I

’ve built up a tolerance 
to tragedy and disaster. 
Watching the news often 

leaves me feeling sick, 
with something stuck in 
my throat and eyes that 
are close to watering, 
but I somehow get past 
it and with a faster 
recovery each time. 

But 
Charlottesville 

made me sick and tired 
like I haven’t been in a 
while. The images from 
the 
protests 
disgust 

me. Until I saw college 
kids holding tiki torches and 
marching alongside Nazis, I 
had hoped obvious racism was 
a game less populated by people 
my own age.

Seeing young people march 

to defend hate left me angry 
and disappointed, but knowing 
the American Civil Liberties 
Union defended their right to 
march confused me. I could 
not understand how a group 
that is a prominent voice for the 
resistance defended one of its 
biggest opponents. The group that 
sent lawyers to airports to defend 
those 
affected 
by 
President 

Donald Trump’s travel ban now 
stands by white supremacists? 
That’s not what I expected.

I, like many other people, 

have focused so much on 
the 
ACLU’s 
defense 
of 

marginalized 
groups 
and 

became enamored with certain 
groups they defend that I didn’t 
look back and pay attention to 
everyone they have defended. 
Listening to “Smashing the 
Confederacy in the streets and 
on the screen” on the podcast 
“Politically Re-Active” helped 
me come to terms with what 
the ACLU did.

In the episode, Lee Rowland, 

an ACLU Senior Staff Attorney, 

confirmed that no one in the 
ACLU has the personal goal of 
defending Nazis. The position 

the ACLU took 
— 
defending 

neo-Nazis — is 
not 
new: 
The 

organization 
defended a group 
of 
neo-Nazis 

that 
planned 

a 
march 
in 

Skokie, 
Illinois, 

a 
town 
with 

many Holocaust 
survivors. 

Rowland explained that this 
defense 
was 
difficult 
for 

members of the ACLU to take 
part in, but they took this 
position in the hope that it 
would protect the free speech 
of civil rights groups. If that 
group of neo-Nazis received a 
permit or permission to protest, 
it goes against precedent if 
a civil rights group hopes to 
march peacefully but is denied 
that right. Learning this forced 
me to take a more realistic view 
of the ACLU; like the law, the 
ACLU has a lot of gray area.

I understand their argument, 

but I can’t bring myself to 
accept it because what I saw was 
wrong. It is wrong to scream 
slurs, it is wrong to use hateful 
speech to target minorities and 
it is wrong to carry guns, knives 
and 
makeshift 
weapons 
to 

intimidate and attack unarmed 
protestors. However, there’s 
no law against slurs. There’s 
no law against hateful rhetoric 
and there’s no ban on weapons 
at a protest. People will say 
what they want, and there will 
be arguments and controversy, 
but there should never be 
violence. No one should fear 
that they’ll be attacked for 
speaking out against a group’s 

beliefs, especially not in the 
United States. I know the ACLU 
focuses on ensuring that, but 
the way they sometimes try to 
do that makes me cringe.

I’m tired of seeing new poster 

children for racism and other 
forms of hate, but I don’t expect 
the campaign to end anytime 
soon. The fact of the matter is 
that hateful speech and words 
against it are protected by the 
First Amendment. But in terms 
of morality, it is obvious which 
is greater. No one knows when 
the collective moral compass of 
our country will work — it was 
broken to begin with.

But hopefully, despite living 

in a place where civil liberty 
advocacy groups are forced 
to defend those who want 
to threaten the community, 
the United States can go in 
a better direction. However, 
this depends on the work 
of everyone. One or a few 
organizations cannot be tasked 
with this, and we know that we 
can’t leave this in the hands 
of President Donald Trump. I 
think a piece of me looked at 
organizations like the ACLU 
and thought that they were 
the ones with power. Their 
spokesperson is the one on the 
news, and they are the most 
able to influence society.

But 
I 
realized 
that 
we 

have power. We don’t have a 
team of lawyers, but we have 
options. We can contact our 
representatives and work to 
educate ourselves by learning 
from each other. That is how 
we begin to see change, by 
taking action and working to 
fight ignorance.

T

o a lot of people, not 
having social media is 
extremely off-putting. 

