I
used to dread the first day of
school. I didn’t dread it because
it meant that summer was
ending and that I’d soon spend my
evenings doing homework rather
than relaxing. It was because
teachers
never
pronounced my
name right. Before I started going by
Krystal, I went by my non-American,
phonetically spelled (yet somehow
still difficult to pronounce) name that
I won’t write here because I know no
one will be able to pronounce it.
The first day of school, I always
had to listen to the teachers blunder
through my name before I corrected
them with the entire class watching
me. Same with substitute teachers
— my classmates would laugh as the
teacher would try to say my name. Of
course, I’m not blaming the teachers
for not being able to pronounce my
name. We both felt embarrassed as
we became a spectacle. I know I can’t
expect people to properly pronounce
my name if they don’t speak the
language from which my name
originated.
I was reminded of this trauma
after hearing about two recent
celebrity interviews. Chrissy Teigen
recently revealed on “The Tonight
Show” (after being prompted by
host Jimmy Fallon) that contrary to
popular belief, her name is actually
pronounced “tie-genn,” instead of
“tee-genn.” She said of her name: “So,
correct is Tie-genn. Do I want people
to call me that? Not really, because
then only half are going to do it. And
then, would we want my dad to be
happy?” Ariana Grande also recently
said on Beats Radio, “my grandpa said
‘grand-eee.’” They then discussed
how
her
grandfather
changed
the pronunciation to “grand-eee”
most likely to make it sound more
Americanized. However, neither of
these women has ever corrected the
public for saying their names wrong,
and only discussed the way in which
they say their names when prompted
to do so.
Hearing Teigen and Grande
discuss their names led me to think
about how I used to feel correcting
people about the pronunciation of
my name. Often times, I felt that
correcting them made no difference
— all correcting them essentially
did was teach them the formal
mispronunciation of my name. When
substitute teachers would butcher
my name and excitedly ask if they
pronounced it right, I always said yes.
Honestly, I don’t think I would have
been so uncaring about how people
pronounce my name if I didn’t hate
the way that my name sounded in
its formal American pronunciation.
I thought that it sounded too whiny
and nasally and it made me dislike
my name and cringe whenever
someone would address me by it, so
really, it didn’t matter to me whether
or not anyone pronounced it in the
formal way: Either way, they would
be wrong.
However, in high school, I
decided to go by the name Krystal
after realizing I didn’t have to
continue listening to my name being
butchered in various ways. I chose
“Krystal” because it was a name
that everyone knew how to say, yet
I knew that I wouldn’t become one
out of a sea of many Krystals, as what
sometimes happens to people with
common names such as Emily or
Alex.
Sometimes, I feel guilty about
having changed my name, as if
I’m abandoning my heritage or
dishonoring my parents by rejecting
the name that has defined me for
so many years. However, when I
remember the discontent I felt when
I heard my name being butchered for
so many years, I don’t feel as sorry. I
think of it more as protecting my name
from being tainted by so many bad
memories of it being mispronounced,
time and time again.
Interestingly enough, many of my
friends protested when I told them
about my choice to go by “Krystal.”
They told me they didn’t like the name
“Krystal,” and some of them even
made it a point to not call me “Krystal”
even when referring to me when with
other people. While I understood
some people would not like the name
“Krystal,” I found it confusing some of
my friends thought they were entitled
to define me in the way they wanted,
rather than in the way that I wanted.
Perhaps it was confusing for them
to understand why I would want to
go by an entirely new name; but then
again, they were the same people who
unknowingly made me hate my name.
In a similar vein, when I studied
Chinua Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart”
in high school, my English teacher
told us in the middle of discussion
she calls one of the main characters,
Ikemefuna, by “Ike”, a nickname
I believe she coined herself. Most
of the other students followed her
and started calling the character
by that nickname, too. However, I
always thought it was a bit insulting
to “Americanize” his name in such
a way without his consent. While
Ikemefuna is a fictional character, and
people give other people nicknames
quite frequently, the sole purpose of
calling him “Ike” was to make our
lives easier. “Ike” wasn’t a nickname
borne out of affection but of pure
laziness about saying four extra
syllables.
