I

n mid-November, news
broke that Senator Al
Franken, D-Minn., had

forcibly kissed and groped
radio
newscaster
Leann

Tweeden on a USO tour
in December 2006. On the
morning after the story came
out, I woke up and listened
to NPR’s “Up First” while
scrambling eggs, like every
other morning. I had heard
about the story via Twitter
the
evening
before,
but

wasn’t aware of the details. I
listened to the podcast hosts
report on what had happened,
and I began to deliberate
about whether I thought he
should resign. After a while,
I decided I was ambivalent.
It felt to me as if forcing him
to resign suggested he was
the only sitting U.S. senator
who had sexually harassed
someone. I thought certainly
no one believed that.
I discovered later that day
that I was entirely wrong.
My peers, most of whom
are staunch liberals, were
shocked by this news. They
loved Al Franken — how
could he betray them like
this?
How
could
such
a

liberal “feminist” sexually
assault women? It was not
only my circle of friends who
reacted in this manner; even
the hosts of the podcast “Pod
Save America” discussed how
distraught they were that an
idol of theirs had turned out
to be a predator. As I heard all
of this, I was flabbergasted.
Did my friends and favorite
podcasters really believe that
every time they saw #MeToo
on their timelines, it was in
reference to a Republican?
That voting to fund Planned
Parenthood
and
speaking

against Donald Trump meant
someone was exempt from
being an abuser?
It became clear to me that
many
people
did
believe

these things. While revealing
powerful liberal men also
abuse women felt to me like
“revealing” a lot of the people
drinking at Garage Bar are
well under 21, it turns out
that many very smart people

were caught by total surprise.
It sometimes feels as though
I’m
trapped
in
an
echo

chamber with the people and
media with which I surround
myself, so it felt odd to have
such a different perspective.
The best explanation I have
for my viewpoint is my past
experiences. I was groped

at 15 by a former friend, I
was raped at 16 by a former
boyfriend
and
sexually

assaulted at 18 by a former
friend and current friendly
acquaintance. I’ve spent a lot
of time (read: a very painful
five years) thinking about
those moments. I’ve assessed
those men and their actions
for so long, and yet it never
occurred to me that their
political affiliation would be
relevant to their behavior.
That is because it is not;
those three men hold wildly
different views on politics
in general and on women’s
issues specifically. Somehow,
their views on abortion never
made me feel more forgiving
toward or more surprised by
one over another. Being a public
advocate for women’s rights and
a private abuser of women only
makes someone a hypocrite, not
a “better” abuser.
Sexual assault is a violent
crime, not a partisan issue.
We
were
all
brought
up

surrounded
by
a
culture

of sexual assault that has
historically
allowed
men

to abuse their power and

privilege
without
much

punishment.
We
must
all

recognize that no matter how
progressive or egalitarian our
values are, we are affected and
influenced by that predatory
culture. For example, I was
ambivalent toward Franken’s
resignation for quite a while.
I was convinced otherwise
by Ana Marie Cox’s article in
Esquire, which is summarized
in
this
quote:
“I
think

Franken should voluntarily
relinquish
a
privilege
in

recognition
that
women’s

voices and experiences are
more
important
than
his

short-term political career.”
I don’t know why that simple
point was so difficult for me
to understand from the start.
I know I would feel personally
insulted, disheartened and
enraged each day if one of my
abusers held public office.
While I also know that there
are hundreds of victims who
must live with that horrible
reality, it is one that we
should actively try to reduce.
So, if I was right, and there
is at least one other U.S.
senator who is guilty of
sexual misconduct, and even
if there are 30 of them, and
even if they’re all Democrats,
I sincerely hope they will be
outed and removed. If it ruins
Democratic chances of ever
winning back Congress, so
be it. We cannot be a party
that puts abusers in power
and justifies it by claiming
that things would be worse
for women if we lost their
votes. I certainly understand
that argument; I understand
that
reproductive
freedom

is at risk, we desperately
need maternity leave and
that the Republican Party
has no intention of helping
women on these issues. I also
understand that as long as we
are complicit in propping up
abusers, women’s safety and
autonomy is not a priority of
the Democratic Party either.

I


am
both
an
early-

morning
person
and

a
runner.
These
two

characteristics
aren’t

mutually
exclusive,
but

both
have
one

similarity: “This
American
Life.”

“This
American

Life” is a podcast
produced by NPR
and
narrated

predominantly by
Ira Glass. It has
different weekly
themes,
with

stories
ranging

from things people regret
to how Greece is helping
Syrian refugees. For the last
six years, I have religiously
listened to “This American
Life” on my runs. Hundreds
of miles logged have been
matched with hundreds of
stories from people all around
the world.

My alarm clock blares before

the crack of dawn, I climb out
of bed, slip on my running
shoes and walk out the front
door. The air has the distinct
smell of morning dew: clean
and fresh. I press “play” on
my podcast, and I’m off, legs
running and feet pounding.
Ira Glass’s friendly voice rings
through my ears: “Every week
on our podcast we choose a
weekly theme…” This opening
statement is one I can recite
from
memory,
that
makes

me feel comfortable; it is like
listening to an old friend.

One rainy morning, I turned

on my daily podcast. I heard
Ira’s weekly opening statement,
his
tone
noticeably
more

somber than previous weeks.
This, he said, was Harper High
School. The “This American
Life” staff would be spending
two weeks in an inner-city
Chicago high school exploring
how the school deals with lack
of funding, gang violence and
the school-to-prison pipeline.