As 
counterintuitive 
as 
it 

seems, being unable to stalk 
someone online is a source of 
unease. It’s a truly fascinating 
phenomenon of today’s society 
that I’ve only recently started 
to 
appreciate 
due 
to 
the 

creation of my own Facebook 
profile. In fact, just a couple 
of weeks ago I was talking to 
my roommate from freshman 
year — I roomed blind — when 
he confessed his surprise that I 
turned out to be so “sane, chill, 
cool, etc.,” considering that he 
couldn’t find me online prior 
to rooming together. For him, 
this was a “red flag” and led 
to countless amusing theories 
about my personality. 

Having 
been 
on 
social 

media for about a year and half 
now, I see his point. There is 
something a little unsettling 
about searching for someone 
and not being able to find 
any information about them. 
Though 
the 
main 
reason 

I joined Facebook was for 
practicality — joining groups, 
creating 
and 
discovering 

events 
and 
organizations, 

networking, etc. — you grow 
used to the convenience of 
being 
able 
to 
familiarize 

yourself with someone before 
actually 
meeting 
them. 
In 

a world where privacy is no 
longer 
the 
norm, 
straying 

from that norm may lead 
people to assume that you are 
odd, 
antisocial, 
unpopular 

or all three. After all, why 
would someone not utilize the 
available tools to keep in touch 
with friends and stalk them 
whenever they want?

Well, I can think of a few 

reasons. 

As you may have already 

guessed, 
when 
entering 

college, my online presence 
was nonexistent. In fact, the 
subject of my college essays 
detailed my animosity towards 
social media and subsequent 
hesitancy to participate. Back 
in those days, I referred to 
platforms such as Facebook 
and 
Instagram 
as 
“digital 

pseudo-realities” and “fenced-
in pastures” from which my 
friends 
couldn’t 
escape. 
It 

baffled me how they could 
waste 
hours 
looking 
at 

pictures of peers’ vacations to 
exotic destinations interlaced 
with superficial inspirational 
quotes and pleas for attention.

In the moments of weakness 

in which I would sneak a peek 

at one of my friend’s news feeds, 
it was like seeing the world 
from a different perspective. 
I was suddenly integrated in 
everyone’s life. As fascinating as 
this was, I immediately caught 
myself comparing my life to 
those of others. How was it that 
within such a short span of time 
I could go from being perfectly 
content with my life to doubting 
my own existence? Looking at 
photos of friends’ ridiculous 
accomplishments or of their 
yachting trips off the coast of 
Capri — which they never seem 
to be shy about sharing — is a 
shortcut to depression.

Some may feel that this 

is an exaggeration on my 
part. However, according to 

numerous studies conducted 
over the years, extensive social 
media use has been linked to 
negative effects on mood and 
well-being. In fact, according 
to a study recently published 
by the American Psychiatric 
Association, 
those 
who 
are 

heavily involved with social 
media are more than three times 
more likely to develop depression 
and anxiety than those who are 
minimally involved.

I’m not a psychologist, but I 

would guess that this anxiety 
stems from spending too much 
time admiring others’ lives, 
rather than living a life of one’s 
own. Whenever people go to 
a concert, go to their friend’s 
house, eat dinner, brush their 
teeth, take a crap, etc., phones 
are out almost all the time 
so that the whole occasion 
can be documented. People 
care more about their friends 
knowing that they were at an 
event than being engaged in 
the event themselves. 

Social Media Today stated 

that the average person spends 
about two hours a day on 
social media. Over a lifetime, 
that is equivalent to five years 
and four months. And for 
what? In five years and four 
months you can climb Mount 

Everest 32 times or run over 
10,000 
marathons. 
Instead, 

many wonder whether Kylie’s 
lips are fake or brood over a 
friend’s study abroad in Paris.

