I

’m going to tell you a 
personal anecdote and then 
relate it to an advertisement 

I saw on campus; these two 
things, 
together, 

will help me make 
my point. I promise 
they relate to one 
another. This does 
not mean, despite my 
best wishes to live in 
the world of “maybe 
it’s 
Maybelline,” 

that my life is an 
advertisement. 
If 

my 
life 
were 
an 

advertisement, if any 
of our lives were advertisements, 
we would be fucked. OK?

In the days before our Winter 

Break, I went to the Central 
Campus Recreation Building 
twice. These were my first times 
going to the gym at school. By 
the end of the second trip, I had 
to hold the banister with both of 
my hands as I walked down the 
steps in my cooperative house 
to prevent myself from falling. 
My whole body ached. I began 
to ask myself, “When can I start 
considering myself a ‘gym rat?’ ”

I have a brother who has 

always been more athletic 
than I am, and I was raised by 
two parents who really care 
about their health and their 
bodies. I have never really 
gotten into that whole thing, 
despite their best efforts to 
push me toward the gym.

I recognize this. I recognize 

that by going to the gym a 
couple of times, I am not 
going 
to 
make 
any 
great 

changes to my body or to my 
understanding of myself. This 
work is continuous. It demands 
sustained, unrelenting effort.

After the second of these 

two trips to the gym, I saw an 
advertisement for the University 
of Michigan Bicentennial. It 
contained 
two 
photographs, 

positioned vertically, with one 
above the other. In the top 
photo, taken in black and white, 
five white students sit, looking 
goofy as they eat and drink 
while looking at the camera. 
In the bottom photo, in color, 
two Asian students sit on the 
grass, chatting. Accompanying 
these photographs were the 
words, written in capitalized 
font, “Always Michigan/Forever 
Valiant.”

This advertisement represents 

a vitally destructive mode of 
examining one’s history. The 
caption denies that Michigan 
was ever not “valiant.” For 

example, 
James 

Burrill Angell, the 
longest-standing 
president 
of 
the 

University 
(from 

1871 
to 
1909), 

played a vital role in 
drafting the Chinese 
Exclusion Act, signed 
in 1882. This act 
denied immigration 
to the United States 
by Chinese laborers 

and served as the foundation 
for 
restrictive, 
divisive 

immigration law today.

And yet, we valorize him. 

Most students on this campus 
would only know his name 
because 
one 
of 
our 
most 

illustrious, celebrated buildings 
is named after him. I insist that 
we must reckon with this past 
in order to better understand 
ourselves today. The phrase 
“Always Valiant” denies any 
sense of humility or recognition 
or 
introspection. 
How 
are 

we meant to create a more 
equitable culture today if we do 
not even attempt to understand 
from where we are coming? 
How will we know what is 
wrong, what is evil, if we refuse 
to study it, all in an attempt to 
glorify ourselves? 

Yes, 
the 
University 
has 

taken active strides to combat 
instances of bigotry and hate 
speech on campus. I am serving 
on the student board for the 
Diversity, Equity & Inclusion 
Plan, and I have spoken with 
administrators who genuinely 
care about these issues and, I 
believe, will work in our favor 
for the sake of combatting 
these issues. But why do hate 
crimes happen here? Why do 
racist posters adorn the walls 
of our campus? What are 
the roots of these cancerous 
elements 
which 
are 
given 

space to bubble and thrive on 
our campus? Why are we so 
afraid to study these roots? 
Why do we insist upon our 
eternal, long-lasting sanctity?

I 
posit 
that 
these 
two 

moments 
— 
my 
grappling 

with my understanding of my 
body while going to the gym 
and 
this 
advertisement 
— 

demonstrate the destruction 

that accompanies a presentist 
mindset, a perspective which 
focuses solely on the present 
moment and refuses to reckon 
with its past. Two trips to the 
gym do not change me. And 
contemporary 
advertising 

campaigns 
and 
“initiatives” 

do not change the history of 
this campus. Our past always 
informs our present and our 
future. We must study it in 
order to assure ourselves that 
it does not happen again. The 
threats of a reversion to a less 
equitable world are imminent, 
always looming. For evidence, 
we can use the number of 
hate crimes and instances of 
racism on our campus that 
took place last semester, and 
will, in some form, explicit 
or 
not, 
characterize 
the 

semester that has just begun. 
These forces of hate have not 
been successfully defeated, 
I believe, precisely because 
we have thus far refused to 
engage with our history.

