As an editorial staff, we agree with the University that it is wrong for a student’s educational opportunities to be limited by the political stances of an instructor, rather than the merit of the student. The academic success of students should be a top priority for universities, and the denial of students’ recommendation letters on account of professors’ personal beliefs unfairly blocks students from academic opportunities based on circumstances outside their control. The decision to write a recommendation letter or not should be based on the student’s academic merit and performance in class, independent of the educator’s personal leanings. However, on a campus that welcomes free speech and free thinking, the delineation between when certain personal and political views can and cannot be expressed on part of the professor is a blurry line. Professors have the freedom to craft their courses, design syllabi and work on independent projects, research and other scholarly work. The crossover of this ideal of professors’ free speech, so embedded in the University, with their relationships with classes and students is often a point of contention. Where do they draw the line in expressing their views? The reaction of the University this week provided a stark answer. The harsh disciplinary measures taken against Cheney- Lippold’s statement which was, at its core, an expression of free speech, gave some clarity to this ever-blurred line. Yet, what remains an issue is whether the punishment was warranted given the lack of precedent. We believe it was not. Though Cole alluded to the Senate Advisory Committee on University Affairs’s statement condemning professors using political views to impede “free pursuit of learning in their students,” the University has yet to adopt a concrete policy regarding this matter. The absence of precedent on campus regarding the manner in which professors should or should not voice their perspectives and political leanings — a decision often left up to the discretion of the professor themselves — warranted a less severe mode of discipline on Cheney- Lippold. The University should have first expressed disagreement with the exclusionary behavior Cheney-Lippold presented towards a student in an academic setting and followed with a public, apolitical warning. This would help express the University’s main philosophy, which is to ensure academic opportunities, growth and support for students. Additionally, this would set a cautionary precedent for future University instructors who might consider doing the same in the future. This form of foreshadowing disciplinary action is more fair and effective than the immediate, reactionary discipline shown by the University. Further, whether intentional or not, the swiftness and outspoken nature of the University’s action in this situation has the power to isolate some students on campus, namely Palestinian students and allies who have not seen the University as proactive in protecting their academic freedom and safety when they have been systematically targeted and harassed online for their own speech on the topic. Neutrality of the University is of utmost importance, as every student should feel equally supported by the University regardless of their religious or political beliefs. We would hope the outspokenness of the University on behalf of the two students in protecting their academic freedom is a sentiment that will be echoed for all students. The institution of a university, at its core, is to be a place of development and thought — an environment conducive to growing academic interests, as well as personal values and perspectives. Free speech, then, is parallel to free thinking. If we as students are urged to, from day one, think for ourselves and be challenged by the theories, problems and readings we encounter daily, in an effort for us to leave this campus more confident in ourselves and beliefs, how can this expectation not extend to our professors? We recognize, however, that at the same time the students’ academic freedom was also limited by the refusal of both the graduate student instructor and professor to write study abroad recommendation letters. These recent events have exhibited the ongoing tensions and hard questions we must grapple with on our campus. As a university with a teeming student population, various schools of focus and a slew of student and political organizations, national and international issues are essentially our own. In the last few weeks, we’ve all grappled with many of these conflicting ideals. In addressing the issue directly this week, the University tried to resolve many of these conflicts, but many questions remain. We hope that the University’s newly formed panel — faculty who are aiming to address when academic freedom and political ideology come into conflict — involves students, and takes into account our role in these instances. The reverberating effects their statement and disciplinary measures had on students and faculty alike will continue to leave us questioning all of our roles as part of a single academic community. Q uoting Martin Luther King Jr., former President Barack Obama often stated, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Contrary to optimistic interpretation, this statement does not attest to the supposed inertia of justice or equality. Indeed, history’s darkest moments provide plentiful proof that apathy, and the assumption of inevitable righteousness that gives rise to it, can preclude the march of progress, and at times even reverse it. Sadly, we often partake in this apathy by allowing ourselves to forget the moments and movements that precipitated great instances of progress, be they equal rights written into law or the inclusive attitudes that breathe life into these liberties. This coming Tuesday, Oct. 16, serves as a chance to remember one such moment. It marks the 50th anniversary of a silent protest that has found a worthy complement in former quarterback Colin Kaepernick’s actions on the football field, one that took place in a crowded stadium and ultimately found itself at the center of something much larger. Captured forever in a photograph that embodies the tempest of 1968 like no other photograph can, the national anthem protest by African-American