“T
hat’s incredible. I
wish I could be there
alongside him right
now,” I thought as I
clicked the like button
on the article detailing
University of Michigan
student Dana Greene’s
protest
against
racism on the Diag.
I
closed
Facebook
and continued typing
away at the paper due
in class the next day,
sitting
comfortably
on my bed. My paper
had a long way to go;
protests would have to wait.
Looking back at this moment,
my excuse didn’t hold up. I could
have stopped by the Diag multiple
times that day, but I didn’t. And
besides, was a grade really more
important than demonstrating
against the racism students of
color face all too frequently on
this campus? I consider myself an
ally in the fight against racism, but
what is allyship without action?
I’m far from the first white ally
who’s given into complacency.
White people have been telling
Black people to wait for a more
convenient time for their rights
as long as the movement for Black
rights has existed. In 1963, Martin
Luther King Jr. lamented not
about the “Ku Klux Klanner, but
the white moderate, who is more
devoted to ‘order’ than to justice;
who prefers a negative peace
which is the absence of tension
to a positive peace which is the
presence of justice.”
The white moderate is Thomas
Jefferson
“paternalistically
(believing) he can set the timetable
for another man’s freedom,” as
King wrote referring to when
Jefferson called slavery a “moral
depravity” but continued to profit
from forced labor. The white
moderate is President Eisenhower
publicly condemning racism, but
showing hesitation to enforce
Brown v. Board of Education
because
“you
cannot
change
people’s hearts merely by laws.”
The white moderate is 96 percent
of white Americans disapproving
of the Ku Klux Klan but only 35
percent expressing support for
Black Lives Matter, a group known
for large and disruptive protests
against police brutality. A number
of staunch conservatives have
condemned the group as violent
and hateful.
National divisions over Black
activists’
protests
of
police
brutality
exemplify how white
moderates can impede
racial
progress.
In
2014, Black activists
organized large street
demonstrations
in
Ferguson,
Mo.,
to
protest
the
police
shooting of Michael
Brown. A New York
Times poll indicated
67 percent of whites
believed the protesters’ actions
went too far.
I’m going to assume most
of these white respondents
believe
police
brutality
is
harmful
and
Black
people
have a right to demonstrate
against it. So is it the perceived
violence of Black Lives Matter
that taints white public opinion
of protests? The fact that up
to 43 percent of white people
believe NFL players should be
fired for taking a knee — an
inarguably
peaceful
protest
— during the national anthem
suggests not. No matter the
form, some white people will
always
express
disapproval
when Black people publicly
demand just treatment.
If
white
people
are
to
effectively combat racism, we
must shift our understanding of
white supremacy from long white
hoods to the day-to-day behaviors
of ourselves and those close to
us. White supremacy is not an
abstract concept, far removed
from daily action. It is nurtured in
the everyday actions and inactions
of white people. When a hiring
manager skips past a resume
with a “funny name,” when a jury
indicts a Black youth for a crime a
white teenager would never have
been charged with, when a family
stays silent during an uncle’s rant
against “those people,” racism
flourishes.
These
subtle
yet
insidious
behaviors act as tacit endorsements
of systematic racism, whether
intentional or not. Even the most
well-meaning allies can fall into
the trap of staying silent in the
face of racism because they want
to avoid conflict or discomfort.
Racism is uncomfortable; white
privilege is the ability to ignore
that discomfort because it doesn’t
affect you.
Dismantling racism requires
embracing discomfort. It requires
calling out racist comments from
friends and family. It requires
joining protests and listening to
the grievances of people of color.
It requires being active and being
present.
To
defeat
racism,
white
people must raise their voices
against racism as often as people
of color do. White people built
and
benefit
from
systematic
racism. Therefore, the system
cannot be dismantled without
us. We can’t stand silently on the
sidelines in situations of injustice
while people of color protest
discrimination. We must show
up and support Black voices when
they bring attention to police
brutality,
mass
incarceration,
voter suppression or any of the
other symptoms of racism. As the
NFL police brutality protests and
Dr. King’s writings show, people
will attempt to delegitimize Black
activists no matter how peaceful
or small their protests. These
voices must be counteracted with
cries of affirmation and support
from white allies.
I’m not saying a white person
has to attend every single Black
Lives Matter protest to effectively
combat racism. Activism is often
a day-to-day, small-scale effort.
One small step allies can take is
speaking up when we hear racist
language. It’s easiest to be racist in
white-only spaces where no faces
of color exist to remind someone
of the consequences of their hate.
Considering that according to a
2013 survey, 75 percent of whites
in the United States don’t have a
single friend of color, these spaces
are all too common. Therefore,
white allies must hold our friends
and families accountable.
We must call out those around
us who abuse the “N-word”
or slip on the cloak of casual
racism when they feel safe in
their whiteness. It’s on us to
dismantle racism’s safe spaces.
As Desmond Tutu once said, “If
you are neutral in situations of
injustice, you have chosen the
side of the oppressor.”
I
hate sports.
