual understanding.
Thanks to the Internet and social media
outlets, our generation, unlike any other
before us, has access to the world. We
have the platform and an audience at our
fingertips to speak with about issues that
formerly were not openly talked about.
Because of this advantage, we should make
it our mission to take the endless resources
available to us and work to shatter this
stigma. It is our duty to be the change, to
take a stand and to continue to write the
stories of those who are affected by mental
health disorders, because failure to do so
could be putting people’s lives on the line.
Let’s start treating mental health like
we treat a bright orange cast on the arm
of a 12-year-old. If not now, when? If not
us, who?
—Sierra Stone is a
Wolverine Support Network director and
Central Student Government representative.
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
G
overnments can create free markets.
This sounds counterintuitive, but
there was a time when the Republican
Party enacted legislation
and produced regulation
to protect free markets
from themselves. When
was this mythic time when
parties weren’t ruled by
dogma? The Progressive
Era
during
the
1900s
featured a coalescence of
parties wherein President
Roosevelt crafted laws that
prevented
corporations
from acting in predatory
ways.
These
then-new
statutes enhanced and protected free markets
rather than undermining them. Government
intervention is not necessarily the opposite of
free markets; rather, it can save free markets
from their auto-cannibalistic tendencies.
Contemporary
political
discourse
has
forgotten this lesson to ill effect; it would serve
us well to dismantle this false binary between
government intervention and free markets.
***
A Davidson Parable: Last Thanksgiving,
my brother and I gorged ourselves on
guacamole out of a Jeb! bowl (which was
in vogue at the time*). Our prodigious (or
horrifying) guac consumption eventually
attracted the attention of our cousin, Tim,
who came over and told us that we needed
a free market intervention so that he could
enjoy some. But is that what really needed to
happen? Or had my brother and I created a
monopoly that shackled the rest of the world
with its sheer force? If this was the case,
then antitrust laws would be appropriate.
To speak in platitudes, it’s a matter of
perspective. My cousin saw the issue as
one of sprawling, unchecked state control,
while from our vantage point, the problem
lay in our private consolidation of power.
One more platitude: Any system can become
oppressive when it expands beyond control.
***
One common claim within socialist and
anti-capitalist discourse is that capitalism
only cares about profit. This is part of a larger
attempt of these parties to claim a monopoly
on morality. The connotation of the word
“profit” is crucial here; it is a pecuniary,
material word. When socialists discuss
their belief system, they highlight abstract,
normative values such as equality rather
than anchor it to material good. However,
capitalism does have normative values —
growth, for instance. Promoting growth
and redistribution are equally moral goals.
Capitalists would do well by themselves
to remember that and use growth as a lens
when making policy decisions or within
more everyday political discussions.
There is a second narrative that claims
capitalism is antithetical to social welfare.
Capitalism has a focus on growth rather
than equality, which, at first glance, doesn’t
seem to align with the collective good.
However, the primary driver of this growth
is competition between businesses. Can this
competition create social good? The United
States’ private sector has been a leader in
medical advances for much of modern history.
Unlike other Organisation for Economic
Co-operation and Development nations that
have socialized medicine, we have given
individual businesses the higher position.
These companies have competed for greater
profit, which has continually advanced our
medical knowledge and saved lives.
This is not a blanket defense of our medical
system. The incentive structure of medical
research businesses has changed and now
there is a much greater focus on paying out to
shareholders than there is on groundbreaking
research. The fact that the United States has
more citizens uninsured than any other OECD
country is unacceptable. Martin Shkreli’s
— and by extension the pharmaceutical
industry’s — ability to raise the price of a life-
saving HIV drug 5,000 percent overnight
should not be tolerated.
All
things
considered,
the
broader
business model of acquiring copyrights
and patents but not developing them
in a meaningful way is one of our
system’s most egregious failings. By not
essentializing the government’s role in a
capitalist country as either regulating and
curtailing free markets or deregulating
and encouraging free markets, we can have
a more meaningful conversation about
how to restore competition and equality of
opportunity in America.
*Disclaimer: My family is neither bougie
enough nor ironic enough to own a $75 Jeb!
guacamole Bowl.
—Roland Davidson can be reached
at mhenryda@umich.edu.
