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
4 — Friday, March 25, 2016
W
hat good can it do to be foolish?
Each year on the weekend
nearest
to
April
Fools’
Day,
hundreds
of
Ann
Arborites
and
University of Michigan
students
share
their
interpretations of the
answer to this question
in the form of a gigantic,
bizarre
parade
of
puppets.
Mark
Tucker,
art
director of the Lloyd
Hall Scholars Program,
a
Michigan
Learning
Community
that
encourages
students
to pursue passions of art and writing, is
the father of the project. Together with
former LHSP student Shoshana Hurand,
he founded the festivities in Ann Arbor
in 2006 in hopes of bringing the Ann
Arbor community together with a little
foolishness.
Tucker (or as some of his students
affectionately call him behind his back,
Marky Mark) hatched the idea after
traveling to Europe “to learn the fine art of
cartapesta (papier-mâché) from esteemed
float builders in Viareggio, Italy.” Full of life
and color like Tucker himself, thousands of
people annually flock the streets of Italy
to partake in the crazy, human-powered
celebration. Adding his own unique style,
he used the Italian influences to create
his own unreasonable but crowd-pleasing
event. This year, FestiFools celebrates its
10th anniversary.
At last year’s event, I helped a friend
perform with her giant piece. She had
made a large, mustached Monopoly man
— social commentaries are popular among
the event’s puppets — that commented on
the greed of our society. The man himself
took three people to control — one person
to hoist and balance the pole going through
the puppet’s body and two others to animate
each of his arms. In order to contribute
chaos to the crowd, my friend also made
several Monopoly game pieces — a tinfoil
car, train and iron that she had convinced
others to wear on their heads while they run
around the puppet’s gesticulating arms. She
also made a separate Monopoly man head,
which she made another girl wear. Because
the girl could not see through the mask, my
job was to watch her and make sure she did
not fall onto a small child.
Certainly, the event is a sort of chaos:
children dressed as butterflies and monsters
blowing bubbles; dragons and banners
weaving and wrapping around participants;
giant puppets including robots, historic
figures such as Marie Antoinette, octopi and
gigantic babies holding cell phones. There
are even bands playing shiny instruments
and the audience sitting, squealing, clapping
on the curbside.
Aside from the intriguing public art
created by the participants, the implications
go beyond the tangible fantastic — through
the event’s creations and performances,
the community hopefully is brought a
little closer. According to the WonderFool
Productions website, the group is “a
nonprofit
organization
dedicated
to
engaging
communities
in
dynamic,
educational, collaborative and entertaining
public art experiences.” The art is free and
accessible to all, involving people of all ages.
As a relatively new Ann Arbor resident, it
is difficult for me to try and determine how
FestiFools has changed the community.
Upon first glance, FestiFools might seem
small and insignficant in our community,
but FestiFools can do no harm. FestiFools
makes art more accessible and enjoyable
and it joins people of all different ages to
create, celebrate and be uncomplicatedly
foolish. Only positivity can come from that.
One thing you should know: When Mark
Tucker throws an event, it always rains.
Bring
a
raincoat,
but
leave
your
inhibitions at home.
Stay foolish.
A FoolMoon (pre-FestiFools night parade
and street party) takes place from dusk on
Friday, April 1, until midnight on downtown
Ann Arbor’s Main Street on Sunday, April 3,
from 4 p.m. to 5 p.m.
—Payton Luokkala can be reached
at payluokk@umich.edu
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
I
t mystifies me how despite nearly
24-hour coverage by every major media
organization, there are still people
surprised that Donald Trump is the front-
runner for the Republican nomination.
Sure, there are plenty of Americans whom
Trump’s bigotry and slogan of “Make
America Great Again” speak to, but that’s
nothing new in American politics. What’s
new is the entertainment value. A candidate
running on a platform of building a wall
that Mexico will pay for, and banning an
entire religion from entering the United
States looks more like someone running to
be a Saturday Night Live caricature than
president of the United States.
The media, however, began this race
as if Trump was a serious candidate, and
the effect has been like a snowball ever
since. Trump gets more TV time, meaning
more people see him, meaning the media
feels the demand to focus on him. While
The Huffington Post may add an editor’s
note to all Trump articles reminding their
readers he is a racist and xenophobe among
other things, no serious organization
has had the common decency to say they
won’t be drawn into this madness. News
organizations around the country long ago
abandoned their need to cover what’s truly
important for what will bring in revenue,
but this is one of the first times this choice
has serious repercussions.
It’s this legitimization of Trump’s bigotry
by the media that has led voters to support
him in droves, but there is a way to end this.
It’s as simple as saying no.
This past weekend, I attended the
American Israel Public Affairs Committee’s
Policy Conference in Washington D.C. As a
bipartisan organization, AIPAC invited all
active presidential candidates to address
the more than 18,000 delegates about their
views on the American-Israel relationship.
