Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, January 29, 2019
“
Thank you for sharing,” the
class would say in robotic
unison.
The
disgruntled
student would then
proceed to sit down
back in the circle
and await the next
brave soul to share
their feelings aloud
with the class.
Yes,
this
was
how
we
spent
every
Wednesday
afternoon
in
my
fourth-grade
classroom.
Sitting
cross-legged on the faded navy
carpet by the windows, we, at
the young age of 10, became
accustomed to bearing ourselves
and our feelings in a way that
many
college
students,
and
beyond, are incapable of. We
would sit and practice this open
form of emotional expression
and receive an automated but
valuable sense of validation from
our peers.
As I eventually graduated
past this judgment-free haven,
I grew to understand that this
candidness about how we feel
is frowned upon. We live in
a society in which emotional
expression is a sign of being
incapable,
or
something
burdensome for those around us.
We are expected to operate under
a guise of happiness and positivity
and feel obligated to apologize
for anything else. Personally, I
have become so accustomed to
following my emotional tangents
with the phrase, “I am so sorry,”
instead of taking the time to
acknowledge how I actually feel.
As
college
students,
this
detrimental
attitude
toward
showing
emotion
has
been
amplified by the hyper-connected,
high-stress
environment
we
find ourselves in. We are always
expected to be prepared and
pleasant and to put our best face
forward. We are expected to
operate as young adults
— assertive, driven and
willing — and failing to
be anything but would
deem us incapable. This
amalgamation of great
pressure and societal
expectation has created
a stigma around being
anything but one who
operates on a solely
positive autopilot.
Has
emotional
expression become synonymous
with
weakness?
Yes.
Wholeheartedly, I would argue
that it has. What if we were to say
that we actually were not okay
when someone asked? Would we
become initially embarrassed
for stepping into taboo territory,
or immediately apologize? What
if crying became something to
be proud of? What if it became
an emotional release instead of
a sign of vulnerability? This is
not something there is a general
cure-all for, as it evidently has
larger
societal
implications.
This fear of being vulnerable
exists in all avenues of my life.
The other night, a friend of
mine broke down with tears
welling in her eyes because of
the pressure she feels regarding
what she wants to do with her
life. Instead of allowing herself
to wallow and then begin the
process of validating her feelings,
she
apologized
to
me,
the
consoler. In class, coincidentally
on the same day, my professor
shared an anecdote about how
a presidential hopeful in the
past faced dismal numbers after
being crucified in the press
for allegedly crying during a
public address on an incredibly
personal subject. This reticence
to show how we feel due to fear
of breaking social norms or
facing societal ridicule has taken
a toll on our collective emotional
wellbeing.
As a new semester takes hold
— accompanied by stressors
and pressures old and familiar
— I bring a personal challenge
to the table. Despite believing
New Year’s resolutions to be
absolutely pointless, I find
now to be the time more than
ever to work toward individual
change. I challenge myself to be
okay with discomfort; to allow
myself to be upset; to show
that maybe I am not always the
passionate, attentive individual
that students at the University
of Michigan are expected to be.
Yes, crying in the UGLi may be
considered taboo, but so what?
Sometimes I do not have the will
to keep everything all zipped
up — waiting to be expressed
in a grand, incredibly private,
outpouring of stale emotion. I
challenge myself to challenge
those around me as well.
I am not going to blatantly
share how I feel to anyone
I meet, but work to become
comfortable with the discomfort
and break the mold that society
sees fit for us. I want to change
the
conversation
around
expressing how we feel, from
something that is considered a
weakness to just something. I
want to change the conversation
from every second thought
being inherently apologetic, to
accepting. I challenge us all to
shift the dialogue surrounding
emotional vulnerability from an
“I’m sorry,” to a “Thank you for
sharing,” as that’s how it should
be.
Thank you for sharing
Samantha Szuhaj can be reached at
szuhajs@umich.edu.
Emma Chang
Joel Danilewitz
Samantha Goldstein
Elena Hubbell
Emily Huhman
Tara Jayaram
Jeremy Kaplan
Sarah Khan
Lucas Maiman
Magdalena Mihaylova
Ellery Rosenzweig
Jason Rowland
Anu Roy-Chaudhury
Alex Satola
Ali Safawi
Ashley Zhang
Sam Weinberger
FINNTAN STORER
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Widen the scope of sexual education
M
y sophomore year of
high school, a guest
speaker came to talk
to us in our health class. She put a
Hershey’s Kiss on each of our desks
and told us that we could eat it
whenever we wanted: now, later, or
even with lunch! At this juncture, I
opened mine up and popped it right
into my mouth. She then proceeded
to show us a PowerPoint detailing
various STIs and how each of them
could ruin our lives, how having
multiple sexual partners would
increase our risk of contracting
an STI tenfold and how condoms
were not 100 percent guaranteed
to work, so why would we even
be thinking about sex outside
of marriage? Processing all this
information, my classmates and
I packed up our things to head
to our next block. As I put my
notebook back into my bag, she
left us these parting words: “Oh,
and for those of you who didn’t
eat that Hershey’s Kiss just yet:
Doesn’t it feel good to wait?”
