Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Monday, January 13, 2020
Alanna Berger
Brittany Bowman
Zack Blumberg
Emily Considine
Cheryn Hong
Krystal Hur
Ethan Kessler
Mary Rolfes
Michael Russo
Timothy Spurlin
Miles Stephenson
Joel Weiner
Erin White
Lola Yang
ERIN WHITE
Managing Editor
Stanford Lipsey Student Publications Building
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MILES STEPHENSON
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All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
EMILY ULRICH | COLUMN
Your second favorite shade of yellow
E
very
Wednesday
morning
of
last
semester
I
would
walk down South University
Avenue from my apartment
to my sociology lecture in
West Quad. As the days got
colder and cloudier, I found
comfort in a warmer future
from the bright yellow that
had overtaken one of the
glass storefronts on South U.
“SOULCYCLE – Your second
favorite
shade
of
yellow.
See you soon, Ann Arbor.”
was imprinted on the yellow
backdrop. I did some research
on the new fitness studio to
see exactly what the hype was.
From the videos I watched
on YouTube, I observed that
SoulCycle is a boutique fitness
studio that creates a workout
environment I would describe
as similar to that of a Delta
Tau Delta frat party: music
raging, lights dimmed and
sweat everywhere.
The
first
few
times
I
passed
the
soon-to-be
SoulCycle
studio,
I
was
excited – I thought it might
be a fun outing for me and my
girlfriends. Eventually this
excitement wore off and was
replaced by confusion.
In my sociology lecture,
we discussed socioeconomic
disparities.
I
began
to
associate
what
we
were
learning
about
the
gaps
between
socioeconomic
status and opportunity with
the campus population, and I
realized how absurd it was to
have another boutique fitness
studio pop up on campus.
At SoulCycle’s new studio
in Ann Arbor, a single class
is $26. That could be spent
on groceries, rent or more
importantly,
student
debt.
Paying that much for a fitness
class is just not a realistic
option for many students.
Sure, there are out-of-state
students at the University
of
Michigan
getting
their
$51,200
tuition
paid
by
daddy’s
money,
but
there
are also students paying for
their own tuition or receiving
scholarship money. There is a
lack of access to opportunities
on
campus
for
students
from
low-socioeconomic
backgrounds, and fitness and
healthy food are just a few
examples.
The affordability of fitness
has become a problem across
the nation with the boom of
boutique fitness studios and
increased gym membership
prices. When I went home
for winter break I noticed
that an Orangetheory and
a Pure Barre, two popular
boutique
fitness
studios,
were now in the downtown
strip mall right next to China
Buffet and Kroger. I am from
Grand Blanc, Mich., a town
right outside of Flint, and I
never would have expected
those types of franchises to
come to my town. However,
franchise fitness studios like
Orangetheory,
Pure
Barre
and SoulCycle have become
the new norm, especially for
millennials.
For many in their mid-
20s, it is not so much about
the act of getting in the day’s
workout as it is being a part
of the experience. SoulCycle
and
other
popular
fitness
studios use platforms such
as Instagram and Twitter
to promote an experience
that drives people to pay
$26 or more for a 45-minute
class. Many of the SoulCycle
instructors are social media
influencers with thousands
of followers. The instructors
also represent the brand by
wearing clothing with the
SoulCycle logo on it that can
be purchased in studios or
online. So, if you happen to
have any money left in your
bank account after you get
done with cycling class, you
can purchase a pair of their
Ultracor
Exclusive
Python
Skull Leggings for $198.
Studios like this exert a
pressure on people who can’t
afford to experience fitness
like their peers can. Can the
majority of college students
really pay for this type of
fitness?
No, most students can’t. I
am guilty of succumbing to the
millennial workout routines.
During my freshman year on
campus, I found myself going
to a yoga class at the Tiny
Buddha studio almost weekly.
It was a nice break away from
my studies and helped me
to destress, but it also left
a dent in my bank account I
had to refill with a job that
following summer.