U.S. Olympians Tommie Smith and John Carlos has solidified their legacy as one of legitimate resistance. The 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City, like others before them, were supposed to be exercises in wholesome athletic competition, but that did not exempt them from the turbulence of that year. America’s racial and domestic wounds were still fresh four months after the assassination of presidential candidate Robert F. Kennedy and six months after the assassination of civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. The violence seemed to follow American athletes to the Olympics — just two weeks before Smith and Carlos would mount the podium, dozens of students were ruthlessly gunned down by Mexican soldiers following weeks of protests. It was still in America, however, where Smith and Carlos had the least to be happy about. As if systemic racial prejudice was not enough, only slightly more than half of African-American adults held high school degrees in 1968, and less than a tenth had gone on to earn bachelor’s degrees. These despairingly low rates of educational attainment, paling in comparison to similar measures for whites, spoke to the fallacy of an American Dream for all. Smith and Carlos wanted to do something about it and demanded better treatment for Black athletes by organizing the Olympics Project for Human Rights earlier that year. They initially considered boycotting the 1968 Olympics, but later decided to compete in order to give their campaign a more visible platform. At a time when most white Americans still winced at the very suggestion of integrated neighborhoods, Smith knew that sports gave minorities like him and Carlos a real voice, reflecting later that, “We had to be seen because we couldn’t be heard.” By today’s standards, the defiant salute during the rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” that Smith and Carlos chose to protest these grievances was a relatively passive gesture. Even as they clenched their fists and donned symbolic clothing to convey their dissatisfaction with the status quo, they made sure to stand for the entire duration of the national anthem. And, though it is probably more a reflection of devolving presidential temperaments than anything else, then-president Lyndon B. Johnson and then-presidential candidate Richard Nixon were silent about the whole affair, while Kaepernick’s anthem protests have inspired rather undignified words from President Donald Trump. However, society’s standards have evidently evolved since then. Smith and Carlos would not be icons today if their protest was well-received by Americans. They were expelled from the stadium and suspended from the U.S. Olympic team following the ceremony, and death threats predictably followed. Life was not made easy for them. Yet, to this day, neither regrets the courageous actions they took to show the public their struggle at home. Whatever they accomplished in Mexico City was clearly worth it. But what exactly was it that Smith and Carlos accomplished with their gesture? They did not articulate a specific policy to alleviate the ills of Black America, nor did they put forth the funds to elevate their fellow, lower- class African Americans, actions often demanded of those who dare to gripe about discrimination. Just as they do not aspire for acceptance in the mainstream, effective social movements do not often set their sights on an immediate redirection of policy. At a time when even violent dispersal of American protesters was widely supported, gaining the support of an American majority, especially for an act of protest during the national anthem, was grossly infeasible for activists. Instead, in democratic societies like America, legitimate resistance against unjust status quos has nearly always relied on the ability of movements to capture the complacency of the uninterested majority and steer it toward a path of liberalization. This agitation, an inherent disruption and inconvenience to the majority, is what engenders a sense of injustice, and demand for subsequent change, where there was none before. When people like Smith and Carlos turn what should be a moment of personal pride into one of complaining about America’s problems at home — yes, complaining — then the rest of the country begins to see how real their anger must be, and in doing so, embarks on a journey toward increased tolerance and acceptance. The work of Martin Luther King Jr. embodies this well: King did not expect to see a drastic decrease in anti-miscegenation sentiment in his lifetime, nor did he directly lobby legislators to mandate public acceptance of interracial marriage. But, the mere presence of his “radical” calls for racial equality, along with other, subtler attempts at normalizing interracial relations in the national discourse, helped make that evolution in racial attitudes a reality — contributing to an American tradition of using expansive platforms for meaningful speech. By this measure, the decision by former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick in 2016 to refuse to stand for the national anthem, since carried on by other NFL players, is simply a continuation of this tradition. Kaepernick’s kneeling during the anthem at NFL games was his way of using his platform for political means, like Smith and Carlos. In his case, it was to call attention to what he views as disproportionate police brutality towards African Americans, certainly a sacrifice if one takes into account his being effectively blackballed from the NFL and receiving death threats. From the perspective of Kaepernick, there is no platform better to project dissatisfaction with the current state of affairs than the national anthem, our symbolic embodiment of the state itself. This sentiment was clearly not shared by Kaepernick’s employers or, as of the latest polls, a majority of the country as well. Nevertheless, Kaepernick has demonstrated his desire to respect the men and women in uniform who have reason to view the anthem as more than a symbol. Instead of fixating on the supposed patriotism of his kneeling, we should ask ourselves whether his gesture was any more disrespectful than that of Smith and Carlos in 1968 at the Olympics, which attracted similar criticisms and