W
ith
Republicans
now at the helm of
both the legislative
and executive branches, the last
couple of months have
been
riddled
with
uncertainty over the
future
of
women’s
health care. From the
return of the global gag
rule to the attempted
reinforcement of the
Hyde Amendment, the
new
administration
has
flippantly
dealt
blow after blow against
pro-choice policies on
an international scale.
However,
it
wasn’t
until
Congress voted to repeal the
Affordable Care Act and threw
legislative
stones
at
Planned
Parenthood’s federal funding that
I finally realized the gravity of this
political turbulence: If the GOP has
its way with women’s health care, I
could lose access to birth control
altogether. It is for this reason —
and, frankly, because there are
very few painful, long-lasting
procedures I would not withstand
to keep the Paul Ryans of the world
from playing my reproductive
organs like a GameCube controller
— that I finally decided, after
wrestling with the idea for months,
to get an IUD.
For those of you who are not
super well-versed in the fascinating
world of birth control methods,
an intrauterine device is a tiny,
T-shaped piece of plastic that you
insert into the uterus to prevent
pregnancy. There are two types
of IUDs: copper and hormonal.
While I got the copper one, both
work by thickening the mucus in
your cervix to prevent sperm from
reaching the egg, and they can last
up to 12 years (or three presidential
terms) with more than 99-percent
effectiveness. When you’re ready
to start a family, you simply ask
your doctor to remove it and BAM:
instant fertility.
I won’t sugarcoat it: The
procedure itself is excruciating,
but it only lasts a couple of
minutes. You can get it done at
a gynecologist or at your local
Planned Parenthood (where I
opted to get mine). Let me walk
you through my experience so you
can get a sense of what to expect
if you ever decide to follow suit,
keeping in mind potential barriers
some women might encounter in
their pursuit of bodily autonomy.
To begin, you should probably
carve out a few hours in your day
and schedule an appointment.
For women with children or full-
time jobs, this is enough of an
impediment to make the entire
process nearly impossible. In
preparation for your visit, make
sure you eat, drink lots of fluids
and take some ibuprofen. If you’re
fortunate enough to have reliable
transportation,
you
should secure a ride
to and from the clinic,
because you will not
feel like driving when
you’re done.
When you arrive,
endure the wait until
they call your name.
If you’re as lucky as I
was, the lobby will be
playing reruns of “The
Fresh Prince of Bel-
Air,” and occasionally someone
in the room will rap along to the
theme song. Did I mention you
should probably have insurance?
Yeah, both the device and the
procedure can cost up to $1,000,
which is why many women forgo it
as an option.
Once you’re inside, the doctor
will evaluate you. Have you had
unprotected sex in the last month?
When was your last period? Do you
usually have a heavy flow or a light
one? Are you allergic to iodine?
Then, they’ll do a pregnancy
test just to be safe, as being
pregnant with an IUD is bad
news bears. This entails the
always glamorous act of pissing in
a cup, so that’s where those fluids
will come in handy.
Finally,
once
all
of
the
formalities are out of the way,
the doctor will perform the
procedure. First, they’ll check
your uterine alignment (I was
informed that I have a tiny cervix,
to which I bewilderedly replied,
“Thank you”). Then, they’ll insert
a large speculum into your vagina
to keep everything, uh, out of the
way. Lastly, they’ll put the IUD
in place. A slight pinch. A wave
of terrible cramps. A few seconds
pass. Another wave of terrible
cramps. All done.
You’ll walk out of that clinic
feeling like someone kicked you
in the uterus, and you’ll probably
have to deal with cramps and
spotting for about a week or so
if all goes well and there are no
infections. Women who cannot
afford to take time off work to rest
will have to find a way to distract
themselves from feeling as though
they’re giving birth to a set of
knives — but, hey, that’s just the
price of reproductive freedom.
Believe it or not, I’m not the
only one who jumped at the
chance to insert a foreign object
into my uterus as a frantic and
final attempt at bodily autonomy.
Since the election, the demand
for these suckers has increased by
900 percent as women everywhere
are scrambling to protect the last
shreds of their right to choose in
the Trump administration.
Sure, months ago, I could have
carefully
weighed
my
birth-
control options to figure out which
was best-suited for my body and
my lifestyle. If I couldn’t remember
to take the pill every day, I could
switch to NuvaRing. If I didn’t like
the shot, I could try a cervical cap.
