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, April 1, 2016

M

y childhood was spent 
exploring the world with 
wide-eyed wonder. I was 

constantly being 
told I could do 
and be anything 
I 
wanted. 
I’m 

lucky and very 
privileged 
in 

that respect. I 
have a supportive 
family who has 
trusted 
every 

decision 
I’ve 

made 
in 
my 

academic career 
and hasn’t pushed me toward one 
area of study or another. They raised 
me to do what I want and value my 
happiness above all else. If I wanted 
to drop out of school tomorrow and 
just work for the rest of my life, my 
dad would stand behind that decision 
if it was what was going to make me 
happy. Not that I ever would, but 
the fact that the option is even there 
means my happiness is valued in my 
family above all else.

Then I arrived here and our 

bustling school was full to the 
brim with opportunity. Here, I 
really can do anything. But the 
conversations 
behind 
whether 

taking the opportunities that truly 
make us happy are shrouded in 
the constant wondering of how 
these decisions affect the incomes 
of our futures. Choosing classes 
at orientation swiftly moved from 
fun to anxiety-ridden. I remember 
scouring the course guide and 
fleetingly wondering if there were 
still spots in orgo despite the fact I 
had absolutely no interest in any area 
of study related to the sciences. I 
ended up signing up for Introduction 
to Buddhism. But I couldn’t help but 

be plagued with the question asking 
whether or not I had done something 
wrong by signing up for classes that 
were far from sensible in the grand 
scheme of my degree. I thought 
it was a mistake to take such an 
obscure class that I would definitely 
enjoy 
over 
something 
deemed 

useful on the road to a successful 
future. I wish I could say it was 
with that decision that I resolved to 
covet my happiness above all else. 
Unfortunately, I struggled with 
similar anxieties for a while.

Society still tells you to be 

whatever you want. Except major 
in English. Also Women’s Studies is 
useless unless you want to go into 
even crazier debt for graduate school 
to make your degree worth anything. 
Right now, I’m a double major in 
International and Women’s Studies. I 
came in wanting to do humanitarian 
work and travel, which brought 
me to International Studies. To be 
quite honest, I accidentally became 
a Women’s Studies major. One day, 
I realized I was more than halfway 
done with the degree requirements 
and 
suddenly 
I 
was 
declared. 

I’ve since realized I want to take 
an entirely different career path 
than the humanitarian work I had 
originally planned, yet, I’m still an 
International Studies major. I think 
I’ve kept it for the cushion it gives 
me when explaining my studies to 
people. Out of both of my majors, at 
least one is reasonable, right?

Still, I keep hearing how much 

money I’m not going to make and 
how little my degree will be worth. 
Whatever happened to just doing 
what we want? When did a higher 
education become worth it only 
if you were studying something 
“practical”? For some people, job 

security and wealth will make them 
happy. For people like me who enjoy 
studying the “impractical” things, 
money is the last thing in mind.

My peers’ strong opinions on what 

I should study threw me into an 
anxiety-ridden existential crisis. At 
one point last year, I found myself on 
the University of Michigan’s Program 
in Neuroscience website, trying to 
make myself interested enough to 
sign up for some classes. Instead I 
applied to minor in writing. I was 
accepted into the program and I’ve 
since realized I want to be a writer. 
Writing doesn’t even break the list 
of 20 lowest-paying college majors 
to avoid. But why does this list even 
exist? I’ve been getting more and 
more fed up lately with the complete 
lack of appreciation for education 
we all have. Nothing has been about 
learning for a long time. In high 
school, everything was for the grade. 
Now, it’s for the degree and what kind 
of job you can get. It’s fine if you value 
money and a job title. I don’t. 

Now 
I’m 
going 
to 
sound 

pretentious here for a minute, but 
I really do not care about money. I 
just want to be happy. My inevitably 
lower income doesn’t mean I won’t 
be. It’s almost worse to be told it’s 
useless to try to do something simply 
because I won’t make money. I don’t 
have to make six figures a year to be 
happy. The truth of the matter is, 
my degree is probably going to be 
useless. I am not going to get a job 
with a women’s studies degree. But, 
that doesn’t discredit the work I’m 
putting into getting this degree. I’m 
learning. I’m happy. Let’s remember 
what matters.

Olivia Puente can be reached 

at opuente@umich.edu.

