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