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
420 Maynard St.
Ann Arbor, MI 48109
tothedaily@michigandaily.com
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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
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.