Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Emma Chang
Joel Danilewitz

Samantha Goldstein

Elena Hubbell
Emily Huhman
Tara Jayaram

Jeremy Kaplan

Sarah Khan
Ethan Kessler
Lucas Maiman

Magdalena Mihaylova

Ellery Rosenzweig

 

Jason Rowland

Anu Roy-Chaudhury

Alex Satola
Ali Safawi

 Ashley Zhang

Art is our only hope

Rewriting history

MAGDALENA MIHAYLOVA | COLUMN

BEN CHARLSON | COLUMN

N

ow approaching nearly 80 
years since the Holocaust, 
this time period remains 

a sensitive and poignant topic for 
millions of Jews, Slavs and other 
marginalized groups who were 
subject to the repressive, violent racial 
ideology of the Nazis.

As Holocaust remembrance and 

education have come to the forefront 
of conversation about genocide 
prevention, so too has historiography 
and discussion on how the writing 
and telling of Holocaust histories 
has shaped perceptions about a 
genocide that may have taken over 
20 million lives.

On Feb. 1, the conversation over 

Holocaust historiography was once 
again sparked after the Polish Senate 
passed a new bill prohibiting any 
citizens from blaming the country for 
any crimes they committed during 
the Holocaust.

This bill came as a shock to 

countries like the United States and 
Israel, two strong allies of Poland, 
and whose relations to the country 
may be weakened as a result of this 
controversial legislation. However, 
more important than the geopolitical 
implications of this bill, is the basis 
on which the law rests — the idea 
that history can be manipulated 
and rewritten for political purposes, 
even in the presence of explicit 
factual evidence. In the era of “fake 
news,” this bill sets a dangerous new 
precedent in the realm of Holocaust 
denial and should be condemned 
by the United States, among other 
world powers, before its toxic 
ideology can spread.

Holocaust 
denial 
has 
been 

present since the end of World 
War II and the beginning of the 
liberation of concentration camps 
by the Allies. The earliest instance of 
Holocaust denial took place by the 
Nazi perpetrators themselves, who 
destroyed murder evidence at the 
extermination camps of Belzec and 
Treblinka during the early 1940s in 
an attempt to rewrite history before 
the ink had even dried.

Later, 
various 
theories 
of 

Holocaust denial spread throughout 

the United States beginning in the 
1950s and continuing through the 
21st century, largely centered on the 
idea that six million Jews were not 
killed in the Holocaust, but rather that 
they emigrated to the United States in 
a Zionist conspiracy to incriminate 
the Nazis and Axis powers during 
World War II.

Unsurprisingly, these theories 

have been proven time and again 
to be false. Publicly taking a stand 
against this distortion of history, 
many countries have criminalized 
denial of the Holocaust, the first 
being Germany in 1985. This sparked 
an increase in Holocaust denial 
legislation — Israel criminalized 
Holocaust denial in 1986, the Czech 
Republic in 2001, Slovakia in 2001 and 
Romania in 2002, all culminating in 
a United Nations condemnation of 
Holocaust denial in 2007.

However, the effects of this toxic 

ideology still remain. To say Poland 
was not complicit in any acts of the 
Holocaust would be an outright lie 
— Polish police forces and individual 
Poles were indeed accomplices in the 
ghettoization and deportation of Jews 
to Nazi death camps throughout the 
duration of the Holocaust.

Now, the use of the phrase 

“Polish Death Camps” can result in 
three years in prison — the minimum 
sentence given to those “acting with 
an intent to destroy in full or in part, 
any ethnic, racial, political or religious 
group,” or in other words, someone 
attempting to commit the very 
genocide that the Polish government 
is trying to cover up.

Falsifying 
information 

through something as powerful as 
government legislation presents a 
danger to Holocaust education and 
the future of genocide prevention 
across the world. As a history major, 
I have learned that what may be 
considered “the truth” is often 
subjective. For every event, there will 
always be two sides of the story, and 
often the use of language and tone is 
enough to distinguish between two 
perspectives.