When I grow up

 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

OLIVIA 

PUENTE

T

he first time I had a seizure 
was 
one 
of 
the 
most 

terrifying 
and 
confusing 

events of my life. Everything that 
happened was a fog. One moment, I 
was volunteering as a referee for the 
local youth football league, and the 
next, I was staring up at a group of 
paramedics and my parents, who I 
knew had not been present during 
the football game itself. From that 
moment on, I underwent multiple 
tests from different doctors, and they 
all gave me the same diagnosis. I had 
epilepsy, but they weren’t sure what 
things might trigger it. I was given a 
prescription, and I went on my way, 
pretty much living my life as usual. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t my 

first exposure to epileptic seizures. 
My mother also has epilepsy, but her 
case is much more potent than mine. 
She can’t attend fireworks shows, 
her seizures can be triggered by 
flash photography and even sunlight 
shining through trees while driving 
on a highway can be dangerous for 
her. Though my triggers are not 
always the same as my mother’s, I am 
always conscious of flashing lights. 

Most of these things are easily 

avoidable. Stimuli like fireworks and 
flash photography are possible to 
avert for the most part. I also make 
sure to get a reasonable amount of 
sleep every night, because it may be 
dangerous for people with epilepsy 
to be low on sleep. But one thing that 
is all together unavoidable — that 
can, at any time, spur on an epileptic 
seizure — is police lights.

Police cars in the state of 

Michigan are each equipped with 
one solitary red “gumball” light on 
the top of the car. While this sounds 
tame compared to most police cars, 
each light contains 12 light heads, 
with nine LED bulbs in each head. 
This equates to 108 lights on each 
car. When these lights are used by 
police officers, they are blinding, and 
for somebody with epilepsy, they can 
be a nightmare.

Of course, I realize police must 

use their lights when pulling people 
over or chasing down criminals, 
but there are occasions when police 
lights are used inappropriately.

My parents recently visited me 

at the University of Michigan for a 
basketball game. As we walked out 
of Crisler Center after the game, we 
were shepherded toward our car 
by police who had stopped traffic. 
To do this, the police parked their 
cars sideways in the intersection 
and turned on their flashers. This 
forced my mother and me to look 

downward at the ground and shield 
our eyes, while my father walked in 
front of us, leading the way. We were 
extremely fortunate that my father 
was there at the time.

Think for a moment about what 

would have happened if he hadn’t 
been there. My mother would’ve 
almost definitely had a seizure 
while crossing that intersection. 
I would’ve tried to help her, but I 
might have been rendered useless by 
the flashing lights, too. Bystanders 
would’ve attempted to help, but 
because of a lack of public knowledge 
about epilepsy, they might not have 
known exactly how to help. It may 
have been just as effective to put 
out barriers indicating the road 
was closed. Instead, the police cars 
parked in the intersection created 
an obstacle for those of us who 
have epilepsy to enjoy what was an 
otherwise great night. 

Though epilepsy isn’t something 

that is widely understood in our 
society, this doesn’t mean it isn’t 
prevalent. One in 26 people will 
develop epilepsy at some time in their 
life. And these seizures aren’t simply 
an inconvenience or an annoyance. 
Many people with epilepsy aren’t 
like me. Not everyone can recover as 
quickly after a seizure.

In some cases, people can cause 

substantial harm to themselves while 
having a seizure, such as hitting their 
heads on the ground and giving 
themselves concussions. During one 
of my own seizures, I fell facedown 
and awoke with blood staining my 
clothes and the ground below me. 
Seizures may also cause extreme 
physical fatigue. When regaining 
consciousness after a seizure, people 
often feel as though they have just 
finished running a race.

People can run into an enormous 

number of places with unexpected 
flashing lights in day-to-day life. 
That is why the police force should 
be pioneering a movement to reduce 
the times they utilize flashing lights. 
They should be the ones setting 
the example. This is particularly 
important with epilepsy, because it 
isn’t at the forefront of the public’s 
mind. People don’t consider who 
might have epilepsy around them 
before they take a picture with 
flash in a dark restaurant. People 
don’t stop and think who might be 
coming to a party before they turn 
on strobe lights. 

Of course, flashing police lights 

were obviously implemented in the 
first place for a reason. According 
to blogger writer Bogdan Popa at 

autoevolution.com, law enforcement 
vehicles used to only have a single 
light beacon on their cars “to attract 
everyone’s attention and let them 
know that an official vehicle is 
approaching,” according to Bogdan 
Popa. But eventually, these alerting 
lights evolved into the bright, 
flashing lights of today, coupled with 
blaring sirens.

I am not asking for anything 

enormous. I don’t think it would 
be too much to ask to simply turn 
off the flashing lights when police 
direct traffic. I don’t think it would 
be too much to ask for the lights 
on a police car to not flash at all. If 
the lights themselves get people’s 
attention and indicate an official 
vehicle, then it stands to reason 
they could do without flashing 
entirely. Bright lights and sirens 
alone would appropriately identify 
an active police car. Changing this 
small detail would not only help 
people with epilepsy in interactions 
with police cars, but those without 
epilepsy would notice the change as 
well. They would wonder why these 
changes were made and hopefully 
begin to engage in an important 
conversation on epilepsy awareness.

