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October 03, 2017 - Image 4

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D

onald Trump wants to
be your tour guide on
what makes America

great and how he is making it even
greater and even more patriotic.

You can kick off your journey

with a visit to Charlottesville,
Va., a place with “some very
fine
people
on
both
sides.”

There, you’ll be treated to proud
displays of Confederate flags and
monuments — testament to the
“patriotic and idealistic cause”
known
as
the
Confederacy,

whose flag “proclaims a glorious
heritage” — Trump’s friend at
Breitbart helpfully explains.

Next, venture to Alabama to

bask in the patriotism of newly
elected
Republican
Senate

candidate Judge Roy Moore.
Who could be a more patriotic
or devoted American than Judge
Moore, who, like Mr. Trump,
has questioned Barack Obama’s
birthplace and would, if he could,
have homosexuality outlawed?

If all this country-loving has

worn you out, perhaps unwind
at your nearest NASCAR track,
a venue where, according to
Mr. Trump, you would not find
any disrespect for our country
or our flag. Here you will find
one of the few remaining places
for patriots unsullied by lesser
Americans where the crowd
is reliable, united by race,
orientation and creed.

After completing your tour

of Mr. Trump’s America, do
not despair if you still don’t
grasp Mr. Trump’s brand of
patriotism
(dodging
Vietnam,

slavishly
yielding
to
Russia,

indiscriminately mocking those
beyond
his
“base”).
Maybe

you don’t play to cameras by
literally wrapping yourself in
a flag, but unless you’ve truly
gone out of your way to be mean
and obnoxious to others, you’re
almost certainly a truer patriot
and a more devoted servant to
American ideals than Mr. Trump.

That is because what Trump

and his ilk celebrate is not
real patriotism. It is selective
patriotism

deference
and

respect are reserved only for
individuals who hew to their
narrow mindset. In The New
Yorker last week, Prof. Jelani
Cobb explained that Trump’s
selective
patriotism
is
what

“drives him to curse at black
football
players
but
leaves

him struggling to create false
equivalence between Nazis and
anti-Fascists in Charlottesville.”

Prof. Cobb exposes the lie of

Trump’s patriotism. How can
Trump glibly condemn Black
football
players
who
protest

peacefully,
yet
struggle
to

condemn Nazis, attack Russia’s
meddling in our elections, and
acknowledge
the
Confederate

monuments
and
flags?
The

mind does gymnastics trying
to
reconcile
these
obvious

discrepancies as anything other
than racism.

Of course, Trump cloaks his

conduct and words in patriotism.
But the founding fathers were
wary of such exploitation of
patriotism.
In
his
farewell

address to the nation in 1796,
George
Washington
warned

Americans to “guard against
the impostures of pretended
patriotism.” Alexander Hamilton
expressed similar thoughts: “(I)n
popular commotions especially,

the clamours of interested and
factious men are often mistaken
for patriotism.”

Contrary to what Trump

and his acolytes think, true
devotion to the United States
of America does not mean
wrapping oneself in a flag and
covering one’s eyes. Nor does
it mean being self-righteous
about one’s love for country.

Being a patriot in the United

States means fighting to lift the
most downtrodden of people.
It means refusing to accept
inequalities and injustices in
society, even if doing so invites
criticism.
“True
patriotism,”

as the famed criminal lawyer
Clarence
Darrow
once
said,

“hates injustice in its own land
more than anywhere else.”

The country has had, and

continues to have, many true
patriots — those who advocated
for women’s suffrage, traveled to
Mississippi as Freedom Riders
in an attempt to desegregate the
South, marched in Washington
with Martin Luther King Jr. in
1963, marched in Washington 30
years later to fight against LGBTQ
discrimination and millions more
who have enlisted in the military,
voluntarily or otherwise.

