A
little too far from Chicago
to be considered a suburb
and a little too left-
leaning for the stereotype of the
typical Indiana small
town, Chesterton is
kind of an anomaly.
Its
residents
are
likewise
a
unique
brand, predisposed to
the tension between
urban
and
rural,
nature and industry,
Long John Silver’s
and
the
Hilton
Garden Inn.
As
any
other
cliche-riddled
small-town
narrator would probably claim,
anonymity is difficult when a trip
to Target means seeing at least
four classmates and the mother
of a middle school crush. Since
many of my acquaintanceships
stemmed as far back as the
second grade, I was never forced
to reflect on my more visceral
tendencies, to really evaluate
myself as a friend, a student, a
teammate, a citizen.
Like many other members of
the Chesterton community, I’d
been placed into a character mold
by simply existing in the town for
an extended period of time. The
carving of this mold began in
early childhood and, by the time
I reached high school, was pretty
much set in stone. To challenge
it would take self-awareness,
courage, autonomy: things I
didn’t necessarily possess in my
younger years.
Such a sentiment seems again
a common thread of small-town
narratives.
The
late-teenage
burning desire to leave home, is,
on the other hand, a nonspecific
cultural
phenomenon
of
Americans entering emerging
adulthood. Creating an identity
entirely separate from that of a
hometown, friends and parents
is as appealing as it is naive,
disregarding the effect that these
life factors have on the most
natural of habits and inclinations.
My case was far from an
exception to this phenomenon:
I couldn’t wait to leave home, to
break from a lifelong routine in
such a localized space. As seems
predictable in hindsight, the
college transition was anything
but smooth. The comfort of
my
small-town
identity
no
longer
applicable,
my
own
self-perception became rather
skewed when I moved to Ann
Arbor.
Homesickness
is
nearly inevitable for
college
freshmen,
with cases ranging
from
mild
to
debilitating. I can’t
speak to the college
transition experience
of city-dwellers, but
I can say that being
the
only
person
from my high school
graduating class who’d chosen
to attend the University was
particularly
intimidating.
Encountering total anonymity
for the first time left me more
disoriented than driven.
First, there was the Health
Science
Scholars
Program
stationed in Couzens Hall. Yes,
that’s correct: I had absolutely no
idea what I wanted to do with my
life, so I resolved to believe that
I would “just” become a doctor.
Following this delusional notion
was the decision to apply to a
STEM-based learning community
for students seeking careers in the
health care field. September rolled
around and there I was — over-
earnest, slightly clueless and the
proud possessor of a mere three
AP credits from my high school
English class.
It was immediately apparent
that I was not cut out for HSSP.
I had applied, in part, with the
hope of finding a community
in a dauntingly vast college
atmosphere.
Instead,
I
was
met
with
unusually
high
levels of social and academic
apprehension. To put it simply, I
just don’t think that surrounding
myself
with
comparatively
advanced pre-med students was
a particular confidence builder
for a girl who hadn’t taken
biology in four years, unable to
define mitosis if she tried.
I received less-than-satisfactory
grades my first semester of college.
In the classes in which I found
myself deeply struggling, many of
my HSSP peers pulled solid A’s.
In an experience not unlike that
of many other freshmen students,
my overall confidence was on a
downward spiral. The process of
constructing a college identity was
off to a rocky start, to say the least.
Without the easy accessibility
of my hometown character mold
that’d dubbed me a decent student
throughout my formative years, I
found it difficult to prove my own
intelligence to myself. Soon after
my arrival to college, I realized
that I tend to derive my sense of
self from a rather external locus
of control, something I’d never
before noticed.
Tendencies are in some ways
innate. Bound to eventually
surface, they can take on various
forms of expression depending
(not exclusively) on a person’s
environment, age and social
group. Upbringing has much
to do with the nature of these
habits, as it hugely determines a
primary sense of self.
Additionally, the facets of
my pre-college life from which
I so badly wished to stray are
now some of my favorite parts
of myself. Once skeptical of my
mother’s affinity for routine
and
my
father’s
frequent
overworking, I’ve realized that
both tendencies play a very real
role in my life, no matter how
flexible or relaxed I try to appear.
Both have their merits. A
love for routine often brings
structure and purpose to my life,
while over-commitment drives
my involvement in a variety
of clubs, jobs and academic
concentrations.
So thanks, Mom and Dad, for
the second-nature inclinations.
I’ve
allowed
myself
to
romanticize my hometown a bit,
but I do believe it has affected my
character in more ways than I
currently understand. I gravitate
toward
large
social
groups,
my affinity for community, of
that easy proximity to people
I’d known for so long. Many
of my friends from home have
remained so dear to me; we
communicate
frequently
and
value the growth we see in
one another. With maturity,
those small-town molds have
disappeared, and a new level of
respect and understanding for
separate life experiences has
taken their place.
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4— Thursday, September 21, 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
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
W
e hear it in our
classrooms,
friend
groups and on social
media: Stay woke. It’s a call to
progressive action and beliefs.