Now, however, there is a greater
sense of urgency. I feel like I can’t
choose something I would need to
replace or refill every few weeks
because the possibility that my
insurance may not cover the cost
or that my health-care provider
may not even exist in a few weeks
will always linger in the back of
my mind. If Republicans make
good on their threats to roll back
reproductive-health coverage or
defund Planned Parenthood, I’m
totally screwed.
And my concerns pale in
comparison to the effect these
legislative hits will have on low-
income women, who make up 80
percent of Planned Parenthood’s
clientele.
Studies
show
that
unintended
pregnancies
occur
disproportionately in communities
with
high
concentrations
of poverty, and this can be
traced directly to disparities in
contraceptive access and use. What
are these women supposed to do
when lawmakers roll back access
to birth control and government
services at the same time? Where
will they turn when they are
unable to provide for families they
were stripped of the right to plan
themselves? What then?
The Trump administration has
it completely backward if it believes
that cutting reproductive-health
care will accomplish anything
other than endangering the lives
of millions of women. After all,
these services are difficult enough
to obtain without Republican
lawmakers
introducing
their
skewed notions of justice into
them. We should instead be
working to increase birth-control
accessibility and affordability so
women like me don’t have to take
drastic measures to ensure they’ll
be protected.
IUDs should be a choice, not a
last resort; and though I can rest
easy knowing that I’ll probably
be safe if lawmakers decide to
turn back the clock 50 years
on women’s health care, many
other women can’t. In the land
of the free, if we have to undergo
a
painful,
inconvenient
and
expensive procedure to ensure we
won’t be fucked over by stringent
legislation, how free are we, really?
“I
t ain’t what you know
that
gets
you
into
trouble. It’s what you
know for sure that just ain’t so.” –
Mark Twain
After arriving home
for Spring Break just
a short two weeks
ago, my parents and
I watched the movie
“Hacksaw
Ridge,”
based on a true story
of U.S. Army corporal,
Desmond Doss, who
saved 75 people in the
battle of Okinawa. Each
year my parents aspire
to watch all the Oscar-
nominated movies before the
awards ceremony, and this was the
final one on the list. Serendipity
is a beautiful thing, as the movie
climaxed in a scene that affirmed
the relevance of Twain’s prescient
quote — with particular pertinence
to current political discord.
The
left’s
appetite
for
persistently
disparaging
and
obstructing incendiary storytelling
was no more revealed last week
than when Senate Minority Leader
Chuck Schumer immediately called
for Attorney General Jeff Sessions
to resign for an answer he provided
during his confirmation hearing.
However, the objections to
Sessions’s Russian contacts are
completely
unfounded.
In
his
confirmation
hearing,
Sessions
answered
a
limited
question
regarding whether or not the
Trump campaign had any contact
with Russian officials. While it
has been revealed Sessions did
meet with Russian officials, he
did not perjure himself. Sessions
met in his capacity as a senator,
not on behalf of or as an agent of
the Trump campaign. While this
distinction seems quite clear, many
high-ranking Democrats, Schumer
included, have disregarded the
context of the meeting and his
answer. Schumer seemed to smell
blood, posing the opportunity for an
easy political attack that cared little
about trying to fully understand the
limited disclosure.
I was not surprised by Schumer’s
unwillingness, or perhaps inability
to
understand
the
situation,
recalling his response to Trump’s
call for unity, immigration reform
and
infrastructure
spending
during his address to Congress:
“(It) was one of the most anti-
immigrant
speeches
that
we
heard any president ever give.”
It might be said that Democratic
leaders understand Sessions, but
simply don’t care one way or the
other if their resistance is purely
calculated and political.
What is so troubling — and why
I appreciated “Hacksaw Ridge”
— is that Schumer, Pelosi and
many others on the left remind
me of Smitty (Luke Bracey),
Sergeant Howell (Vince Vaughn)
and
Captain
Glover
(Sam
Worthington.)
They
each were certain that
Desmond Doss was
a coward, but it just
wasn’t so.