Not to be dramatic, but
thinking about that makes me
feel terrible to this day. That
little spiel — the little comment
about
the
Hershey’s
Kiss
I
couldn’t keep myself from eating
— made up the entirety of my
high school sex education. I was
15 at an all-girls Catholic school
who barely interacted with any
boys. I wasn’t “sexually active”
and
was
probably
nowhere
near ready to be, but I still felt
disgusting and guilty for having
eaten that Hershey’s Kiss and
for not waiting. There are a lot
of things that I loved about my
high school, but it was Catholic
and
predominantly
pro-life,
which made it near impossible
to talk about sex, sexuality and
reproductive
rights
without
sparking
great
controversy
among the militantly pro-life
crowd. And in this current time
period, I wish I had received
a little more guidance. I wish
I
could
have
had
guidance
when navigating the world of
contraception. I wish I could
have had an adult to talk to
whom I trusted, someone who
had told me that I didn’t need to
be ashamed of my body and my
choices; someone to hold my hand
and walk me through the process;
someone who could give me an
honest and frank education. I
wish I had someone with me
at Planned Parenthood when I
started crying while trying to
get birth control because I was
overwhelmed and I had no idea
what my options were or what
to do. I am eternally grateful to
the friend who came with me to
Walgreens the morning I had to
purchase Plan B, but I wish I had
a grown-up I trusted to tell me
that what I was doing was OK.
Having such a limited scope
when it comes to sex education
makes it difficult to really parse
out the nuances that come up
when we discuss reproductive
rights. For instance, the guest
speaker did insinuate to us that
Planned Parenthood was lying
to us, that there was no point in
going to them for birth control
or contraceptives because those
were
immoral,
and
besides,
they
provide
abortions.
She
neglected to tell us about the
litany of services provided other
than abortion, even aside from
contraceptives, and how the federal
funding they receive doesn’t even
pay for abortions. She told us life
begins at conception, but there was
no discussion of how a fetus doesn’t
even feel pain until 20 to 26 weeks
into a pregnancy and the complexity
of ethics surrounding personhood.
She cheerfully assumed that we
all had the eventual intention of
becoming wives and mothers,
without
mentioning
that
abortions are statistically safer
than carrying to term, and the
maternal mortality rate in the
U.S. is rising. In retrospect, it
was odd for her to claim moral
authority on behalf of the church
when we could talk about how
women terminating pregnancies
without
moral
condemnation
was incredibly common for a
great deal of human history.
By not providing us with the
information we need to make
crucial
decisions
about
our
bodies — indeed, our health —
the guest speaker my high school
hired to handle our sex education
was essentially telling us she
didn’t trust us. She didn’t trust
us with facts, and she didn’t trust
us to use those facts to make
informed decisions about our
bodies.
As further efforts to restrict
abortion
are
made
by
the
government at the federal, state
and local levels, it becomes clear
the guest speaker is not the only
one with the trust issue, but our
nation as a whole is having trouble
trusting women. It seems as though
reproductive rights are constantly
under attack, and women are
often shamed and judged under
the guise of concern. When we
examine frankly how women’s
behavior is policed, it reveals the
true patriarchal (and oftentimes
racist and classist) nature of
how we view women and their
sexual behavior. If the concern
was about the loss of fertilized
eggs, then why do we not see
more pro-life activists talking
about and investing in attempts
to prevent miscarriages? This
is already an under-discussed
issue, yet about 15-25 percent of
recognized pregnancies end in
miscarriage. When data show
that access to comprehensive sex
education
and
contraceptives
decreases abortion rates, why
does
the
pro-life
movement
insist on abstinence-only sex
education and limiting access
to contraceptives? To me, this
serves to solely to police the
behavior
of
women
and
to
punish them for not adhering
to arbitrary standards of sexual
purity.
Why
is
society
unable
to trust women as rational,
thoughtful, responsible moral
agents,
perfectly
capable
of
weighing the moral decision
of what to do when and while
they’re pregnant? Using abortion
laws and abstinence-only sex
education to police women and
their bodies prevents us from
having open, honest discussions
about the health and well-being
of women and their families.
If we truly want reproductive
justice, we need to shift the
conversations
we’re
having
about
women
and
abortion
from controlling, policing and
judging to fact-based and honest
conversations, and we need to
start with young women.
My
younger
sister
is
a
sophomore in high school now
and she’s probably going to take
a health class very similar to the
one I took. The thought of her
going out into a world where her
reproductive rights are called
into question; where she is so
utterly without a clue that she,
too, starts crying at Planned
Parenthood
because
no
one
ever taught her how to be the
authority on her own body. We
need to trust women to be the
authorities of their own bodies,
but we need to give them the
language, the confidence, the
knowledge and the education
to do so. Speak to young women
candidly
about
their
bodies
and their reproductive choices.
