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. ” WANT TO JOIN OUR TEAM? Come to The Michigan Daily’s mass meetings! 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