Instead of only focusing on 

moving past these instances of 
hatred, I posit that we study their 
origins, that we understand the 
limitations of our perspective 
— we, a university that glorifies 
and 
celebrates 
Angell, 
also 

honors Clarence Cook Little, 
a prominent eugenicist. Little 
was also a University president, 
as if once one becomes a 
president at our school, they 
achieve a certain undeniable, 
unquestionable 
glory. 
Their 

careers 
of 
working 
toward 

institutional 
division 
and 

hatred are discarded, in order 
to construct an unrealistic, 
ignorant profile, which we can 
subsequently admire.

The solution also does not lie 

simply in changing the names 
of the buildings this University 
has named after these men. That 
would be a move of intentional 
erasure, and this is not what we 
need. Let the names linger for 
some time while we study their 
meanings and their impacts. Let 
them soak in their disgusting, 
soiled, foul history. Let the 
unsullied reputations of these 
men die, through dialogue and 
recognition and consciousness. 

Only then can we move 

forward.

L

ast year, as I sat in 
my organic chemistry 
lecture, 
a 
rather 

disturbing 
thought 
passed 

through my mind: This professor 
could say pretty much anything, 
and I’d believe it.

After much reflection, I’ve 

come to realize this thought 
rests on two premises. First 
is the notion that science, 
as a discipline, consists of 
an 
anthology 
of 
objective, 

unquestionable truths. Second 
is that in order to really 
understand 
these 
truths, 

one must persevere through 
years and years of education, 
slowly but surely garnering 
an understanding for both the 
concepts and the jargon in a 
given field.

These 
two 
premises 

contribute 
to 
the 
student-

teacher dynamic felt in most 
lecture courses: The professor, 
who holds a doctorate degree, 
serves as the end-all-be-all 
reservoir of knowledge for the 
content covered in the course, 
and the hundreds of undergrads 
enrolled in the course sit quietly 
and 
listen, 
absorbing 
this 

information, only interrupting 
for clarification.

This dynamic endangers the 

very future of science.

I’ll admit that though this 

thought dawned on me in 
organic chemistry, I didn’t 
really feel the weight of it 
then. 
Professors 
walked 

through chemistry concepts 
at the same pace students 
took notes. Exam problems 
required students to apply 
concepts, 
presenting 
them 

with novel problems from 
primary 
literature. 
I 
left 

the course feeling as if I had 
gained a solid understanding 
of the principles underlying 
organic chemistry.

It 
wasn’t 
until 
this 

semester, as I sat listening to 
professors rattle off names of 
compounds and processes off 
60-plus slide lectures, being 
told to be able to “recognize” 
them for exams and nothing 
more, that I realized the full 
implications of this professor-
student dynamic.

In a course taught like this 

— where the expectation is 
to memorize terms instead of 
applying concepts or solving 
problems 
— 
students 
feel 

pressure to adhere strictly to 
what the professor presents. 
This results in a class full of 
future doctors, researchers and 
engineers accepting information 
at face value, afraid to challenge 
the 
professor, 
in 
fear 
of 

jeopardizing a grade in a course 
that will grant them a spot in a 
professional or graduate school. 
The course turns into a game 
of memorization, rather than 

an opportunity to understand 
how these facts fit into a greater 
scientific whole.

I 
found 
this 
especially 

problematic during times when 
my professors would contradict 
themselves by saying something 
incompatible 
with 
previous 

content 
presented 
in 
the 

lecture. I struggled with how I 
was supposed to navigate these 
contradictions — was I supposed 
to seek out the “truth,” or accept 
what the professor said as the 
“truth” within the context of 
the course?

But even if students try to 

memorize and regurgitate all 
the information they learned for 
an exam, they don’t necessarily 
secure a good grade in the 
course. According to research 
conducted by University of 
Michigan professors, students, 
on average, performed worse 
in large introductory STEM 
lecture courses than they did 
in courses in other disciplines. 
Though 
all 
students 

experienced this grade penalty, 
female students experienced a 
larger penalty than their male 
counterparts, 
a 
difference 

attributed 
to 
factors 
like 

stereotype threat. I wouldn’t 
be too surprised if research 
revealed 
similar 
findings 

for other minority groups in 
science as well. 