All but Sen. Bernie Sanders accepted the
invitation. There was immediate outcry
from the Jewish and pro-Israel communities
that allowing Donald Trump to speak would
legitimize his bigotry and send the message
to the world that AIPAC condones these
beliefs. AIPAC clarified their position,
saying they weren’t endorsing Trump, but
that given Trump has a significant chance
of becoming president, it is important to
build a relationship with him. Given how
legitimized Trump has become, it’s tough to
see the error in this.
Yet while AIPAC may have felt the need
to hear from the likely nominee, I and many
others did not. Most of the conference
was a bastion where pro-Israel supporters
from all walks of life came together for a
common purpose. But when Trump took the
stage, a community that had talked for two
days about the need for peace applauded
a candidate who has called for banning
Muslims, the group so vital to a productive
peace in the Middle East, from entering the
United States.
So, I and hundreds of delegates in the
arena stood up and quietly walked out. I
joined a group of about 30 rabbis, students
and activists in a protest titled Come
Together Against Hate. While attendees
inside the arena applauded Trump’s pander
and bigotry, we joined together in a sports
bar just outside to learn from the Jewish
texts about the need to educate those who
stray from the path of decency. We learned,
we sung and we were respectful.
While responding to Trump with loud
protests may seem natural given his
vitriolic behavior, so far it only empowers
him. Stopping Trump doesn’t require
posters, signs and screaming, it requires
turning off your TV. It may be impossible
to stop Trump’s road to the nomination
now, but it isn’t too late to stop our national
embarrassment.
—Jeremy Kaplan is a senior edi-
torial page editor
Saying no to Trump
I
believe there’s a sense of
achievability that comes with
being on a college campus,
especially one as prestigious as
this university’s. We all came to
Ann Arbor with the belief that
our experiences here would be
life-changing; that we would, in
some way, make an impact on our
surroundings and be remembered
by the students following after us.
Ever since freshman orientation,
we’ve been told that we’re the
“leaders and best” because we’ve
been accepted into the University
of Michigan, and therefore we
will someday change the world.
And despite the endless hours of
stress that this institution will
end up putting us through, there’s
a sense of invincibility, a sense of
invulnerability, that comes with
being a University of Michigan
student.
In many ways, this type of
environment
suits
a
college
campus. It helps to foster ideas
and creativity, and it encourages
students to take the risks that
will make them better workers
and thinkers in the future. It’s
this type of self-confidence that
has inspired great thinkers and
scholars for millennia. Accepting
challenges that may or may not be
out of one’s league has become a
crucial part of the college process,
and college campuses foster an
environment that tells everyone
they can and will succeed at
whatever project they take on.
Failure is a taboo word, never
discussed and never accepted.
But Icarus flew too close to
the sun, and likewise, Michigan
students sometimes overstep their
bounds. This happens all over the
campus, when students decide
to talk about topics they don’t
necessarily understand, arguing
for or against certain positions
and then taking action based on
those discussions. Especially in
the case of social justice, students
feel that because they took a
sociology course or attended a
protest that they are qualified to
speak on behalf of a marginalized
group they may not be a part of.
In some ways, this can be a
positive thing; at least people are
aware of and discussing issues that
really are important to the world.
But on the negative side, what type
of information is being spread?
Is this information truly helpful
to the marginalized group, or is
it actually working to silence and
oppress these individuals more?
I recently attended a discussion
about anxiety and depression
where the facilitators had not been
trained to talk about the specific
topic at hand. As a result, one
of the facilitators inadvertently
insulted a participant for the
decisions they made with their
body.
In
their
defense,
the
facilitators were very receptive to
the criticism they received from
the attendees. In my opinion, the
organization, who does do great
things on campus and of which I
am a proud member, should have
been more sensitive and hired
trained professionals to host this
dialogue.
This type of insensitivity is
also
prevalent
in
discussions
regarding
sexual
assault
on
campus. I recently heard someone
running
for
Central
Student
Government talk about this topic
using heteronormative pronouns,
with
“her”
referring
to
the
survivor and “him” referring to
the perpetrator. Using this type
of language demonstrates a lack
of awareness, as people within the
LGBTQ community face sexual
violence at a distressing rate and
is detrimental as it takes away the
voices of the people within this
community, discouraging them
from seeking help.
Here at the University, we are
told that we can do anything.
On this campus, people have
found the inspiration to become
doctors, writers, movie stars and
politicians.
This
environment
has cultivated some of the best
learners and thinkers of our
time. As students here, we are
constantly being told that nothing
is out of reach and that our work
will someday change the world.
But we are never told that in some
situations it’s not our place to
speak out, that it’s OK to be quiet.
Though it may be hard, sometimes
admitting you don’t know enough
about an issue to act on it is the most
impactful thing a person could do.
I will freely admit there are a lot
of issues I would not be confident
to speak out on, knowing that
my well-intentioned words could
accidentally harm someone. In this
type of situation, the best course of
action is to educate oneself before
moving forward.