For example, the ongoing Israeli-

Palestinian conflict illustrates the 

controversial nature of “truth” from 
a historical perspective. In a debate 
that has become relevant to our own 
campus through the Central Student 
Government vote over divestment in 
Israel, both the Israeli and Palestinian 
sides see the other party as the 
aggressor in the two countries’ violent 
history. In this sense, both sides may 
be “true” depending on perspective.

But some facts are not up for 

interpretation.

The Holocaust is a historical 

truth (quotations omitted), and it 
should be regarded accordingly by 
all countries, especially in the public 
image. Though the United States 
has failed to pass its own legislation 
regarding the criminalization of 
Holocaust denial, likely due to the 
vocal contingent of First Amendment 
supporters across the country, this 
is an opportunity for the Trump 
administration to take a stand.

After a recent meeting with 

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin 
Netanyahu regarding the creation 
of a new U.S Embassy in Jerusalem, 
President Trump announced, “Israel 
is very special to me.” For a president 
who has received nothing but 
criticism and backlash for his own 
distortion of facts, this would be an 
ideal opportunity to speak on the 
dangers of rewriting history while at 
the same time support his ally, Israel.

But the war against Holocaust 

denial 
cannot 
only 
be 
waged 

from above. It starts in places like 
elementary schools and continues 
through high school and college. 
While historians guide the discussion, 
students are the malleable generation 
whose ideology can still be molded by 
factual education.

Ultimately, a collective effort 

emphasizing 
the 
crucial 
role 

of 
historiography 
in 
Holocaust 

education 
will 
be 
integral 
in 

preventing the spread of these toxic 
ideas into our own politics and 
society, in turn protecting future 
generations from becoming victims 
of another genocide.

O

n Feb. 14, 2018, 17 students 
at 
Marjory 
Stoneman 

Douglas 
High 
School 

in Parkland, Fla. were killed by 
former student Nikolas Cruz. In 
the deadliest school shooting since 
Sandy Hook in 2012, the traumatic 
events at Stoneman Douglas High 
School marked another attempted 
mass murder at a school since 
Columbine, Colo. in 1999. There are 
not enough words to describe this 
tragedy that has once again struck 
our nation.

There is a complex web of issues 

that surround what happened at 
Stoneman Douglas — specifically, 
how the gunman was able to 
commit a mass murder. It is true 
that the issue is about gun control. 
However, this is not what I wish 
to discuss today. Rather, I wish to 
discuss a troubling development that 
I have witnessed in the aftermath of 
the shooting: the labeling of Cruz 
as a mentally disturbed “sicko.” 
This labeling has been done by 
President Donald Trump, his circle 
of politicians and the media. What 
everyone fails to realize is how 
their language surrounding Cruz 
(and other people with mental 
illness) has already created and will 
continue to perpetuate, dangerously 
inaccurate stigmatizations about 
mental 
health 
that 
will 
only 

further marginalize and provide a 
reason for discrimination against 
people 
with 
mental 
illnesses. 

This is not an excuse for Cruz or a 
justification for his actions. Rather, 
I am worried that the language 
surrounding his possible mental 
illness reflects broader implications 
about the problems our society has 
with misunderstanding and thus 
stigmatizing mental illness.

The 
Stoneman 
Douglas 

shooting is the most recent example, 
but it is important to acknowledge 
that stigmatizing language has been 
used to label shooters historically. 
For example, last October, after 
a gunman in Las Vegas killed 58 
people, Trump called the assailant 
“a very sick man” and a “demented 
man.” Sandy Hook shooter Adam 
Lanza, who killed 27 people in 
2012, was labeled by his father as 
“evil.” And James Holmes, who 
killed 12 people at an Aurora, Colo. 
movie theater six years ago has 
been labeled as “broken,” “sick” and 
described to have had a “skewed” 
view of the world.

Yes, 
Cruz’s 
actions 
were 

dangerous and the loss of 17 bright 
lives is absolutely, devastatingly 
heartbreaking, and it is true that 
he may have had mental health 

problems. According to reports, 
Cruz struggled with depression, 
attention-deficit 
hyperactivity 

disorder and autism, but many 
experts say that having a mental 
health diagnosis does not mean 
he would become violent. That is 
the key point here: Just because 
someone has a mental illness does 
not mean they are going to become 
a school shooter, it does not mean 
they are a “sicko” and it does not 
mean they are going to be a danger 
to society. The language being used 
to describe Cruz, and shooters in 
general, is now going to be attached 
to the greater population of people 
with mental illnesses.