Knowing what I know now
about how to pronounce Grande and
Teigen’s last names, I’m unsure about
where to proceed. I don’t want to be
complicit with the same laziness that
changed Ikemefuna to “Ike” in my
English class. Do I start saying their
names the way they’re supposed to
be pronounced? The logical answer
is yes — but there’s inevitably going to
be people who haven’t watched their
respective interviews who are going
to believe that I’m mispronouncing
their names and think that I’m a
complete dunce.
Perhaps a better question to ask
is what Grande or Teigen would
prefer people to do. Because it’s their
names, they’re ultimately the ones
who should have a say in how we
refer to them. Just as I exercised my
power over my name by changing it
to Krystal despite some of my friends’
opposition, they too should be the
ones who get to decide how their
names are said. While Teigen said she
doesn’t want people to pronounce her
last name the way that it’s supposed
to be pronounced, Grande was less
clear about how she wants people to
say her last name. It’s possible that
she doesn’t have a clear preference
— and that’s fine, too —as long as it’s
clear that she’s the one who rightfully
has the power over how others
pronounce her name.
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Monday, October 1, 2018
Emma Chang
Ben Charlson
Joel Danilewitz
Samantha Goldstein
Emily Huhman
Tara Jayaram
Jeremy Kaplan
Lucas Maiman
Magdalena Mihaylova
Ellery Rosenzweig
Jason Rowland
Anu Roy-Chaudhury
Alex Satola
Ali Safawi
Ashley Zhang
Sam Weinberger
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
ALEX SATOLA | COLUMN
The scourge of online trolling
T
he United States has a long
history of disinformation.
One of the first major
manipulations of the media took
place in 1782 when Ben Franklin
oversaw the publishing of an entirely
fake issue of the Boston Chronicle.
Printed on the pages of the issue was
an incendiary story about the scalping
of 700 colonists by Native Americans
meant to generate sympathy among
British citizens for the plight of
Americans.
However,
the
contemporary
perpetrators of “fake news” are
capable of far more harm than
anything
the
founding
fathers
could have imagined (or concocted
themselves). With the immense
volume of data and ease of accessibility
provided by the internet, bad actors
are now able to have an exaggerated
influence on public opinion. Keeping
the internet free for everyone while
simultaneously controlling the effects
of disinformation is a balancing
act, but ultimately we all as digital
citizens have a responsibility to be
aware of the myriad of online threats
and its consequences.
We know that disinformation
is nothing new, but how exactly
did it come about on the internet?
The pioneers of this new breed
of digital content are known as
“trolls,” invoking the mean-spirited
mythological creature that taunts
its victims from under a bridge.
According to Data & Society, a
research institute that focuses on
the social and cultural impact of
data in the modern world, a troll is
defined as someone who deliberately
baits people to elicit an emotional
response. Trolls started to pop up in
the early 2000s on internet message
boards such as the website 4chan,
where anonymous users can post
content consisting of simple words
and pictures.
It was primarily on these
anonymous
platforms
that
the
malicious side of trolling took shape.
Though many trolls claim to be
apolitical — simply trolling for the
“lulz,” as they like to call it, the reality
is trolling is skewed much more
toward “alt-right” viewpoints. For
example, the users of 4chan’s /b/ sub-
board use deliberately offensive hate
speech to create an emotional impact
on their targets. As opposed to the
moralistic, sometimes smug political
correctness and affinity for fairness
supported by the left, trolls bring
out the worst in toxic white rage,
meninism, nativism and similarly
twisted views about vulnerable
groups that slip through the cracks of
“alt-right” ideology.