Of course, it may be argued 

that the lower grades are a result 
of the material being “more 
difficult” 
in 
STEM 
courses 

than in other disciplines, but 
difficulty is only one factor 
among many that can adversely 
affect student performance. I’d 
argue that poor grades in these 
types of courses can also arise 
from the lack of a true student-
teacher 
relationship 
due 
to 

class size or the lack of student 
engagement with the course 
material — memorizing facts 
and figures isn’t a particularly 
stimulating task.

However, 
the 
bigger 

implication of these findings is 
that poor grades in these large 
lecture courses discourage key 
groups of people from pursuing 
scientific careers, eliminating 
diversity in science from the 
get-go. The same study found 
that grade penalties against 
women 
were 
not 
present 

in lab courses, which more 
readily resemble the types of 
environments that professionals 
in scientific careers encounter. 
Yet large lecture courses are 
often a student’s first taste of 
science at a collegiate level, and 
I can only imagine how many 
stereotype-threatened 
groups 

(or students from disadvantaged 
socioeconomic 
backgrounds, 

whose schools might not have 
had strong science programs) 
abandon a science major before 
even realizing their prowess in 
the field.

The problems caused by the 

unquestionable 
“objectivity” 

and jargon that characterize 
scientific discourse transcend 
the classroom and render the 
discipline largely inaccessible 
to the general public. Perhaps 
the reason we live amid such 
rampant climate change denial 
is because much of the scientific 
evidence is incomprehensible 
to the average person; that is, 
the average person would likely 
more readily believe political 
pandering about a scientific 
topic than believe that elevated 
carbon dioxide levels in the 
atmosphere are correlated with 
rising temperatures. A similar 
assessment may be made to 
the camps driving antibiotic 
overuse and skepticism toward 
vaccination, two other salient 
issues that may endanger public 
health in the coming decades.

I’m not arguing that we 

should water down science 
education to make it more 
inclusive, but rather that we 
should increase the accessibility 
of scientific ideas by presenting 
them without condescension 
and in a way that fosters inquiry 
rather than blind acceptance.

The former starts with us: 

We mustn’t be so quick to 
dismiss people as unintelligent 
for 
failing 
to 
agree 
with 

scientific evidence that they 
likely 
do 
not 
understand. 

Instead, 
we 
must 
invite 

these people to the scientific 
conversation, 
acknowledge 

their side of the argument 
and give them the resources 
and guidance necessary to 
understand the implications of 
scientific research.

As 
for 
creating 
courses 

that encourage inquiry and 
discussion, departments and 
faculty must work to revise 
curricula in their fields. The 
University already offers some 
courses that accomplish this 
task, such as the Authentic 
Research Connection sections 
of introductory biology and 
chemistry labs, which foster 
an inquiry-based alternative 
to the normal curricula for a 
small group of students each 
semester. REBUILD is also 
working on curricula revision 
across “foundational courses” 
in 
different 
STEM 
fields 

to 
foster 
“active 
learning” 

and make the courses more 
accessible to students of all 
identities. Making this shift 
across all introductory courses 
— 
especially 
large 
lecture 

courses — will undoubtedly 
take much time, thought and 
money, but it is integral for 
the creation of stronger, more 
inclusive science education.

Until 
that 
happens, 

however, students must keep 
thinking critically about the 
“facts” they are presented. 
The future of science depends 
on us, after all.

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Making peace with imperfection

ASHLEY ZHANG | COLUMN

M

y AP teachers in 
high school loved 
to 
brag 
that 
we 

were 
undoubtedly 
prepared 

for 
college, 
that 

our educations had 
ingrained 
in 
us 

superb study habits 
and learning skills 
that would put us far 
beyond our college 
peers. Yet, while I do 
believe that my high 
school did a good 
job of preparing me 
and my classmates 
for higher education, 
college was not the walk in the 
park that I’d been promised; 
most of my new peers came just 
as prepared as me, if not more.

I still remember my second 

day of freshman orientation, 
when the College of Engineering 
and School of Music, Theatre & 
Dance students were shuttled 
on a bus to the mysterious 
North Campus that I now call 
home. A histogram of the grade 
point averages of the members 
of the incoming class was 
projected on the screen, heavily 
skewed right — the median was 
a whopping 3.9. Then, the graph 
changed to display the GPAs of 
engineering students after a 
few semesters at the University. 
The difference between the two 
histograms was drastic: The 
graph of engineering students’ 
GPAs after a few semesters at 
the University showed a much 
larger spread with a much 
lower median GPA.

