“A

s a straight, white, 
cisgender 
man 

of relatively high 

socioeconomic 
status 
and 

having been raised 
in 
the 
Catholic 

Church …”

That’s 
how 
I 

started my sentence. 
It 
was 
a 
muggy 

July 
evening 

in 
New 
Jersey, 

with 
mosquitoes 

everywhere and the 
temperature 
easily 

over 80 degrees still 
after dark. I was 
spinning around on an old 
deck chair in my backyard. A 
close friend of mine from high 
school had come over to catch 
up — we hadn’t seen each other 
in months — and somewhere 
along the way, between talk 
of 
last 
semester 
and 
our 

plans, we started discussing 
religion. I was fascinated with 
Hinduism at the time, and 
I was asking this friend, an 
Indian American, how I might 
approach that interest in a 
respectful, non-appropriative 
way. But she cut me off.

She raised her hand, signaling 

that I should stop, and smiled, 
saying, “Brett, just say what 
you’re about to say, I already 
know all of these things about 
you.” She told me that I didn’t 
need to qualify every statement 
every time I opened my mouth. 
It took a second for me to 
process, but then we moved on 
with our conversation.

This may seem like a small 

moment, an obvious way to 
streamline our conversation 
and make it so that I didn’t 
have to repeat the paragraph 
of my privilege I’ve grown 
accustomed to another five 
times. A timesaver, more or 
less. Months later, though, 
as I reflect on it, I think this 
moment speaks volumes about 
the way dialogues can work.

Maybe this interaction stood 

out to me because a few months 
earlier I had seen a similar 
dialogue go horribly wrong. 

Another friend of 
mine and I were 
spending some time 
together and, over 
the course of several 
days, all we did was 
disagree — on topics 
ranging from how 
to define cultural 
appropriation 
to 

whether trap music 
was an inherently 
depressing 
genre 

made by sad people trapped in 
a vortex of hypermasculinity 
(it was a long week). This all 
culminated in her screaming at 
me — in a very public setting — 
that I needed to come around 
to her point of view and spend 
more time reading what she 
had read or risk “being just 
another dumb white guy who’s 
literally destroying the world.” 
The real quote had more 
expletives than this or any 
other newspaper would allow.

So 
what 
made 
the 

difference 
between 
these 

two interactions? Something 
was profoundly absent in the 
latter, and the only word I 
can think of to describe it is 
trust. Trust that I was at least 
somewhat informed, somewhat 
empathetic, somewhat engaged 
— that I was trying to put aside 
my privilege and understand 
another point of view. That’s 
what 
made 
the 
discussion 

about 
Hinduism 
work; 
my 

friend trusted me to make my 
best effort to honestly listen. 
Meanwhile, the lack of that 
kind of trust led to me being 
branded as an active member 
of a race intent on destroying 
the world.

To be clear, I by no means 

think I have a free pass from 
now on, with her or anyone 
else. I had to work to earn that 

trust, and that’s the way it 
should be. I’ll continue to work 
to earn the trust of others, all 
the while expecting nothing.

The reality is that as a 

straight, 
white, 
cisgender 

man of decent socioeconomic 
status on this campus, I’m 
accustomed to recognizing my 
privilege before I speak in most 
groups. It only takes a second 
or two. I’ve learned how my 
identity tends to dominate 
a conversation and take up 
space, and I’m consistently 
doing my best to break that 
mold and listen instead. But 
this one time, I got a pass. And 
it felt great.

The role of a straight, white, 

cis — well, you get it by now. 
The role of guys like me within 
our 
socio-cultural-political 

cohort is often difficult to 
navigate. Sometimes, the right 
thing to do is to speak out, to 
use your privilege to point 
out 
and 
correct 
injustice. 

Sometimes, the right thing to 
do is to sit back and listen and 
empathize. 
Distinguishing 

between the two is almost 
always challenging.