Not a binary
T
his
past
week,
I
was
reminded of a powerful
concept. It is rooted in
this quote from
the film “V for
Vendetta”:
“We are told
to
remember
the idea, not the
man, because a
man can fail. He
can be caught,
he can be killed
and
forgotten,
but 400 years
later,
an
idea
can still
change
the
world.
I’ve
witnessed firsthand the power of
ideas. I’ve seen people kill in the
name of them, and die defending
them.”
In other words, the powerful
concept is the gravity of an idea.
Ideas have the capacity to create
and destroy, to bridge reality with
the imaginary, and will outlive
any one individual.
In political terms, our state can
simply be viewed as just that: an
idea. And, since it is an idea, the
state can morph into whatever
form we construct.
In the United States, the idea of
our state largely rests on a Dream.
You’ve heard it before. It goes
something like this: Get educated,
work hard, buy a home and a car
and live in harmony.
I recently met two people who
had fully adopted this mentality.
The first was a Mexican-born
American. He drove a city bus in
San Diego at night and worked a
second job during the day. When
we spoke, he derided many people
who took his bus. In his mind, they
did not seem to work hard or work
at all. They were given much and
took it all for granted. They “stunk
of weed” and mostly remained
vessels of untapped potential.
The second man had worked
as an IT manager. He complained
about
paying
for
Obamacare,
which he saw as something that
made him sacrifice his health care
for others’ (even after explaining
that he didn’t actually pay more
because his wife benefited from
the new health care plan). Still, he
did not want to pay for something
that
he
thought
in
no
way
benefited him. He did not want to
pay for other people’s health.
Neither of these individuals
believed that they owed anything
to the state because the state had
given them nothing. The state
stayed out of their way and, in
return, they were able to succeed
as they saw fit. Within this
ideological framework, it would
be an injustice for them to pay for
others — paying for something
that didn’t directly benefit them
was unfair. This is the American
Dream.
Take
nothing.
Earn
everything. Do it yourself.
Our Dream never quite made
sense to me. In truth, it has
appeared to be more like a myth.
Oftentimes, the term myth is
preferred to describe the United
States’ belief system since it masks
or excuses what would otherwise
be considered corruption, abuse or
institutional injustice.
From what I’ve learned, I
know a state to be “an imagined
community” of people with a
specific boundary and a united
goal.
I’d
like
to
emphasize
one word in particular in this
working definition: united. This
word implies we all are invested
in one another’s future. On a
large scale, it means the actions
of one person are not trivial or
inconsequential to the actions
you make. We are all connected.
Though the idea of statehood
is tied to a definition, it is still
an idea. In this vein, we can
ascertain that a state can morph
into anything (or need not even
exist), as the physical laws of the
universe do not bind it. That is,
there’s nothing that necessitates
a United States, Pacific Ocean or
South America.
In fact, there has been a
choice (often by force and most
frequently by white males) to
divide the land and sea. Within
these
divided
boundaries,
there have been more choices
to
allocate
resources
and
opportunities
within
these
boundaries to differing groups
of individuals. There is nothing
biologically — inherently, based
on nature — different about
these groups of people. But
even now, specific groups have
become stratified, so much so
that some groups of individuals
are exceedingly better off, on
average, in each country around
the world. The American Dream
has masked this story in the
United States.
Optimistically, however, our
state could change tomorrow —
if enough citizens so desired.
With an altered mindset, the
amount of stratification, inequality
or otherwise difference between
these
socially
constructed
groups could be closer to zero.
Economically,
politically
and
socially speaking, every individual
could
live
more
equal
lives
depending on how our constructed
state allocates its resources. But
this can only be true if we are to live
in a place where citizens believe
themselves to be part of a united,
integrated cause.
Unfortunately, I did not discuss
the American Myth with the
two men I had recently met.
Personally, I did not have the
energy to expend, explaining how
we are united by systems that
should progress every ones way
of life. I could have accomplished
something, though, if I’d only
asked two questions: What is your
idea of a state? And, how (and to
whom) should it distribute its
resources?
—Sam Corey can be reached
at samcorey@umich.edu.