Like the current movement

by some professional athletes to
take a knee during the playing
of the national anthem, these
historical acts of patriotism were
also seen negatively at the time.
As The Washington Post noted,
most
Americans
viewed
the

Freedom Riders and the March
on Washington unfavorably. A
Newsweek survey found that only
23 percent of Americans thought
that the March on Washington
for Lesbian, Gay and Bi Equal
Rights and Liberation “did more
good than harm in the fight for
gay rights.”

Today, however, few, other

than self-proclaimed “patriots”
like the Charlottesville Tiki torch
bearers and Judge Moore, would
deny that the advances gained
by the suffragettes, the Freedom
Riders, civil rights activists and
others who marched to promote
the welfare of all Americans,
greatly improved this nation, its
social fabric and the lives of tens
of millions.

Protest has lifted the most

marginalized
in
our
nation.

Protest has jolted the United
States out of systemic injustices
that run counter to the values
enshrined by the Constitution.
When we consider the progress
that we have made in our 241-year
history, we look to the individuals
who have had the courage to
believe that this nation can and
must do better.

Those kneeling in protest hold

that same belief. Colin Kaepernick
took a knee not to object to the flag
or the anthem, but to object to the
selective application of the justice
system in the United States. In
Slate, John Legend called the
protests “an attempt to educate
the public that criminal justice
— mass incarceration, lengthy
sentences, police brutality — is
the civil rights issues of our time.”

Kneeling,
a
silent
and

nonviolent protest, aims simply to
call attention to the grave failures
of our institutions, especially
toward
Black
Americans.

These athletes simply seek to
highlight how pervasive these
racial disparities are, however
uncomfortable this might make
some of us. They challenge
President Trump, our political
leaders and all of us to not be blind
nationalists but true patriots,
loyal to our most cherished ideals
of fair, honest, equal treatment
and opportunity for all.

F

rom the moment I entered
the Michigan League to
attend
Tuesday’s
panel

discussion on the renaming of
the C.C. Little Building, I sensed
the evening’s event would be a
contentious one. Little, former
president of both the University
of Michigan and the American
Eugenics Society, has been subject
to increasingly heated debate —
due in large part to his involvement
in the eugenics movement.

As I walked to the event, I

found myself in the midst of
protesters also headed there. I
heard one protester responding
to their friend’s comment about
the discussion they were about
to attend: “What discussion? It’s
racist to have a discussion.”

The frustrations of the students

of color and their allies at the event
are entirely justified due to the
University’s inaction regarding
concerns over buildings named
after racists and the broader
struggles minority students face
in their battle against racism and
other forms of bigotry on campus.
But snubbing the exchange of ideas
is not the way to further a cause.

Members
of
the
panel,

Professors Alexandra Stern and
Martin Pernick and LSA senior
Joshua Hasler, were consistently
unable to speak, due to protesters
interjections — angry over the lack
of progress in the name change
process and insistent that the
academics in front of them weren’t
doing enough, or even that they
were part of the problem.

As I stood and watched the

events unfold, I found myself torn
between the grievances of the
protesters and the educational,
though not politically detached,
position of those on the panel.
Reconciling the division between
radical activists and the academics
who can give them the tools to
engage in critical and historically
informed ways with their activism
is a major challenge in current

university student movements.

The categorical dismissal of

information proffered by educators
and the rejection of discussion
creates an environment hostile
to learning and understanding.
While I agree wholeheartedly
with efforts to change the name
of the C.C. Little Building — and
all other buildings which threaten
to normalize and valorize the
University’s
bigoted
past


rebuffing information and debate
does no service to accomplish
these ends. Regardless of a person’s
certainty in their point of view,
it’s crucial that they listen when
information is offered in order to
maintain an informed opinion.

Furthermore, I doubt anyone in

the room would dispute C.C. Little’s
racism; the purpose of the event
wasn’t to debate whether his views
were justified. But consensus on
that point shouldn’t mean the end
of discussion. While formal efforts
to change the name have already
been made, continuing to learn
about Little and other problematic
figures in the University’s past (and
present) is crucial to provide an
evidential basis for the removal of
such names.