When it comes to mental 

health, language matters. Instead of 
labeling people with mental illness 
as “sickos” and “monsters,” we need 
to understand the bigger picture. 
People are not born monsters, and 
having a mental illness does not 
mean you are a monster.

In 
order 
to 
clarify 
some 

information about the relationship 
between mental health and violent 
crimes, we should answer the 
question: Are people with mental 
illness more prone to committing 
violent crimes? Contrary to the 
claims 
of 
politicians, 
research 

suggests that no, this is not the 
case. It is estimated that one in six 
Americans has a mental illness. Yet, 
only 3 to 5 percent of violent acts 
are carried out by the mentally ill. 
In fact, people with mental illness 
are more likely to be victims — not 
perpetrators — of violence. Based 
on this information, the correlation 
between mental illness and violent 
crimes doesn’t really hold up.

To understand why stigmatizing 

language 
toward 
people 
with 

mental illness is so prevalent today, 
we need to understand where these 
stigmas originate. The truth is 
that stigmatizing language toward 
people with mental illnesses is so 
prominent in our culture that we 
may not even realize it. A team of 
researchers found that 46 percent 
of 
cartoons 
in 
New 
Zealand 

referenced 
mental 
illness 
and 

vocabulary toward those suffering 
from mental illness was found to 
be “predominantly negative or 
fundamentally disrespectful.” So 
even though there is no evidence 
justifying the stigma that people 
with mental illness are more likely 
to commit a violent crime, we are 
influenced from a young age to 
believe the opposite.

What we learn as children 

affects how we act as adults. In this 
case, stigmas around mental illness 

can limit employment opportunities. 
According to a 2017 British study, 68 
percent of people able to hire staff 
would worry that someone with a 
severe mental illness wouldn’t fit 
in with the team, 83 percent would 
worry that someone with severe 
mental illness wouldn’t be able to 
cope with the demands of the job 
and 74 percent would worry that 
someone with severe mental illness 
would require lots of time off. These 
concerns may be part of the reason 
just 43 percent of people with mental 
health problems are in employed in 
comparison to 74 percent of the 
general population.

So, words matter. In the case of 

mental illness, they create barriers 
between the “sane” individuals and 
those who are disparaged by this 
stigmatizing language. For many, 
it may seem harmless to use these 
kinds of words, but they become 
the foundation of a kind of stigma 
that blocks treatment, prevents 
employment and wreaks havoc on 
the self-esteem and hopes of so many.

In order to stop the harmful 

effects of stigmatization, we need 
to be asking the questions: Who 
gets to define sanity? And how do 
we justify the stigmatization of 
mental health when we know that 
the numbers don’t even add up — 
that people with mental illnesses 
are no more likely to commit a 
violent crime than the “rational” 
individual? What is the reasoning 
behind the name-calling, labeling 
and marginalization of people with 
mental illnesses? And furthermore, 
what are the consequences of the 
discourse around mental health? 
How is our society being shaped by 
our language?

The current rhetoric around 

people with mental illness is very 
dangerous. It’s more than just 
characters in tweets or words 
uttered into a microphone. These 
words are absorbed into our brains 
and are the foundation of how we 
construct society. If we constantly 
hear about how “deranged” Cruz 
was, then his actions will be written 
off as something us sane individuals 
will never be able to understand. 
But if we can never understand him, 
then how do we prevent this from 
happening again? How can we ever 
understand mentally ill people if we 
continue to label them as monsters 
and isolate them from society? 
People are not born monsters; they 
are created. We have created a 
monster out of mental illness.

Our language creates a monster out of mental illness

CARLI COSENZA | COLUMN

DAYTON HARE

Managing Editor

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Ann Arbor, MI 48109

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ALEXA ST. JOHN

Editor in Chief
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T

he first song that made 
me feel like a woman was 
“Can’t Hold Us Down” by 

singers Christina Aguilera and Lil’ 
Kim. I was about 12 years old, and 
despite how young I was, the lyrics 
struck my heart so deeply that 
I remember almost every detail 
about that day. From the first line, 
“So, what am I not supposed to 
have an opinion? / Should I be 
quiet just because I’m a woman,” 
I 
felt 
something 
brewing, 

bubbling and rising in the pit of 
my stomach — empowerment.