“Most of you breezed through 

high school with a 4.0,” stated 
the adviser, and I looked around 
the room to see a sea of nodding 
heads, my own included. “But 
many of you will find it much 
more difficult to maintain in 
college, and that’s OK.” 

The reaction was not as 

obvious this time, but I suspect 

that many of my new schoolmates 
shared my feelings: I believed 
the statistics, but there was no 
way that I would fall victim to 

them. High school 
had, frankly, been a 
piece of cake for me, 
and I was confident 
that college would be 
no different.

How naive I was. 

Now here I am, a mere 
half-year later with 
a semester under my 
belt and a less-than-
perfect GPA, eating 
my own words. I had 

come to expect my grade earlier 
in the semester as the possibility 
of earning an A diminished with 
each passing exam, but there 
was still something crushing 
about seeing it officially mar my 
transcript: B+. B stands for bad. B 
is a blemish. Bs don’t get you into 
med school (this is a common 
misconception, by the way).

Now, I hadn’t cried about 

my grades since the first test 
I’d failed in AP Chemistry 
way back when, but my voice 
was still tinged with dismay 
when I told my parents about 
my first B. I’m not exactly 
sure what I was expecting, 
but I was surprised when 
they responded without a 
trace 
of 
negativity. 
They 

understood that college was 
a different playing field from 
high school, and a B+ was a 
perfectly acceptable grade.

It 
took 
me 
a 
while 

longer to come to the same 
understanding. In a way, I felt 
like I’d let myself down. I’d 
always excelled at school, and 
some time along the way, I’d 
tied my self-worth to it. When 
I suddenly had to work my ass 
off for the first time and it 
still wasn’t enough, I felt like 
I’d lost something integral to 
my identity.

Winter break was a time 

for reflection, a coming-to-
terms with the past semester. 
If I could describe my first 
semester here in one word, 
I would call it “humbling.” I 
have met some of the best and 
brightest 
people 
here, 
and 

they have taught me so much 
about chemistry, math and 
modesty. I’ve learned that even 
the smartest people I know 
have stumbled academically at 
times, and that a single letter 
should not — and cannot — 
define me. I’ve realized that, 
although 
academics 
should 

be a priority, there is so much 
more to the college experience, 
and it would be a shame to 
waste these four short years 
in the library, worrying about 
maintaining a 4.0.

Though I was disappointed 

to earn a B so early in my 
college career, in a way, I’m 
glad it came this way. The 
Band-Aid 
has 
been 
ripped 

off, the perfection shattered, 
and now I’m free. Rather than 
view my GPA as something 
that’s 
been 
broken 
beyond 

repair, I see it as a burden off 
my back. There is freedom, 
now, to be adventurous with 
my curriculum and dive into 
classes that interest me without 
worrying about their difficulty 
or curve.

As I think back to the 

adviser’s words at freshman 
orientation that I had such 
contempt for a mere six months 
ago, I realize how they resonate 
the truth. Though an imperfect 
GPA had once felt like a death 
sentence for any future I had 
in mind, I’ve come to peace 
with it, and I am — just like the 
adviser predicted — OK.

REBECCA LERNER

Managing Editor

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

 tothedaily@michigandaily.com

Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.

EMMA KINERY

Editor in Chief

ANNA POLUMBO-LEVY 

and REBECCA TARNOPOL 

Editorial Page Editors

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.

Carolyn Ayaub
Caitlin Heenan
Jeremy Kaplan

Max Lubell

Alexis Megdanoff

Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy 

Jason Rowland

Ali Safawi

Kevin Sweitzer

Rebecca Tarnopol

Ashley Tjhung

Stephanie Trierweiler

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

Ashley Zhang can be reached at 

ashleyzh@umich.edu.

Rethinking science education

REBECCA TARNOPOL | OP-ED

ASHLEY 
ZHANG

The necessary messiness of our histories

ISAIAH ZEAVIN-MOSS | COLUMN

Isaiah Zeavin-Moss can be reached 

at izeavinm@umich.edu.

Rebecca Tarnopol is a co-editorial 

page editor of The Michigan Daily.

REBECCA TARNOPOL

ISAIAH 

ZEAVIN-MOSS

— Michelle Obama addresses students while delivering her final 

remarks as first lady in the White House on January 6th.
“

NOTABLE QUOTABLE

I want our young people to know 
that they matter, that they belong. 

So don’t be afraid. ”