Perhaps the greatest frustration

I observed at this event is one often
directed at historians, who are
tasked with having “the answers.”
While history may not provide us
with straightforward solutions,
a knowledge of history will show
a reasonable adversary that you
care enough to have educated
yourself on the nuances of your
cause and will bolster the gravity
of your appeal. In an institution
steeped in tradition, acquiring
historical knowledge will show
administrators that you recognize
the significance of names. It can
also help you come to a solution
that stops validating proven racists,
while not devolving into erasure
and whitewashing.

There’s
also
an
important

distinction
to
be
made

between
commemoration
and

remembrance. The debate isn’t
about whether to remember C.C.
Little. It’s about whether his name
should be emblazoned on a science
building as a sign of honor, or
whether his memory would be of
better use in a museum that can
educate future generations on the
University’s past failings and the
power of students in creating new
histories.

I am also quite concerned

that students fail to understand
the
implications
of
spurning

the offer of information from
University professors and the
dangers of rejecting debate. While
I understand the critique that the
panel was all white — which is
something that should be remedied
in future discussions — the fact
that professors are willing to
discuss this topic is an educational
opportunity that shouldn’t be
taken for granted.

Listening to a person speak

does not mean you have to agree
with them. But shouting down
educators (especially when they
are, in fact, supporters of your
cause) only creates rifts, instead
of fostering a fruitful learning
environment that can serve as a
springboard for activism.

Fundamental to a university

setting, as well as a democracy
in general, is that people feel safe
to discuss ideas and to practice
critical thinking. The individuals
participating in the protest, as
well as those on the panel, are
playing an important role in
rectifying a wrong in the history
of the University. If protesters
would allow themselves to be
historically informed, their case
to remove Little’s name and
their continued, valiant struggle
against the ennoblement of the
University’s bigoted past would be
all the more powerful.

I

’m studying abroad in
Paris
this
semester,

something I’ve dreamed

of doing forever. And I’ve been
here for a few weeks already —
time is flying!

I feel really lonely; I miss

home and Ann Arbor and school
and familiarity. And that’s not
something I expected. Going
abroad, in my mind, didn’t
include any of the difficult stuff.
I think I have this image of
myself as a self-sufficient person,
a lifelong New Yorker whom
friends describe as charismatic
and surprisingly outgoing, a boy
who only needs a backpack filled
with a book, journal and maybe a
bottle of water to be good to go.

But since I’ve arrived, I’ve

begun to learn how to appreciate
my most intimate friendships,
even as the friends themselves
are thousands of miles away.

I often walk around this

beautiful place wondering why
I’m here, what image of myself
I’m trying to cultivate and for
whom. Why I’ve intentionally
surrounded myself with people
I don’t know, in a new place,
where people speak a language
that I have to think quite hard
about before saying anything
of substance. I’ve thought a lot
about how people here read me,
about the personality I have.
Quiet
and
unassuming,
I’d

imagine. I’ve never been called
these things before. I become,
then, a stranger even to myself.

Both
on
internal
and

intersocial
levels,
I
become

intra-alienated. How I regard
my circumstances is skewed by
my present nostalgia for home,
and, in trying to speak to people
here, I am read in a specifically
alienating way, as well.

I really want to be with my

best friends in the places I know
best. I’m a senior, so time in Ann
Arbor, a place where it feels as if
I’ve lived about seven individual
lives filled with friendships
and follies and discoveries and
observant strolls through the
crannies of my mind, is coming
to an end. I check my Snapchat
on Saturdays to get a glimpse of
the tailgates I’ve experienced for
the past three years.

And when I get caught up

in all that I’m missing out on,
in all that’s not here, I very
quickly sink into myself, such

that everything here, all of the
beauty and excitement of being
here, the budding friendships
with other students here — all
of it dissipates, becomes an
afterthought. None of it holds
weight anymore. I feel confused
by this sudden change in emotion
and outlook and I ask myself:
If only I were home, why do I
do this, why do I stray from the
familiar just for the sake of it?
Why do I do this, when staying
home would be so much easier?

