T

his 
Thanksgiving, 
I 

was upgraded from my 
perennial seat teetering 

awkwardly in between 
the kids’ table and 
adults’ table; I was 
given 
permission 

to officially enter a 
more 
sophisticated 

environment. Eat your 
hearts out, younger 
siblings and cousins. 

It was not long 

before I realized that 
the prospect of a table 
with candles and a 
centerpiece had made me too 
optimistic. The topic discussed in 
the big leagues this evening: college 
campuses and free speech — hardly 
the 
lighthearted 
conversation 

I wanted to have after gorging 
myself with food.

As far as I imagine political 

conversations 
at 
Thanksgiving 

dinner tables across the country 
typically go, however, the one at 
mine happened to be quite tame. 
There was little shouting, frequent 
laughter and not once did I think 
that anyone was having second 
thoughts about foregoing politically-
affiliated assigned seating.

But there was one thing in the 

debate over the campus free speech 
conundrum I found unsettling. 
It was something equally as 
unsettling at the Thanksgiving 
table as it had been when it arose at 
the University of Michigan Board 
of Regents’ table two days prior 
and then at The New York Times’ 
news desk the next week. Free 
speech on college campuses was 
exposing the larger normalization 
of neo-Nazism in today’s politics, 
and liberals had become unwitting 
contributors to this.

Like the rest of the country, I 

had expected at least some degree 
of normalcy when a champion of 
white nationalists ascended to the 
Oval Office. Still, the throning of a 
Mexican-denigrating, 
both-sides 

shaming and Pocahontas name-
calling 
demagogue 
exceeded 

expectations. The once-dormant 
Stephen Millers and Steve Bannons 
of the world were allowed to enter 
mainstream politics, bringing the 
“fringe” beliefs shared by their 
loyal acolytes with them.

Neo-Nazis 
have 
enough 

powerful allies as it stands today. 

The left — or anyone, frankly, who 
believes in fairness and equality 
irrespective of race, religion or 

creed — should not feel 
compelled to be one of 
them or sympathize 
with them. Articles like 
the softening profile 
of Tony Hovater, an 
Ohio-based neo-Nazi 
whose 
“Midwestern 

manners would please 
anyone’s 
mother,” 

that The New York 
Times published last 
Saturday do just that.

Though 
these 
self-serving 

pieces 
most 
assuredly 
cause 

liberals to rejoice in their supposed 
show of tolerance, a shortcoming 
that conservatives have loved to 
attack, any victory is shallow and 
short-lived. Sympathizing with 
Nazi sympathizers is antithetical 
to ostracizing their brand of 
baseless bigotry. Liberals need 
not pat themselves on the back 
for legitimizing an outsider voice; 
when 
that 
outsider 
espouses 

white supremacy or Nazism, then 
anything short of rebuke merely 
continues to lazily promote the 
narrative in which unadulterated 
hatred is falsely equated with 
“political belief.”

Though this may be the reality 

of our current political landscape, 
the 
kicking-the-can-down-the-

road attitude that humanizes, 
rather than ostracizes, America’s 
neo-Nazis, must be curbed at once.

Outlets like The New York 

Times hardly owe anyone a 
platform on their powerful pages, 
much less white supremacists and 
Nazis whose beliefs have as great 
a factual foundation as fake news. 
While the media may indulge itself 
in propagating hate under the 
guise of tolerance, the University of 
Michigan should not.

That’s why the Board of Regents’ 

and University President Mark 
Schlissel’s decision on Tuesday that 
moved Richard Spencer one step 
closer to speaking on campus was 
so disheartening.

In not allowing Richard Spencer 

to speak on campus, we would 
not, as University Regent Mark 
Bernstein (D) eulogized, be failing 
in our mission to promote free 
expression. Nor would we “provide 
even more attention to the speaker,” 

as 
University 
President 
Mark 

Schlissel wrote in a campus-wide 
email, if the University were to 
reject Spencer, as schools including 
Michigan State University, Ohio 
State University, Pennsylvania State 
University, the University of North 
Carolina at Chapel Hill and Auburn 
University 
have 
done. 
These 

institutions have courageously 
challenged the new normal.

