A
couple of months ago, I
called my dad to complain.
I don’t even
remember
what
I
was
calling
to
complain
about.
Before jumping into
my tirade, I asked
him how his day was
going. He said, with
a big sigh, something
along the lines of,
“Well I showed up
to the scene of an
accident today where
the victim was dead on arrival.”
He wasn’t wearing his helmet on
his motorcycle and according to
my dad, “His brains were all over
the street.” After telling me this,
he tried to seamlessly transition
into asking about my day. Suffice
to say, I no longer had the heart to
complain.
My
dad
is
a
federal
law
enforcement officer for the USDA
Forest Service, former emergency
medical technician, former SWAT
team sniper and an army veteran.
After we hung up the phone, I
thought about what it would be
like to show up to a scene like that
even once in my life, nonetheless
potentially multiple times as part
of my job. I couldn’t imagine seeing
somebody’s brains on the street, but
I knew it wasn’t the first time my
dad had. In the course of his career
as a first responder and LEO, he
has saved people from falling over
waterfalls, hiked countless miles
to find missing persons, dealt with
domestic violence disputes and drug
seizures, served warrants to violent
felons and has put his life on the line
for the sake of justice many times.
For most of my life, when my dad
suited up and left the house in the
morning, my family began to hold
its breath, and nobody breathed a
sigh of relief until he came home
again at night. We rarely talked
about it, but all felt it. When I was
in middle school, we lived in Scioto
County, Ohio, which was making
a name for itself as a county at the
center of the nation’s increasing
opioid epidemic. We had the highest
rates of prescription drug overdoses
in the state and were fighting drug-
related crime in almost every level
of society, from upscale doctors
running pill mills all the way to
the young addicts robbing houses
and
stores
for
drug
money. The more my dad
enforced the rules and
cracked down on illegal
activity, the more hostile
our environment became.
People would drive up
our driveway to confront
my dad and even threaten
him. They would drive by
our house and fire shots
in the air or into our barn.
I remember lying in bed
many nights far past my bedtime
waiting to hear the sound of his car
coming up the driveway so I would
know he had made it home one more
night.
All of this tension took a toll on
our whole family. When my dad
was off work, he was often irritable
and unsettled. We weren’t allowed
to wear jerseys to sporting events
that had our last names on the
back because it could potentially
put us in danger. We were never
to tell anyone who our father was,
and if anybody asked about him
we were immediately to call one of
our parents. We weren’t allowed
to answer the door or the phone at
home and we went over multiple
times where to hide in our house if
someone were to break in.
The violence and threats against
our family seemed to be escalating
for some time and it finally reached
its boiling point in my eighth-grade
year. Someone had apparently
waited on the hill above my dad’s
parking spot at home to “put some
lead in him.” They failed to follow
through on this threat due to
nothing short of a miracle. That
very night as he arrived home, my
dad realized he left something he
needed for the morning at his office
40 minutes away. He turned around
just a few minutes from home and
because of this he didn’t make it
home before dark. The next day a
friend of the man who wished to
commit the crime came in and told
my dad of his friend’s plan saying
the guilt had overwhelmed him
and that my dad needed to watch
his back from now on. Not very
long after this incident, in one final
attempt to commit violence against
our family, this same man came onto
our property and shot and killed our
family dog, Pepper, just 10 feet from
our front door.
After this, an investigation was
finally launched and my dad was
offered a “safety and security
transfer” to another region. We
moved to beautiful Ludington,
Michigan at the beginning of my
freshman year of high school
in hopes of leaving the violence
and hate behind us. We found
the people in Ludington and
the surrounding areas to be
much more respectful of law
enforcement in general, but just as
the tides of fortune were turning
in our direction, the politics
surrounding the law enforcement
community began to heat up. The
cases of Eric Garner and Michael
Brown put the law enforcement
community under intense scrutiny
as the narratives of police brutality
and racial discrimination began to
rise to the surface of the political
media spotlight.