I have absolutely no interest
in any team, franchise, game
or athlete.
My
lack
of
care
immediately
disqualifies
me
from 95 percent of
all
conversations
occurring
within
reach of a bottle of
Budweiser, as men
are horrified at my
utter neglect over
the statistics of the
most recent game of
the home concussions versus
the away concussions.
Yet, though I don’t care for
sports, I do care for politics.
And I don’t just care — I
know politics like a Vegas
bookie knows sports.
So when the two worlds
collided last week due to our
commander-in-tweet pandering
to his base condemning the
protests in the NFL, the political
world I follow brought forth
ample historical evidence about
how protests have been utilized in
the past within American sports.
More specifically, these sports
have become a righteous platform
for marginalized Black athletes to
voice their objections to a country
that preaches equality.
Several
pieces
written
these
past
few
weeks
conveyed
these
ideas,
and
NPR’s Domenico Montanaro
wrote a particularly excellent
article that demonstrated the
“complicated history of black
athletes protesting in sports.”
In
the
Olympic
Games,
Black
athletes
have
won
countless medals for a country
that divides, segregates and
marginalizes
them.
From
Jesse Owens in Nazi Germany
to John Carlos and Tommie
Smith in Mexico City, Black
athletes have competed and
succeeded
for
the
United
States despite the blatantly
racist institutions that exist in
the homeland.
And in 1968, when
Smith
and
Carlos
donned black gloves
and raised their fists
in
a
Black
Power
salute throughout the
entirety of the national
anthem, they did so to
a United States caught
in the grips of racial
and social chaos.
As
Montanaro
wrote,
“1968
was
another inflection point year in
American political and social
history. Violence was spilling
out in the civil rights and
integration movement. Cities
had been burned from rioting
the year before. Martin Luther
King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy
had been assassinated.”
And
that
was
how
they
could respond: capturing white
America’s attention.
That was how they could
utilize the success of their
athleticism
to
move
the
indifferent and tepid white
American population into an
uncomfortable
conversation
on race.
Yet, naturally, the two athletes
faced an overwhelming amount
of criticism and condemnation for
such an act. They were stripped of
their gold medals and condemned
for their disrespect to our country.
Or take Muhammad Ali and
his refusal to be drafted into a war
he and millions of others morally
objected to (and rightly so). His
defiance to the draft landed him
a sentence of five years in prison,
yet he was unwavering about
being sent to fight and kill the
Vietnamese: “And shoot them for
what? They never called me n-----,
they never lynched me, they didn’t
put no dogs on me, they didn’t rob
me of my nationality, rape and kill
my mother and father. … Shoot
them for what? How can I shoot
them poor people? Just take me
to jail.” The Supreme Court later
overturned Ali’s conviction, and
he never served time.
And now, within the NFL, acts
of protest face an overwhelming
amount
of
chauvinistic
condemnation due to the near-
satirical amount of patriotism
displayed at our football games
(we fly military aircraft over our
stadiums). The vilification of
these protesters comes from the
ignorant and unsympathetic who
lack the understanding that what
these athletes are protesting has
nothing to do with a piece of cloth.
Athletic success is an extremely
effective platform for protest.
I have often looked at sports
as something nearly free from
political
discourse,
which
I
thought justified my lack of
interest. But I forget I come
from a position of privilege and
ignorance, living my comfortable
life unaware of Black athletes’
effective protests in the past.
These athletes were offered an
audience politicians could only
dream of. They were revered
and idolized for athletic ability,
granting them the eyes and ears
of millions.
Perhaps
our
president
is
calculating, and utilizing his
outrage over this issue to mask the
other glaring problems plaguing
his administration. (Hey, Jared,
cute email server, and, Tom Price,
nice government jet you got there.)
Or maybe, just maybe, he’s an
impulsive old racist who panders
to a base that worships a piece of
cloth while disregarding the very
intangible rights it represents.
I may hate sports, but I now
realize
it’s
another
platform
that can be used to address the
problems that continue to infect
our country.
I
t’s just past sundown and,
after failing to make it over
to Trader Joe’s on East
Stadium
Boulevard
for the past two and
a
half
weeks,
I’m
overwhelmed by the
snacking possibilities
awaiting me in my
parents’ pantry. Upon
any given arrival to my
childhood home, the
first stop is always the
kitchen. Today is no
exception. My phone
buzzes as I’m halfway
through my third breakfast biscuit.
My relatives want to know whether
I’m fasting today.
If it weren’t for that text, I
would’ve completely forgotten it
was Yom Kippur.
Yom Kippur, or The Day of
Atonement, is the holiest day of the
year in Judaism. Following Rosh
Hashanah by 10 days, the holiday
is typically observed through
participation in intensive prayer
and sundown-to-sundown fasting.
It is said that, after Yom Kippur,
God has officially solidified his
inscriptions in the Book of Life.
According
to
Judaism,
these
inscriptions dictate who will or
will not stick around for another
earthly year. So yeah, the premise
of Yom Kippur seems pretty high
stakes: Repent or bust.