American myth
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ROLAND
DAVIDSON
S
ometimes, in nameless dark
spaces, I like to think about
life after death. I do this
because it strips
events and goals
of their messy
impermanence
and
helps
to
place them in
a broader per-
spective which,
by and large, is
a
worthwhile
exercise.
Of
course,
for-
mally speaking,
there isn’t much
for the dead after death. But every
single time I conduct this argu-
ably morbid exercise, I get this
strong sentiment — a hazy, extrin-
sic desire that, once my days were
written and closed, I be remem-
bered.
This seems odd. I had long felt
I understood the futility of find-
ing self-worth or value in exter-
nal elements — the pointlessness
of material goods, status, excess
riches. Logically, my mind under-
stood that there is nothing post-
death. All that matters is what’s
happening now, as it always has
and always will, and I knew this.
We aren’t the ones who preserve
our post-mortem legacy. So why
bother worrying about it? But I
just couldn’t shake this desire, I
could not shake this near-primal
want to be remembered. How
could I achieve this less-often val-
ued sort of legacy? How could I be
remembered?
My father loved telling me
about my grandfather. My appu-
pa
— grandfather in my Malay-
alam tongue
— was still a small
boy when his father passed, but
old enough to remember it. His
character exuded diligence in
both thought and action, and he
eventually served as a lieutenant
colonel in the Indian Army, where
he ended up working for decades.
He worked tirelessly to give those
close to him a good life, both inside
and outside the home. He worked
with the will of a man wanting
to give his sons a life better than
he ever had. I know this because
of the countless stories my father
proudly told me. I remember my
appupa as a tall man with grayed
hair, who always stood as if he
was aware yet humble of his own
deeds. It may have been many
years since he passed, but I still
remember him.
While I might have only heard
about my appupa’s life, I witnessed
much of my father’s. I saw him
wake up early every day; I saw him
work and pray and cry and shout
and smile. I was there for all his
anger and honesty, all his pain
and his love. I was there for all the
stories, adventures, sacrifices and
everyday happenings. My father
made many sacrifices, most of
which I will never hear about or
understand because of the age gap
between us. When I was a child,
most of what my father did went
unappreciated, but not unnoticed.
I would come to realize that he,
like his father before him, worked
tirelessly for something larger
than himself. I didn’t only hear
tales through the ages; I was there.
I saw my father living his life, try-
ing to be a good man.
Legacy, as it turns out, is not
ordained by fame or fortune. It is
purely about remembrance — at
any scale. I know that in a few gen-
erations, my name will most likely
be forgotten. There’s nothing to
be done but to accept that fact.
I can, however, take heed of my
forefathers. They were men like
any other: anxious, burdened, sad,
afraid. But what matters is that
they worked past that, they went
beyond their own mortal aches
and did whatever they could to
ensure something better for those
around them. They will not be for-
gotten for that.
We will be remembered with-
in our families and through our
children. We will be remembered
through the tales we tell one
another before bedtime. We will
be remembered through tender,
comforting memories, in times
both dim and merry. True, this
isn’t a grandiose legacy. There
won’t be parades or speeches or
poems in our honor. But even if
it is just for a little while, we will
live on.
Sometimes I dream of the day
I would get to hold my baby son
tightly to my chest. I would pray
that I never have to let him go.
I’d well up and smile and look at
a face too pure to live in this hor-
rible, cruel world. I’d hold a hand
so tiny that it could barely wrap
around my finger, a hand I’d hold
and keep safe for as long as I pos-
sibly could. And as I sit there with
him, it would dawn on me that
my life was no longer solely mine.
The reins have been handed over
to this little child whom I would
gladly protect and provide for.
Truth be told, I cannot wait to
be with my child, standing with
him through all the good times
and bad, making sure he is doing
fine and telling him that every-
thing will eventually be all right.
I cannot wait to tell my son about
my appupa, the resolute army man
who always stood tall. Most of all,
I cannot wait to tell him about my
father, and how he was not only a
good man, but a great one.
—Bharat Nair can be reached
at bnair@umich.edu.
Vitam post mortem
“How could I
achieve this less-
often valued sort of
legacy? How could I be
remembered?”
BHARAT
NAIR
SAM
COREY
SIERRA STONE | OP-ED
More than a broken arm