With these thoughts going

through me, I neglect to explore
the city, instead staying in my
apartment
and
FaceTiming

friends
from
home.
Which

makes me feel guilty, as if I’m
doing this wrong, as if I’m not
taking advantage of being here,
as I should be. Shame gets
mixed into the equation, as
well. I immediately begin to feel
starkly, existentially terrible, in
a way that isn’t sustainable. My
loneliness here is something I
need to figure out.

Before coming here, I didn’t

think about the impact a place
can have on how I feel within
myself. How the ability to
identify with a certain place —
like I do with Ann Arbor or with
New York City, where I grew up
— allows me to feel enlivened,
and how not being able to identify
with a place, as I have felt here,
can make me feel stultified and,
at worst, unhinged.

Being lonely and grappling

with all this newness have
specific effects on my psyche.
My past experiences become dim
and distant while my present
sorrow becomes everything I
know. All that I love feels so
far away, and all that I do not
have here, all the absence I feel
without my best friends and my
family, takes over.

Stepping back and arriving in

a place where I can consider and
comment upon these instances
of bad feeling, through self-
reflection and conversation with
loved ones, I’ve learned a couple
important lessons. First, there’s
not one right way to do this, to
be here. I’m not here to see the
sights of Paris necessarily. I’m
here to live, to exist in a new
place. Whatever that means for
me — staying indoors, walking
all day, feeling lousy, feeling
fantastic — whatever life brings.

Because this is still life, even

though I’m away. And living is
complex, regardless of where
one is. New baggage will always
form, regrets will take shape,
grass will always appear greener
somewhere else.

And
through
those

conversations with others, I
remember the love I have in
my life, both with other people
and with other places. My dad,
with whom email has always
been the predominant form of
communication, articulated this
lesson particularly beautifully:

“What and who are physically

present is different/maybe less
than all that is only psychically
present. But whatever is present
(coupled with what is only
available in your mind, via
memory
and
anticipation


we’ve been with you and we will
soon again be with you — all of
us — is what you have — that
combination of psychically and
materially present stuff (people
and things). It’s what you have,
that combination. It’s what I have
too — that combination. I have
you here (the imagined Isaiah,
reading this; the imagined Isaiah
with whom I am currently in
psychic connection by writing
this) and the Isaiah I eagerly
anticipate seeing soon; and all
the recollections of 21 years of
beloved Isaiah.”

We all feel loneliness. And

maybe one way of measuring
the strength of friendships is by
testing that psychic connection,
by measuring how well you can
feel somebody with you even if
they are thousands of miles away.
Which, in turn, warms my heart.
Because of how strongly I feel so
many of my friends and family
are here with me right now.

In that sense, by spending

time away, my friendships are
increasing in strength and clarity.
I ought not to think of the absence
of my friends and family as that,
as an absence. But, instead, I
ought to think of all those people
as being here, to think of their
presence, to reflect on all that
we have shared and, crucially,
to think of all the moments —
psychic and material — to come.

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, October 3, 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

A meditation on Parisian loneliness

ISAIAH ZEAVIN-MOSS | COLUMN

Patriotism, progress, protest

LUCAS MAIMAN | COLUMN

Engage in conversation

EZRA GERARD | 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

Ezra Gerard is an LSA senior.

Isaiah Zeavin-Moss can be reached

at izeavinm@umich.edu.

Being a patriot in the
United States means

fighting to lift the
most downtrodden

of people.

— Melissa Ayala, witness to the mass shooting in Las Vegas late

on October 1



NOTABLE QUOTABLE

It seemed like rapid fire. There was

blood pouring everywhere.



Lucas Maiman can be reached at

lmaiman@umich.edu.

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