I
say
this
light-heartedly
because I have a relatively weak
relationship with religion. This
wasn’t always the case. I remember
lying in bed as a child, praying
to a compartmentalized image
of God — a man in the sky with a
nightcap and grizzly white beard.
Sometime around age 16, my
mental picture of an all-powerful
Albus Dumbledore lookalike no
longer made sense to me. I stopped
practicing religion and have only
recently started to re-evaluate this
decision. There seemed to be ways
to connect with religion on a more
individualized basis than I had
formerly acknowledged through a
narrow and standardized Judeo-
Christian lens.
Though the apathetic high-
school-atheist phase does not grace
the life of every American teenager,
it seems a growing theme among the
country’s Judeo-Christian youth.
Teenage years are characterized
by
an
increased
desire
for
autonomy, a rebellious sensation
likely limited by strict loyalty to
Mom and Dad’s religious roots.
Preservation of religious routine
proves itself especially difficult
on a largely secular
college campus, where
quantitative
grade
point
averages
and
median exam scores
feel exponentially more
urgent than the pursuit
of a spiritual outlet.
As a former member
of that demographic
of
apathetic
and
nonreligious
youth,
I’ll speak to my own
experience: There were other
things I wanted to do on Friday
nights besides attend Shabbat
services at the synagogue. It was as
simple as that. I didn’t see the place
for a system of belief in a busier
life schedule, so I abandoned it
altogether.
A
return
to
religion
can
follow
any
combination
of
transformational life events —
the death of a loved one, a bout
of intense depression, a period
of
extreme
turbulence
and
uncertainty. In many cases, the
search for a new belief system may
not be as much of a return as it is a
reconstruction.
My
religious
base
from
childhood makes the return to a
set of beliefs highly accessible to
me. Accompanied by this desired
return is the knowledge that I need
to entirely recalibrate this base
in organized religion by way of
my own discretion. The said base
holds many valuable teachings,
and it is my current project to
decide which of those teachings
I find particularly applicable and
worthwhile.
Reconstruction of faith can
adopt
many
different
forms.
Maybe it’s a strong adherence to
the communal aspect of religion,
the attendance of services and
prayer
circles
alongside
like-
minded folk. Maybe it’s a learning
process, the research of religious
philosophies and subsequent use
of that information to navigate
the physical world in a sensible
manner. I mean, talk about a
rich text — religious scriptures
and philosophies are endlessly
fascinating to read with a more
critical modern eye. Maybe it’s
silent and completely personal,
the revived yet revalued utterance
of prayers retained from youth,
a communication with a newly
assessed concept of divine force.
In addition to emphasizing
the metaphysical aspects of an
otherwise tactile daily routine,
religious adherence of some variety
has proven itself widely beneficial
in relation to mental health and
wellness.
Comparatively
low-
stress levels have been recorded
in
religious
or
semi-religious
individuals, as well as a stronger
sense of purpose and meaning.
Though this could be rooted to
the existential notion of place in a
higher order, the participatory and
social aspects of religion appear
the most strongly correlated to
these statistics.
The participatory aspect of
religion has specifically occupied
my attention as I’ve started to
tentatively consider belief a part
of my life again. Participation in
traditional practices gives me this
feeling of meaningful contribution
to a heritage that has undoubtedly
shaped me in ways I may not fully
realize. Determining whether to
preserve particular traditions on
an individual basis has become, for
me, a helpful way to navigate the
otherwise passive acquisition of a
Jewish heritage.
Though I don’t foresee a
strictly
regimented
religious
practice in my near future, I hope
to continue that participation
in
smaller
acknowledgments
of belief. I proceeded to fast on
Yom Kippur after receiving my
family’s post-sundown reminder
with
a
mouthful
of
biscuit
crumbs, and the cup of coffee I
had on that Saturday morning
didn’t technically align with the
holiday’s
fasting
expectations
either. I broke the rules a little bit,
and that’s OK.
For the first time in years,
I took part in a tradition that
made me feel like a contributing
member to the preservation
of a deeply rooted religious
philosophy. I took into account
my own expectations for myself
on this day instead of focusing
solely on the standardized rules
that I’d worked so hard to reject
as a teenager. An otherwise
mundane Saturday adopted a
new meaning, drawn from an old
religious base and shaped into
something currently applicable
and consciously chosen.
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Thursday, October 5, 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
On health and belief
JOSIE TOLIN | COLUMN
White people, racism is our fight
TOM AIELLO | COLUMN
I hate sports
MICHAEL MORDARKSI | COLUMN
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
Josie Tolin can be reached at
jostolin@umich.edu.
Tom Aiello can be reached at
thomaiel@umich.edu.
FRANNIE MILLER | CONTACT FRANNIE AT FRMILLER@UMICH.EDU
Michael Mordarski can be reached
at mmordars@umich.edu.
TOM
AIELLO
JOSIE
TOLIN
MICHAEL
MORDARSKI