In the era of President Donald 

Trump, it is difficult to escape 
politics. It fills news cycles and 
conversations, and only if one is 
privileged can they ignore the 
dynamic changes in our country; 
“ignorance is bliss” has taken on 
a new meaning. Many people turn 
to art as a method of escape from 
political noise, but I argue that it 
is actually through books, movies 
and music that the most effective 
and important political statements 
can be made. When my parents 
sat me down at 12 years old and 
told me that I should always 
speak my mind regardless of my 
gender, I was probably too busy 
playing with my animal crackers 
to really internalize that message, 
however important it was. But 
when I heard Deborah Cox’s song 
“Absolutely Not,” with lyrics like 
“If I go to work in a mini-skirt, / 
Am I givin’ you the right to flirt? 
/ I won’t compromise my point of 
view / Absolutely not, absolutely 
not,” those sentiments became 
embedded in the hidden corners 
of my mind and influenced how I 
feel and act today.

This may seem like a silly, 

redundant anecdote, but I believe 
that subtle social influences have 
great authority in our world. A 
recent New York Times article 
commented 
on 
how, 
despite 

Republican control of government, 
from the presidency to the Senate 
to the House of Representatives, 
Democrats 
and 
progressives 

have massive cultural control in 
our country. Movements such as 
#MeToo or the diversification 
of media display the entwined 
relationship between policy and 
prose. The idea that liberals are 
gaining traction and influence 
through 
cultural 
mediums 

makes me hopeful for change. 
Art and politics have a crucial, 
interdependent relationship, and 
one that if utilized, can have a 
great effect.

And it has in the past. During 

the era of communism, Eastern 
Europeans found in rock and roll 
music a channel for dissidence. 
Rock bands were the image of 
sneaky rebellion, in that they 
were able to express political 
opinions in a way that (mostly) 
didn’t get them in trouble with the 
government. Their music enticed 
and inspired thought, and was the 
foundation for many anti-state 
movements. For those trapped 
under a totalitarian regime that 
stressed monotony, the passion of 
music and symbolic lyrics served 
as a compelling motivator for 
revolution. Eventually, the power 
of these bands demonstrated how 
social expression could lead to 
real political change, as many 
scholars argue that rock music 
played a major role in the collapse 
of the Eastern Bloc.

In the United States, a similar 

phenomenon to what happened 
in Eastern Europe exists, and has 
recently been manifesting itself in 
film. With new, successful movies 
such as “Get Out,” our nation 
is being exposed to important 
political statements in a manner 
that isn’t aggressive, but subtly 
influential. Artists are now able 
to gain success despite creating 

works centered on controversies, 
or that include diverse casting 
and themes. For example, “Get 
Out” appears as a simple horror 
film; however, underneath the 
classic horror plot, there is an 
abundance of meaning, and the 
movie is ultimately and undeniably 
about racism. Because horror is 
such an accessible and well-liked 
genre, director Jordan Peele was 
able to communicate a message 
to people who wouldn’t typically 
attend a movie about racism. And it 
wasn’t a flop: “Get Out” generated 
$255 million in box office profits 
worldwide and won the Academy 
Award for Best Original Screenplay. 
This shows that art can be both 
political and successful.

George Orwell, an author 

known 
for 
his 
politically-

messaged 
works 
such 
as 

“Animal 
Farm” 
and 
“1984,” 

once said, “The opinion that 
art should have nothing to do 
with politics is itself a political 
attitude.” It would be easy for 
us to only use art as a means of 
entertainment and escape from 
the overwhelming political state 
of our country. However, it would 
be more responsible to continue 
to create, or at least support the 
creators, of tendentious art. And 
although the effects aren’t always 
on a large scale, such as in my 
12-year-old experience, it doesn’t 
mean they aren’t important. If 
we utilize cultural power, we 
can and will generate social 
change; 
inevitably, 
tangible 

political power will follow. To 
me, it is obvious that something 
as beautiful and connective as 
art will eventually take the reins 
in building a more inclusive, 
functional and cohesive nation.