Access
to
affordable
healthy food is another major
issue on campus and I didn’t
recognize the shortage until
I moved out of the dorms and
started to cook for myself
my junior year. There would
be times between class I
didn’t have time to stop
home and would be looking
for a quick, healthy, cheap
lunch,
but
would
usually
end up choosing between an
overpriced salad or a slice
from South U Pizza. The new
food options appearing on
campus are tailored toward
students that can drop $12 on
a green smoothie.
It can be overwhelming
when everyone at the gym
is
wearing
Lululemon
or
students at the dining hall
are talking about the workout
class they just got back from.
It is becoming increasingly
expensive to keep up with the
social demands of working
out and eating healthy in
Ann Arbor. The new boutique
fitness studios and organic
juice stores plopped right
in the middle of campus are
contributing to the price of
fitting in and living healthy
at U-M.
Emily Ulrich can be reached at
emulrich@umich.edu.
JATHAN DAY, ADRIENNE RAW AND DAVID GOLD | OP-ED
How college students meet the challenges of online writing
W
ith the proliferation
of smartphones and
Wi-Fi in schools and
public spaces, access to social
media has never been easier for
students — or more worrisome
for parents and teachers. A
recent survey of U.S. teens found
45 percent reporting that they
are online nearly constantly.
Parents
worried
about
the
effect of social media on school
performance or social skills
may respond by monitoring
teens’ online activities, but
such scrutiny may do more
harm than good. Instructors,
meanwhile, may ban laptops
or phones in the classroom to
eliminate “distractions,” but
this too may have unintended
consequences;
for
example,
outing students with disabilities
or
inadvertently
decreasing
student engagement.
Despite
the
popular
treatment
of
students
as
benighted
“digital
natives,”
unaware of the effects of
technology,
young
learners
often recognize its influences
and limitations, which may lead
to more thoughtful decisions
about what they write online,
for whom and for what purpose.
Students are also often aware
of the particular challenges of
writing in online environments
— challenges that are not
always acknowledged by their
instructors.
As
writing
instructors,
we wanted to know how our
students feel about writing
online. In the fall of 2018, we
surveyed 803 undergraduates
at a large, Midwestern public
university about the kinds of
online spaces they write in,
the purposes and audiences
for which they write, what
they worry about when writing
and how they respond to those
worries.
Our
results
(full
findings to be published this
year in “College Composition
and Communication”) suggest
that these young adults are
as equally concerned about
writing online as their parents
and teachers — and that they
are making thoughtful choices
about their writing in response.
We asked students about
their use of 11 popular online
platforms.
Though
nearly
80 percent had four or more
accounts
on
social
media
platforms, Snapchat is the only
one where more than 50 percent
wrote frequently — that is, on
a daily or weekly basis. For the
other 10 platforms, less than 25
percent of students reported
writing frequently, and for all
but three platforms (Facebook,
Instagram and Snapchat), 60
percent of students reported
never
writing.
Thus,
our
students are clearly not the
prolific
digital
writers
we
often
imagine.
Indeed,
the
most
common
activity
on
these platforms was reading,
followed by commenting on
other posts, suggesting a certain
mindfulness about the writing
of original content. Reading
allows students to gauge the
pulse (and, perhaps, the risk)
of
an
online
conversation,
while
commenting
allows
them to have a relatively low
stake should they choose to
participate.
One of the great fears about
young adults writing online is
that their activities will bring
them into contact with the
darker aspects of online culture:
predators,
cyberbullies
and
unknown others whose response
to their still-forming opinions
might have real consequences
in their everyday lives. Yet
the
students
in
our
study
seem adept at limiting their
audience to those they know
and trust; most reported writing
frequently only to family and
friends, a trend hypothesized
by other researchers. Despite
the many communities that
exist on social media centered
on affinity spaces, professional
organizations or the wider
public,
most
participants
reported never writing to these
audiences.
Similarly,
maintaining
relationships with family and
friends is the most common
purpose for writing: Over 60
percent of students reported
writing
frequently
for
this
purpose. What students don’t
do
is
write
frequently
for
other
purposes;
developing
professional identities, sharing
information, posting creative
work and debating controversial
topics were purposes reported
frequently by less than 25
percent
of
students.