What we are doing is embracing 

it. We are overcorrecting for our 
past transgressions in which our 
student body wrongly denied far 
less odious figures the right to free 
speech by choosing the nuclear 
option. Richard Spencer gets a 
platform at the University. Tony 
Hovater has a spread in The Times. 
I discuss the merits of Nazi speech 
at the Thanksgiving table.

It is true that many students on 

campus need to realize that not all 
conservative speakers on campus 
are the devil incarnate. Heeding 
Elie Wiesel’s famous words that, 
“The opposite of love is not hate, 
it’s indifference,” would be an 
effective approach to combating 
this provocative strain of evil, 
because we cannot be complacent. 
But I am hesitant to use Spencer as 
the example for this re-education. 
When hate is as uniquely sinister 
and as far-reaching as Spencer’s 
is, we ought to be happy, not 
dismayed, that there is pushback 
from students and faculty on 
campus. For the administration, it 
is hard to say the same.

At what point do we draw 

the line? When men with even 
more hateful views and actual 
political power than Spencer 
inevitably request to speak at the 
University, will the University let 
them speak too?

Or will we continue to treat 

our adherence to the Constitution 
as a suicide pact until regrettable 
repeats of history emerge?

I certainly hope not, but I am 

not holding my breath. There’s 
a reason why Dictionary.com 
chose “complicit” as its word of 
the year for 2017. When Spencer 
and 
his 
gang 
of 
swastika-

wielding, 
violent 
criminals 

roll into town, that reason will 
quickly become apparent.

L

et him come. Bring it on. 
I want Richard Spencer. 

I’m not the other that 

he fixates on. Sure, I’m one of 
the snowflakes who voted for 
Hillary Clinton, and I’m Middle 
Eastern. But I’m not Muslim. 
I’m not Jewish, either, nor am I 
Black. All of this is to say I am 
not the one who deserves the 
final say in this matter. I am 
not explicitly threatened by his 
toxicity the way my friends and 
classmates are.

Still, I want him. I want 

his ignoble crusade to make a 
stop on our campus. Yes, his 
ideology is capable of inflicting 
great suffering, some of which 
we’ve already seen. But I’ve 
watched him take a punch; 
I’ve seen his followers try to 
peacock as something more 
menacing than the scared and 
threatened lot they are.

I’m not afraid of him.
I’m more afraid of not 

knowing 
his 
supporters, 

especially the ones so close 
to us. Come out. Own your 
violence and your hatred. I 
want to know who you are, even 
though you see a subhuman 
any time you don’t see a white 
human.

I 
don’t 
think 
Richard 

Spencer wants to speak here. 
It serves his purposes more to 
be blocked from speaking, so 
that he can cast himself as the 
victim of an unruly and restless 
liberal youth that needs to be 
disciplined and educated in 
the realm of what’s “mature.” 
What he doesn’t realize is 
that we are far more mature 
than 
what 
his 
corrupted, 

compromised, feeble brain is 
capable of.

At its best, this campus is 

not a safe haven for his ilk. 
At its worst, it has enough 
dynamics to elicit conflict from 
a controversy like this. There is 
racism on this campus because 
there are racists on this campus. 
As there have been. This is not 
news. Unfortunately we don’t 
know how many, but we know 
that they are currently the 
silent, scared minority. 

Richard Spencer is more 

afraid of us than we are of him. 
At the end of the day, his fears 
of a more just, diverse and 
equitable world are coming true. 
Yes, this is delayed all the time, 

and in the news we see that it is 
possible not just to delay it but 
also to reverse it. But only in 
moments, not in totality.

It’s easy for me to feel like the 

world’s never been worse. I’ve 
only been alive for a moment, 
and in this moment there 
seems to be sexual violence 
everywhere, 
racial 
injustice 

everywhere, 
human 
rights 

abuses everywhere. It seems 
that way because it is so — this 
evil is here, in great force.