The effects of trolling are not
limited to sub-boards, though, and
in the past few years mainstream
conservatives have adopted the
highly sensational tactics of trolling
to appeal to voters. From the first
moments of Donald Trump’s 2016
campaign, when he rode down the
escalators to announce his candidacy
and said of Mexicans, “They’re
bringing drugs. They’re bringing
crime. They’re rapists. And some, I
assume, are good people,” his speech
had all the hallmark elements of
trolling.
Back then, people still thought
that Trump was running to highlight
the hypocrisy of the political elite.
Yes, he was running for office from
an official standpoint, but very few
people thought he was serious. This
represents a key trolling tactic of
preserving ambiguity called Poe’s
Law, an internet adage that asserts the
difficulty of distinguishing between
sincere expressions of extremism
and satire of extremism. Therefore,
trolls theoretically always have the
moral authority of challenging the
establishment, as Trump positioned
himself so many times on the
campaign trail, rather than simply
engaging in hateful discourse.
Unfortunately,
armed
with
hateful rhetoric and their own
version of moral justification, a very
visible sub-species of trolls (shall
we call them ogres?) emboldened
by online trolling behavior has
come to dominate today’s political
discourse.
In
a
country
that
supposedly
champions
liberal
values, the most valued content in
our online atmosphere proves to be
sensational and damaging. Websites
such as Twitter and Facebook are
struggling to curtail the effects of
racist, misogynistic and xenophobic
accounts, most of which are run
by foreign actors or fake bots
designed to algorithmically post
inflammatory statements. In 2017,
Facebook reported up to 3 percent
of its accounts were fake, totaling
60 million “users” not associated
with a real person. The internet, and
social media sites in particular, are
predisposed to promote content that
attracts attention, yet a consequence
of this is the promotion of sensational
messages that sow discord and harm.
Because the natural tendency of
the internet is to guide users toward
attention-grabbing
sensationalism,
we need creative solutions to
take back control of our online
spaces. There have been attempts
at pulling the policy lever on this
issue, such as legislation passed by
the French Parliament that allows
courts to remove fake news during
election periods. However, when
governments or companies gain
the authority of censoring online
content, it creates a slippery slope;
one that may ultimately lead to the
infringement of our first amendment
rights in the United States.
Instead, the way to combat
disinformation is to make users
more digitally literate. Students
have it drilled into them since
middle school that they need to use
credible sources for their essays, but
this warning should go beyond the
classroom. Let us make it a personal
responsibility for everyone to be
conscious surfers of the web. This
can be done without limiting the
freedoms of any individual user,
while also impacting their choices of
who and what to interact with online.
For example, qualified professionals
in schools could teach online safety,
content evaluation and personal data
protection that may help students
make better choices. Structuring
these courses in the same way as drug
and alcohol awareness or consent
education seminars would be a good
first step toward promoting more
responsible internet usage.
The internet is the biggest
playground in the history of human
civilization, and every playground
has its bullies. But through education
about disinformation, fake news and
trolling behavior, it is possible to give
each internet user the resources they
need to function in this complicated
ecosystem.
A
more
educated
populace will lead to a safer internet
for all and provide a chance to reverse
some of the negative consequences of
unlimited information.
What’s in a name?
Institutional reform can’t change the Supreme Court
KRYSTAL HUR | COLUMN
Alex Satola can be reached at
apsatola@umich.edu.
I
’ve sat through my classes in
the past weeks and watched
as students halfheartedly took
lecture notes while they streamed
hearing after hearing on their
laptops, like a melancholy version
of March Madness. I listened to
my peers chat about each new
development in the fleeting minutes
before professors start lecturing, the
conversations no longer dominated
by, “So, did you do the reading?”
By
Thursday,
we
felt
overwhelmed, hopeless and unable
to focus in our classes. We asked
each other in hushed voices, “Do
you think we’ll talk about Brett
Kavanaugh today?” But we didn’t.
I’m in four political science classes
this semester. Only one of my
professors has taken time to talk
about Kavanaugh, let alone ask his
students’ concerns on the matter.