The term, which originates
from
African
American
Vernacular English, refers to
the
sociopolitical
awareness
to
different
contemporary
and historical issues of social
justice. The origin of the term
can be traced back to the 2008
song
“Master
Teacher”
by
Erykah Badu. It proliferated
through the Black Lives Matter
movement, becoming part of
protest dialogue, slang and art
following the killing of Trayvon
Martin in 2012.
Amanda
Hess’s
piece
on
“Earning the ‘Woke Badge’” in
The New York Times Magazine
is an excellent text for learning
the
history
of
performing
wokeness.
While
the
term
originally referred to awareness
of issues on racial justice,
staying woke has expanded
in
contemporary
dialogues.
Today,
“staying
woke”
has
been appropriated to refer to
awareness over social justice
issues in a broader form. Still,
even when used by white allies
the term is tied to Blackness.
As Hess puts it, “‘woke’ denotes
awareness, but it also connotes
blackness. It suggests to white
allies that if they walk the walk,
they get to talk the talk.”
There are obvious criticisms
to how the term has been
appropriated by white allies to
refer to a broader set of social
justice issues. Still, accepting
that
this
term
has
been
appropriated, how can one tell
if someone is walking the walk?
How do we know if you are a true
ally or simply posing? In other
words, what are the different
ways to perform wokeness?
Today, being woke or not
extends far beyond someone’s
private political beliefs. It is
shown through actions and
dialogue. For some, performing
wokeness is worn like a badge of
honor. For others, the opposite
is true, as they find ways to
capitalize on critiquing modern-
day progressive liberals. Not all
performances of wokeness are
the same. To understand the
differences in how wokeness is
performed, ask two questions:
Where does the performance
fall on the wokeness spectrum,
and why perform wokeness?
The first question is quite
simple: Where does an individual
fall on the wokeness spectrum?
Just how woke are they?
It is quite easy to look at
performing
wokeness
as
a
binary — you are either woke
or you aren’t. But doing so
compartmentalizes the different
degrees to which someone can
display their progressive beliefs.
Instead of viewing performing
wokeness as a binary, we should
view it as a spectrum with being
progressive on one end and
being traditional or antiquated
on the other.
There are blatant extremes
when it comes to how woke
someone
can
be,
and
we
shouldn’t
just
assume
all
progressive actions are the
same. Volunteering to register
voters in communities affected
by voter suppression tactics
should be seen as more woke
than simply showing up to
the polls to vote for far-left
candidates. Still, each of these
actions
can
be
considered
progressive. Viewing wokeness
as a spectrum allows one to
easily decipher between these
differences and then some.
Questioning extremism on a
spectrum allows us to accurately
compare
how
individuals
perform unwokeness as well.
Yelling racial and homophobic
slurs to people on the street
should be seen as viler than
buying a chicken sandwich from
a restaurant chain that funds
anti-LGBT rights organizations.
Still, each of these actions can
be considered pretty unwoke.
The second question: Why
are they woke? What are their
motivations?
Even if two people seem to
hold the same degree of wokeness
— exhibiting equivalent levels of
progressiveness in their beliefs
and actions — it does not mean
they are going to be doing so
for the same reasons. Their
performances of wokeness are
going to differ based on the
motivations of the individual.
For
people
who
are
progressive,
determining
motivation simply means asking
why being woke matters to
them. For the best individuals
in the progressive community,
the answer is simple: Being
aware of sociopolitical issues
is
important.
These
people
may choose to make disclosing
pronouns a part of an icebreaker
because they don’t want to
misgender anyone in the room.
They follow this norm out of
respect to their non-cisgender
peers who know all too well
the
awkwardness
of
being
misgendered in a formal setting.
However, not all progressive
individuals
exhibit
this
motivation. Many may perform
wokeness because of the social
or
economic
capital
they
receive out of appearing to be
woke. They may disclose their
pronouns in a group meeting —
not because it is the right thing
to do, but rather for the social
praise they gain from their
progressive peers by following
such norms. These are the
people who say they are “going”
to Black Lives Matters protests
for the Facebook likes, and they
kind of suck.
These individuals might also
be identified by the way they
react to those who aren’t aware
of progressive norms. When
someone in their group meeting
doesn’t know how to disclose
pronouns and says, “Ummm ...
ugh, the boy ones,” they react by
scoffing and rolling their eyes
instead of trying to teach what a
proper response would be based
on their gender identity.
Don’t get me wrong, these
individuals
aren’t
completely
unethical. It’s better that they are
mildly woke rather than not at
all. Still, their intentions should
be seen as morally dubious and
they are certainly not the best
examples
of
the
progressive
community.
They
perform
wokeness only for their personal
gain and plenty of these people
exist on university campuses.
What about the other side of
the woke spectrum? For people
who are not woke, determining
motivation centers around an
individual’s access to social
justice
dialogues.
Looking
at such factors allows one to
distinguish between those who
don’t understand the language
and norms of progressiveness
and the douchebags.
The former doesn’t act woke,
but it may not be completely their
fault. Perhaps they are elderly
immigrants
from
another
country who are inexperienced
with American social justice
norms. They aren’t completely
absolved
of
their
anti-
progressiveness. After all, they
are still on the unwoke side of
the spectrum. However, their
beliefs and actions are a bit
more understandable.