This
suggests that young writers
feel most comfortable with
the familiar and that they are
more cautious when it comes
to more public-facing entities,
for
which
the
stakes
are
higher. Even among family and
friends, young writers engage
in sophisticated practices to
maintain a degree of privacy
in networked spaces. Though
any digital post can in theory
be shared — and wind up read
by unintended audiences —
our findings suggest that most
students try to control who
reads their posts by writing in
spaces where they have some
degree of control over audience
access.
The myth of the digital
native suggests that young
adults don’t worry about their
online writing practices nearly
as much as their parents and
teachers. But our results suggest
otherwise. The students we
surveyed
worry
about
the
reactions of both intended
and unintended audiences, the
consequences of their writing
being online forever and their
ability or authority to write
on various topics, with less
than 30 percent reporting they
never worry about each of these
concerns.
For young writers online,
these worries aren’t passive;
in many cases, worry about the
consequences of online writing
leads these writers to edit or
delete posts, or even to decide
preemptively not to post. So
while we might fear that young
adults aren’t thinking about
the consequences of writing
online, they are — we just can’t
“see” the results in a carefully
edited or deleted post.
This doesn’t mean we should
be any less aware of students’
writing habits or less concerned
about
the
consequences
of
writing
online.
Rather,
we
must recognize that students
may be more thoughtful about
their practices than we’ve been
giving them credit for.
Our
conversations
must
be likewise more complex,
focused less on young adults’
awareness
—
which
they
already have — and more on
what their awareness means
for
their
participation
as
critical
citizens.
It
might
relieve parents to know that
our study finds students tend
to avoid writing that puts them
at risk for public scrutiny, and
while this is certainly not true
of all teens and young adults,
it does suggest that many are
discerning participants in an
increasingly online world. Nor
we can fault students for their
online writing practices when
we are not offering alternatives;
only 18 percent of those we
surveyed have been assigned
online writing in school. Our
participants’ limited scope of
writing practices might thus
encourage instructors to find
opportunities
for
showing
students how they might use
social media for creative and
civic purposes, as well as better
negotiate the potential pitfalls
of public writing. Let’s leverage
what students already know
and help them use it to become
active,
thoughtful
digital
citizens.
Jathan Day and Adrienne Raw
are doctoral candidates in the Joint
Program in English and Education at
the University of Michigan and can
be reached at jedayak@umich.edu
and araw@umich.edu, respectively;
David Gold is Associate Professor
of English, Education, and Women’s
Studies at the University of Michigan
and can be reached at
dpg@umich.edu.
ALLISON PUJOL | COLUMN
The empty promise of sanctuary cities
I
f you’re driving in downtown
Miami, Fla. by 333 South
Miami Avenue, you’ll likely
spot Immigration and Customs
Enforcement
(ICE)
officials
waiting patiently in vans parked
by the city’s Immigration Court.
In a city that was formerly
known as a “sanctuary city” for
undocumented immigrants, ICE
agents now notoriously arrest
immigrants who’ve had their
citizenship or asylum applications
denied the second they step outside
the courthouse entrance. The
constant presence of ICE marks
a stark departure for a city that
once claimed to champion the
rights of those attempting to create
new lives for themselves and their
families in the United States.
A “sanctuary city,” as one
immigration policy blog writes, is
defined not as a place that refuses
to
prosecute
undocumented
immigrants but rather a locality
that “limits its cooperation with
federal immigration enforcement
agents in order to protect low-
priority
immigrants
from
deportation, while still turning
over those who have committed
serious crimes.” This definition
has even expanded to apply to
whole states that have adopted
the “sanctuary” stance as formal
state policy, such as California and
Vermont. Progressives have often
championed “sanctuary cities”
as a way to subtly resist President
Donald Trump’s new crackdowns
on both legal and “illegal” flows of
immigration, but there is room for
doubt about the effectiveness of
these local efforts.