Our professors tell us time and
time again that our department
is one of the best in the world. But
how can that be true if we neglect
to discuss what is quite possibly the
most controversial political event
of our lifetime? We weren’t alive for
Anita Hill. We are the generation
that brought discussions of rape
culture on college campuses to the
forefront. We marched for those
of us brave enough to share their
stories of survival, and we continue
to stand by the courageous women
who decide to share their stories. We
watched as Dr. Christine Blasey Ford
cried during her testimony, and so
many of us cried with her. So why did
so many of our professors neglect to
acknowledge the mere existence of
this entire situation?
I understand we cannot discuss
every pertinent current event in class.
I understand we must draw the line
somewhere. But this isn’t where we
should draw that line. Regardless of
what students or professors believe
about the validity of Ford’s testimony,
Kavanaugh’s confirmation process
has already had profound political
implications.
This process has been the ugliest
political battle many of us have ever
seen. It speaks to growing political
polarization. It speaks to lack of
representation in Congress, as 11
white men neglected to speak to a
survivor of sexual assault, yet had no
issues yelling at their colleagues in
defense of another white man.
It even speaks to political theory:
Is it a just separation of powers if one
Republican senator votes against
Kavanaugh’s confirmation and Vice
President Mike Pence casts the tie-
breaking vote? Was that outcome
the intent of the Framers, seeing as
they wrote our Constitution so that
the vice president was the runner-
up in the presidential election?
Kavanaugh’s confirmation process
has already had real repercussions
for political science, and I’m sure
more will come in the coming weeks.
That, in and of itself, is worth talking
about.
But outside of the ways in which
Kavanaugh’s confirmation applies
to our curriculum, our professors
should take time to discuss the
situation for a separate reason
entirely. Because at the end of the
day, we’re still students. Maybe we
don’t get it all, or maybe there’s a
side of this entire debacle that we’re
neglecting to consider.
In the one class where my
professor did take time to ask if we
had questions or concerns, it sparked
not only an intellectual conversation
between students, but also a string
of thought-provoking questions that
the students asked our professor.
The professor’s voice will always be
louder, stronger and wiser in these
discussions. To my professors: You
are so much more likely to change
our minds than we are to change
each other’s. I don’t doubt that we’re
getting one of the best political
science educations in the world.
But you also owe us an education
that takes time to discuss what is
unfolding in front of our eyes. So, let’s
start talking.
CATHERINE GREEBERG | OP-ED
Polsci professors, let’s talk Kavanaugh
Catharine Greenberg is a political
science major in the class of 2020 who
recently interned for the U.S. Senate.
T
he Supreme Court stands
at
an
inflection
point.
Allegations of sexual assault
have stalled Brett Kavanaugh’s
nomination to the court, casting
uncertainty over an appointment
that
only
weeks
ago
seemed
contentious but inevitable. The
allegations have attracted more
media scrutiny to the Senate’s
upcoming floor vote on Kavanaugh’s
confirmation, but the controversial
nomination featured intense debate
and partisan divide long before these
accusations surfaced.
The
Republicans’
mostly
unwavering
support
and
the
Democrats’
steadfast
opposition
to
Kavanaugh
underscore
the
importance of this appointment,
which is perhaps unparalleled in its
potential to mold the future of the
Supreme Court.
Kavanaugh is slated to replace
Anthony
Kennedy,
who
was
arguably the Court’s only true
moderate. Kennedy was nominated
by President Ronald Reagan but
semi-regularly sided with his liberal
colleagues on social issues to provide
the pivotal vote on cases that dealt
with gay rights, abortion, affirmative
action and capital punishment.
Kennedy’s retirement likely leaves
Chief Justice John Roberts as the
court’s swing vote, but aside from
a few notable defections, Roberts
has voted reliably with the court’s
conservative
bloc
throughout
his tenure. The confirmation of a
solidly conservative jurist, such as
Kavanaugh, would tilt the court
decidedly to the right, allowing
President
Donald
Trump
and
congressional
Republicans
to
legislate with less concern of being
rebuffed by the Supreme Court.