I realize it isn’t possible for 

flashing lights not to exist in all of 
society. I realize people have a right 
to take flash photography, watch 
fireworks and use strobe lights. But 
at the same time, there has to be 
some sort of concession made for 
those of us who have epilepsy. Of all 
people, it seems like police officers 
should be the ones to draw that line. 
Those with epilepsy should not be 
relegated to their homes, unable to 
attend large events for fear police 
cars might flash their lights outside 
of the event.

I implore you, the Michigan State 

Police, to consider this out-of-sight 
minority. I ask you to consider who 
might be attending those concerts 
and sporting events where you 
direct traffic, and I want you to 
consider making the lights on your 
cruisers less potentially triggering. I 
believe the changes you could make 
would be small and would not affect 
your officers’ ability to do their 
jobs. But at the same time, these 
could be instrumental changes 
toward a wider consideration of 
epilepsy. At the very least, it would 
be something my family and I would 
greatly appreciate.

Hopefully heard,
Mike Persak

Mike Persak is an LSA freshman

Dear Michigan State Police

H

ome.

If you look the meaning up in 

the dictionary or online, it says that 

home is a permanent residence. To me, home 
is a physical place, yes, but it is also defined 
by how I feel when I am there. In my opinion, 
home is where one can go to feel relaxed and 
comfortable — comfortable enough to feel 
uncomfortable — and welcomed. When I came 
to Ann Arbor in 2013, I thought that I had found 
my hoMe. I have met, and continue to meet, 
some of the best people I have ever known, and 
they make me feel comfortable. I have found 
this one spot by the river in the Arb that never 
fails to make me feel relaxed after a stressful 
day. I have been able to critically think while 
at this university and push myself outside of 
my boundaries because I have felt comfortable 
enough to feel uncomfortable.

However, I have never felt fully welcomed. 

As a Muslim student on this campus, I have 
known that my hoMe is not perfect, but I have 
to remind myself that no home is and perfection 
is not what I am striving for. What I want is to 
make this campus a more welcoming place for 
Muslim students. As a part of these efforts, 
my peers, staff and I hosted an event this 
past January titled “Student Voices Against 
Islamophobia.” People of all identities on 
campus were invited to hear Muslim students’ 
experiences at the University of Michigan. 
After their stories were heard, there was 
a session on allyhood intended to increase 
solidarity between Muslim and non-Muslim 
students, faculty and staff.

Tonight, a few members from our group, 

including myself, were attending an event where 
we were awarded for our successful Cross 
Cultural Programming. Ironically, as the award 
was being announced, my peers and I were 
notified of messages on the Diag. Among them 
were messages that stated “#STOPISLAM.” In 
that moment, I felt that no matter how much 
I try to move forward and create a welcoming 
environment on campus, Islamophobia is 

right there pushing me back. It feels like I am 
constantly hesitant to call this campus hoMe.

I fear that if people constantly see Islam as 

a threat, then they will begin to believe this 
message that Islam is something to fear and 
Muslims are people to hate. So for the next 
hour, my peers and I wiped the Diag clean of 
these hateful messages, and I scrubbed as hard 
as I could. As I watched the letters fade, I began 
to think that if I just scrubbed fast enough, 
fewer people might see, and therefore believe, 
this message. In the back of my mind, though, 
I could not help but think of how degrading 
it was to be cleaning up these messages that 
were left by someone else in my supposed 
hoMe. I kept bouncing back and forth between 
being unsurprised and utterly shocked. While 
I knew that this was the dominant narrative 
surrounding Muslims on the news, I could 
not believe (but sadly I kind of could) that this 
narrative would exist at this University.

However, I refuse to let days like these hijack 

my religion and take my hoMe away from me.

So to whoever wrote that message on the 

Diag, it is NOT Islam that you have to worry 
about stopping. In fact, you should consider 
the hatred that you yourself are spreading by 
supporting that message.

But above all, I want you to know that my 

religion is not the reason that hatred exists in 
this world.

“Indeed, Allah does not wrong the people 

at all, but it is the people who are wronging 
themselves” Quran (10:44). 

In fact, my religion is the reason that I know 

how to respond to animosity with love.

“Good and evil can never be equal. Repel (evil) 

with that which is better, and see how, then, 
someone between whom and you was enmity 
shall become a true friend” Quran (41: 34). 

 

—Michigan in Color is the Daily’s designated 

space for and by students of color at the University of 

Michigan. To contribute your voice or find out more 

about MiC, e-mail michiganincolor@umich.edu.