The douchebag’s politics are
less forgivable. They have the
ability to understand how to be
woke, but choose not to be.
Reclaiming hometown habits
JOSIE TOLIN | COLUMN
Performing wokeness
MAX LUBELL | OP-ED
Max Lubell is a senior
opinion editor.
Josie Tolin can be reached at
jostolin@umich.edu.
Y
ou’re huddled around a
table grabbing lunch with
friends you haven’t seen in
a week, and it seems as if there’s an
impossible amount of
conversation to catch
up on. It’s been a tough
week; you want your
friends’ support. Just
as you start to speak,
a
friend
interrupts,
telling
everyone
to
check out their latest
photo on Instagram.
And just like that, the
conversation is dead
as everyone whips out
their phones.
The
above
scenario
seems
natural, just another example of
millennial
self-absorption.
The
supposed
millennial
tendency
toward
anti-social
narcissism
has been so well-documented —
by everyone from baby boomer
columnists to celebrities — that
American
culture
takes
the
stereotype for granted. Yet the
myth of the apathetic, narcissistic
millennial is just that: a myth.
When
baby
boomers
and
Gen Xers depict millennials
as lazy narcissists, they are
following a timeless tradition of
criticizing the supposed moral
and intellectual decline of the
next generation. The ancient
Greek
philosopher
Socrates
worried the rise of writing would
spoil the younger generation’s
minds by eliminating the need
for memorization. Even the baby
boomers were once the targets
of the very same criticisms they
level against the millennials. One
needs to only glance at newspaper
articles and magazine covers
of the ’60s and ’70s to see that
the elders of the time regarded
boomers as lazy, self-indulgent
and politically apathetic. New
York Magazine epitomized this
trend when it declared the 1970s
the “Me Decade” in response
to “a new religious wave” of
narcissistic
self-improvement.
Claims of millennials’ narcissism
and apathy simply don’t hold
up in light of humanity’s youth-
bashing history.
Headlines have made much
commotion
about
studies
from
the
National
Institute
of Health and San
Diego State University
about rising levels of
narcissism among the
millennial
generation.
However, these studies
fall flat due to flawed
methodology and ample
counter-evidence.
As
psychology
professor
Jeffrey
Arnett
described
in
The Atlantic, the Narcissistic
Personality
Inventory
asks
simplistic questions such as “am I
assertive?” which fail to accurately
gauge the presence of narcissism.
Other studies have shown that
today’s youth behaves in much
the same way as older generations
did in their adolescence, and self-
obsession is more related to the
state of youth itself rather than
generational differences. In other
words, millennials aren’t uniquely
self-centered. They’re just young.
In
addition,
millennials’
unprecedented
acceptance
of
diverse and marginalized social
groups runs contrary to the
narrative
of
self-absorption.
A comprehensive Pew survey
indicating increasing acceptance
of
interracial
marriage
and
affirmative action suggest rising
racial tolerance among young
Americans. In addition, a vast
majority of young people support
same-sex marriage and reject
xenophobia. Millennial politics
paint a picture of empathy and
community, not self-absorption.
In greater numbers than any
previous generation, they reject
the ultimate forms of collective
narcissism
known
as
white
supremacy and the patriarchy.
Narratives of millennial laziness
also seem to run contrary to
evidence. A video of author Simon
Sinek diagnosing the millennial
plague of laziness recently went
viral, reaching almost 7.5 million
views on YouTube. Sinek claims
a combination of participation
trophies,
helicopter
parenting
and social media have created a
generation of unfocused slackers.
Yet again, the evidence paints
a completely different picture.
A recent survey by Project:
Time Off found millennials
far less likely to use vacation
time and more likely to show
dedication to their job than baby
boomers or Gen Xers. Out of
all U.S. workers who could be
considered “martyrs” for their
job, 43 percent are millennials.
Furthermore, a survey detailed
in
the
Harvard
Business
Review shows millennials value
meaningful,
socially
useful
work just as much as every other
generation. The evidence proves
millennials are not lazy. In fact,
coming of age in the second-
largest economic crisis in U.S.
history and its ensuing job
insecurity seems to have forged a
generation of young workaholics.
Finally, reports of political
apathy
among
millennials
prove to be misleading. A Pew
poll from early 2016 found
millennials to be the least likely
generation to vote. At face
value, this report seems to be
damning. However, a separate
Pew report found millennials
volunteer for nonprofits and
advocacy groups at a higher rate
than other generations. Perhaps
living through a recession, two
failed wars and extreme partisan
divides have embittered the
generation against institutional
political authority and pushed
millennials to take action into
their own hands.
It’s also possible low voter
turnout corresponds to age
rather
than
generation.
TOM AIELLO | COLUMN
The ‘we’ generation
Tom Aiello can be reached at
thomaiel@umich.edu.
FRANNIE MILLER | CONTACT FRANNIE AT FRMILLER@UMICH.EDU
TOM
AIELLO
JOSIE
TOLIN
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Diag Dogs
Today, being woke
or not extends far
beyond someone’s
private political
beliefs. It is shown
through actions
and dialogue.