Maybe then we can prevent at
least one more girl from having
a nervous breakdown at Planned
Parenthood and from having
Hershey’s Kisses ruined for her
forever.
Caroline Llanes can be reached at
cmllanes@umich.edu.
CAROLINE LLANES | COLUMN
SAMANTHA SZUHAJ | COLUMN
DANA PIERANGELI | COLUMN
As we march towards equality
W
aking
up
the
morning after the
2016
presidential
election
and
hearing
that
Donald Trump won
was heartbreaking.
I had just started
getting ready for
school
when
my
mom,
whom
I
have
never
seen
up before I leave
except
to
get
a
first day of school
picture,
knocked
on my door. She didn’t even
have to say anything for me
to know what happened. I
walked into the other room
and hugged my younger sister,
then I slowly began physically
and mentally preparing for
school. I was scared. I had
been following the election, I
knew what Trump said about
people of color, the LGBTQ
community and women. I
knew Trump’s lack of respect
and how harmful it could
be with his new position of
authority. I was scared for my
friends, for my country and
for myself.
But
then
a
miracle
happened.
The
day
after
Trump’s
inauguration,
protesters took to the streets
of
Washington
D.C.,
and
an estimated 4 million all
across the U.S. joined in.
Even other countries joined
in the fight: There were 261
marches all over the world
from Antarctica to Zimbabwe.
It
was
likely
the
largest
single-day protest in history.
People from all walks of life,
all races, all ethnicities, all
hometowns and all genders
came together to protest this
man who has done nothing
but belittle and disrespect
the people he is supposed to
serve. People from all over the
world told the new president
this
behavior
would
not
stand and that there would
be pushback against anything
unpresidential.
And push back we did.
Every year since Trump was
elected, the Women’s March
has
paraded
through
the
streets, working to make the
world a better place, even
with Trump trying to make
it worse. Jan. 19, 2019 marked
the third annual Women’s
March. The Women’s March is
not just a women’s issue. With
the
vast
intersectionality
present in such a
large
movement,
it
has
taken
on
broader challenges
and issues plaguing
America. Signs and
protests from the
march covered all
kinds
of
issues,
from LGBTQ and
disability rights to
immigration issues.
While
admittedly
lower in attendance than the
previous two, the fact that it’s
still happening is a triumph in
itself.
The march even withstood
some
of
its
leadership
crumbling. There has been
much debate in recent months
between some of the New
York leaders of the march
over what the main goals
and who the main leaders
are going to be. There have
been disagreements on the
leadership selection. While
Tamika Mallory, a Black gun
control activist and Carmen
Perez,
a
criminal
justice
reform activist, were selected
to
run
the
march,
many
pitched for having Vanessa
Wruble,
a
white
Jewish
woman, front the movement.
Mallory and Perez believe
that women of color should be
fronting the Women’s March
because they have long been in
the shadow of white feminists,
while Wruble wants to work
alongside them because they
all fight for the same cause.
These
disagreements
led
to Wruble splitting off and
creating her own movement
and march called “March
On.” Many were also angered
and considered not marching
when it came out that Mallory
praised
Louis
Farrakhan,
a
well-known
anti-Semitic
leader of the Nation of Islam.
The
organization
issued
statements denouncing anti-
Semitism, but Mallory has
not revoked her support of
Farrakhan.
However,
most
decided
the
movement
is
bigger than Mallory, Wruble
or any discord among their
leaders and came to show
their support for a cause they
believe in either way, leading
to a small but successful
statement.
Some protests are still
scheduled to happen. Ann
Arbor has its own “Women
March On for Justice” on
March 16 from 2 to 4 p.m. in the
Diag. Plenty of protests have
taken place at the University
of Michigan, many of which
involved
women’s
rights.
Like many others all over
the world, Ann Arbor held its
own Women’s March on Jan.
21, 2017, in solidarity with
the march in Washington,
D.C. While the protest in Ann
Arbor this year will not be on
the same day, it will have the
same message: We will stand
together to make this world a
better place.
Despite the demoralization
in
having
a
despicable
president, the past few years
have
led
to
astronomical
gains for women. Hundreds
of women have run for office,
stood
up
against
sexual
assault, registered to vote
and fought injustice. Right
now we have more women in
Congress than ever before —
many of whom are women of
color. The Women’s March is
a physical manifestation of
the changing times. Women
are gaining ground politically
and socially, and however
difficult the road to equality
may be, it will pay off in
the end. Though with split
leadership,
the
cause
has
been more difficult to define,
we all want the same thing
in the end: equality for all. I
hope when the next election’s
results are announced, I will
be proud of who our country
has chosen, and I think the
courage women have shown
through these marches will
get us there.
Dana Pierangeli can be reached at
dmpier@umich.edu.
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DANA
PIERANGELI
The Women’s
March is a physical
manifestation of
the changing times
SAMANTHA
SZUHAJ
And in this current
time, I wish I had
received a little
more guidance