The
conversation
around
police brutality was obviously an
important one to have considering
the grievances so much of our
nation was voicing. Yet, in the
wake of the threats and violence
my family had just faced, hearing
so much vitriol aimed at the police
community as a whole was often
very hard for us all. When friends
and acquaintances began to tweet
about police being “pigs” and
protests against police became
more violent — with some fringe
groups of protests even touting
phrases such as “What do we want?
Dead cops! When do we want
it? Now!” — it became apparent
that the police community was
undergoing a form of stereotyping
that, as a police officer’s daughter,
struck me as very counterintuitive
in the movement for peace and
justice. Instead of voicing general
frustrations at the system, my
father and other officers we knew
began to face personal attacks that
increased the tension of their work
environments.
“I
t’s a dangerous time to
be a journalist.” NPR’s
“Up First” podcast
ended the discussion of Saudi
journalist Jamal Khashoggi’s
alleged
murder
with
this
remark. All around the world,
journalists have been dealing
with physical attacks, as well
as attacks on their journalistic
integrity. According to the U.S.
Press Freedom Tracker, 41
journalists have faced physical
attacks in 2018, and five have
been killed. With Khashoggi’s
murder headlining the news,
and President Donald Trump’s
steady stream of insults aimed
at the free press while on his
midterm tours, this attack on
journalistic integrity and the
free press is gaining ground and
making life more dangerous for
journalists and civilians alike.
Since Trump took office in 2016,
the idea of “fake news” has become
a prevalent topic in politics. While
the term fake news is not one of
Trump’s own invention, nor is he
even the first politician to use it in
such a way as to attack the press,
it has taken on almost a second
definition. According to a study by
researchers Rasmus Kleis Nielsen
and Lucas Graves, most scholars
and professionals agree that fake
news should be, “Associated with
misinformation
from
different
sources,
including
journalists.
Seen as distinguishable from news
primarily by degree,” usually in
relation to perceptions of satire, poor
journalism, propaganda, advertising
and false news. However, it is now
being “weaponized by critics of the
news media as well as by critics of
platform companies” to invalidate
certain news sources, the current
instigator being Trump.
Time and time again, Trump
makes remarks about the press
falsely attacking him, naming them
a danger to society. Feeling attacked
due to being under the constant
microscope of the press, Trump
chose to return fire to one of the
most important aspects of a free
democracy. He has decided that
he doesn’t like journalists telling
the public the facts about what his
administration is doing and that he
will do his best to invalidate these
facts by preaching to his followers
that it is all fake.
“The
media
also
has
a
responsibility to set a civil tone and
to stop the endless hostility and
constant negative and oftentimes
false attacks and stories,” Trump
said at a rally in Wisconsin while
he was on the midterm tour. What
Trump is failing to grasp is that the
press has absolutely no obligation
to the government. They have an
obligation to report the truth, no
matter how it may portray the
president,
government
officials
or any other figure. Just because
Trump doesn’t like what the media
is saying about him doesn’t make it
false, and it certainly doesn’t mean
he should be encouraging hateful
acts toward journalists who are just
doing their job.
The press is one of the
most important checks on the
government. Its role in society is
to report the truth, and with that,
hold the government accountable.
Instead of understanding the
importance of free press and
taking their criticisms as an
opportunity
to
improve
his
presidency, Trump has instead
attempted
to
undermine
the
importance of a driving force of
American democracy, which poses
a danger to society. Labeling the
press as “the enemy of the people”
is a fear-mongering tactic used
by an unpopular president who
wants to hide any unflattering
portrayals of his presidency and
personality from the public. And
yet, it’s kind of working.
According to a survey published
by CBS, 91 percent of strong Trump
supporters consider the information
he delivers to be accurate, but
only 11 percent trust the media.
So when Trump spews hate about
The New York Times and other
mainstream, historically reliable
media, unfortunately, people listen.
This is certainly evident in the
abusive treatment of journalists
that has been spreading all over
the world. Khashoggi is only one
example of how dangerous it is to be
a journalist in this current climate.