MIKE PERSAK | OP-ED

W

hat would a course look like if 
students were able to choose how 
they earned their grades? Gameful 

learning, one of the biggest 
revolutions in pedagogy, 
seeks 
to 
address 
just 

that. At the University of 
Michigan, gameful learning 
comes in the form of 
GradeCraft, the brainchild 
of Barry Fishman, Arthur 
F. Thurnau professor of 
Learning Technologies in 
the School of Information 
and School of Education. 
The project is currently 
sponsored by the Digital Innovation Greenhouse. 
Since its conception, more than 2,000 students 
have enrolled in at least one of the 29 GradeCraft 
courses the University offers, and that number 
will only continue to grow.

What sets a GradeCraft course apart from 

most other courses is that most — if not all — 
assignments are optional, and students build 
their grades in the class from the bottom up, 
instead of starting with 100 percent and losing 
points along the way. GradeCraft is structured 
like a video game wherein students earn points 
by completing assignments, allowing them to 
“level up” one-third of a grade level once they 
reach specific point benchmarks.

Such a system intends to give students 

flexibility in a course, allowing them to capitalize 
on their strengths, to pursue assignments they 
find most interesting and to take risks without 
fear of destroying their grade. (After all, 
students can earn points, but they technically 
cannot have points taken away.) The end result 
is a course custom-made for each student, one 
where students leave feeling they have learned a 
lot and are proud of the work they’ve done.

This semester, I had the opportunity to take 

my first GradeCraft course, Honors 232: Deep 
Time: The Science of Origins. I was excited 
and curious about the freedom of choice the 
platform would provide in my studies. And 
with the semester nearing its close, I can safely 
say that while I like the philosophy behind 
GradeCraft, I believe it fell short of fulfilling 
such purpose in practice.

There are plenty of things I like about 

GradeCraft. Perhaps the thing I like about it most 
is that it gives me a lot of flexibility in my schedule, 
allowing me to plan my schedule for this course 
around exams and papers due in other courses 
and over material I’m most interested in. It also 
opens up plenty of opportunities for instructors 
to create unconventional assignments. In Deep 
Time, for example, I could earn points for 
attending talks and events related to course 
topics, which — especially as a first-year student 
— provided many fantastic opportunities to 

make the most of what Ann Arbor has to offer. 

But, as I mentioned before, gameful learning 

is not without its faults. One of the side effects 
of having a course structured like a video 
game is the inevitable “tutorial” that lasts an 
indefinite period of time at the beginning of 
the course. For 10 to 15 minutes each lecture 
and discussion period for the first few weeks 
of class, we’d discuss the logistics of the course: 
how to navigate the platform, where to turn 
assignments in, which assignments are open 
indefinitely and which ones have strict due 
dates. As a result, students lose quite a bit of time 
that could have been used to engage more deeply 
with the subject matter.

Coming into a class with a nontraditional 

platform, however, I expected this learning 
curve. From my experience, gameful learning’s 
tragic flaw lies in the defining feature of its design 
— its gameability. Whereas the platform seeks to 
foster deep, meaningful work, it isn’t hard for a 
student in a GradeCraft-based course to scrape 
up enough points to earn the grade they want in 
the course by merely doing surface-level work. 
In fact, I have found that gameful learning more 
or less encourages students to take the easy way 
out and do the minimal amount of work possible 
to earn the grade they want in the course.

Unfortunately, I feel these factors were 

present in my Deep Time course. As I look around 
the lecture hall, I notice very few students even 
take notes on the material covered in lecture. 
Students can easily skip assigned readings, 
but then be rewarded for showing up to the 
discussion section, unprepared for conversation. 
This cutting-corners mentality adversely affects 
the learning not only of the individual student, 
but of the class as a whole: Without a concerted 
effort around a common goal from all students in 
a gameful course, the richness of learning in that 
class quickly deteriorates.

This creates a gaping, pedagogical flaw in 

gameful courses: There is no guarantee that 
students learn new skills or even live up to the 
course expectations within the framework of 
a GradeCraft-based course without limiting 
the freedoms the platform brings to the table. 
Without a compulsory obligation like an exam or 
paper looming around the corner, there seems to 
be no incentive or for students (beyond genuine 
interest in the subject matter) to actually learn 
all of the material.

While I definitely can say I still learned 

quite a bit in this course, both GradeCraft and 
instructors’ and students’ interactions with 
the platform are most definitely still in beta. 
The platform has promise, but unfortunately 
students will have to miss out on some valuable 
learning in the process.

Rebecca Tarnopol can be reached 

at tarnopol@umich.edu.

Beating the game of learning

REBECCA 

TARNOPOL

TINA AL-KHERSAN | MICHIGAN IN COLOR

HoMe