However, 
I 
must 
admit 

that 
since 
joining 
social 

media, I have developed a 
better understanding of why 
people spend so much time 
on 
Facebook, 
Instagram, 

Snapchat and other platforms. 
As depreciative as it is, there’s 
something 
addicting 
and 

entertaining 
about 
looking 

at memes, people’s opinions 
on current events and photos 
of friends. Most of all, I’ve 
found that social media is the 
perfect tool for avoiding social 
interaction 
and 
awkward 

situations. 
Don’t 
feel 
like 

talking 
to 
anyone 
around 

you before lecture because 
you’re antisocial? Perfect, just 
browse Facebook, Instagram 
or Snapchat to appear busy. 
Unfortunately, it seems that 
everyone under the age of 30 
uses this strategy just about 
anytime and anywhere.

It saddens me that I’ve 

succumbed to some of the 
behaviors 
that 
were 
once 

topics of admonishment in 
my college admissions essays. 
While I try to limit myself, I 
waste considerable amounts 
of time looking at a screen. 
And it’s only on an extremely 
rare occasion that I’ll say to 
myself, “Boy, am I glad that 
I checked my news feed!” 
Usually, I’ll exit social media 
with indifference, jealousy, 
a dwindling will to survive 
or annoyance at something 
someone said.

Though social media has 

made my life remarkably more 
convenient — and for that 
reason alone I would not delete 
it — it has done absolutely no 
good in terms of emotional 
well-being. I still use social 
media a miniscule amount 
compared to most, but my 
goal is to reduce this amount 
even further. When it comes 
to having an online presence, I 
truly believe that less is more. 
Therefore, when I’m getting 
ready to stalk someone and 
can’t find them on Facebook 
or 
Instagram, 
I 
will 
not 

automatically assume that they 
are odd. Instead, I will look 
at them with admiration for 
doing something that I have 
lost the strength to do myself.

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Wednesday, September 6, 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.

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

The new face of racism

COREY DULIN | COLUMN

 Social media anxiety

EVAN SIRLS | COLUMN

 Evan Sirls can be reached at 

esirls@umich.edu

I 
 

identify as a man who 
loves men; however, I’ve 
recently been hesitant to 

adopt the identity of “gay.” If 
you think about the average 
gay man, what archetype pops 
up? For me, it’s an attractive 
jock 
wearing 
revealing 

underwear, 
maybe 
posing 

with other equally attractive 
jock friends. Even if he’s not 
a jock, there are lots of other 
types of gay men that you could 
think of. The twink is lean, 
smooth and hairless; they go 
great with each other or more 
muscly types. Of course, the 
drag queen is campy and fun, 
or campy and mean, or campy 
and… you get the idea.

And finally, there’s me. I 

don’t fit any of those boxes 
of what a gay man should be, 
and, frankly, I don’t want to. I 
don’t want to be forced to go to 
the gym to get the perfect ass 
or be a catty bitch to establish 
dominance. I don’t want to 
conform, because I’m just getting 
comfortable with who I am. 
Recently, when I asked friends 
familiar with the nuances of 
gay men which type I fell under, 
the response was unexpected: 
“You’re just… normal.”

Now this isn’t a problem, per 

se, but the implication of the 
statement is that I’m no longer 
gay; if I were, wouldn’t I neatly 
or at least messily fit into one 
of the “normal types” of gay 
men? Wouldn’t I be a “normal 
twink” or a “normal jock?” 
What is a “normal gay?” What 
is “normal?”

I think that one can be a type 

and still be “normal;” however, 
I’m “normal” and I’m not a type 
— apparently not culturally 
“normal gay.” The identity of 
“normal” seems to sometimes 
override the identity of gay: 
I’m a man who loves men, but 
since I’m not a “normal gay,” 
I’m instead just “normal.” The 
ultimate question is, why is 
there this selective disconnect 
between being “normal” and 
being gay?

I believe the answer boils 

down to the exclusivity of the 
typology of gay men. Whenever 
you make a type, you make an 
in group and an out group. By 
definition, if you’re not in the in 
group, you’re in the out group. 
The problem with this is that 

the spectrum of in groups is 
selective, and overwhelmingly 
selectively white.

People have argued that gay 

men are super shallow when 
it comes to being fat, femme, 
transgender, 
disabled… 
the 

list goes on. If you’re not a 
“proper” body type you’re 
already facing an uphill battle 
to be considered attractive, 
as a “normal jock” or “normal 
twink.” This is not to say 
that Asian men can’t be jocks; 
however, it does mean that an 
Asian jock will be seen as less 
masculine, less desirable than 
a white jock simply because of 
their race. You can rinse and 
repeat for all marginalized 
identities: 
they’re 
inferior 

to 
the 
(white) 
hegemonic, 

dominant identity.