In the near future, the court
could have to rule on a variety
of consequential and politically-
charged issues, including whether
a sitting president can be indicted
or whether a president can pardon
himself. These decisions carry
momentous
legal
and
political
implications, and they demand a
high court without a visible partisan
divide. Unfortunately, the Court’s
ideological divide seems to only be
growing wider.
An
increasingly
politicized
Supreme Court is not a positive
development.
Roberts
famously
likened the role of the justices to
calling “balls and strikes,” but it is
difficult to agree with this view
when Supreme Court votes become
as predictable and consistent. As
an institution, the Supreme Court
works best when its justices serve
as impartial umpires, but in reality
they have political and ideological
motives that are masked by their
chosen judicial philosophies. These
biases influence the cases they
choose to take, the way they vote and
the timing of their retirements.
Amid the current prospect of
a majority-conservative Supreme
Court for the foreseeable future,
many on the left have called for
institutional reform to the Supreme
Court and the judicial branch in
general. These proposals include
establishing judicial term limits,
packing the court or even electing
justices. Ultimately, none of these
proposals will work, because the
problem with the Supreme Court is
not institutional but ideological.
The institution of the Supreme
Court has functioned with varying
degrees of effectiveness since its
inception. Its early relationship
with the other branches was
acrimonious. After coming to power
in the elections of 1800, Thomas
Jefferson and his fellow Democratic-
Republicans sought to curb the
influence of the judiciary, which
they considered to be biased in favor
of their Federalist rivals. Jefferson’s
Congressional
allies
took
the
unprecedented step of impeaching
a Supreme Court justice, Samuel
Chase, on grounds of political bias.
Chase was acquitted by the Senate
and he remains the only Supreme
Court justice ever impeached.
Chase’s acquittal reaffirmed the
court’s independent authority for
most of the 19th century, though
the court occasionally found its
authority questioned or ignored
when it waded into politically-
contentious
issues
like
Native
American tribal rights and slavery.
The court’s legitimacy was next
tested in the 1930s, after President
Franklin Roosevelt proposed to
pack the court after it overturned
several of his New Deal reforms.
Despite
Roosevelt’s
widespread
popularity, his plan failed and the
court remained at nine justices.
Curiously,
the
court
reversed
course and upheld several pieces of
New Deal legislation, including the
Social Security Act, National Labor
Relations Board and minimum
wage laws, perhaps sensing their
political vulnerability despite the
failure of Roosevelt’s court-packing
scheme.
In the decades that followed, the
Supreme Court stayed relatively
above the political fray. The court’s
unanimous decision in U.S. v. Nixon
led to clean, minimally partisan end
of the Nixon saga. Nominations to
the court, with a couple exceptions,
usually
enjoyed
overwhelming
bipartisan
support.
Antonin
Scalia, a staunch conservative, was
confirmed unanimously, as were
John Paul Stevens, Sandra Day
O’Connor and Anthony Kennedy.
Ruth Bader Ginsburg, a solidly
liberal justice, was confirmed 96-3,
and even the first two of President
Barack Obama’s nominees enjoyed
some Republican support.
However, the Supreme Court
appears to now be sliding back into
the partisan fray that it has avoided
for so many years. The Senate’s
politically-motivated refusal to even
hold hearings on Merrick Garland’s
nomination
in
2016
ensured
Supreme Court appointments for
the foreseeable future will be heated,
partisan affairs. Furthermore, the
elimination of the filibuster on
Supreme Court nominations in 2017
essentially removed any need for a
president’s nominee to have cross-
party appeal.
Noah Harrison can be reached at
noahharr@umich.edu
NOAH HARRISON | COLUMN
Krystal Hur can be reached at
kryshur@umich.edu
Read more at MichiganDaily.com