Leaders everywhere and in all
types of government, from Syria to
Venezuela and from authoritarian to
populist, are following Trump’s lead
and attacking the free press. When
other leaders see the president of
the land of the free attack one of the
fundamental aspects of its freedom,
it seems to give them permission to
do the same.
Even other U.S. government
officials are jumping on the anti-
press bandwagon. Trump actually
praised U.S. Rep. Greg Gianforte,
R-Mont.,
for
bodyslamming
a
reporter. I’m no lawyer, but I’m
pretty sure that would be considered
civil abuse, which is illegal. While
this is terrible, considering our
President’s track record, it’s not
surprising. What is more terrifying
is the audience’s response. After his
statement, they cheered and began
jeering at other reporters in the
audience, one man even re-enacting
a body slam and making threatening
hand gestures. Some of us try to
give ourselves peace of mind by
convincing ourselves that Trump
is only one heretic and that most
rational people don’t actually believe
the absurdities he constantly spouts.
This attack and response, however,
reveals the terrifying truth that
Trump is not alone in his hatred, and
that we are all in grave danger.
Journalism is absolutely essential
to a free country and an accountable
government. We are incredibly lucky
to live in a country where the freedom
of the press is a constitutional right
no matter who is in power or what
they say about it. But a president who
constantly threatens and degrades
the media is not only misguided but
also dangerous. Unfortunately, we
live in a world where it is dangerous
to be a journalist. But that is why
it’s important. Journalists have the
power to generate change and have
been using this power since the
founding of this country. From high
school newspapers to The New York
Times, every level of journalism
plays a role in making change,
whether it be at a high school or in
the White House. We cannot allow
one asinine blip on this country’s
timeline destroy a fundamental part
of our democracy. We cannot be
considered the land of the free if we
are not free to speak our minds.
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
6A — Wednesday, November 7, 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
ABBIE BERRINGER | COLUMN
A police officer’s daughter
It’s a dangerous time to be a journalist
DANA PIERANGELI | COLUMN
Abbie Berringer can be reached at
abbierbe@umich.edu
Dana Pierangeli can be reached at
dmpier@umich.edu
I
spent this past Saturday
morning holding back tears.
For
my
Judaic
Studies
class, I went to a conservative
Shabbat service at a conservative
synagogue in Ann Arbor. When
I first saw the assignment on my
syllabus back in September, I
didn’t think much of it. I thought
the conservative service would
be akin to the services at the
Reform synagogue I grew up
going to, but longer and more
formal. The only difference was
that it just so happened that the
Shabbat service was a week after
the Pittsburgh shooting.
Jews and non-Jews of all
ages filled the room in a show of
support. There was a mourners’
Kaddish — a prayer for lost loved
ones — dedicated to the victims.
After, three rabbis gave eloquent
sermons about what happened in
Pittsburgh. And, though it was
overall a solemn and, at times,
melancholic two hours in the
synagogue, I left feeling much
better, mostly because of the
head rabbi’s exceptional sermon.
The head rabbi’s sermon was
delivered at the very end of the
service. First, he argued that his
interpretation of Jewish values
supports tolerance and inclusion
and that Jews should support
globalization,
immigration,
refugees and diversity because
of the moral teachings in the
Torah. He told the congregation
that Abraham, who was thought
of as the first patriarch of the
Jewish people, was a refugee.
Abraham sought refuge in both
the promised land of Canaan and
later in Egypt. His wife Sarah,
the first matriarch of the Jewish
people, should be revered for
her strength because she was
welcoming of Abraham, even
though he was born in a different
land and had different customs.
He concluded that ultimately,
tolerance and love will defeat
intolerance and hate.
Continuing with the theme of
tolerance and diversity, the head
rabbi argued that adherence
to the moral and religious
precepts of Judaism trumps
having Jewish ancestry as a
determinant of Jewish identity.