What 
I 
do 
well 
to 

remember is that this evil 

has been around since the 
beginning, in quantities far 
more overwhelming. Ask any 
marginalized 
person; 
they 

can point to a time when their 
people were more persecuted, 
more 
degraded, 
more 

threatened, more isolated than 
they are now. The difference 
is our awareness of such evil. 
While excruciatingly painful, 
we better address our worst 
demons when we can see them.

And so, we are at a junction. 

This is part of the fight for the 
direction of our country. We 
can shrink away from it and 
feel safer. We can drown out 
the voices we hate, block that 
Twitter account that causes 
us duress and turn off the 
channels that propagate lies 
and deception to our neighbors.

Or, we can listen. We can 

allow Richard Spencer to speak 
to those that are interested. 
Where they supply violence, 
we’ll 
provide 
self-defense. 

Wouldn’t it be nice to know 
your classmate thinks you’re 
inferior? Isn’t it better to know 
if that professor you might 
have next semester thinks 
you’re subhuman?

So, please, if an on-campus 

site doesn’t work out, stop by 
my apartment, Mr. Spencer, 
and bring your compatriots. 
I’ll make you some coffee, 
which you are free to throw 
out because it was made by 
somebody several skin tones 
darker than you. You can make 
your own cup after; I know you 
live a life of fear. I can’t relate.

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Friday, December 1, 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

I want Richard Spencer

ANDREW MEKHAIL | OP-ED

Carolyn Ayaub
Megan Burns

Samantha Goldstein

Emily Huhman
Jeremy Kaplan

Sarah Khan

Max Lubell

Lucas Maiman

Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy 

Jason Rowland

Anu Roy-Chaudhury

Ali Safawi

Sarah Salman
Kevin Sweitzer

Rebecca Tarnopol

Stephanie Trierweiler

Ashley Zhang

Andrew Mekhail is an LSA 

sophomore.

The new normal

Draupadi’s sari

SARAH NEFF | SARAH NEFF CAN BE REACHED AT SANE@UMICH.EDU.

 
 
 

Editors note: The name of the author 
has been omitted to protect their 
identity. 
Trigger warning: description of 
sexual assault
I

n 
the 
Hindu 
epic 

“Mahabharata,” 
a 

prominent turning point 

occurs 
when 
the 
princess 

Draupadi 
is 
inadvertently 

gambled away by her husband 
to his evil cousins. She is 
dragged in front of the entire 
kingdom and disrobed to be 
assaulted. Though she yells 
at her husband in anger, she 
doesn’t fight back against her 
assailant. Instead, she prays to 
the Lord Krishna, who blesses 
her with infinitely long cloth 
for her sari, so she cannot be 
fully disrobed.

***

I was the type of girl whose 

reputation preceded her. In the 
Indian-American 
community 

at the University of Michigan, 
I was the girl who partied too 
hard, who’d hooked up with too 
many guys.

We met at a party my 

freshman year and I already 
knew who you were. You were 
the type of guy whose reputation 
preceded him, too. In the 
Indian-American 
community, 

people called you an asshole.

I always liked the bad boys. 

And you were the worst.

Over the next few weeks, 

we would sneak away to talk 
alone at parties and make out 
in the corner. You told me I was 
different. You told me I was “so 
much better than all these other 
Indian girls, so much less of a 
prude.” You attempted to uplift 
me by putting down countless 
other women in our community. I 
laughed along.

You took me back to your 

fraternity house after a party 
on Halloween. I had gone as a 
Disney princess and you didn’t 
have a costume. It was late, and 
it was dark, and I didn’t know 
that part of town very well. Your 
roommates were smoking weed 
and blasting Lil’ Wayne. You led 
me into your room, to your bed 
and I followed. You reminded 
me that I was pretty for a brown 
girl, carefree for a brown girl, 
chill for a brown girl. I accepted 
these as compliments.

We began to fool around a 

bit. In a few minutes, you easily 

unpinned the costume that I had 
taken an hour to assemble. No one 
had ever taken as keen an interest 
in my body before, and I was 
flattered. I was content to just let 
you look at me. I was 17, and you 
made me feel, for the first time in 
my life, beautiful.