backlash. For without the actions of Smith and Carlos and the like, the current atmosphere would not even allow Kaepernick to take a knee, and much less sit, for the anthem, nor would it allow Nike to successfully use his protest in a popular ad campaign. That Kaepernick’s actions do not immediately fix the attitudes he takes issue with, or that he is generally not viewed favorably by his fellow athletes or Americans, is no reason to dismiss his protest as empty or unpatriotic. In fact, this view would constitute a failure on our part to recognize those who legitimately resist injustices, injustices that might not be solved by the next year or even the next generation. By definition, the Kaepernicks of the world do not often find majority approval in the present, but instead in the future. Tommie Smith said it best when recalling his controversial actions in Mexico City: “We were not wrong. We were only ahead of our time.” Opinion The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com 4A — Friday, October 12, 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 ELLERY ROSENZWEIG | COLUMN A column about the column L ast week, after I shared my column about accepting my fat, curvy body on Facebook, I was flooded with support and recognition from my friends, family, teachers and even strangers. Everyone was kind and thoughtful in ways I never imagined. Reading some of the comments brought me to tears. I recognized how difficult it is to talk about insecurities, and there isn’t much space or a platform where people feel comfortable to do this. I’m still humbly surprised by the amount of attention l received from my community. And I’m happy I was able to be there for my fellow bigger- bodied people — helping share our experiences for those who were not aware. But I am still exploring notions of body acceptance and positivity, notions I was not able to cover in just one column. I try to live my life like an open book — I keep very few things to myself. As an extrovert, I normally tell people things without them even asking because I need to process my thoughts out loud with my friends or really anyone who is around. After releasing so many closed-off thoughts for my whole community to see, I was emotionally drained. Whether it was reliving the fatphobia I wrote about as everyone was reading it, having conversations about my body every day for almost two weeks, or trying to keep up with all of my school work and other commitments, I did not have much time for myself. Last Tuesday, skipping class and procrastinating an assignment, as usual, I began listening to a new podcast called “Pretty Big Deal” by supermodel and body activist Ashley Graham. I have been looking up to Ashley Graham ever since I watched her Ted Talk about being a plus-size model and accepting her body. In the podcast, she was telling her interviewee, Kim Kardashian, how sometimes it is exhausting to always have to talk about her body, but it is a part of her job as a model, activist and just being herself. I was relieved to find that this emotional exhaustion was normal. That is, another woman like me had felt the same way and were out there sharing their experience. As I’m continuing to express vulnerability and write about my experiences, I’m making myself open to having more conversations with people about my body. Even though this is something that is new to me and once scared me, I hope talking about it becomes normal and comfortable with time. With all of this in mind, I still need to be kind to myself and allow time to recharge, reflect and rest. This way I’m not too emotionally exhausted and can continue spitting truths. Another topic discussed in the podcast that piqued my interest was the privilege and platform white curvy woman have in today’s market. Curvy, larger bodies are not a new type of body. There have always been fat, curvy, thick women, but recently, the fashion industry has allowed for primarily white women to represent this population. This is incredibly misleading, as there are fat, large people of all identities who need representation as well. Looking back at my article, I shared several accounts of body activists who were curvy, full women but most of them were white women with hourglass figures. As a white woman, I’m aware of the privilege that people of my race and size are receiving representation. With this in mind, I want to share accounts led by women of color I follow that have amazing content, like one of my favorite musical artists, Lizzo. She is incredibly authentic in her music and posts about how much she loves her body. Also, check out model Sonny Turner, because she posts bomb unedited photos and is a hair icon. In addition, you should look at body advocate @p.skaguya’s beautiful pictures and videos of her photo shoots and everyday life. I’m not sure if I was entirely ready to release my column when I did, but I definitely learned a lot about myself and the fact that I have a new platform to advocate for beautiful, fat, thick and curvylicious people. If you want to chat about this more, reach out to me. I’m more than happy and ready to dive deeper with all of you. Legitimate resistance ETHAN KESSLER | COLUMN Ellery Rosenzweig can be reached at erosenz@umich.edu. Ethan Kessler can be reached at ethankes@umich.edu. EMILY WOLFE | CONTACT EMILY AT EWOLFE@UMICH.EDU FROM THE OPINION EDITORS When academic freedoms collide T he sometimes contentious relationship between free speech and academic equity at the University of Michigan came to a head this week. In a letter to the University community, University President Mark Schlissel and Provost Martin Philbert stated that two instructors — who recently denied letters of recommendation for study abroad programs in Israel due to their own support for the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement — did not meet University expectations for the behaviors of instructors. Separately, The Michigan Daily and The Detroit News obtained a letter from Interim LSA Dean Elizabeth Cole, informing one of the instructors, John Cheney-Lippold, associate professor in the Department of American Culture, that his actions violated University policy, and he would be disciplined with loss of a merit raise and delay of his planned sabbatical. ELLERY ROSENZWEIG