LUCAS ROSENDALL | OP-ED

O

ver Spring Break, I stopped 
by my local movie theater 
to watch the highly praised, 

“Black Panther.” The film had a 
different feel than other Marvel 
movies, straying away from the cliché 
evil villain who is evil strictly because 
they enjoy it. Instead, the film opts 
for a more sympathetic villain who 
many can relate to. It’s a refreshing 
take from the industry that usually 
produces strikingly similar heroes, 
villains and plot lines.

After the movie, I felt empowered. 

I felt this array of confidence and 
swagger come over me and for a 
second, I was the Black Panther. I 
felt like a superhero. This movie is an 
example of how film, music and the 
arts can transcend the boundaries of 
inequality and reach a vast array of 
people, no matter the color of their 
skin, class and gender. As I walked 
out of the theater, visualizing myself 
in the slick and savvy Black Panther 
suit, I began to wonder: Is America 
approaching equality?

The media has the ability to 

shape our social ideologies and 
discourses. Today, we are constantly 
“plugged in,” especially in the realm 
of the instant gratification we gain 
through streaming services. In the 
1960s, times were not so simple. 
The civil rights movement swept 
over the nation, stirring disputes as 
racial tensions grew. Then, in 1968, 
boxer Muhammad Ali stepped onto 
the cover of Esquire. Ali posed with 

arrows stuck in his body from 
all angles, blood (probably fake) 
gushing from the wounds; yet he 
stood tall, head turned upwards 
as if calling for the heavens for 
help. This cover would become 
one of the defining pictures of 
the decade; a powerful black 
figure with non-conforming ideas 
inspiring mainstream society to 
think differently. Covers like this 
serve as the foundation for a new 
kind of thinking because they 
challenge the status quo, and this 
challenge eventually alters the 
way we view race.

Fast forward to 2017, and pregnant 

tennis player Serena Williams poses on 
the cover of Vanity Fair while flaunting 
her powerful, athletic body. A cover like 
this is years and years in the making, 
having gone through the media’s 
constant shaping of our perceptions of 
what is socially acceptable. There were 
times in America when a cover like 
this seemed unimaginable. Yet, here 
we are. Throughout the years, race 
and gender have changed, and with 
it, equality has changed too. African 
Americans are seen in more significant 
roles throughout the entertainment 
industry than before. Many important 
conversations have been brought to 
light, including the conversations 
inspired by movements like #MeToo 
and Black Lives Matter. We must take 
the small victories where we can, 
hoping they will add up to the bigger 
picture as we strive for equality.

Today, the useless information 

that floods our media sources dilutes 
the more serious issues at hand in our 
society. Media outlets and different 
social media platforms still idolize 
white entertainers and celebrities, 
hardly ever challenging societal 
norms. They preach the importance 
of physical beauty and happiness, 
which reinforces and shapes our 
socially-constructed ideal that in 
order to have both, one must look like 
a celebrity. 

It may be far-fetched to say that 

we can ever fully accomplish equality. 
Oppression, unequal rights and class 
hierarchies still plague our society, but 
we are moving in the right direction.

I personally do not believe 

full equality can ever be reached; 
conventional 
norms 
are 
still 

embedded in our culture and will 
be for a long time. Nonetheless, the 
media has come a long way, and it is 
important to note the strides we have 
made in becoming a more inclusive 
society. We must continue to push 
the boundaries of what is socially 
acceptable like Ali did, like Williams 
is doing and like “Black Panther” will 
do. Only then will we shape our future 
for the better. In “Black Panther”, 
the main character, T’Challa puts it 
beautifully: “We must find a way to 
look after one another, as if we were 
one single tribe.”

Is America approaching equality?

Magdalena Mihaylova can be 

reached at mmihaylo@umich.edu.

Carli Cosenza can be reached at 

carlic@umich.edu.

Ben Charlson can be reached at 

bencharl@umich.edu.

Lucas Rosendall is an LSA 

sophomore.

