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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