Liberal white men don’t need 

sympathy, though, nor do they 
need safe spaces of their own to 
figure it out. And it’s no one’s job 
to give us a pat on the back when 
we happen to do something 
right. But it’s helpful, in all 
dialogues between friends, to 
be conscious of that sense of 
trust. Knowing when you still 
have to work to earn it helps 
you capture the right tone, 
to temper your statements. 
Conversely, 
for 
those 
who 

are in a position to show that 
trust, knowing when to take 
down a barrier, however small, 
can bring these dialogues to 
another level of depth.

A

fter trial and error 
with plant-based eating 
over the course of this 

year, I finally decided to ditch 
the dairy products I relied on 
and be a “real vegan.” I always 
imagined 
when 
I 
changed 

my diet I would have some 
challenges with cravings for 
my favorite comfort foods. 
Surprisingly, the challenges I 
experience have instead been 
from the stigma associated 
with being a vegan.

Last 
week, 
standing 
in 

the buffet line at my friends’ 
potluck, I soon realized that 
there were not many dishes 
I could eat. Limited by my 
options, I reached the end of the 
line where two loaves of garlic 
bread laid side by side. The first 
one was labeled “no cheese,” 
and the other had cheese on 
top. I grabbed a piece of the one 
with no cheese, assuming it had 
to be vegan, and sat down at a 
table with friends to eat and 
catch up.

I took a few bites of the bread 

and it tasted pretty great. The 
flavor was familiar, and after 
I finished the piece, I guessed 
there had to be butter in it. I 
could feel the heat flushing into 
my cheeks as I asked around 
the table to see who made the 
bread and if there were any 
other animals products in it. 
When they answered there 
was, in fact, milk and butter 
in the bread, I was mad and 
embarrassed that I allowed 
myself to eat this bread without 
asking before.

I know it was just one piece 

of bread and there is no way 
it could hurt me, but I was 
pissed at myself. Why was I so 
embarrassed to ask what was in 
the food? Why is this something 
that I always find myself trying 
to avoid in social settings? Did 
I secretly hope the bread was 

vegan so I could just enjoy some 
damn good garlic bread like 
everyone else?

I 
find 
myself 
in 
this 

situation whenever I go to 
events and parties where there 
are 
catered 
or 
homemade 

foods. Realistically, I know 
I can easily ask the people 
who cooked the food what 
ingredients 
are 
in 
their 

dishes. 
But 
asking 
these 

simple questions about food 
brings negative attention that 
makes me feel as if I am being 
difficult, annoying or making 
an issue for everyone else.

Before I stopped eating meat, 

I felt as if the vegetarians and 
vegans in my life were always 
talking about their diets, and 
I found it annoying. When I 
would go out to eat with them 
I was nervous they would make 
me feel uncomfortable about my 
food choices or try to push their 
“agenda” on me. Therefore, 
since I stopped eating meat, 
I always had these opinions 
lingering in the back of my 
mind, and I have been actively 
trying to distance myself from 
this negative stereotype.

In the beginning, I did not 

even want to associate myself 
with the label “vegetarian.” If 
someone asked me about it, I 
would casually answer, “I just 
don’t eat meat,” because I didn’t 
want the label to give others 
the power to make assumptions 
about kind of person I was as 
a vegetarian. But as time went 
on, and I continued to cut more 
and more animal products from 
my diet, I knew that I would 
need to start using a form of 
this label.

Now, when my veganism 

comes 
up 
in 
conversation, 

as I expected, I see people 
processing 
their 
own 

preconceived opinions about 
my lifestyle. I wish I didn’t 

care what people thought, 
but even as I am writing this 
column, I feel nervous that 
readers will think I am being 
That Annoying Vegan, that I 
am just using this space to 
push my plant-based agenda 
on my readers. And it is hard 
not to think this with all of the 
anti-vegan jokes and memes 
I see online. Though I still 
find them funny, I wish there 
were a way people could see 
veganism the way I do.