Desmond
Doss
was a young enlistee
in the army who was
ridiculed, beaten and
nearly court-martialed
for his conviction that
he not use a firearm
during the war. His
values originated from
his Seventh-day Adventist religious
beliefs. Despite little doubt of his
cowardice and liability by his fellow
soldiers, history reveals that he
was awarded the Medal of Honor
for service above and beyond
the call of duty during the battle
of Okinawa. In one scene, Doss
spends the night in a foxhole with
Smitty, a squad mate who was the
first to call him a coward.
Only after Doss shares the
history behind his aversion to
holding a weapon does Smitty
apologize for doubting his courage,
and the two make amends. Smitty
dies that night but Doss rescues
more than 70 injured soldiers
including Sergeant Howell, who
had been most abusive to him
during basic training. Near the
end of the movie, Captain Glover,
who had been one of Doss’s
staunchest critics, tells him that
the men had been inspired by his
miraculous efforts and that they
refused to launch their next attack
without him. Glover himself admits
to Doss that he had never been so
wrong about a person before, and
asks for forgiveness.
Prior to acknowledging this,
however, Glover and the entire
squad had been very misguided.
Their interpretation of Doss had
been incorrect. The current political
frenzy in which breaking stories
— by virtue of their messenger and
the messenger’s certainty — seem
to become authentic, informative
and fact-based may also prove
misguided! Seeing in “Hacksaw
Ridge” the destructiveness of an
“it’s what you know that just
ain’t so” attitude illuminates the
perilous consequence of the left’s
narrow optics and unwillingness
to seek first to understand Trump
and his surrogates.
Twain’s quote references the
basis for the nonfictional prejudice,
bias and arrogance expressed by
Doss’s squad mates in “Hacksaw
Ridge.” This same bias, partisanship
and arrogance fuels persistent
intimation by the left that Trump
himself, or his surrogates, colluded
with the Russians to influence the
results of the presidential election.
Calls for a special prosecutor rest
solely on the presumption that
there is evidence out there and
that it’ll take a neutral, nonpartisan
party to reveal it. However, not a
single fact has been provided by the
left to support its claims.
Of course, it’s hard to prove
a negative, and as a result, the
stories will continue as long as
an appetite to destroy Trump’s
agenda
continues.
Trump,
in fact, has been extremely
consistent in delivering exactly
what he promised. There has
been no bait-and-switch. The
man will not change — even to
a fault. He has built a team of
experts on his cabinet that will
mitigate his weaknesses.
Trump’s call for unity during
his recent address to Congress
invites folks such as Schumer and
Pelosi to become part of the team.
He understands that a strong team
requires maximizing the benefit of
different perspectives. Yet, blinding
bias seems to restrict their capacity
to lay aside differences and engage
in fruitful dialogue.
Reciprocity, in this case, requires
that naysayers give something —
that they participate. They appear
only to want to take by persistently
aiming to discredit, destroy and
delegitimize. Schumer’s call for a
Sessions resignation and Pelosi’s
call for a Trump impeachment are
akin to Captain Glover’s call for a
Doss court martial. This rush to
judgment is scandalous in its own
right. It is force-feeding a narrative
derived from a fear of change, at
the very least. Peggy Noonan, in a
recent article titled “Washington
Still Reels From the Quake of 2016”
recommends: “The ground beneath
Washington’s feet shifted. People
here need to get over their shock
and start recognizing the new lay
of the land.”
I submit that the numerous
stories that abound in the current
political reality are just that: stories.
And in response, alternative stories
emerge.
Ultimately,
none
are
necessarily right or wrong, but,
when discussed together, the sum
results in a dialogue, and perhaps
— at the end of this process — a
modicum of mutual understanding
develops. Of course, allowing this
dialogue to occur may deprive
Schumer and his colleagues an
opportunity for more stinging
sound bites, but we all might be
more informed by the process,
without a rush to judgment.
As I think about it, both Schumer
and Pelosi might consider becoming
more relevant by jumping into the
foxhole with President Trump.
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Thursday, March 9, 2017
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
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Kevin Sweitzer
Rebecca Tarnopol
Stephanie Trierweiler
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
Jump into the foxhole and become relevant
NICHOLAS TOMAINO | COLUMN
The things I do for Trump
LAUREN SCHANDEVEL | COLUMN
Lauren Schandevel can be reached at
schandla@umich.edu.
Nicholas Tomaino can be reached at
ntomaino@umich.edu.