But I was 17, and I barely 

knew you. You looked at me, all 
of me, and your eyes told me you 
wanted more. I had never done 
more than this. I had received 
enough of your approval tonight. 
I wanted to stop here, while I 
was still comfortable, while I 
was still happy. South Quad was 
30 minutes away, and I didn’t 
want to make that journey alone. 
I asked you to walk me home. 
You asked me to have sex with 
you instead.

I said no, and started gathering 

my costume strewn across the 
floor. You asked again.

I said no, but I didn’t want to 

come off too forceful. I didn’t 
want you to suddenly think I 
wasn’t “carefree” or “chill.” You 
asked again.

I said no, and I asked you 

to please take me home. This 
was before the days of Uber 
and Lyft, and I couldn’t trust 
my tipsy freshman self to find 
my way home on my own. You 
asked again.

I said no, but this time you cut 

me off. You said you would take 
me home, but only after we had 
sex. You asked again.

I said no, but this time you 

reminded me that I didn’t really 
have a choice. You said if I wanted 
to get home safe, we had to have 
sex first. You hovered closely over 
me, giving me no room to escape. 
You asked again.

I said yes, and I have chosen to 

forget the rest.

***

You and I had bonded earlier 

that night over a shared interest 
in Hinduism. But Lord Krishna 
didn’t bring me more cloth that 
night, like he did for Draupadi. 
Prayer isn’t always practical 
advice, and our faith ultimately 
gave us little guidance on notions 
of consent and assault.

The secular aspects of our 

culture didn’t help either. The 
Indian- 
and 
Hindu-American 

communities 
are 
notoriously 

conservative when it comes to 
sex and gender roles. My parents 
never gave me “the talk,” and 
maybe yours didn’t either. In 
my family, the men make all the 
decisions, and maybe it’s the 

same in yours too. Even Draupadi 
was treated as just an object to 
be gambled away, and it seems 
not much has changed in the 
millennia since.

My family doesn’t think I 

should date someone unless I’m 
going to marry them. My mom 
still thinks I’m a virgin. Any 
conversation that began to border 
on sex was immediately shrouded 
in judgment. Where was the room 
to talk about sexual assault?

And though so many of our 

peers claimed to be far more 
liberal than their parents, they 
have often still inherited the 
same judgment and exercised 
it on people like you and me, 
people who in their view partied 
or hooked up too much. At the 
University, being part of the 
Indian-American 
community 

meant 
navigating 
constant 

judgment 
and 
moral 
double 

standards. 
Having 
sex 
was 

rebellious; talking about it was 
taboo and would inevitably lead to 
slut-shaming. Sexual assault was 
something we opposed in theory, 
but wouldn’t dare acknowledge in 
our community.

Our parents had so many 

rules for us growing up, and our 
peers in college weren’t much 
better. By breaking their rules, I 
thought I was rebelling against 
our community. You probably 
thought you were rebelling too, 
but you broke me instead.

***

I walked home after sunrise 

wearing your T-shirt, the Greek 
letters displayed proudly across 
my chest. I kept that T-shirt, 
perhaps in denial, in the back of 
my closet for the better part of 
a decade. If a friend ever saw it, 
I’d tell them about how I’d stolen 
it from some random frat guy 
freshman year.

I finally threw your T-shirt 

away last year. Cloth may have 
been a physical barrier for 
Draupadi, but it wasn’t going 
to keep hiding my experience. 
Our community cannot keep 
wrapping 
up 
sexual 
assault 

with infinite cloth, pretending it 
doesn’t exist.

ANONYMOUS

The author is a College of 

Engineering alum.

This is the seventh piece in 
the Survivors Speak series, 

which seeks to share the 

varied, first-person experiences of 

survivors of sexual assault. 

LUCAS MAIMAN | COLUMN

Lucas Maiman can be reached at 

lmaiman@umich.edu.

LUCAS

MAIMAN

I want Spencer’s 
ignoble crusade 
to make a stop on 

our campus