Furthermore, just as Asian 

jocks are seen as inferior to 
white jocks because their race 
feminizes them, this lends 
Asian twinks extra credence. 
The problem with this, besides 
clear fetishization, is that these 
standards are all determined by 
the dominant group in the gay 
community: white men. What 
this ultimately boils down to 
is that all marginalized people 
will never be able to truly 
reach in-group status (even if 
Kim Chi from “RuPaul’s Drag 
Race” has a fabulous critique 
of it all).

White gay men, therefore, 

generally dominate in all of 
these groups. If you fit, you 
can pick your poison as to 
which type you’d like because 
they’re 
all 
communities 
in 

which you’ll find people who 
look just like you, which cannot 
be said for gay men in a racial 
or other social minority. There 
are always exceptions; however, 
go to Pride Night at Necto 
Nightclub any Friday and take a 
peek at the racial demographics.

White gay men are seen 

as the “typical” gay man and 
“typical” LGBTQ person, so 
we have the power to represent 
the rest of the communities. 
It’s such a shame that we’ve 
decided to use our privilege 
to bolster ourselves and put 
our political needs first at the 
expense of everyone else, both 
in terms of the selectivity of 
the types of gay men and in 
terms of political sway.

White men have corrupted 

LGBT Pride from a symbol 
of empowered solidarity and 
celebration of sexual difference 
to a vehicle that transmits 
a false sense of unity in the 
LGBT communities. In other 
words, our whiteness, maleness 
and overall gender conformity 
bequeathed us the mic under 
the assumption that we would 
speak for everyone and we 
have consistently abused that 
privilege. Pride has become 
a hollow symbol that only 
represents white gay men’s 
voices, not all colors of the 
rainbow as we like to think.

It’s for these reasons that I 

hesitate to identify as gay. As a 
white man, that term has a lot 
of baggage from which I would 
like to dissociate. I’d rather be 
a normal guy who likes guys. 
A “normal guy” — but not a 
“normal gay.”

A 
“normal 
gay” 
accepts 

the conflation of the terms 
“LGBT community” with “gay 
community,” 
which 
erases 

identities 
and 
orients 
the 

broader 
queer 
community 

toward strictly male concerns. 
A 
“normal 
gay” 
conforms 

to and reproduces the toxic 
masculinity that elevated their 
position in the LGBT food 
chain, 
perpetuating 
sexism, 

racism and all other social 
hierarchies. A “normal gay,” in 
other words, puts themselves 
first and holds back the rest of 
the LGBT community. 

I challenge white gay men 

of any and all types to get over 
our racist, sexist, cissexist, 
hateful demons. Society and 
socialization in our corrupted 
gay circles have taught to be this 
way. It’s not our fault; however, 
it is still our responsibility to 
recognize your shortcomings 
and fight them. It is only by 
embracing the LBTQ of LGBTQ 
that we can make Pride what it 
was meant to be: a way to build 
an inclusive queer community, 
to use our privileges as white 
men to elevate unheard voices 
and to celebrate our community 
of differences in all their forms. 

Who knows? Maybe that 

will make the inherently white 
“normal gay” palatable again.

I’m not gay, I’m normal

BEN BUGAJSKI | OP-ED

Carolyn Ayaub
Megan Burns

Samantha Goldstein

Caitlin Heenan
Jeremy Kaplan

Sarah Khan

Anurima Kumar

Max Lubell

Lucas Maiman

Alexis Megdanoff
Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy 

Jason Rowland

Anu Roy-Chaudhury

Ali Safawi

Sarah Salman
Kevin Sweitzer

Rebecca Tarnopol

Stephanie Trierweiler

Ashley Zhang

COREY 
DULIN

 Ben Bugajski is an LSA senior

 Corey Dulin can be reached at 

cydulin@umich.edu

When it comes to 
having an online 
presence, I truly 
believe that less is 

more.

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