I chose my vegan lifestyle 

because I found this was the 
best for my body and mind. 
In addition, I want to do less 
harm to living creatures and the 
planet we share. It is a choice, 
and I want to acknowledge I’m 
aware there is a privilege in 
being able to eat this way. This 
diet or lifestyle is not accessible 
to everyone, and it is not my 
place to tell another what they 
should put in their body. In fact, 
I believe it is everyone’s right to 
choose what feels best and truly 
satisfies their body’s needs.

This is the only body I will 

ever have. I know I should 
not feel sorry or shameful for 
being autonomous over my 
diet, body and impact on this 
world. I am not going to let 
the negative stereotypes about 
veganism affect the way I live 
my life. The values I hold and 
the lifestyle I live do not make 
me any better than the next 
person. They only allow me 
to have control in a system 
where I feel powerless. No 
one should ever feel shame 
in asking questions, because 
staying true to your values and 
standing up for justice over 
your body, the living beings 
around you and the planet is 
never inconvenient.

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Thursday, October 12, 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

Lettuce eat plants

ELLERY ROSENZWEIG | COLUMN

On recognizing privilege and trust

BRETT GRAHAM | 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

Brett Graham can be reached at 

btgraham@umich.edu.

ERIN WAKELAND | ERIN CAN BE REACHED AT ERINRAY@UMICH.EDU

Homelessness: A tale of two cities

EMILY HUHMAN | COLUMN

I 
 

grew up in Traverse City. Ask 
any University of Michigan 
student from Traverse City 

about their hometown, and they 
will 
describe 
the 

beautiful 
beaches, 

bustling 
downtown 

and Moomer’s, our 
town’s treasure (it’s 
the best ice cream in 
the 
United 
States). 

While 
these 
are 

all a part of what 
makes Traverse City 
what it is, one thing 
is often left out in 
the 
conversation 

surrounding 
the 
city: 

homelessness. 

Homelessness is an issue that 

is prevalent in Traverse City 
and Ann Arbor, but the issue is 
relatively invisible to those who 
are unaffected by it.

Out of the 15,479 people who 

live in Traverse City, about 94 
people experience homelessness. 
Traverse City is not considered a 
hub for the homeless; therefore, 
the city is not given funding from 
the state and federal government 
to help deal with the homelessness 
problem. As a result, it has been 
up to nonprofits to try to care for 
the homeless in the city.

I began to volunteer at Safe 

Harbor, one of the nonprofits 
serving 
the 
community’s 

homeless. 
There, 
I 
learned 

about the problems facing my 
hometown’s homeless population. 
As the main organization working 
to serve the homeless, Safe 
Harbor is a collection of churches 
that makes meals and provides 
“bed-nights,” or overnights in one 
of its participating churches.

In the winters of 2011 and 

2012, 
Safe 
Harbor 
provided 

5,540 bed-nights and more than 
11,000 meals to 158 different 
homeless folks. Though Safe 
Harbor provides much help and 
services to the homeless, the help 
is only temporary — nothing they 
provide is permanent. Rather, 
federal and state funding is 
necessary to provide permanent 
solutions 
to 
Traverse 
City’s 

homelessness issue.

Of the 364,709 people living 

in 
Washtenaw 
County, 
342 

of those people experienced 
homelessness on a given day in 
January 2016. Unlike Traverse 
City, Washtenaw County has 
taken a much more active role in 
reducing homelessness. While 
Traverse 
City 
relies 
almost 

solely on private nonprofits, Ann 

Arbor and Washtenaw County 
have implemented governmental 
programs to curb homelessness 
in their communities. In 2015, 

Washtenaw 
County 

implemented 
the 

Zero:2016 
program, 

now called Built for 
Zero. This is a national 
program that aims 
to help communities 
develop and utilize 
existing 
resources 

to help those on the 
streets. The program 
has seen a lot of 
success in Ann Arbor 

— 172 homeless veterans and 
158 of the chronically homeless 
were able to get off the streets. 
If Traverse City’s government 
implemented 
this 
type 
of 

program, it could likely reduce 
homelessness.