There are a few reasons to be
suspicious of sanctuary cities’
real ability to provide a safe
home for immigrants. First, local
governments that claim to be
outspoken defenders of immigrant
rights often provide ICE with
the information it needs to track
down individuals to make arrests
and searches. In California, as
many as 80 local law enforcement
agencies share automated license
plate information and sometimes
biometric information with ICE.
This information is particularly
concerning given ICE’s recent shift to
electronic surveillance as a key tool
to seek and arrest undocumented
individuals, even going as far as to
track individuals’ Facebook statuses.
Recently,
New
York
City
mayor Bill de Blasio signed
a bill that aimed to “protect
(undocumented) people against
… abuses” and broadly claims
to strengthen NYC’s status as a
sanctuary city. The mayor’s new
bill calls for local law enforcement
to limit its information-sharing
efforts
with
immigration
enforcement agencies. But there
is currently no law to prohibit the
New York City Police Department
from
contacting
ICE
about
suspects or witnesses the police
force investigates. Officers from
the NYPD are even encouraged to
share information with other task
forces like the Joint Terrorism
Task Force and the Department
of Homeland Security fusion
centers.
Furthermore,
ICE’s
recent appearance at a Manhattan
church that served predominantly
Spanish-speaking
communities
after the bill’s signing sent a clear
message about the legislation’s
toothlessness. As a professor at
New York University’s law school
remarked, “the mayor of the City
of New York does not hide people
under his desk … People get
deported from New York all the
time.”
Second, federal immigration
enforcement often undermines
state and local efforts to wiggle
around
the
current
policy.
For
the
same
reason
that
marijuana
legalization
and
decriminalization efforts at the
state level often run into conflict
with federal prosecutors, local
efforts to provide a haven for
undocumented individuals are
trumped
(pun
intended)
by
federal policy. Even in sanctuary
cities that truly do use every legal
tool at their disposal to oppose the
Trump Administration’s policies,
the steps they can take are
consistently limited. Local police
can bar ICE from establishing an
office in their precinct, as New
York City did at Rikers. Or cities
can ban city government officials
from cooperating with ICE before,
during or after raids, as the city of
Oakland mandated shortly after
plans from ICE to initiate several
raids in the Bay Area were leaked.
But in reality, federal immigration
enforcement agencies still have
the ultimate authority to arrest
whoever they like and local
resistance is often unable to
combat the massive surveillance
and intimidation efforts that the
DHS and ICE conduct.
It’s not like local officials in
so-called “sanctuary cities” even
have much of a choice in the matter
of what policies are enforced.
Law enforcement in those cities
and localities often depends on
federal funding, and the federal
government has threatened to
withhold the money for those
programs unless the cities in
question comply with ICE efforts
and the Trump Administration’s
immigration policy goals. The
threat alone is often enough to
coerce local governments into
reluctantly
complying
with
federal policy and reversing their
“sanctuary” status, as was the
case in Miami.
Political change at the federal
level is necessary to truly ensure
a safe place for undocumented
immigrants. This is not to say we
should condemn local authorities’
resistance to ICE, as many cities
have made official policy, but
rather acknowledge that there is
still important work that needs to
be accomplished. Indeed, while
some legal change is urgently
needed at the local level, it would be
dangerous to become complacent
with localities’ designations of
“sanctuary cities”. As Camille
Mackler, the legal policy director of
the New York Immigrant Coalition,
said to the New York Times, placing
“a bubble over a city where ICE
can’t penetrate is not possible.”
As a student at the University of
Michigan, it’s easy to be content with
Detroit and Ann Arbor’s decisions
to be sanctuary cities. Many
homes in the city have “refugees
welcome here” signs on their front
lawns. But it’s also important to
realize that the reality of federal
immigration policy looms over any
bumper sticker or lawn sign and
has already had damaging effects
on families and their communities
in Michigan, even if some local
authorities choose to turn a blind
eye to immigration status. Until
federal law substantially changes,
no city can, in good faith, call itself
a sanctuary for undocumented
immigrants.
Allison Pujol can be reached at
ampmich@umich.edu.
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Our students are
clearly not the
prolific digital
writers we often
imagine.