—Elena Hubbell is an LSA freshman
When not to speak out
CONTRIBUTE TO THE CONVERSATION
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PAYTON
LUOKKALA
W
ith the new $112 million
renovation
to
the
West Quad Residence
Hall,
pretty
much
everything
has changed. Additional study
spaces, improved plumbing and
better Wi-Fi and computing have
brought this residence hall into the
21st century. While many things
have been improved, a lot of the
same aspects of the 1939 building
remain in place, including the
original names of every house in
the building.
There are nine houses in West
Quad, and most of them are pretty
meaningful and are not a problem.
For example, houses like Michigan
House and Chicago House are
named after places, Allen House
and Rumsey House are named
after the founders of Ann Arbor
and other houses are named after
famous professors.
However, there is one distinct
house
that
is
different
than
the rest. On the north side of
West Quad, on the fourth floor
lies
Winchell
House,
named
after a professor from the late
1800s. Alexander Winchell was
a professor of engineering and
physics between 1853 and 1872 and
of geology between 1878 and 1891.
Like the namesakes of many
other buildings on this campus and
across the country, Winchell’s views
on race are concerning. Winchell
was a part of the “scientific racism”
community, which, in short, tried
to find biological proof of white
supremacy. In 1878, he published
a famous paper titled “Proof of
Negro Inferiority,” which to him
was proof that African and African-
American people were biologically
inferior because of random physical
features. In his paper, he performs
many types of pseudo-scientific
methods to prove this difference.
This is truly a sickening read, with
Winchell
making
comparisons
between
Black
people
and
orangutans, and “proving” through
body measurements the idea of their
inferiority. This disgusting paper
now circulates on white supremacy
websites and is cited by some as
justification for their racism. Later,
in the 1930s when West Quad was
built, someone decided to name
a house after him, and the name
stuck. Seventy-six years went by,
and nobody noticed the obvious
problem with naming a house after
a racist person.
Across the nation, schools like
Yale, Georgetown and Princeton
have
had
large-scale
student
protests
over
the
naming
of
buildings. Though there have been
some successes, many complaints
from students have been ignored.
In Mississippi, students at the
University of Mississippi pushed
to change the name of Vardaman
Hall, which ironically housed the
Institute for Racial Reconciliation.
Rather than changing the name,
the university decided to put up
markers and signs to embrace
Vardaman’s
past,
rather
than
moving on from it. Last month, The
Michigan Daily reported on a talk by
Lawrence Ross, which highlighted,
among other things, the struggle
and failure of students at Clemson
University to rename a building
that is named after a former slave-
holding governor. The issue of
building names is at the forefront of
campus-climate issues today.
In January, I brought this matter
to the University of Michigan’s
attention and met with Marilyn
De LaRoche, who is the director
of University Housing. To the
University’s credit, those I have
talked to in University Housing
have been more than helpful, and
have assured me that they are
investigating and trying to change
the name. Unfortunately, issues
like this, and the naming of any
University-owned
building,
fall
under the jurisdiction of the Board
of Regents, a group that may be
resistant to progress on this matter.
On January 22, Regent Andrea
Newman (R–Ann Arbor) tweeted
that she thought the issue of
building names was “an interesting
discussion, but also a part of our
history.” This tweet was responded
to in agreement by Regent Mark
Bernstein (D–Ann Arbor). Progress
is hard to come by on an issue like
this; however, progress is needed,
and it is unacceptable to name
spaces in buildings after people
with such flawed views on race. We,
as a community, need to move on
from our racist past and embrace a
more accepting future.
While some may argue that
retaining
building
names
on
campus is a good way to remember
our past as a university, I challenge
them to think of the greater impacts
of the name above that of simply
the words on the door. Having
memorials to our racist past is a step
in the wrong direction. We must ask
the question of whether or not the
impact of this racially charged name
is more harmful than letting go of
the history of his name. In this case,
and in many other cases, moving
forward from our racist past is more
important than remembering the
man himself.
I urge the University community
to speak up. The name of Winchell
House needs to be changed. We
can’t set a tone of inclusivity and
acceptance on campus if we have
memorials to racists. Many argue
that the names of buildings are a
way to remember our history, but
I’d like to provide another way
that they can be beneficial. We as a
community can use this as a chance
to open up a community-wide
conversation about the history of
racism. We can and should talk
about how much progress we’ve
made, but how much further we
have to go. Many buildings across
this country are named after racist
people, and in many cases, we may
not even know it. By becoming
aware of their history and the
history of their namesakes, we
can work together to make this
campus a more inclusive place.
—Kevin Sweitzer is an LSA freshman
Change Winchell House
“Though it may be
hard, sometimes
admitting you don’t
know enough about an
issue to act on it is the
most impactful thing a
person can do.”
JEREMY KAPLAN | OP-ED
Foolish for a cause
KEVIN SWEITZER | OP-ED
ELENA HUBBELL | OP-ED
“We can’t set a tone
of inclusivity and
acceptance on campus
if we have memorials
to racists.”