The rabbi was arguing for a
more universalist conception of
Jewish identity, rather than a
particularist conception where
shared
ancestry
through
a
Jewish mother defined Jewish
identity. The more universalist
conception of Jewish identity the
rabbi argued for was primarily
about
adherence
to
Jewish
moral and religious values. The
rabbi
told
the
congregation
that like America itself, Jewish
communities
all
across
the
country were becoming more
diverse. He contested the view
retained in parts of the Jewish
and
rabbinical
community
that
lament
intermarriage
and the loss of a particular
Jewish ethnic peoplehood. He
predicted proudly that in 40
years, the congregation of the
synagogue we were all sitting in
would be much more ethnically
and racially diverse, as would
America. As a half-Filipino Jew,
I found this comforting.
I realized during the walk back
to my apartment that the rabbi’s
argument about Jewish identity,
of values versus genealogy, is
also applicable to American
identity. In this country, we are
facing a fundamental choice of
what it means to be an American.
Like Judaism, American identity
has had a tension between
universalism and particularism.
The
U.S.
Declaration
of
Independence
and
the
Constitution speak of ostensibly
universal values, in the form of
“unalienable” rights, liberties
and equality. These values are
central to the American identity
and what it means to be part of
“We the people.” But, for much
of American history, the ability
to benefit from these values have
been particular to white men,
rather than universal. Racism
and sexism, in the form of
slavery, segregation and barriers
to citizenship and other rights
is omnipresent in our history.
Some would argue this history
of particularism is still similarly
impinging today as it was in the
past, while others, like myself,
would argue vast progress has
been made. But there is still work
that needs to be done.
As
Americans,
we
have
a choice. Will we live up to
the promise of America that
Martin Luther King Jr. spoke
of,
where
American
values
and thus identity are truly
universal, or will we continue
the disappointments of the past?
Fulfilling America’s promise is
not only a legal matter. Equal
application of laws and rights
are an integral part of achieving
equality. But, fulfilling America’s
promise is also an extralegal,
social matter. All Americans
should be able to reasonably
feel that they are equal rights-
bearing individuals, free and
able to pursue their happiness,
without being limited by race,
gender,
sexuality,
religion,
among other things.
Yet,
President
Trump’s
Republican
party
peddles
toxic
rhetoric
that
exploits
prejudicial sentiment embedded
in our national discourse. This
type of hateful speech enabled
the Pittsburgh shooting, the
Kentucky shooting, the mail
bombs and the rise in anti-
Semitic hate crimes. Every week
it’s something new, adding to
the already extensive annals of
Trump’s racism.
This
week,
the
Trump
administration
is
fomenting
paranoia
about
a
migrant
caravan seeking asylum. Instead
of portraying the caravan as
they are — desperate asylum
seekers who could be accepted
or turned away at the border —
the Trump administration has
turned them into an invasion
of “gang members.” President
Trump has said, falsely, that
there are Middle Easterners in
the caravan. It wasn’t enough to
demonize asylum seekers using
prejudicial tropes about Latin
Americans, but Trump also had
to use the stereotype of Middle
Easterners as terrorists as well.
A commercial his campaign
launched about the caravan
and illegal immigration more
broadly has been pulled from
NBC, Facebook and Fox News
because it was deemed racist. On
the one hand, the use of racial or
ethnic stereotypes to demonize
a group of people by our
president is an overt example
of the continuity of racism
and the failure of American
values to be truly universal
— and it presents a very clear
choice. Trump’s administration
is moving us away from the
promise of America Martin
Luther King Jr. spoke of. Like
the rabbi I wrote about earlier,
we can embrace diversity and
affirm the strength of the values
that define American identity.
Or we can do the opposite. We
can build walls, use divisive
language and demonize people
who
are
seen
as
different
both inside and outside of our
country. But as we’ve recently
seen, doing so comes at a cost.
So though this will be published
after the midterms, I hope you
have voted wisely. The future of
our country and its communities
depend on it.
AARON BAKER | COLUMN
After Pittsburgh, lessons from a Rabbi
Aaron Baker can be reached at
aaronbak@umich.edu
We can embrace
diversity and the
values that define
American identity
ABBIE
BERRINGER
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