Jumping over puddles and

getting more drenched by
the minute, I remember tears
streaming from my face and
mixing with the dreary rain
as I listened to the stories of
the three students who were
shot, the teachers who didn’t
come to class and the weekly
flooding of the hallways from
dilapidated infrastructure.

Harper High School is a

stark contrast to my high
school, an upper-middle class
suburban school where almost
everyone graduates and goes to
college. And this educational
disparity made me angry. So
I decided to act. I gathered
the support of my peers and
faculty and broke through a
long-held silence surrounding

systemic issues. Students for
Social Justice emerged, and
with the help of the school
administration we launched a

school-wide campaign
against sexual assault.
For the first time, and
for the next two years
of high school, I was
able to be a leader and
make a difference.

Arriving
at
the

University of Michigan
in early fall brought a
mix of fear, excitement
and anticipation. High
school had supposedly
“prepared” me for the

next four years, and everyone
said the best years of my life
lay ahead. The first few weeks
of college included thousands
of new faces, taking the longest
route to class because Google

Maps did not know how to
navigate through the Diag and
working up the courage to do
homework in the Law Library.
All of these changes were new,
and I felt like I was failing to
find my place.

Festifall
was
the
most

overwhelming event to occur
on
campus:
thousands
of

booths, flyers and, of course,
free candy. I grabbed handfuls
of flyers and laid them out
on my still-organized desk.
All the clubs seemed new,
exciting
and
promising.
I

could help refugees, join a
pre-law fraternity, cook in
the South Quad basement or
work for a handful of different
publications.

I was a typical overly-

ambitious freshman, and all of
those flyers sat in my desk for
weeks. I would occasionally
glance at them while getting
my next stack of notecards, and
a pang of anxiety would pass
through my body. I had yet to
attend any mass meetings or
fill out any applications. Was
I failing at getting involved?
I felt like the only freshman
on campus who was this
overwhelmed, but I began to
realize I was not alone.

As
the
semester

progressed,
my
friends

changed,
my
classes
got

more difficult and the leaves
began to change colors. As I
continued to doubt my college
involvement, “This American
Life” remained a constant. My
running routes shifted from
flat, tree-lined streets to the
hills near Oxford Road. Ira
Glass’s voice rang in my ears,
sharing stories of failures,
hope and the possibilities of
change. Donald Trump had
been in office for a year, but
Roy Moore lost in Alabama.
There was still hope, and
I could make a difference.
Hundreds
of
students
on

our
own
campus
kneeled

for hours in protest. Change
could be made in any way.
Making a difference did not
have to mean joining clubs or
starting political movements.
Rather, it meant continuing
to seek out experiences that
made me feel empowered and
showed me a purpose. Though
not becoming involved in
typical college organizations
felt
much
like
failure,

recognizing my purpose from
the environment in which
I was immersed each day
continued to be empowering.

My
surroundings
have

shifted,
but
my
curiosity

and
desire
for
progress

has never waned. I see this
possibility
in
the
smallest

of
places:
contributing
to

class discussion, reading the
newspaper during a 30-minute
break or discussing politics
with
a
newfound
friend.

Recognizing my peers come
from diverse places and have
different experiences sparked
my interest in asking questions.
The transition from high school
leadership
to
discovering

interests in unknown places is a
new experience. But sometimes
experiencing the “new” is just
opening your eyes to the world
around you. All of this reminds
me that I am no longer in my
bubble: there is possibility all
around me.

Now, I sit through lectures

about the history of social
justice
and
civil
rights

on
college
campuses.
My

professors are teaching my
peers and me how to lead,
pioneering
generations
of

change. This is the kind of
change that “This American
Life” motivated me to think
about. This is the change
that I experience unknowing
opportunities each day. So, “on
this week of ‘This American
Life,’” I will keep listening,
keep asking questions and
keep working for change.

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Thursday, January 11, 2018

DAYTON HARE

Managing Editor

420 Maynard St.

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

tothedaily@michigandaily.com

Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.

ALEXA ST. JOHN

Editor in Chief
ANU ROY-CHAUDHURY AND

ASHLEY ZHANG
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

MARGOT LIBERTINI | COLUMN

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

Democrats can be abusers too

Running for thought

Margot Libertini can be reached at

mliberti@umich.edu.

NATALIE BROWN | CONTACT NATALIE AT NGBROWN@UMICH.EDU

We were all
brought up

surrounded by a
culture of sexual
assault that has
allowed men to

abuse their power.

Julia Cohn can be reached at

julcohn@umich.edu.

JULIA COHN | COLUMN

I felt like the
only freshman

on campus
who was this

overwhelmed, but
I began to realize
I was not alone.

— President Donald Trump speaking at the White House during
a news conference with Norwegian Prime Minister Erna Solber

when asked if he would be interviewed by Mueller

“

NOTABLE QUOTABLE

Certainly I’ll see what happens. But

when they have no collusion, and

nobody’s found any collusion at any

level, it seems unlikely that you’d

even have an interview. ”

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Mass meetings will be located in the newsroom at 420

Maynard on Jan. 11, 16 and 17 at 7 p.m. Hope to see you there!

JOIN OUR EDITORIAL BOARD

Our Editorial Board meets Mondays and Wednesdays 7:15-8:45 PM at
our newsroom at 420 Maynard Street. All are welcome to come discuss

national, state and campus affairs.

JULIA
COHN