LAUREN
SCHANDEVEL
T
he last two weeks of class
before Spring Break were
rough;
it
seemed
like
midterms and projects popped
up one after another. After my
midterms were over, I
needed something to
distract me from the
drop my grades were
going to take and put me
into a positive mindset
for Spring Break.
I saw the posters
for
events
at
the
Canterbury
House
called “A Night For Us:
Colorful Soul” around
campus. They showed
artwork of a woman with a massive
afro with the words “live music”
and “poetry readings” above her. I
had always wanted to go, but I never
could because of an upcoming test
or homework. Since my midterms
were behind me, there was nothing
stopping me. One of my friends,
also searching for a distraction from
the horror known as exam season,
wanted to go too, so we met up and
walked over to the Canterbury
House together.
We could hear the music from
across the street. After looking both
ways, we ran across East Huron
toward the Canterbury House. We
came in and walked into the room
where jazz was playing. There was
a good number of people, but not
so many that you couldn’t move
around or felt claustrophobic, and
everyone was standing up listening
to the music — no one was staring at
their phone or drunkenly teetering
from side to side.
As I looked around the room,
I noticed how eclectic the group
around me was. Most of the people
looked like young college students,
but there were also people in their
thirties or forties. People wore
everything from sweatpants to
berets and oxfords. There were
Black people, white people and Asian
people. I didn’t feel any pressure to
be a certain way, and I
didn’t feel out of place.
That was one of the
few times in college
I didn’t act excited,
though I actually was.
I didn’t have to pretend
like I liked the music that
was playing. I wasn’t
bored,
or
annoyed,
and I didn’t want to be
anywhere else.
Despite this, I wasn’t
as comfortable as I would have liked
to be. I wished I could be like one
woman I saw there. She was on the
other side of the room, smiling and
dancing to the rhythm. It was like
she was in her own world; she only
looked straight ahead at the band
and paid attention to the music.
She reminded me of the friend I
was with; I even joked, “That’s you
in the future.” My friend is the type
of person who will start playing
reggaeton on Spotify in an empty
dorm lounge and force people
passing by to dance with her. While
we were at the Canterbury House,
she tried to get me to dance but I
wanted to stick with what most of
the other people in the room were
doing, so I just tapped my foot along
with the music. I leaned against the
wall because I didn’t want to attract
attention or stick out as one of the
few people dancing.
When there were only a few
people left in the audience, a girl
came up and started to sing “On
& On” by Erykah Badu. Listening
to her sing reminded me of when
I was young; instead of being
nervous, unsure and on the brink of
adulthood, I was a kid in my mom’s
car listening to the R&B station. I
was the type of person who would
try to start a “Soul Train” line and
run to an empty dance floor at a
wedding. I wasn’t afraid of having
fun or looking silly and I didn’t care
who saw me.
By this time, all the people left
in the audience were dancing.
It would be weird to be the only
one standing still, so I started to
dance. I had fun earlier, but I had
so much more fun once I actually
started dancing — when I did what
I wanted instead of trying to blend
in. It would’ve been a good idea to
do it sooner. I could have, but it felt
like something wouldn’t let me.
I know that just going along with
what a group does is silly, but it can
be difficult to do something different
or new. We’re told to “be ourselves”
but conditioned to fit in so that we
make friends or avoid being a target
for bullies. This process erodes our
willingness to express ourselves
freely. We’re afraid of being labeled
“weird” so we become restricted to a
constant state of fear and struggle to
fully enjoy ourselves or be comfortable
when we could be judged.
To free ourselves of these
restrictions, the answer may be to
constantly do things we expect to be
embarrassing and act like we don’t
care. But for me, this is easier said
than done. When I force myself
(or am forced by my friend) to do
something I know will make me
feel awkward, I usually have to
give myself a pep talk or pretend
I’m Beyoncé to remind myself to
be less insecure.
Canterbury tales
COREY DULIN | COLUMN
Corey Dulin can be reached at
cydulin@umich.edu.
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
COREY
DULIN
NICHOLAS
TOMAINO
— An open letter published yesterday by the global campaign CHIME FOR CHANGE,
signed by artists such as Beyoncé, Madonna, Coldplay and John Legend.
“
NOTABLE QUOTABLE
We fight for education. For health.
For justice. For every girl. Every
woman. Everywhere. We fight for
our future. Because none of us
can move forward if half of us
are held back. ”