In 
addition, 
a 
lack 
of 

affordable housing in Traverse 
City contributes to housing 
insecurity and homelessness. 
As wealthy retirees have begun 
to settle in Traverse City, 
housing prices have increased 
substantially. Some downtown 
apartments and condominiums 
are on the market for more 
than $1 million. These prices 
are outrageous; middle-class 
citizens cannot afford these 
apartments, 
let 
alone 
the 

working homeless. As a result, 
homeless people in the area are 
often in danger, either because 
of cold winters or vicious 
beatings by other homeless 
people or local teenagers.

Many attempts have been 

made to build affordable housing 
units in Traverse City, but these 
projects have faced considerable 
pushback from some portions of 
the community. In 2016, Traverse 
City’s city commission sold an 
unused government building to 
Safe Harbor for $50,000 after 
two years of debate. This building 
will be turned into a permanent 
home for Safe Harbor and open as 
a shelter in 2018.

Critics wondered if building a 

homeless shelter was the best use 
of the land. Others worry that the 
increase in services will lead to 
more homeless people moving into 
the area. However, statistics show 
this has not happened. In Traverse 
City, 74 percent of the homeless 
are from Grand Traverse County 
and 93 percent are from Michigan. 
As a result, in the deal with Safe 
Harbor, 
city 
commissioners 

stipulated that if a housing 

proposal comes along within 10 
years, part of the property will be 
used for housing the homeless.

Ann 
Arbor 
has 
faced 
a 

similar problem with affordable 
housing. Listing prices have 
increased 10.6 percent from 
April 2016. Now, the average 
listing price in Ann Arbor 
is $320,335, a price that is 
impossible 
for 
low-income 

individuals to afford. Officials 
in Ann Arbor and Ypsilanti 
have said they plan to add 3,137 
affordable renting units. While 
this is a great step, it can still 
be difficult for extremely low-
income people to afford these 
units. 
Additionally, 
funding 

cuts have forced a shelter to 
cut 27 beds. More affordable 
housing and homeless shelters 
are needed to further reduce 
homelessness in Ann Arbor.

The homeless in the Traverse 

City 
area 
have 
also 
been 

working to become more visible. 
In 2011, the first issue of “Speak 
Up 
Magazine,” 
a 
magazine 

written 
by 
homeless 
folks 

about issues affecting them, 
was released in Traverse City. 
People can submit articles, short 
stories, poems or artwork to 
the magazine. Once published, 
the 
homeless 
can 
become 

vendors after going through an 
interview. The vendors can keep 
any profits they receive. Though 
“Speak Up Magazine” does not 
solve the systematic problems 
of homelessness, it has provided 
a look into the lives of Traverse 
City’s homeless population and 
given them a voice. 

Ann Arbor’s “Groundcover 

News” 
is 
a 
comparable 

publication. You might see these 
vendors in yellow vests around 
Ann Arbor — feel free to stop by 
and pick up a copy.

I am so grateful to have grown 

up in Traverse City. However, 
the city can do a lot more to 
help the homeless people in the 
area. While visibility for the 
homeless in Traverse City may 
be increasing with “Speak Up 
Magazine,” more can be done 
by local leaders to help those in 
need. Ann Arbor has been able to 
implement some governmental 
solutions. Traverse City can 
take a cue from Ann Arbor 
and implement more city-wide 
programs and actively look for 
affordable housing solutions.

Emily Huhman can be reached at 

huhmanem@umich.edu.

Ellery Rosenzweig can be reached at 

erosenz@umich.edu.

EMILY 

HUHMAN

BRETT 

GRAHAM

SUBMIT TO SURVIVORS SPEAK

The Opinion section has created a space in The Michigan Daily for 

first-person accounts of sexual assault and its corresponding personal, 
academic and legal implications. Submission information can be found at 

https://tinyurl.com/survivespeak.

